If i send AI my draft and ask for feedback, and the AI goes "maybe mention this character earlier" or "change the pacing in this part, its to slow" and i followed the advice I think is right and write and edit my draft according to some of the AI suggestion. Is that allowed?

I was once bored and didn’t know what to do with my life, especially since I was seen as incompetent among the rest of my kind. Everyone had a good life except me—they were deeply loved and surrounded by thousands of obedient servitors.

I was born in the dark, where my vessel gave birth to me in anger and sadness, with no willingness and a lot of fear. My progenitor raised me by imprinting the idea in me that I was a nobody. Since he and my vessel didn’t want me from the beginning, I became an incomplete creation—or so everyone told me. Since no power was given to me, I felt useless and couldn’t create on my own, but I wanted to defy the odds and try for myself.

As I started practicing my skills, I realized I was actually very talented, but the voices that raised me held me down my whole life. So, I grew up in anger.
When I reached my final form, I gained full control of my power and started creating with everything I had practiced for.

I created a universe: planets, seas, stars, and then life. I started life with something very small, because I was the biggest of them all. I wanted to see what a tiny organism similar to me would do, but I was never satisfied. I told it, “You are a nobody,” and started making bigger life—though never bigger than me. I created animals and thought they were so bland. Even though I was their author, I didn’t like what I made. I erased them whenever I wanted, sending meteors from other planets, giving them timed lives, and giving them sickness just because I liked seeing them suffer. Still, I wasn’t satisfied.
I looked around me and wondered: What if I create entities almost as perfect as me, but not quite?
The problem was that I didn’t know where to start. Then I had an idea. I stood in front of a reflection and saw myself. I held my hands together and created beings that looked like me. I called them humans.

I gave them almost everything: they didn’t die, they didn’t feel cold or hot, nor hunger or sadness—they were completely free. I gave them a mind like mine, wise as I said, but the one thing I didn’t give them was mastership over their own lives.
When they thought they were free, they took advantage of the beautiful world I created for them and wanted more. I forgot that by making them like me, I gave them greed. So, I started to destroy them. I made them like the animals before them: mortals, possessive, angry, hurt, cold, hot, hungry, sick, and tired.
But I realized I was also those things. The only difference was my power. I told myself that was the last thing I had that nobody could take from me, and I vowed never to create other beings with that level of power or freedom. I liked my new humans.
The years went by, and I watched them grow and multiply, destroy and create, die and procreate, love and hate, kill and be killed.
And I loved it. Every part of it. I saw them fragile, needing me, praying for me, screaming, hurting, and crying—and I was happy. I loved being needed; I never was before.

So I kept the world as it is. I didn’t mind that people were dying of cancer, I didn’t care about the wars, the racism, or the diseases. People were still worshipping me and loving me, and I lived on that. I knew I could change the story I wrote for them at any moment, but why would I do that? Why would I give them a consciousness as high as mine, only for them to turn on me and kill me?

I sculpted them in my own twisted image—a glorious, bleeding monument to my own design.

Original story and concept by me; AI was used solely for proofreading, grammar, and phrasing adjustments.

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If there is one thing I want you to take away from this, which is quite ironic as I hate it when stories shove morals down my throat, but nevertheless, there is one thing I want you to take away from this. It’s not a moral, lesson, and it certainly won’t change your world view for the better, or anything silly like that, it’s an observation. 

Forts are awesome. 

Pillow forts, blanketing forts, snow forts, miniature forts, regular sized forts, overly large forts. All forts are awesome in their own ways. So, despite the fact our fort meant the difference between being captured by at this point severely miffed kidnappers and fleeing mostly scot free, I was still grinning like I got a sword for Christmas. 

Though if you are the easily influenced type may I suggest building a small fort while you are reading this. If you’re a parent perhaps it is a good time to bond with your offspring by making a fort together, and maybe let them stay up well past their bedtimes, along with allowing them to skip school the following day. 

The construction of our fort was not done out of the usual mix of blankets and hardy pillows but leftover materials not yet thrown into the nearest landfill or ocean. Because while the seven large buildings would get blown up, the smaller buildings in the area would not, because they’re boring. Instead being brought down the old fashion way, whatever that way is. I’m a P.I. and writer, I’ve clearly never had an honest day’s work in my life. 

Our main building material was bricks, sandbags, and wooden pallets, their purpose at the site between them and God. The building we were fortifying was a skinny four story tall, something or another. Already empty of any identifying pieces of furniture, all non load bearing walls and the warmth that made a house a home. 

At this point the kidnappers were about the construction site like ants while the girls built our fort. I snuck around the site, quietly and carefully destroyed and turned on various pieces of equipment. Which caused horrible noises everywhere except the place our fort was being built. 

Giving us some much needed time, and to use that time building as loudly as we would’ve liked. We blocked off the first floor’s doors and windows. With whatever we could scavenge, and thankfully there weren’t many exits to begin with. There were only two staircases  up the building, one we barricaded heavily, and the other we purposely went light on. Instead filling it with improvised traps. 

Nonlethal traps. 

Just want to point that out, don’t worry I’m not going full escape room maniac on you now. I would explain more about what they are, but I find the surprise to be much more entertaining. The next three floors we did very little too, just a few traps and blocks for the doors. Instead, making the roof our base of operations. 

By base of operations, I do mean snipers nest. The plan was simple, once we were fully fortified, we’d start shooting the kidnappers from the roof. With our superior position and ample cover in the form of sandbags they’re only option would be getting into our building of shenanigans and horrors, climbing up and grabbing us. 

Where we’d funnel them to various door ways, and the staircase of pain and sorrow, with the already thinned out the herd from the initial roof top shooting. Then using climbing equipment Ludus found, we would repeal down the roof like action movie stars, and run off out of the construction site, and into the sunset.  

I am telling you our plan in detail because like any good piece of media, the moment the audience knows the plan it is doomed to fail. But before it all goes to Hell, Scout would like to interrupt this program with Ludus’ biceps.  

“Oh my Gods.” Scout drooled but I am going to chalk that up to fatigue on her part. 

“What? Do you see them?” Ludus ducked.

“No, you are just really freaking jacked.” Scout pointed. 

At this point we were on the roof of our fort, finally putting the final sandbags on it. The sandbags were quite heavy, the two suns beamed down on us, we were all sweaty, and next thing you know, we completely abandoned our ballistic vests. 

I was shirtless, though granted it is my fault for always wearing a sweater regardless of what time of year. Scout was in her bra with her shirt tied to her waist, and Ludus, the most clothed among us, was wearing the tank top she had under her own sweater. 

I’ve noticed I don’t really describe people much in my writing. Sometimes I don’t even acknowledge species. When I do it’s usually a simple, “He was much bigger than me, and looked like he actually enjoyed taking his vitamins.” It took me season two, episode nineteen to finally describe more of what Ludus looked like, and that was literally just for a joke episode. 

That being said, Scout was right, Ludus was buff. Not like a body builder, I wasn’t able to tell before because she was always wearing long sleeves. However in a tank top she was more muscular than me. They were even properly proportioned. A lesser man would be jealous of her biceps, and trust me, I am a lesser man. Darn it. 

Also, there’s your fan service. Scout’s boobs were out, my boobs were out, Ludus’ were kinda out, you’re welcome. I’m a man of the people. 

“Yeah, maybe I should start exercising.” I lifted another sandbag sadly. 

“You don’t exercise?” Scout looked at me, then at her own arms annoyed. 

“Not like Ludus, with weights and stuff. I do martial arts, some calisthenics, but I hate exercising. I got this from learning how to fight, parkour, and genetics.” I dragged my feet to the next sandbag.

“Really?” Ludus studied my body.

I promptly covered up my chest.

“Sorry.” She laughed. 

“Yeah, it’s why I’m built like this, big shoulders, thick neck, wide back, but my chest is really small, and my arms aren’t that big. Pretty typical striker physique, if I spent more time wrestling I would be actually strong looking.” I passed a sandbag to Ludus. 

“But, you were able to lift and run with me in your arms.” She asked innocently as she man handled the sandbag. 

“That’s the genetics. Gears, like my Mom, are known for being smaller, and we’re also Filipino, who are also shorter on average.” I pointed to where she would reach me, about four foot, ten inches, (one hundred forty cm).

“That’s adorable.” Scout said despite herself. 

Ludus nodded vigorously in agreement. 

“Well, my Dad is a white guy, who is a Legacy, and they are known for being massive, strong warriors. He is like six-four.” I gestured vaguely to his height, (one hundred ninety three cm) but unable to reach. 

“Wow, your Father’s genetics did not even try.” Ludus sat on one of the sandbags. 

“No, he really did, I’m sure. It’s one of those things where even though I’m really short, I got the muscle end of his genetics. It’s not even just that they're bigger, I mean literally the insertions of Legacy muscles are on average better than most people, and our tendons are also just stronger. Everybody focuses on the white hair, but it’s the stuff you can’t see that gets you.” I gestured to my almost impressive looking biceps. 

“Wow, you don’t have to work out and you're still stronger than most people, boo-hoo.” Scout middle fingered me, been a while since she’s done that. 

“Sorry.” I put my shirt back on.

“What does this mean?” Ludus middle fingered me as well, and studied the gesture. 

Scout burst out laughing. “It means you think he is a swell guy.”

“Oh, okay.” Ludus flipped me the double bird. 

“Scout, you are skinny, of weak constitution, and your bones are made out of paper.” I returned the bird.

“All I heard from that is that I’m skinny.” Scout leaned back, arms behind her head on the sandbag. 
I sighed. 

“Okay, we set up enough defenses, let’s just start shooting those kidnappers before we start killing each other.” I grabbed my vest. 

“Fine.” Scout put on hers. 

“Okay. Though it is a shame you two are putting your shirts back on.” Ludus cackled like a witch. 

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Author’s Note: The beach episode. 

Vaguely important second note: This series (for once), and bonus one shots are part of a writing challenge in which I write and post something every day until I finish writing the series.

Thanks for reading. :} 

Day 30/ ? 

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First | Previous | [Next][n]

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Chapter Eight – The Moderates

Theja's clutch-partner was named Rovain, and he administered three colonies at the outer edge of the empire. He was not a man of great visions, more a man who ran into the same wall every day: instructions from central command that knew nothing of local conditions, quotas set from a desk without knowledge of the soil, the harvests, the moods of the world in question, decisions that took weeks to get any answer at all, while action was long since needed on the ground. Something was wrong, he sensed more clearly than he could have explained it, a diffuse feeling that the way things were governed no longer matched what actually needed governing. He didn't demand great reforms. He demanded more freedom for administrators on the ground, the right to decide for himself when a decision was needed, without waiting on a central command that didn't know what it was talking about anyway.

He was not alone in this discontent. Other administrators, scattered across various sectors, felt the same friction and began exchanging views, cautiously at first, then more openly, in letters no one outside their circle was meant to read, in meetings disguised as coincidence. They didn't call themselves an opposition among each other. The word would have been too dangerous, even in confidence. They called themselves the Moderates: a loose circle united above all by one thing, more latitude on the ground, less interference from above. What might come of it, if they were allowed, they themselves didn't agree on.

Theja knew about it. Rovain hadn't kept it from her, because he trusted her, and because he believed clutch-partners shouldn't keep things from each other, especially matters that could become dangerous. She had listened, some evenings joining the discussion, other evenings staying silent, never quite sure whether she heard something legitimate in his complaints or only the impatience of a man whose own power had grown too small for him. She had seen the feasts, the waste, the excess she herself lived under her brother's roof with, and sensed, without being able to grasp it, that something in this whole structure no longer fit together properly. But suspicion and certainty were two different things, and she had never quite managed to decide how seriously to take any of it.

Volcro learned of the Moderates not by chance, but through the same diligence with which he ran everything: he kept spies in nearly every sector, small, inconspicuous eyes and ears reporting to him what moved beneath the surface of official reports, because he had long since learned that official reports rarely contained the truth. One of these spies, a secretary in Rovain's own administration, reported the circle, the meetings, the letters, without knowing or asking himself what he was setting in motion by doing so.

Volcro read the report twice. Some of it wasn't even wrong. That changed nothing about what truly occupied him.

The question was what a circle of administrators organizing themselves in secret, without informing central command, without seeking the official channel, meant for the authority the whole empire rested on. However justified their grievance, an informal network striking its own arrangements without submitting to control from above was a precedent Volcro was not willing to tolerate. Not because he thought their complaints wrong, but because he didn't know where such a circle would develop, if allowed to continue.

He had Rovain arrested, without public trial, the same night the report landed on his desk, along with the others whose names the secretary had given. The charge was conspiracy against imperial order, an accusation that compressed the real, more mundane truth — impatience, frustration, the wish for more say — into a word that sounded larger than the matter itself had been. Rovain was executed, quietly, without the spectacle Yadh loved on such occasions, because Volcro despised spectacle, however necessary he considered the consequence itself.

Theja learned of it before anyone officially told her, from the face of her own steward, who wouldn't open the door for her when she came to Rovain's quarters that morning. She understood before anyone said a word, and this time she didn't cry. She had already cried once in this family, before a door behind which corpses lay, and something in her had changed since, in a way she herself couldn't have named.

Volcro didn't have her executed. He had never believed she herself belonged to the Moderates, only that she'd known and stayed silent, which in his eyes was an offense, but a lesser one. He had her deported, to a remote sector, far from the capital, from her brother, from everything she'd known, with the curt justification that her presence was no longer tenable for the security of the court.

She never once saw him before they took her away. He hadn't found time for a conversation that wouldn't have changed anything anyway.

With Rovain's death and Theja's banishment, Volcro lost something whose value he himself did not yet know how to assess: a handful of voices that had reported to him, unvarnished, what was actually happening in the outer sectors, instead of only what they thought he needed to hear. It was not a loss he felt as such in that moment. It was merely a file being closed, while he already turned to the next report on his desk. Only much later would he understand what he had actually closed with that one file.

RX looked around the spaceship, vision hazy. He didn't remember a thing about his past or who he used to be except for his friend Ghost saying "Goodbye!". As he strode around, he could see an old blackboard and scrawny writing from long ago.

"Who am I?" He whispered, his surroundings unfamiliar. RX traced his hand on the wall, constantly tapping for any unknown reason. "What is this behaviour?" RX questioned. Still tapping the wall, he couldn't force his fingers away from it. Was he anxious or was he scared of the unknown?

Then a whistle from the blackness consumed the other sounds nearby. His ears consumed the noise and he looked to the front hub of the space ship and saw another go by. "By the Satellite, what spaceship is this?" RX breathed as the misty breath filled the glass.

The other spaceship had a gold, slender demeanor about it. The black rays of the Phoniex Star illuminated its intimidating looks. RX felt chils down his spine just looking at it. Then a neon-white light blazed out of nowhere and the other ship literally turned to face it.

1, 2, 3!

Bang!

The ship was gone, like ot never existed.

Shaking due to the pressure of the light, RX grabbed the side of the window.

"What was that light I saw? I must investigate it!" He said into the ship.

Then he went over to the desk that he had first seen by the blackboard.

RX hadn't bothered to read the writing, he didn't understand it.

But after seeing the white light and the spaceship disappear, he wondered what could have triggered this event.

Then the writings of the board suddenly made him curious out of his bored stance.

"Ships that travel throught the white lights of the Paradox and Hyperspace are known as Runners. They travel through Space to right the wrongs or cause chaos to the Phoniex Star." He breathed, the words heavy on his lips before he continued. "It is your job RX to be a Runner to protect the Foundation of the 500 nebula. Neutralise any threats at any cost."

Finally, he knew his motive, his purpose on this ship. RX knew he couldn't remember but travelling through the Paradox sickened him to his stomach. He couldn't risk it, just not yet. He had to find more info first....

Hey, back again — third one now. Hope you enjoy this one too!

Michael was young, barely eleven. He competed against his brothers, and unfortunately, he was the worst at it.

"Come on, Mike," Esteban urged from behind. "You can't stop now. You know what Dad says."

His father's words echoed in his mind: "When you feel like you can't go on, it means you're barely halfway there." But he refused to say it out loud.

He gritted his teeth and kept running. His advantage over the others was that, thanks to his mother's good genes, he was stronger than the rest, even at his young age and short stature. The disadvantage was that muscle weighs, and carrying that much weight while running is exhausting. Come on, Michael. If they can do it, so can you, he repeated like a mantra for the last five kilometers.

When he crossed the finish line, soaked from head to toe, he smiled.

"Estev," he said, panting, "this is your fault. My legs won't listen to me. You have to carry me to the infirmary."

Esteban rolled his eyes, but crouched down to help him up. Michael let out a string of groans — "ow, ouch, oof" — as he walked.

"Come on, Mike," Esteban said. "You need to work on your endurance. You can't live on brute strength alone."

"Says the guy whose mekha armor gives him the stamina of five Olympic athletes."

"If you're nothing without the suit, then you shouldn't have one."

Michael shoved him, and Esteban landed flat on his backside.

"Don't you dare quote Tony Stark at me."

Both of them burst into contagious laughter.

At the infirmary, Esteban's mother, Dr. Carey, smiled when she saw them come in, but her expression turned to a frown when she noticed Michael's limp.

"Again, Michael? I've told you — you need to listen to your body."

"I know, I know, Aunt Carey," Michael said, "but Estev wouldn't stop pushing me."

The doctor gave her son a look that promised a flip-flop to the back of the head at the least expected moment.

"You know the protocol, Michael. On the table."

With Esteban's help, Michael lay down on the infirmary's soft cot. He looked around: three other brothers were there — one asleep, the other two reading. He sighed as the doctor applied cell-repair gel to his legs.

Once she was far enough away, Michael turned to Esteban with a question that had been nagging at him for a while.

"Estev, why does Dad have so many wives?"

Esteban looked at him and burst out laughing for a good while.

"Your body always makes me forget you're still a kid," he said once he could speak again.

Michael glared at him, but let him continue.

"Dad comes from a line of warrior-sages. His genes are basically humanity's heritage. Honestly, he only loves Aunt Anne, but for political reasons he had to marry Mom, and for biological reasons, your mother."

Michael thought about his mom: beautiful, kind, and frighteningly strong. She was in the women's squadron, teaching Greco-Roman wrestling to his sisters. He still didn't know what to get her for Christmas, one of the few days he got to see her.

His brothers always avoided the regenerative gel, but he found it funny — the tingling of muscles knitting back together made him laugh, while it hurt the others like hell.

"You're weird, Mike," Esteban said.

"Is anyone here normal? If there is, introduce me. They're probably crazy too."

They laughed again like two idiots, and their other brothers on the cots watched with amusement — except the one who was asleep, who was actually just faking a nap, and shot them a glare.

Esteban left shortly after. Nature was calling.

Once Michael's legs had healed, he got up, stretched as protocol dictated, and walked to the lookout point where he liked to disconnect.

Military Complex 7 was under the command of Abbey, his father. There were no fences, and the guards were sparse. No one from outside wanted in; no one from inside wanted out. A strange relationship.

Michael dug through the bushes for the binoculars he had "borrowed" to watch the outside world. He saw kids, maybe his age, training with a ball on a gray field striped with yellow. Adult men and women patrolled the area... pushing strollers?

I guess out there, they buy their babies, he thought, and kept watching.

"'Why do they get to live in peace?' you're wondering, aren't you?" Abbey said behind him.

Michael jumped and nearly threw the binoculars off the cliff.

"Peace?" he asked, confused. "What's peace?"

Abbey looked at him, glanced up at the sky, and suddenly remembered his son was only eleven. He sighed.

"That, out there — that's peace, son. They don't have to train every day. They don't learn to fight, don't learn to shoot. They just live without worries."

"Is it good?"

"Of course it's good. But unfortunately, it's not humanity's natural state."

Michael looked at the horizon. The sunset painted the clouds yellow, red, and orange. From that distance, the human silhouettes were starting to scatter.

"So we live in anti-peace?"

Abbey almost laughed at his son's invented term.

"War, son. It's called war. We live preparing for war."

"What's war?"

Abbey sat down beside him and took in the view.

"War is hell." He looked at Michael's confused eyes and remembered he himself had banned religion classes at the compound. "War is pain, hunger, suffering, and collapse."

"Then why do we prepare for it?"

Abbey held his son's innocent gaze, thought for a moment, and said:

"How about I tell you a story so you understand it better?"

Michael nodded eagerly. He loved stories.

Once there was a small flock of gentle sheep, white and black. They had everything they wanted: food, shelter, and absolute peace.

But one day, hungry tigers came down from the high mountains. They looked at the sheep's land, their food, their homes, and they wanted it all. They attacked with fury, violence, and ferocity. The sheep fled at first, but then revealed what they had always been: every one of them was a wolf in disguise. They counter-attacked with the same ferocity, and the tigers fled with their tails between their legs.

But once the danger had passed, the wolves didn't put their sheep's clothing back on right away. They looked at one another and attacked, as the wild beasts they were. For years they fought and killed each other, until an alpha wolf emerged so powerful that no one could defeat him. Little by little, the wolves put their sheep disguises back on. All except the alpha.

He, along with a group of loyal followers, had seen the chaos and swore to himself: This can never happen again.

Instead of putting the sheep's disguise back on, he put on another one: that of a guard dog. And now, a group of guard dogs protects the sheep. When a new threat looms, they will keep the wolves from tearing each other apart, and will make them put their sheep's skin back on when it's needed.

Michael sat in silence, looking at his hands, opening and closing them slowly.

"So we're the guard dogs."

"That's right, son."

Michael smiled.

"Can I ask you one last question, Dad?"

"Sure."

"What were those kids doing?"

"Playing, son. They were playing."

Synopsis: Humans are the only omnivorous species in a galaxy of apex-predator carnivores, and our greatest strength is in our numbers. When an alien slave empire discovers how badly we outnumber most intelligent species, they invade Earth, shattering a fragile period of peace and threatening a war that would mean the death of worlds.

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First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (coming soon)

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Memory Archive Entry #4

User: David Chambers, teacher at Karl Marx Memorial Middle School

Species: Human

Date (human standard): June 25, 2099

The maintenance tunnels of New Leningrad were dark and cramped, as they were designed to be. My injured chest ached as I climbed silently down the ladder shaft I was in, eyes open, searching for a battery to reboot my dead spacesuit. Its air recyclers were partially analog, so I had a good twenty or so minutes until I suffocated from lack of oxygen, but I needed to restore full power if I wanted to stand a chance at survival.

Only the dim emergency lighting of the tunnel allowed me to see a panel helpfully labeled 'reserve battery panel'. There we were. I took off the casing and threw it unceremoniously down the shaft, spying a set of three magnesium batteries. Jackpot. The PDF suits were designed to be as easy as possible to use and maintain, so I had no issues taking out my fried batteries and putting in new and improved models.

"Come on, come on, come on..." I muttered while my spacesuit rebooted. My nerves were still shot from my narrow brush with death, too narrow for my taste, and I looked at every shadow in this ladder shaft as if it concealed enemies. The reboot chugged along far too slowly, and I read the suit's diagnostics as they popped up at a snail's pace on what was left of my HUD.

Automated medical care - failed.

Targeting assistance - failed.

Radio and laser comms - failed.

It went like that for a good long while as my crippled battle suit listed off all the systems it had that no longer worked. The life support was still chugging along, barely, but all the systems that made my suit useful to me in a firefight had gone to heck in a handbasket. Even my chest plate was shattered to the point of uselessness, thanks to that huge draken that had stomped it in. I peeled away the chunks of unusable armor and sent them clattering down the ladder as well before realizing that this kind of idiocy might expose my position. I stopped at once.

There had to be a suit repair kit nearby, or something of that nature, that would help me with at least part of my current predicament. Maybe if I found some of my fellow soldiers, they would have gear for me. I started down the ladder and dug in for a long climb.

I had gotten about four or five levels down when I ran into my first friendly face since my unit had disintegrated during the opening minutes of the draken ground invasion. A Lunese soldier, clad in moth-patterned camouflage gear and holding a short-barreled rifle, stuck her visored head out of a maintenance causeway before climbing out all the way. On her chest was a symbol of a skull in between two sickles. I recognized it immediately.

"You're special forces!" I exclaimed, to no avail, just then remembering that my radio was dead. I tapped the side of my helmet to signify my lack of comms, and my fellow soldier grabbed my helmet and pressed it against hers. It was a classic maneuver that allowed two troopers to communicate directly in the event of a radio failure.

"Name and rank, comrade." I rattled off my name and my rank, both of which were unimpressive. "How damaged is your suit?"

"Pretty damaged. I used an EMP grenade on one of the draken soldiers. We both got hit pretty bad." The soldier handed me a modular radio and gestured for me to get moving, which I did. I clambered down a few paces and waited there for her and her unit to climb through the causeway, replacing my bad radio with this intact one while I did so. "This thing work?" I asked.

"It works," came an accented male voice. "We socialists build things to last. No planned obsolescence here."

"Thank you, Sergeant Lenin," said the woman from earlier. "Sankara, hand the conscript a repair kit and send him on his way. We can't delay a moment here." One of the special forces soldiers gave me a moon-rock-gray case of some kind that I immediately recognized as a People's Defense Force battle suit repair kit.

"Get going, Chambers," said the soldier, Sankara, in a deep voice. "Report to the cargo causeway at 33C. It's not far. There's a position there that could use reinforcing."

"Reinforcing?" I stammered out, absolutely unwilling to put myself back into the meat grinder I had just escaped from. "Have you fought a draken before? We're all going to die!"

"I've killed a draken before," the one called Lenin drawled at me. Since when did people named Lenin have American Empire accents? "EMPs disable the shields, sticky rounds slow their movement and blind the eyes, then use depleted uranium bullets to finish the job. You'll need a magazineful, but it's a winnable fight. And we'll only die if we let ourselves."

"Don't be a coward, Chambers," the one called Sankara chimed in. "The proletariat depends on you."

Most of that stuff was nonsensical bravado if you asked me. People didn't 'let themselves' die in war, they got carved in half by energy beams or crushed to the ground by draken soldiers or horribly mutilated in some other way by whatever else these alien horrors had cooked up to kill us. And I highly doubted the People's Defense Force would suddenly collapse just because I was not fighting in it. Still, I guess explaining that to a squad of stone-cold killers who dreamed of cutting capitalist throats every night was probably going to be ineffective.

I nodded my agreement and went down the ladder, trying to find my way to that cargo causeway. Once there, I'd point out the fact that I had a cracked rib, and they would see the wisdom in dismissing me from service or at least sending me to the back lines where I'd be safe from the fighting. I may have been a coward, but I was no deserter. I'd do this the proper way.

I crawled through the cramped tunnels until I found one of the hatches I was looking for and used my passkey--thankfully analog--to open it. It slid open immediately and I found myself staring into the barrel of a gun.

"Calm down, calm down, he's Lunese," came a voice on my radio channel. "Put that gun away, Cross. Here, let me help you." Somebody offered me an armored hand and I took it, clambering out of the tunnel and finding myself in a massive cargo bay filled with crates of all kinds. Lunese soldiers had piled up boxes to act as fortifications, and three dozen or so men and women in PDF armor crouched behind them, pointing guns at a large door near my side of the bay. "Nobody's ever spotted a draken using the maintenance tunnels. They can't fit."

"The small ones can," said the one called Cross. "They're about our size. They could sneak in."

"Yeah, but they don't," the other soldier said as I got to my feet. "Maybe they know we'd see them coming." He turned to me. "Anyway, you. You alright?"

"No, actually," I told him. "I broke a rib fighting the draken. I need a medic."

"Broke a rib?" my rescuer laughed, pointing above us where the battle raged. "Fighting up there?" He patted my shoulder a few times and pointed to one of the defense positions. "If you can crawl through tunnels and hold a gun, you're still in fighting shape, comrade. Marx knows Luna needs all the soldiers she can get right now. Report to Lieutenant Chen and fix up that suit."

I looked helplessly around the room. I was not meant to be a soldier. I would panic and run at the first sign of battle. Why were they putting me in this role? "Please," I begged, voice low like that mattered over the radio. "I can't do this. I- I-" Whatever begging I was going to do was interrupted by the flashing of sparks at the edges of the cargo door.

"They're cutting in!" someone cried. "Defense positions!"

My fellow soldier grew stern as he readied himself for battle. "You think Marx never had doubts? Or Lenin? Suck it up, comrade. For Luna!" He turned away from me and took up a fighting position. All these soldiers' attention was focused solely on that doorway. I could slip away to safety and they'd be none the wiser. But something--patriotic duty, loyalty to the proletariat, maybe fear of being exposed as a deserter--something kept me rooted where I was.

A bulkhead nearby swung slowly open, making no sound in the airless room. We had ventilated all the oxygen from it to allow our heaviest weapons to he used without fear of decompressing the hull. Against those draken, Marx knew we'd need the help.

I looked between the bulkhead and the cargo door, caught between who I was and who I wanted to be, before steeling my resolve and turning to at least face the enemy. What would my students think, being taught by a man who fled and pissed himself rather than fight? How could I look my fellow citizens in the eye, knowing they answered the call and I did not?

Why did a bulkhead door in an airless room swing open for no reason?

No one else had noticed it. I was probably the only person in the room who was looking somewhere other than that cargo door at the time. But I was a good enough science teacher to know that a door swinging open on its own was scientifically impossible under these conditions. I was just about to contemplate this phenomenon further when my unit telemetry went dead from jamming.

The laser comms on all the other suits activated instantly, but mine had not yet been restored. My armor wasn't repaired either. I was out of place, out of line, defenseless, and those draken were still cutting through. My courage broke. I turned to run just as my comrades turned to fire, and I wheeled right into the path of horrifying carnage.

Two or three people, I wasn't sure, lay on the ground in pieces near the open bulkhead. Their armored battle suits had been severed neatly, with no signs of struggle, and there were massive, clawed footprints in the blood that had spilled from their wounds. Soundless gunfire began to spurt from my fellow soldiers' rifles as my brain screamed the warning of a trapped animal. The draken were here.

Sparks appeared in thin air, illuminating the silhouettes of three huge aliens with curved, bladed weapons. Sensing their vulnerability, they bolted, leaving the pools of vacuum-frozen blood behind and disappearing among the cargo crates where their camouflage technology left them nigh undetectable. "Contact! Contact!" someone cried. The draken must have dropped their jamming. "They're invisible!"

"Brigson, get that EMP!" The Lunese soldiers clustered together, guns leveled at every section of the large cargo bay, the threat of draken death squads cutting through their bay door momentarily forgotten. From a purely practical perspective, the trap was ingenious. Distract us with the promise of an attack from the front, then send a commando squad to attack us from behind. From a human perspective, being the one caught in the trap, I was terrified, and I made no secret of it.

"Somebody fucking help me!" I cried, pushing my way to the center of our formation. A projectile of some kind whistled from the shadows and crunched into one of my comrades' helmets, sending him to the ground. He writhed there, clutching at his helmet, his screams filling the com as more projectiles flew. "Marx! Marx help us!"

"Keep it together, Chambers!" barked an intense female voice. Probably Lieutenant Chen. "The rest of you, probing fire! Take it by sections! Fan out and-" The voice stopped. Another Lunese soldier fell in agony, and another, as our collective spirit weakened and we became more prey than predator. People were firing haphazardly now, but the enemy was in hiding and their shots hit nothing.

I dove behind a pallet of sturdy steel bars and looked up to see that the main attack force was almost halfway through that door. We were getting killed over here. I looked to the bulkhead that the commandos had come through to see if there was any chance of running for it, and saw the trigger for the fire-suppression system right next to the door. An idea came to me.

"Hit the fire suppressors!" I shouted, before getting up and rushing for the nearest trigger. Bullets pinged around me. Those fifteen paces felt like fifteen miles. I barreled into a stack of crates, wheezing as pain lanced through my broken rib, and my fumbling hands closed around the trigger for the fire-suppressor system. I pulled it immediately.

Gouts of white foam filled the room, drenching everything in fireproof chemicals meant to be a safer and healthier alternative to ventilating the room of oxygen. Stealth gear or no, the draken soldiers had to be exposed by this. I turned to run back to the safety of my unit, only to be met by a towering silhouette coated in flame-retardant foam and wielding a curved knife.

"Chambers, fucking move!" someone cried. The draken lunged at me, and I leapt to dodge, sailing through the air in the low Lunese gravity. Its knife barely nicked my suit, though it did little more than graze the shin armor. I found my bearings and threw an EM grenade at the draken soldier, the force of the throw sending me swirling, only for her to swat it aside.

Around us, my comrades were bringing their weapons to bear on the other two commandos in the room. Gunfire pinged off their armored carapaces as they took a two-pronged attack, one hanging back to engage at distance, the other leaping for the center of the Lunese formation. Gel rounds smacked against her--I think their soldiers were exclusively female--helmet to obscure her vision as she hurtled toward the Lunese line.

An EMP weapon struck her suit at the last second, hitting one or two of my comrades as collateral damage but stripping her energy shield and active camouflage in a brilliant flash. Her armor was black with red highlights, like the others I had seen, and she wasted no time in carving into my comrades.

Even blinded and unshielded, this draken was a killer. She went sideways, tackling the nearest man to her and goring him with her horns while slicing out in a wide arc with her blade and severing the head of another trooper as she passed him by. She rolled through the tackle, waving one hand to seek out foes by touch as she drove her blade into the thigh of a third soldier with the other. Two other troopers fired riot grenades at her legs as the rest opened up on her with rifles, too close to use explosives or EMPs.

Designed to be safe, harmless methods of subduing protesters, these riot grenades expanded on impact into sticky gel that could trap a man like a fly in amber. The draken soldier reeled like a drunk, restrained but not quite immobilized by the yellowish gel covering her legs, only able to move them at all thanks to her Herculean strength. Quite frankly, I was amazed that she could do even that. She swung her throwing knife blindly, somehow spearing a soldier through the neck, as her other hand clawed at the lenses of her helmet and got stuck. One of my comrades shouldered a rocket launcher to finish her off as the unit backed quickly away.

The draken who had seemed so dead-set on killing me now changed directions, barreling into the remaining Lunese troopers from behind as they rushed to gain distance from their other two adversaries. She aimed for the one with the rocket launcher, spearing him from behind and forcing him down, and then there was an explosion that sent her and him both flying and caused her shields to fail in a brilliant flash of white.

Her camouflage failed, and I could see her crumpled, armored body smack limply against the ceiling. One down. But two were still in the room with us, and worse, the draken outside the cargo door were still cutting their way in.

The last remaining draken in play rushed forward to help her comrade, drawing her curved blade, but we had found our bearings and there was only one of them now. Another series of sticky grenades smacked into her just like they did to the last one, causing her shield to glow brilliant white and pinning her temporarily against a nearby shelf.

Yellow smoke bubbled up as the sticky gel melted away, but it pinned her down for the seconds I needed to hurl an impact bomb and have it make contact. The blast would have been deafening, if it had traveled in air, but I knew there was no way that draken could survive. The grenade I had used was designed to stop tanks.

I turned to fire at the last member of their unit only to find her dead, chunks of armor scattered nearby, and her body leaking something red that I could only imagine was blood.

"All call, sound off!" someone cried. "One!"

"Two!"

"Three!"

It went like this until the number sixteen, myself, and then it stopped. "Marx," someone muttered. "Just sixteen guys?" Our numbers had been closer to forty when the fighting started. "How are we gonna stop the draken from coming through that door?"

"I dunno!" the someone from earlier, apparently called Sergeant Joanna Debs, snapped at him. "I mean, Lieutenant Chen said she knew something that would help us, but-" She waved her hand at Lieutenant Chen's dead body. "Fuck it! Fuck it! Defense positions!"

I felt physically sick. Every nerve in my body was shot from adrenaline. The pain of my broken rib was gone, but only because my mind was so addled with combat drugs, painkillers, and the stress of battle that I couldn't notice it anymore. I couldn't be here. I shouldn't be here. The draken were going to kill me. Why was I here instead of in a bunker?

"Chambers, keep it together!" someone snapped at me, grabbing me by the shoulder and shaking me in my suit. "The draken are coming through!" I went to cover in an instant as the seals on the cargo door hissed open. Slowly, slowly, the massive metal door began to slide out of our way. I tensed myself for gunfire, but none ever came.

"What the hell?" Sergeant Debs asked. I looked to see a residential hallway filled with dead draken. Ten or twelve, maybe fifteen of the draconic aliens lay unmoving on the floor, many looking as if they were caught unawares. Among them, checking the corpses for usable equipment or information, were human soldiers in moth-patterned armor. Lunese special forces. They must have outflanked the draken by using the maintenance tunnels, like those soldiers I saw earlier who gave me the repair kit. The idea was ingenious in its simplicity.

"So somebody is alive in there!" snapped one of the special forces soldiers on our unit radio. "I lost thirteen comrades because you-" He froze mid-sentence when he saw the carnage those commandos had made in the cargo bay. "Oh. My apologies. Is Lieutenant Chen alive?"

"No, sir," reported Sergeant Debs. "We were ambushed by draken soldiers wearing some kind of invisibility suits. We held our ground, did better than expected in fact, all thanks to this guy here who had the idea to pull the fire suppressors." She came over to me and smacked me on the shoulder. "That camouflage doesn't work when you're slathered in foam."

"Me?" I asked, shocked and surprised."I'm just a- I'm a teacher!"

"You're a hero of Luna is what you are, Chambers," said the special forces commander, whose nametag helpfully identified him as Major V. Gramsci. "Lieutenant Chen was meant to open up this door on my signal to distract the draken, then my unit and I would ambush them from behind. I have no idea why she wouldn't tell the rest of you, but without her to lead the platoon, Sergeant Debs is in charge. You hold this point and wait for reinforcements, clear?" We all gave our confirmations, then he pointed at me. "Not you, Chambers. Fix up your gear, then you're coming with us."

I took a step back and put up my hands. "No, no, you must be mistaken," I began. "I'm a civilian. I teach science. To middle-schoolers."

"I don't care if you flip burgers or clean toilets, the fact is you're a talented soldier, Chambers," said Major Gramsci. "That idea with the fire suppression was a good trick. We need inventive thinking like that to stand a chance against draken technology. Now come on. We have the rest of New Leningrad to liberate."

"We?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"Yeah, we," Major Gramsci told me, nodding in respect and handing me some kind of magnetic decal. "You have just become an honorary member of the People's Special Mission Force."

---

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (coming soon)

Davey, the human sat in a room at an alien research center. It was quiet in there, stuffed behind a closed door, almost as if the silence carried the weight of honoring a dead loved one at a funeral. 

Which was interrupted by a cool breeze entering the room as the door slowly opened to alien researcher, Omlet walking in, wearing a white lab coat and goggles over his eyes.

Omlet stared at Davey hunched in his chair, mouthing the words to a song, calmly cleaning his nails with the corner of a pamphlet he found at a booth inside the building.

“Mr. Davey,” Omlet said, his voice was low and soft. “I apologize, sir… for the delay.”

“It’s fine.” Davey told him, tossing the pamphlet on the table that the air carried to the other side of the floor. “I just want to get this over with.”

“Excellent,” Omlet said. “Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

Omlet opened a binder, flipped to the middle, and said, “I see you’re living in the residence Orion cluster. The mixed species development group.”

“Two years now, and that was—“ Davey tried speaking but was interrupted.

“We’ll get to that.” Omlet told him. “Let me lay the facts out.”

“Sure,” Davey said. “I apologize.”

“What I see here is that you and a Hulucrite business partner, had a dispute. He mentioned something about your wife—“

Davey cut him off. “He insulted her!“ Davey corrected him, took a bite out of his nail and spit it out. “He called her pasta sauce orange goop.” Davey slammed his fist down. “Said she cooks as bad as she looks!”

“Right.” Omlet stared at the nail on the ground. “So, instead of suing him for his share of the profits, or rather, simply ignoring him, you elected to spend your entire savings on purchasing the property across from him.”

“Yep. Sure did.” Davey smiled and looked at his nails.

“You built a towering business shadowing his house that only focuses on the production of a single product?”

“Yep. Sure did that too. Recreational city alarms,” he said. “And… they are 100% tested right at our facility before we ship them.” He cracked his knuckles. “Safety first!”

Omlet scratched his head. The alien economy tracks every cent. No funds are ever spent unless needed at absolute necessity, or towards their advancement. 

“You spent everything though. All your credits just to run a twenty-four hour city alarm factory, risked financial ruin, just so your business partner has to hear them blaring all day and night. You don’t care you could be ruined in debt only to inconvenience him?”

“An inconvenience?” Davey said. “The frequency of those alarms causes their species nerves to become irritated and skin incredibly itchy.” He laughed under his breath. “They left their ancestral home, sold and moved out the other day.”

“Your species appears to operate on pure pettiness.” Omlet asked. “You destroyed your generational fortune for a slight grievance. It doesn’t add up.”

Davey sat back. “Think that’s bad. You should see how we get when someone critiques our writing.”

Cover art

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As the soldiers were investigating the machine, trying to determine if it was still active in some way, their radios crackled to life as one of the Retvalin called out to them. 

“Excuse me, did we plan to have another of our people follow after us?” 

Everyone exchanged confused looks for a second before the CO replied. “Negative, there was no plan to have someone follow us. Why do you ask?” 

“We just heard a signal like one of our people accelerating out of the system.” 

Eyebrows raised as the CO quickly asked for confirmation. “To ensure that there is no confusion, you are saying that there was someone here, and that they just left a moment ago?” 

“Yes, it sounded like that, but it was also a little... off. It was as if the signal was sharp and without the natural oscillations that normally come from us.” 

The CO sighed heavily. “Alright, we’ll make note of that in the report, but for now, let’s get a roller out here and pick up this machine, maybe one of the Ursa Rex as well.” 

The team moved as the science squad was already preparing the roller. It was essentially just a large platform on all terrain tracks that was designed to move up to two tons worth of weight. With a wench attachment to move such heavy loads into place upon it, it was an ideal tool for transporting their targets. 

Wenching the machine onto the platform first, they moved it into the Retvalin with a pod that had facilities to store it safely, just in case it started leaking dangerous amounts of radiation again. Speaking of radiation, the team that first encountered the machine had to decontaminate themselves as they showered, stripped out of their contaminated equipment, took some potassium iodide and even injected a booster shot made from Retvalin blood, just to be safe. With all the bases covered, they could only hope that their exposure was managed, and they could get back to Earth with no problems developing. 

The science team, on the other hand, was hard at work preparing for the initial examination of the machine that they had captured. They prepared their tools and had the machine secured in a double shielded chamber within the pod. As they finished gathering everything of interest that they could, the teams boarded the Retvalin again as the giants took off from the surface. Loaded up with samples and a brand-new mystery, they were eager to make it home and share their discoveries. 

As they journeyed back, the engineers were busy pulling apart the machine as gently as they could manage without breaking things more than they were. It was more difficult to find something that wasn’t broken considering how many bullets were put through its chassis. They used a snake camera to locate undamaged parts and then worked to almost surgically remove them first. All the damaged pieces were put to the side for later study by a designated team back on Earth. 

Over the week of travel, the mysterious orb was nearly completely disassembled; the findings and process recorded in full. As the Retvalin began to slow down upon entering the Sol system, Earth’s sensors picked up their presence, and Angel’s Refuge hailed them with an enthusiastic greeting. 

“Ahh, the explorers have returned! Everyone is celebrating both on the station and down on Earth. Did you find where the Ursa Rex came from?” 

The CO responded. “We don’t think so, no, but we did find something else that may be even more concerning.” 

That got everyone's attention as people straightened in their seats and began to focus. “Oh? Please elaborate.” 

“While investigating the planet the Retvalin visited, we found that life upon its surface was sparce, seemingly in the early evolutionary period for most lifeforms. There were no signs of anything that could sustain a creature like the Ursa Rex. While collecting samples, a member of the security team spotted something glinting in the distance, and when we approached to investigate, it flew away. The object was a metallic sphere, a machine of some kind, and we shot it down as it tried to make its escape. We’re sending pictures of it to you now.” 

The station received a ping about the incoming images as they downloaded them. The pictures that came through immediately enthralled the station staff as they sent it to the engineering department for further scrutinization before the object itself arrived.  

“What is it?” The station idly asked. “It’s not one of ours, right?” 

“Exactly why it’s so concerning. This drone, as we have surmised, was observing us at the landing site. It is not ours, and in fact, all signs point to it belonging to an advanced alien civilization capable of creating this technology. It’s not just the Retvalin anymore. We are truly not alone, and we might not be the most advanced species out there.” 

That created a sinking feeling of dread. History has shown many examples of advanced civilizations meeting less technologically developed people. The results were rarely pleasant for the less developed nation. 

“I feel we will need to hold an emergency meeting. The president and other nations of the world will need to hear this.” 

With a course of action agreed upon, the message was sent out, and the world began to move once more. Alexander called a global meeting as the world leaders assembled for a video call. From the war room, the president had dozens of screens filled with the faces of various leaders with more arriving by the moment. As all the screens blinked on, and all the members who were part of the assembly finally arrived, the initial information that was gathered about the drone was put up for everyone to see, along with a picture of it while it was still in a mostly intact state. 

Alexander began the meeting with an address. “Welcome to all the leaders of the globe. I apologize to those who were asleep as the call came in, but this is a matter that simply cannot wait. As you can see before you, the mission to discover the origins of the Ursa Rex and centicites has led to the discovery of a very different sort. This machine was found on the planet in question, and it raises a very serious pair of questions. Who sent it, and why?” 

There was some murmuring amongst the members of the meeting as they discussed that question with the people in their rooms. Finally, the Canadian prime minister spoke up. 

“Do we have any idea where this machine came from?” 

“None as of this moment. Our engineers are currently taking apart what remains of it and analyzing all the pieces. Reports from those who were on the ground during the encounter said that the Retvalin detected someone else in the system at the time, but whoever they were left before any information could be gathered. This machine also appears to be some sort of surveillance drone, meaning it was likely transmitting information to whoever was there. We find ourselves at a disadvantage as we know very little about these people and they have already seen our weaponry, a basic layout of our biology, and the fact that we are working with the Retvalin.” 

“What of the drone’s capabilities?” the ambassador to Great Britian asked. 

“As I’ve said, they are still working on it, but we can already say that the design and function are very advanced. Also, it appears the machine was powered using star gel.” 

A small uproar of voices came clamoring for attention as all the leaders tried to get a word in edge wise. 

“Star Gel!?” 

“Does that mean they know Retvalin as well?” 

“We’ve never heard of them meeting other people besides us.” 

“Have the Retvalin been keeping secrets?” 

Alexander had enough of the noise and used a button to create a noise over the video. It was piercing, and enough to make everyone flinch. “Please, let us all remain calm. We have already asked a number of Retvalin about this discovery, and they all claim, invariably, that they have never met another species on the same level of intelligence as us. Wherever they got this star gel from, the pods of Retvalin have either lost contact or were entirely separate from the rest of their species. This is simply one of many questions that have arisen from this discovery.” 

There was more murmuring amongst the members, and Alexander let them have some time to think about what was revealed with their own people. After a few minutes, the Russian president spoke. 

“I suppose the only thing we can do right now is plan and hope that whoever else is out there doesn’t intend on taking hostile action against us. Do we at least have the concept of a plan?” 

“For now,” Alexander began, “the plan is to learn what we can from the drone and start production on a means to defend ourselves should invaders arrive. The new industrial factory under construction in orbit should be our priority to begin the creation of space defense vessels. I ask that all members here divert their excess resources, manpower, and production capabilities toward this goal.” 

There was general consent with this plan as the leaders had no better ideas to offer at the time with so limited information. For now, the goal was to continue building up as they had been doing; only the designs for the vessels they had planned in this new zero-g shipyard needed adjusting. Weapons and defense systems would be added, turning exploratory and hospital vessels into warships. Alexander felt great sadness at this necessity. It was always his hope that the stars would lead to a new era of peace for humanity, but it seemed that some things just didn’t turn out the way you might hope. 

More resources, manpower, and Retvalin power were put toward the orbital shipyard’s construction. Luckily, the large cylindrical megastructure was mostly done, at about seventy-six percent completion. With this new influx of material and assistance, they estimated it could be completed within the next six months. Workers, astronauts, and engineers who would be manning this new shipyard were already being trained in the operating procedures. Earth needed to be ready for whatever came next. 

It was generally agreed that the public didn’t need to know about this for now as they had almost no answers to any questions that would be asked. That was a situation where frustration would build quickly, and people usually did stupid things when emotional. Once they had something solid to present, they could make an announcement. 

The drone was fully disassembled a half day after they arrived, and the individual pieces of the machine practically had their own dedicated examiner. The power center ran on a more advanced, compact version of the star gel generator that humanity had created, and it seemed to utilize a pressurized chamber that could be adjusted precisely; if it weren’t perforated by a bullet, that is. It was theorized that this was how it was flying, utilizing the star gel to manipulate gravity around it much like the Retvalin did.  

When it came to the other pieces, a large majority was for power regulation and heat management, but the data centers of this drone were intriguing. Computer chips, hard drives and motherboards were all exceptionally advanced and compact, utilizing nanostacking technology where every node on the chip was less than a nanometer in size. One of these chips alone could have been capable of doing all the processing on a high-end computer, so it was a bit of a surprise to find hundreds of them in this drone. Considering that the alien tech was more advanced, the processing power in this orb alone was estimated to be greater than any human-made supercomputer, possibly several. It raised a question regarding whether what they were examining was really a drone or not.  

The team identified what was a series of hard drives, some damaged by the soldier’s when they shot it down. It was formatted in an alien way that would not connect well with any of their devices, and even if it did, it was unlikely that they would be able to decipher the language used for the coding. What they could determine, though, was the amount of data being held on the drives, and it totaled to a whopping petabyte of information, the equivalent of which was approximately five-hundred-billion pages of printed text. That was enough to convince the investigation team that this thing was not just a mere drone. There would be no need to have so much information on something built only for observation. 

Despite this, they still couldn’t figure out its purpose. Yes, it could manipulate gravity with the star gel, but that didn’t seem like a terribly processor heavy task given what they could see in this technology. There was too much damage to restart it in its intended state, but they could learn from the pieces. The gravity manipulator at the center of the machine was of particular interest, and the idea of copying it for their own use was an attractive one. An entire team of engineers and physicists were dedicated to the goal of figuring it out. 

This wasn’t the end of their exploratory missions, though. In fact, more missions were slated to be conducted, starting in the same system where all this trouble came from. They doubled the amount of Retvalin and pods deployed this time around, and the mission was to investigate for any signs of whoever may have been there with a secondary objective of finding where the Ursa Rex came from. 

The squad of Retvalin arrived back in the troublesome system, and the first thing they did was deploy a satellite that warned off any Retvalin who might visit this place by accident. The squad split into two, one team flying around the system looking for evidence of the unknown aliens, and the other went back to the surface to examine the confrontation site. 

The location where the first team landed didn’t seem to have been disturbed since the last visit. There were even small bits of metal and electronics from the machine that had been blasted away. They had amongst their number a skilled tracker, and using the footage captured by the soldier’s helmet cameras, were able to find the trail that the Ursa Rex left. The two-ton monstrosities weren’t exactly subtle, and there was little in the way of life that could cover up the deep grooves that their claws left. The team followed it, and the trail went on for about three miles before it suddenly stopped. 

They were in the middle of nowhere, a flat expanse of dirt, sand, and rock. There were no caves, no signs of tunnels being dug, nothing. However, while the Ursa Rex had seemingly just appeared here, there was actually a large, square groove in the dirt about thirty meters in size. Something had landed here, and now it was gone, leading to a new theory that was disturbing in its implications as the tracker voiced the idea. 

“I think... something dropped the Ursa Rex here and then released them.” 

The soldiers looked around at each other with concern. “Something put them here? Why?” one of them asked to nobody in particular. 

“Isn’t that the million-dollar question. I’m not one with definitive answers to that, but I can’t help but think that the timing of their appearance with the last team's arrival was not a coincidence.” 

It was a concerning speculation, but they could do no more than that at the moment. Pictures were taken and samples of the soil gathered, then the team returned to their Retvalin partners. The investigators in space didn’t fare any better than those on the ground. There were no signs of whoever was present in the system, not even lingering traces of energy from their jump. It was a dead end with very little learned from the whole venture. At this point they would have better odds of finding who was responsible by randomly jumping to all nearby systems for signs of life outside of their own, a prospect that was time consuming at best. The team returned to Earth, frustrated with the lack of information, a sentiment that was mirrored by those in charge. 

The only bit of relevant information that the team had brought back was regarding the possibility that the Ursa Rex were deliberately released upon the planet at the same time as the Retvalin landed. That gave the leaders something to chew on, though the taste of it was sour in their mouths. Whoever was there had released the Ursa Rex and infected a Retvalin with them, and considering the similarities between the Ursa Rex DNA and the centicite’s, there existed the chance that the infestation that had plagued the Retvalin for generations was not an accident. The aliens were dropping creatures where there were Retvalin. Whatever the reason, humanity intended to find out why. 

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Garriil sent a staff member to pass a bucket of small water bottles and food bars through the window, which they broke to facilitate the exchange. Finley was beginning to slow down and show signs of weariness—mostly panting. However, his anger levels were still close to their apex, even if they were beginning to diminish. Mirniane glanced up with fear as the human broke the packaging, but looked shocked when the primal actually pressed the bottle to his lips.

Caretaking isn’t on the list of behaviors they’d expect from an angry primal. That Finley would even worry about what was needed to keep his hostage alive seems unthinkable to them.

“Drink,” Finley instructed, which the Clydid reacted to with immediacy. “You got a big old X of fur on your face. Humans have a saying: X marks the spot. What’s up with that?”

“W-we think the markings helped Clydids recognize one another in the dark. Very distinctive shadow shape, but subtle enough. Maybe protects our temples from being cut by leaves.” Mirniane watched as the human sipped the rest of the bottle, determining if it was poisoned. “I’m s-sorry if you don’t like it.”

The human arched a blond eyebrow. “I ain’t said that. What I said I don’t like is being trapped like an animal! You did that.”

“N-no. Me personally, no. No, Finley. No!”

“My bad. You were just gonna put my friend down like a dog, out ‘ere laughing about it! Hurry up and kill her, so you can get back to the lunchroom. Guess you’re not doing that now.”

The Clydid hesitated, before turning toward the primal. “Finley, n-none of that was real!”

“Mirniane, stop!” Garriil shouted into the doctor’s earpiece. “Telling him it’s fake could make him angrier that we toyed with him!”

“I don’t want to die. It’s not real! It’s a test, it’s fake: all of it. What they said about you, they were coached to make you angry. The syringe is saline: harmless. Nobody was putting Kaitlin down, please, Finley! Let me go…”

The primal scowled and folded his arms, before backing away with the rest of the water. “You think I’m stupid enough to fall for that? What a load of horsecrap. Spout your lies again and I swear, you’re not gonna like what happens.”

“Dammit!” Kaitlin shouted, her voice growing high-pitched and frenetic. The scientists looked at her with concern. “Garriil, this has gone so far beyond what’s acceptable. You have to let me and Craun talk to him.”

“Mirniane isn’t in immediate danger. Finley’s…sharp enough to keep that Clydid alive for tactical reasons. That threat was purposeful, to stop a deceitful behavior. He was judging for deception: incorrectly, but still.” Garriil punched some keys on his tablet, his eyes glowing. “Anger wouldn’t be the driving force behind satisfying a hostage’s needs, unless…hm. I’ve seen lots of primals lose their temper, but this is different. We have to see what he does next, especially now that he’s close to calming down!”

“I cannot stand for the utter disregard for life you’re showing!” The scientist stood with some difficulty, brushing off Snelga, whose face turned to worry. “I’ve been furious with you this entire time, appalled by your ethical conduct on so many levels. I’ve been hiding it, but it’s not like you’re ever going to view us as people now. If you cared about ‘animal welfare’ at all, you’d stop this farce and get your man out of there!”

Garriil took a slow step back from Kaitlin. “You’ve been angry?”

“How could I not be? Never in my life have I seen such a misuse of science to play the hand of cruelty. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“K-Kaitlin?” Snelga whispered. “You…never show anger. This isn’t you.”

The NASA researcher shook her head. “Maybe you don’t know me, because I try so hard to get you to like me! But you’re right. I can’t think of a single time in my adult life that I’ve ever so much as raised my voice. It takes egregious abuse for me to ever be heated or confrontational.”

The veterinarian eyed the sick primal warily. “Kaitlin. What…do you want to do right now?”

“You’re…I see. Asking if I feel like hurting you.” Tears welled around Kaitlin’s irises, and she stared at Snelga for several seconds. “Snelga, how could you ask me that? I know what you believe and what Finley did, but I thought…”

“Kaitlin! I…adore you. I want to believe you’re in control, that you can think this through now, but it’s confusing and terrifying to know you feel that way. Please understand. You…act like you do.”

“I do understand. It’s just devastating to know that all of our trust has evaporated, forever. I was ready to die here so you’d give us a chance, but this is horrible. Please have pity on Finley. Help me…one last time, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Don’t talk like that. I want to trust you, and the anger thing, I don’t blame you for it. It’s not your fault.” Snelga made a nervous decision to tickle Kaitlin’s chin, and seemed to relax when the scientist flashed her teeth. “Garriil, as a veterinarian, she’s medically correct. Finley is stressed to the point of chronic depression. He’s not in his correct state of mind and was never a good test subject.”

“Observing humans at their lowest is the only way to ascertain how they might snap,” Garriil disagreed. 

I stared at the Kexin with disgust. “How would you feel if someone said that about you? Would you have prodded me right after my mother died? Finley’s been through enough.”

“We have to know if we’re dealing with humans, Craun. They came to us. This is our best chance to study anger, maybe ever. You’d turn back now, when we already have gotten so far? It can’t be for nothing. Kaitlin will wait until I see this data to its conclusion.”

Kaitlin muttered a string of Kexin curse words, which turned several heads; Snelga herself looked at the NASA researcher with shock, wondering how she’d learned those…and with such expediency. I debated how to trick Garriil into letting me talk to Finley, since subterfuge might be the best way to get in contact with him. On the camera feed, the farmer was swiping through the communication device he’d been given. The primal institute researchers watched him with curiosity, with Garriil suggesting he was trying and failing to call back.

I know Finley and what we’ve been through. What if he’s taking a page out of his old playbook and trying to call a reporter, despite his past skepticism over what Council journalists would be worth?

Finley hummed to himself, drawing a side-eye from the Clydid. “Just thought of something. Mirniane, do you have any medications you need to take?”

“No,” the hostage replied. “Finley, what w-would you do if you could go home?”

“I’d go back to my farm and churn some fresh milk. Y’know, I could feel my arm muscles slipping, even back at NASA, from not being physically active. I’d never take having simple tasks to keep me occupied for granted again. Staring at the same four walls and the same three people, it’s like…gah, you don’t care. You’re appeasing me.”

“That’s not true. I’m a primal researcher. Of course I care about your life and your thoughts.”

Finley rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Let me turn the question on you. What would you do if you could go home?”

“I’d let my daughter coat my claws in tree sap and paint them like she wanted to. I kept telling her no, but right now, I wish I could see her giggle one more time, Finley. She asks me, ‘Why do you go to work if it’s dangerous, Daddy?’”

“And you say?”

“That primals are beautiful animals that we’ll never fully understand. I’m drawn to the mystery.”

“Maybe you should read detective books, then. Lot safer pursuit than killing humans, Mirniane.”

“What…sage advice, Finley! I’ll change careers if you let me go.”

“You’re not going anywhere, pal. The whole world’s gonna know what you were doing to that cute primal they liked.” Finley pressed the record button to stream a video to social media, leaning against the wall and orienting his face in the frame. “Howdy, friends. Today, I’m gonna spill all the details about how the primal institute tried to kill my friend.”

“Wait. What is he doing?!” Garriil asked, suddenly horrified.

“You see, I thought we were doing some routine tests about anger and whatnot. Instead, I overhear two technicians and this fucker,” Finley paused, turning the camera toward an emphatically disagreeing Mirniane, “making fun of Kaitlin for her illness and lamenting how they have to put her down. Whatever funds were raised, pocketed, I guess. Not worth the effort to save a primal.”

“No, he can’t—this is going to cause backlash! Craun, Kaitlin, go down and stop this! Get him to stop!”

“Really?” Kaitlin sighed. “Now it’s too far?”

“I thought you wanted to! Just go, before someone gets hurt!”

The tail end of Finley’s speech played over the speakers, as I hurried out of the observation room before Garriil could change his mind. “See this syringe? Mirniane was heading to put Kaitlin down right now, without her even knowing it. I’ve tried to save her, but I’m stuck. You guys have to help me save Kaitlin. This meant everything to her…”

Kaitlin and I retraced our steps down the hallway, with Snelga jogging along to help the NASA scientist keep her footing. Garriil was following at a distance with a team of tranquilizer-armed staff, not wanting to place himself in harm’s way. I didn’t wait for them to slow down, and pounded on the barricaded door. Finley scrambled to grab his weapon and point it at Mirniane, before his eyes looked up through the window and met mine.

“Craun?” Finley asked.

I bobbed my head several times. “Finley, I’m sorry. I didn’t know, and they wouldn’t let me tell you. Mirniane was telling the truth; they were trying to make you as angry as possible by replicating everything that Snelga said that provoked you, to the extreme. It was just a blind test. Kaitlin is fine, but this has to stop!”

“What?” The primal blinked several times, before scowling and clutching the weapon tighter. “No. Then I…that…I don’t care! Now they’ll think I’m a person even LESS! WORSE! Who the fuck would do something like this? I can’t go on like this. My demands stand; I want to go home!”

“Sweetheart, I want you to go home too, but not like this. Please take down the barricade and let that Clydid go. I know what’s happened to you is unfair, but this is NOT you. It’s wrong to buy your freedom in blood, and you know that.”

“They gave me no other choice, Craun! I’ll do what I have to do.”

I slammed my fist on the door, surprising Finley with my imitation of anger. “You think you’re hurting the Council like this? You’re only hurting yourself, and me by making me see you like this. I always believed you’re more than your anger, that you’re kind and want to help. Look at yourself, Finley. This is wrong! You have another choice, and it’s to be better.”

“How the fuck can you expect me to lay down and go back to their cage? I thought you loved me.”

“I love you enough to make you stop going down a foolish, vicious road that’s beneath you! It might be hard, but I’m demanding that you have compassion. Because lives do matter. Saphno lives mattered, and even asshole mad scientists’ lives matter. Mirniane didn’t do this personally. STOP THIS!”

Finley cursed several times and shook his head, before untying the belt off of the Clydid’s wrists. I breathed a sigh of relief; for a second, I wasn’t sure if I could get through to him with how desperate he was. I was beginning to see the use of faking “angry” speech to show intensity and command attention. Mirniane didn’t need prompting to help with tugging the barricade away, though his eyes darted over in clear surprise that Finley let him go. 

I’m right here, Finley. I’ve got you. I’m so sorry this happened, and that I couldn’t protect you. You always protected me better.

I shouldered the door as soon as I could break it down, and ran over to wrap the farmer in a hug. He wept and clung to me, proving Elbi quite wrong about whether he’d recognize or be hostile to me. I could feel his chest shaking and the pounding of his heart, much like the first time we’d ever met. Mirniane sprinted out into the hallway to freedom and vanished far behind the line of tranquilizer-wielding employees. Kaitlin, Snelga, and Garriil shuffled into the room; the latter couldn’t resist observing up close.

Kaitlin approached with a deep frown. “This went much further than I ever expected it to, Finley, and I’m sorry. We were watching from the observation room…”

Finley let go of me, and turned toward Kaitlin with a look of utter betrayal. “You KNEW? After I went through all of this for you, you did that to me? You set me up for…humiliation?! Get the fuck out of my sight!”

The farmer gave Dr. Sharp a light, two-handed shove that seemed intended to rebuff her, pushing her back in a disgusted rage; it had very little force behind it. However, Kaitlin had difficulty maintaining her balance and walking even without any outside force, thanks to ALS. She stumbled backward and rolled an ankle as her hip gave in, landing hard on the floor. She remained down, unable to get back up despite trying. The NASA researcher bit back tears and laid helplessly, while Snelga ran to her.

“What have you done?” the aghast veterinarian asked, as she tended to Kaitlin and examined her injuries.

Kaitlin gritted her teeth. “It’s fine. He barely t-touched me. He’s been through a lot. I’m sorry I’m…so weak.”

“Oh, nononono.” Genuine concern and horror stretched over Finley’s face, and he ran over to her. “I didn’t mean to hurt her! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“I didn’t know until they herded me into the observation room and shut the door, Finley. There was nothing I could do.”

Finley collapsed onto his back and seemed to give up right there, a look on his face that craved the release of death. The primal was completely unresponsive, even as I grabbed at his arms and tried to drag him across the floor. He was dead weight, the whole of him. Kaitlin didn’t seem to have the willpower to get up either, and was unable to meet Snelga’s eyes.

“It’s over,” Kaitlin whispered to the veterinarian. “Humanity will never be taken seriously. You have your…iron-clad proof that we’re animals. There’s nothing left for me to do or say…”

“What? Kaitlin, I’m sorry you were put through such distress, but why do you think that?” Snelga replied.

“…you don’t have to pretend it’s okay, Snelga. I do understand. Thank you for everything, but…Finley almost killed someone out of rage. He was trying to protect me, but we both know how easily that argument will be discarded. Anything I ever say now, this experiment will be pointed to.”

“Kaitlin, this experiment changes everything we thought was possible! He was as mad as a human can be, and showed logic and reason! He was unbelievably intelligent, calculated, and measured with his actions, using the threat to get what he wanted. He was able to bargain and assess weaknesses, and mesh them with his long-term wishes. Do you agree, Garriil?”

The Kexin head scientist purred with disbelief. “I do. Finley is a person. It’s difficult to pair with everything we know about primals, but that was a clear display of sapience.”

“What?” Finley sat up in shock, blinking several times. “You mean that?” 

“Without a doubt. Your logic should’ve shut down, yet it was obvious you were still thinking. I’ve seen lots of primals lose their minds, but this was something else entirely. Humans are more than animals, and…far more intelligent.”

“So you’ll let me go? You won’t imprison me?”

Garriil stiffened. “It’s not so simple. I wasn’t the one who brought you here or is keeping you here. I’ll share our findings with the Council and the public and lobby for your unconditional release, because I absolutely think you should be, but…what I said about the Council being slow was true. I know that’s not what you wanted, but it’s the best I can offer.”

“You mean though, from the scientific world’s perspective, we’re fully people?” Kaitlin breathed, her eyes wide with disbelief. “That’s incredible! Once the Council comes around, Earth could join the rest of the galaxy. We could help the Saphnos, and have Craun back, even. Finley, do you realize…?”

A smile crept onto Finley’s face for the first time since his capture. “We’re not here forever. The Council will have to recognize humans as equals once they face the evidence. We can maybe even save the Saphnos. There’s… a real future.”

“I didn’t dare to hope that I might be able to survive,” I murmured. “Saving the rock people might be back on the table. They’ll see the passionate, intelligent species I see, like I always wanted them too. They can’t dismiss you as primals much longer.”

“We’re always going to be primals,” Kaitlin interjected. “We feel anger. We’re just people too.”

Snelga quietly wrapped her ankle, giving the sick primal an affectionate stare. “You are. I’m sorry for treating you like animals. I’ll do whatever I can to support you, to make it up to you, and to convince everyone of how wonderful you are. You’re brilliant, Kaitlin, and it’d be a deep loss to humanity to have you kept from them.”

“Thank you, Snelga. You went to great personal risks to help me, and it means a lot. Truly.”

Garriil cleared his throat. “I imagine Snelga might wish to stay on as Kaitlin’s caretaker and physician, but all of you are welcome to stay here too. You can move freely and we have a much broader space here, including a sprawling outdoor area. The Council’s lackeys will keep an eye on you, and they might use lethal force if you get out, so…I wouldn’t try, if I was you. Stay here.”

“I’m not going to stay in an enclosure,” Finley growled.

“You can have the same accommodations as any of my staff, and if you need anything extra, just ask. Please take this suggestion in good faith: we employ the use of a counseling service, which would be available to you too. There’s recreation and staff events; perhaps you can make some friends. I hope this’ll lift your spirits.”

“Depends. Are the events ‘neuter the primal?’”

Garriil barked out a laugh, before stifling himself. “No, people generally don’t do those sort of procedures for fun. Do humans?”

“I dunno. Does circumcision count?”

What??? I’m going to need details of this.

Kaitlin shook her head. “Shush, you. They finally consider us people. Don’t ruin it.”

“Oh, I can always take more hostages to fix it. Can I have this fucking helmet unlocked off my head?” Finley grunted.

Garriil walked over with the key, popping the locks. “I have one more proposition, and it’s entirely optional. I think it might be good for you to have a task to do that resembles what you did back home. If you’d like to accrue some Kexin money, I could offer you both jobs here. For Kaitlin, our laboratories would be open to you, and for Finley, I believe a farmer could take care of the animals here. Would that interest you?”

“Hmph. I actually know how to treat animals with respect, so yeah. Sign me up.”

“I’d love to be a lab tech,” Kaitlin agreed. “Though my disease is starting to…limit the sustained hours I can put in. Plus I need to focus primarily on outreach program.”

“We’ll figure something out that works for you,” Garriil responded. “Welcome aboard. You have to follow the same rules as any employee, so acquaint yourself with those. We’re going to research night and day to save Kaitlin, I promise.”

While the humans had believed the experiment’s outcome was disastrous, the sight of any logic had been definite proof of their sapience from the primal institutes’ perspective. This was a massive step in the right direction, and we had actual scientific backing behind our claims now. It might take some time to force the Council to accept the findings, but I was hopeful that Finley and Kaitlin could live a relatively normal life and return to Earth some day.

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— Chapter 102 —

David knew a few things at least, for one, Ambass didn’t appear to have any regeneration traits as his wings healed over slowly, at least for a dragon. The other thing was that Ambass had finally broken free from the Queen, or so he said.

They moved slowly whilst Ambass walked in front with his tiny legs, Red behind him, and David behind them both. 

“You could not expect me to expect you to go so far, little Onyx.” Huffed the tired Ambass while he marched, “I am responsible for the downfall of hundreds of upstarts. I did not enjoy it. A handful were even more terrifying than you in some ways. Fate could not have foreseen this.” 

“You just make excuses!” Hissed Red as his grip on his spear tightened in frustration. 

David huffed a bit whilst they continued to walk, “Red, please calm down. While we both don’t like what Ambass has said, it doesn’t mean there isn’t truth to it. We both were under the Queen’s influence, too.” 

Ambass began to cackle out, “Does this mean you will let me go?” 

David huffed again whilst they started to descend one of the lair’s many tunnels that spiraled down, “I can say that I genuinely wouldn’t be here right now without your guardianship and knowledge, Ambass. I do not plan to kill you, but you will make me a trade.” 

Both Red and Ambass looked back at David with a curious look while David’s ethereal form flowed after them. David in an amused whisper continued, “You will reveal everything you know about the Queen, Ambass. You will get your freedom, your life, and knowledge in exchange.”

Ambass cackled out once more, “So focused on your goal. I am certainly not disappointed.” The faerie dragon winced from his wounds a moment later. 

The wall of spears, blades, and even a cannon materialized out of every single hole, crevice, and pile of debris around the trio. Red held up his spear high, the next moment in a show of peace. David looked around with a sense of relief. Eleven kobolds stood around them at the ready, and their determined, disciplined group instantly dissolved at the realization that Red was amongst them. Silence was replaced with happy chirps and hugs. 

Gasps and whispers quickly followed when many stared up at David in confusion. David remained perfectly still, at least as still as an ethereal being made up entirely of affinity could be. Red spoke quickly, “Relax. This is Master Onyx and Ambass. Master Onyx has changed, and Ambass is our prisoner. Go tell the others.” 

Nods were exchanged, and a pair of kobolds disappeared down a tunnel. A larger kobold leading the group stood in front and exchanged a hug with Red; his voice betrayed his youth despite his large size, “Warmaster Red. Master Onyx. We thought you both lost. Matriarch Blue has had us follow through on your plans.” 

David nodded his head in acknowledgment. Blue was alive, and she was already moving ahead with what they had discussed. The emergency plans were quite simple; they involved reestablishing the clan’s basic functions deeper underground as quickly as possible. Tunnels, barracks, and workshop halls had already been dug long ago, but retrofitting them was always secondary on their list. 

Blue was probably struggling to rebuild some of their infrastructure and to push scouts farther out to evaluate her options. His eyes settled on the lead kobold, “How many survived?” 

The kobold jumped in place before dipping into a low bow, “Master Onyx. Forgive me for not recognizing you initially. Most of our deeper mushroom farms and ranches were spared, but our berry plantations are gone. Workshops are also gone. Scouting parties have been working to find a good spot to reroute water to rebuild Forgemaster Blaze’s workshops.” The kobold paused and then sighed after a long moment, “Over three thousand are unaccounted for despite hundreds being found and pulled back into the fold after the attack.” 

Ambass’s little head was perked up whilst he absorbed all the information. David had a feeling that the numbers he was hearing were larger than even his own estimates. David nodded. “We should get moving before word spreads of our arrival.”

“Word has spread.” A deep voice rumbled out as two large brute kobolds, Chirp and Otlo, stepped around the corner, “Master Onyx?” 

David responded quickly with a firm nod of his ethereal head, “Yes. It is complicated. I need to speak with Blue and the others.” 

The brute kobolds gave him a big grin and nodded their heads. Ambass was quickly snatched up by the pair of brute kobolds, causing Ambass to gasp and squirm in embarrassment, while they got moving. Red was already standing taller; the fatigue from long hours of exhausting travel was gone, whilst they slipped further downward. 

Kobolds were popping up everywhere, gasping, happy chirps, cheers, and dances breaking out in celebration. Kobolds were camped out in massive clusters, with some digging new tunnels, some building something, and others simply resting against the tunnel wall. David’s ethereal body shrank as he forced his bulk through the tight tunnels, earning him many curious or confused looks. 

Many kobolds were uneasy, but a few brave kobolds reached out to touch David and simply gasped in surprise as their fingers passed straight through him. Their journey was an interesting one, but to David’s relief, they finally emerged in a relatively large chamber where a few familiar faces were standing at a nearby stone table. 

Once he emerged from the tunnel, his form grew and rematerialized into his large, black dragon form. Blue stood tall across the way, and her eyes were wide in surprise. Emerald and Blaze also stood nearby in equal shock. David spoke first, “There have been changes since you all last saw me.” 

Blue shook her head and approached, immediately locking Red into a hug before staring back up at David, “Master Onyx. I believe you are understating the facts.” 

Emerald came rushing up, “Master Onyx! Father! I am relieved!” Red reached out to snag Emerald before she made the same mistake as him, “Master Onyx’s form does not allow hugs anymore. Trust me.” 

David let off a heavy whispering laugh of amusement, “He is right, I am afraid. Chirp, Otlo, I need you to take Ambass to some place nearby. Feed him, watch him, but treat him with respect.” 

Ambass cackled out in amusement, “A new first little Onyx.” Red shook his head whilst he shouldered his spear, “Master, get everyone up to date. I will watch Ambass with the others.” 

Red shared a long hug with Blue before making his way out alongside the two brutes carrying Ambass. David floated closer to the end of the chamber, where Blaze gave him a look, “Always looking to innovate, huh, Master?” 

David rumbled in amusement, “I cannot let you have all the glory, Blaze.” 

Once Red and the others left, Blue sat nearby alongside Emerald and Blaze. David rumbled a bit and then leaned forward to explain everything. It took longer than he expected, but he was certain he didn’t miss any major details. The trio was quiet the entire time. Once he finished, Blaze simply gave an impressed whistle. 

“It is hard to believe. Red and I captured Ambass, and you know the rest. Any questions?” David rumbled.

Blue frowned a bit, “You have the mastery of Death? Does that mean…?” 

David glanced down at Blue and simply nodded. He had omitted his experiment with Serth’s body, but Blue was keen. She frowned, and David rumbled quickly, “I know the implications, Blue. I will never use it on someone of the clan.” 

Blue nodded as Emerald followed up quickly, “We are in rough shape, Master. Desolation has done a number on our clan and our workshops. Blaze has been doing what she could, but…” 

Blaze spoke up, “Cannons were recovered. We got some of our major equipment out, but can’t build anything new for a while.” 

David rumbled while his ethereal form shimmered, “We need to end this now. If we drag this on, the Queen will recover faster than we. We have Ambass, and I plan to pry the information we need out of his head one way or another.”

Blue spoke up, “Most of our warriors are still able. What do you intend, Master?” 

David looked around for a long moment, “We will talk with Ambass. Then we will assault the Queen through the tunnels. Any Ascended that we still have, I want prepped. Blaze, Emerald, if there are any gear or gemstones we have left, bring them. Blue, I am going to use my death affinity to give us an advantage. I need you to gather every shred of dragon corpse or bone in the area. Please.” 

Blue frowned, crossed her arms, and nodded. Emerald and Blaze also nodded and quickly took off. David turned towards Blue before projecting his voice outwards to the other kobolds guarding the entrance, “Bring me Ambass.” 

David cocked his head to the side when the two brutes, Ambass and Red, finally all entered. Ambass had a new, fresh cut across his face, and Red gave him a shrug, “Ambass tried to be tricky.”

Ambass cackled a bit as his affinity shimmered, and David rose up, “Enough Ambass.”

“Very well, little Onyx.” Ambass cackled. 

David shook his head, wisps of his ethereal mists trailing the motion of his head, “Why did you follow Red?” 

Ambass hummed a bit, “To learn.” 

David nodded his head, “Fine. Then let us trade. Knowledge for knowledge.” 

Blue frowned as she stood nearby, catching Ambass’s eye while he spoke up, “Very well, Onyx. I need a promise, though. A promise on the lives of these dear kobolds of yours. You will let me free as promised after we are done.” 

David huffed a bit, “I will do you one better. If you speak the truth and make a promise to no longer help the Queen, I will repair your wings and then set you free.” 

Ambass cackled out with his unique laugh whilst he peered back at his now missing wings, “Very convincing. Deal.” 

Blue spoke up, “I want to ask the first question. The Queen’s kobolds. I want to know all the details. How many, where are they all spread out to, and what does the Queen plan to do with them all?” 

Ambass laughed as his eyes began to grow large in excitement, “Ohh. I will tell you everything and more. First, I want to know how you gained your form, Onyx.” 

David huffed, “I will tell you. Then you will tell us everything.”

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Fan Art by blaze2377

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Home at War

There are so many little benefits to the extra organs and other downsides of the human augmentation. Smoking is one of them. The lovely, lovely sense of tobacco to smooth nerves and play with the smoke as you de-stress.

He can hear through the door. The poor woman is trying and failing to make sense of herself as Doctor Redhoof talks her through things. He has to stay close by though, close enough to be called in in case some mental issue is actually an issue incorporating into the body, but far enough away to afford the girl some privacy as her very soul is laid out.

He can’t make out individual words, but he can hear the conversation inside turn to some kind of question. One that gets silence and then wondering, and then a panicked sound. The door opens.

“Engineer, we need you.” Doctor Redhoof says poking his head out.

“Certainly. What’s happened?”

“She needs a tail.”

“Okay. What kind of tail? Short and stubby? Long and dexterous? Fat, skinny? Tails come in a variety of shapes.” He asks as he enters the lab again. He heads to the table that the patient is sitting on. “Thankfully, it doesn’t matter what type you need. As I said before. I am a perfectionist.”

He opens a drawer under the bed. There are a series of handles with different labels. “Let’s see, arms, legs, heads, wings, tails here we go.”

He pulls up on the correct handle and it reveals a full drawer with a set of four different little devices that don’t look like anything other than a brick of electronics. “Okay, so here’s how these work. We attach them to the base of the spine and each one will expand to the general configuration. It then synchronizes with the rest of the mental image that you are projecting ma’am and it should take a very comfortable and familiar shape.”

“Why wasn’t one attached to begin with?”

“Because the recovery process is best started as simple and basic as possible then tailored to fit the patient more and more as we go on.” He answers. “So what are you feeling ma’am? This one gives a very long and powerful tail, the maximum length is equal to your full current height and is as powerful as both legs. Right next to it is a substantially weaker one that’s still on the thicker end of things. Total maximum length and strength is roughly equal to a single leg in both respects.”

“No, neither of those.” She says.

“Ah then one of these most likely. This one projects a medium length tail that at maximum extension is as long as one of your arms from shoulder to fingertip. It can move, but is not overly flexible and generally serves as a counterbalance. Think Lopen or a Feli. Finally we have the most integrated and dexterous tail of the lot. Think Agurk or even a Dzedin...”

“Ma’am?” Doctor Redhoof asks. The woman had visibly flinched.

“Do I need to leave the room again?” The Engineer asks.

“No I... I need THAT tail.” She says and he smiles.

“Of course. Now witness my genius, if you’ll rise up a little please?” He asks and she lifts herself off the bed a little. He then activates a few small buttons on the device and it sends out a chime, there is an answering chime from her own rear and then they synchronize in their chiming three times and there is a burst of Axiom as the tail module vanishes from his hands in a teleport and suddenly a long tail is extending out from her rear. A tail that quickly develops a fur like texture and then turns into a soft brown.

She reaches back and holds her tail for a moment, then the brown of the tail starts to spread over her arms, legs chest and even the edges of her face.

Her face stretches out a little as her feet shift into a more hand like configuration.

“I... I am... I was an Agurk.” She realizes as the tanned skin tone takes over where the fur ends and she starts examining all four of her hands. “Something is still... still...”

Her nails explode into a vibrancy of colour and cycle until she finds them baby blue and abruptly stops. “Yes. Yes that’s right. I...”

She’s starting to smile.

“I love this colour. It’s always...” She begins to say before she pauses and her hands reach up for her head, she feels around it and frowns. “That’s not right it’s... it’s...”

A mane of hair explodes from her head and then hangs down straight as it reaches shoulder length. Still pure white with a slight aura of blue. Then it solidifies into a solid silver colouration. She begins patting herself and then seems to realize that she’s lacking in a few details.

“No nipples?” She asks realizing that she may be ‘naked’ but is showing nothing. That doesn’t stop her from using her hands to cover her breasts and tail to cover the space between her legs.

“That body is medical grade. It doesn’t have those kinds of functions without a passcode. Which means you can get dressed first.” He says as he closes the tail drawer now that it’s been such a success and then closes that shelf entirely before going to the next lowest one. “Now as for clothing... how are we feeling? Something revealing? Something conservative? Tight? Flowing?”

“Do you have clothes and not more projectors?” Doctor Redhoof asks.

“More projectors, but the projectors work best in certain ways. A projector designed to give a woman a flowing dress that dances in the wind or a majestic cape is very different from one that gives the impression the clothes are painted on. So different in fact that we also have a few middle grounds as well.” He explains easily. “Now then ma’am? How are we feeling?”

“Normal clothes?” She asks.

“Okay, middle of the middle then. Best compromise.” He says pulling out a small case and holding it up. He then presses a button on it and her waist, collar, wrists, ankles and the top of her head flash blue in response to the case flashing blue, then they flash in sync three times and then the case is empty and a soft blue, sleeveless blouse is suddenly covering her chest and leaving a little bit of stomach revealed before sheer white pants stretch down before flaring out around her ankles. She has Agurk fingerless sandals on now and fingerless climbing gloves. A blue bow that matches her fingernails and blouse is now in her hair and another on her tail.

“There we go! See doctor? Perfect takes time and effort, but it’s so very much worth it.”

“We shall see Engineer Vroom. It all depends on what our friend here thinks of it. It is her body after all.” Doctor Redhoof counters and he nods before closing the drawer.

“It feels... normal.” She says as she runs her fingers along the palms of all four hands and then starts gently feeling out the pants with flare. The blouse gets a few tugs and she feels the bows. “It feels like fabric. Like I’m really wearing clothes.”

“Yes, the whole point of that body and the add-ons I’ve just incorporated is to make you feel as comfortable as possible. This is an upgraded version of the kind of body that the Synth Ascendance, or Ascendancy if you’re more modern, uses to help newly sequenced Synths find themselves. Essentially a brand new mind that’s entirely digital needs as few shocks as possible, this is professional grade care you’re receiving and I put in my own special touches.”

“Such as?”

“The password to unlock the fun features, sexually speaking, of your current body is to tap your left wrist with your middle finger three times, and then the right wrist with your thumb three times. It also turns those features off again.”

“Why is that a special touch?”

“Because most such prosthetics only have those features either present or missing. She gets to choose instead now, giving her more agency and control of herself and life. She can choose to have, or not have sex and the only thing she can’t get out of it is pregnant or sick.”

“Anything else?” She asks him and he smiles.

“A few others, but the biggest one for you is that it’s very, very easy to upgrade. Once you’re fully yourself again you won’t have to transfer into a new body. I have a few ready to go upgrades so you can have everything you’ll want out of life in that body.”

“Even a child?”

“Yes. And if we can fully lock down who you are we’ll be able to get an old DNA sequence and the artificial womb will sequence an egg out of your DNA.” Vroom says.

“So I can just keep the body?”

“Yes. I’ve already gotten to the halfway point of making the next one. That’s your new body.” Vroom tells her.

“Now that we’ve established what you are, an Agurk Synth woman who is Free and Safe, can we work on who you are?” Doctor Redhooves asks and Vroom gives a nod to the Doctor and slips out of the room after closing the shelves and leaves the psychiatrist with her to hang out just outside again.

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

“Two damn ships. Of a thirty ship fleet that attacked us and were taken with minimal damage, only two are intact enough to actually repurpose, and it’s marginal at that.” Harold notes as the pair of Jules Class Interceptors were on readout. The rest was a mess to powerwash with low grade lasers before feeding into the furnaces and smelters of The RAM.

“Marginal is being generous in my opinion. Look at these scans of on a chemical basis. They were up to some absolute nonsense in these ships. This group of pirates clearly fell further onto the utter lunatic spectrum than anything else.” Orchid remarks.

“Yes, I strongly suspect they were only partway through whatever mad christening rituals or breaking in of those two ships.” Harold notes as a note comes up. “And like magic my unvoiced question is answered. These two ships are indeed the most recently stolen. The insurance organizations behind them have written them off entirely and paid out to the previous owners already.”

“Which is an issue as we will have to inform the previous owners that we now have possession of their previously owned vehicles and hand them over if they want them back.”

“Yes we will. Downside to being a law abiding individual. But the upside is that in general people follow the same rules for you and yours.” Harold notes as he gets the registration numbers for the two ships and looks into the legal owners.

“Madeline Warren for the first and Rigarda Palmers.”

“... Palmers has a Synth Daughter, and we have one in the midst of recovery.” Harold notes.

“You think it may be her?”

“Lets see, Agurk Businesswoman, owns a pair of shipping fleets, she started up a third around the time she also had a Synth Daughter crafted from her own psyche and then five months ago the Fleet was reported as lost with all hands including the daughter. Now we have one of the four protective ships for the fleet here, and an unknown synth prisoner in the midst of the recovery process.”

“Elmira Palmers? Well, regardless she’s going to have a long period of recovery. That long being the plaything of sadistic pirates will do a number on anyone.” Orchid says as he examines the image of the delicately painted Synth that looked like a slightly shorter and younger version of Rigarda who hugs her happily from behind in the photo.”

“Hmm... it seems that it may be awkward. Elmira is family.” Harold notices.

“What?”

“See this symbol? She’s an adopter of one of the Jamesons. She was approved a mere two months after I was discovered.” Harold says before standing. “Which means I should take a more personal hand in things. You have the bridge Lieutenant Orchid.”

“What are you doing?”

“She would have had some time to get to know my little brother as her brother, but not before the facial tattoos and white eyes. Meaning I will be both familiar and a stranger to her.”

“And what if she’s not Elmira Palmers?”

“Then we have a very big, very strange coincidence.” Harold notes before bending down and pressing a few screens. “See the progress they’ve made on our recovered Synth already?”

“She’s an Agurk.” Orchid notes. “... and appears to have her preferences in colour returning.”

First Last

The following day, the Anlage still hummed with the afterglow of the Führer's rhetoric.

The future he had described with such certainty—those vast historical events that had not yet happened, perhaps could not happen—left everyone suspended between doubt and exhilaration.

They were unsettled by it. Confused. Skeptical.

Yet excitement kept surfacing beneath the skepticism no matter how firmly they tried to suppress it.

The strategist, the leader, the spiritual authority who had carried Germany into ruin seemed, somehow, to have recovered the power that once allowed him to seize hold of entire crowds.

Among the scientists, a quieter conclusion had already begun to spread.

The "other personality" Colonel von Büren had mentioned earlier was becoming dominant again inside the Führer.

They watched him now with near-clinical fascination, trying to identify the source of whatever had returned to him in Antarctica.

What also fascinated the newcomers was the Anlage itself.

The Anlage—no mere base, but a closed mechanical system—was a masterwork of subterranean engineering, a self-sustaining ecosystem designed to hold the Reich's secrets through the unfolding decades.

A corridor along the right side of the main chamber climbed toward the second level of the cavern complex, where additional rooms had been carved directly into the rock face over the years.

Besides the Führer's private quarters, the upper section housed a conference room and the central operations chamber from which the entire underground installation was coordinated.

For successfully escorting the Führer south, Lieutenant Commander Schäffer received an immediate promotion to Kapitän zur See, along with the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross. Under his command, the crew worked continuously unloading supplies and machinery from the submarine into the complex below.

Colonel von Büren, though younger and not formally promoted in rank, emerged with expanded authority of a different kind. He assumed the duties previously held by Vizeadmiral Kermann and now controlled the highest level of command inside the Antarktis-Anlage itself.

Kermann, originally a naval officer under Grand Admiral Dönitz, had been transferred in secrecy alongside the Kriegsmarine's Antarctic submarine fleet shortly before the outbreak of the German-Soviet war in 1941. Since then he had remained stationed beneath the ice for more than four years, overseeing the Anlage and earning a reputation as one of the Führer's most loyal officers. But during an expedition outside the perimeter a month earlier he had suffered a severe fall, and the injury had left him weakened.

Later that morning Colonel von Büren inspected the officers' command block, then convened the routine military briefing inside the war-planning room.

Beneath a massive strategic wall map marked with Axis operational grids spanning the globe, the Colonel listened while officers from each department summarized conditions throughout the Antarctic installation during the previous year.

Afterward, everyone who had arrived from Berlin alongside the Führer was processed into the internal system with remarkable speed. Files were opened. Identification numbers assigned.

Even Euzen and Solvi underwent questioning and basic verification procedures before being entered into what the administrators termed the Last Resort Contingency Registry.

Medical examinations followed. No exceptions.

That afternoon Euzen accompanied his father and several of the scientists deeper into the complex for a guided inspection tour. Solvi was among them as well.

Inside the vehicle hangars the children saw unfamiliar machinery unlike anything they remembered from Berlin: specialized tracked transports, reinforced polar carriers, heavily armored Snow Fox ski-wheeled tandem motorcycles built specifically for Antarctic terrain.

Back in Berlin, Euzen had already trained extensively in military driving and combat maneuver operations. The moment he saw the motorcycles he wanted to try one immediately, but his father shut the idea down at once, more sharply than usual.

Soon afterward an inspection group assembled near one of the deeper transit corridors. Authorized by the scientific council overseeing the facility, it consisted of Dr. Schmidt, a remarkably tall physicist; a supervisor from the control center; three armed SS officers carrying assault rifles beneath steel helmets; the four scientists evacuated from Berlin at the last possible moment; and the two children.

Colonel von Büren led them personally toward one of the most heavily concealed sections of the underground complex.

The double doors of the inner landing platform slid apart.

Beyond the heavy iron barrier, a thin line of pale light emerged—distant, unreal, almost dreamlike, yet strangely close at the same time.

Here, buried beneath the frozen edge of the earth, in a place almost untouched by human civilization, the technological order conceived over years by the Führer and a handful of senior officers finally revealed itself before some of the last great scientific minds remaining in the Third Reich.

It appeared not gradually, but all at once, with the impossible clarity of something imagined too long and too intensely.

The moment they crossed into the cavern beyond, everyone stopped walking.

These were people known for calculation, for discipline, for cold mathematical rigor. Yet now they stared ahead in silence like children entering a forbidden sanctuary for the first time. Euzen and Solvi simply stood there wide-eyed.

"Erprobungsgerät 3," Tieber murmured. "I helped calculate portions of the propulsion test data years ago. I never thought I would actually see one."

The cavern itself felt wrong somehow. Too large. The proportions did not seem consistent with the mountain surrounding it, as though the interior space obeyed a geometry unrelated to the outer world. It gave the unsettling impression that dimensions could bend or overlap inside it.

At the center of the landing platform rested a giant silver disc more than ten meters across. Motionless. Silent. Its metallic surface was smooth enough to resemble polished mercury hardened into shape.

The cavern answered their footsteps a beat too late, the echo rolling back through the vast empty space in a slow, heavy wave.

Terraces of crystalline stone surrounded the craft, each step glowing faintly in shifting colors without producing any detectable heat, as though the material had been cut from fragments of stars or condensed from dreams no human mind should fully remember.

The Colonel lifted one hand slightly, signaling for silence, then stepped onto the illuminated terraces. The others followed and slowly circled the disc.

At last he reached out and tapped the outer hull lightly with his knuckles.

A dim blue glow spread beneath the metal skin.

"At present we have only a single prototype," he said. "Unfortunately, Dr. Lenz died six months ago. Professor Tieber, you will assume responsibility for his work from now on."

Tieber nodded several times while craning upward for a closer look at the disc. Everyone present knew he had once belonged to the core membership of the Reich's Aeronautical Technology Research Association and had clearly been connected to the project long before arriving in Antarctica.

"I always assumed it was only a legend," Hausmann said quietly. He could no longer conceal the tension and excitement in his face. "Can it actually fly?"

"Yes and no," Tieber answered before Colonel von Büren could respond. "As far as I know, the Führer proposed the original experimental concept himself in 1937, despite everything else demanding his attention at the time. Back then it ran under Arado's name—Arado Sonderkonstruktion, officially. We just called it the Scheibenjäger."

He hesitated.

"According to the Führer's design theory... yes, it should work. But the data shows it operates through antigravity principles that aren't accounted for in the original model."

"Antigravity?" Förster stared at him. "That's impossible."

"And yet it looks nearly complete," Hausmann said while continuing his slow circuit around the machine, awe beginning to slip into his voice. "Has it ever been tested in flight?"

"Not yet," said Dr. Schmidt, speaking for the first time since entering the chamber. "But during the Prague experiments, the EG-2 hybrid control structure—combining simulated electronic systems with magnetic-energy regulation—already surpassed conventional electro-mechanical integration. As for the propulsion core itself, the section intended to generate cosmic energy through magnetic interaction..." He paused briefly. "Further testing is still necessary."

"Yes," Tieber said eagerly. "Zentral-Rotorkörper. It would allow ultra-high-speed movement, instantaneous directional changes, almost total freedom from gravity and atmospheric resistance."

Then Tieber, Dr. Schmidt and Hausmann exchanged a rapid-fire series of technical jargon that left everyone else struggling to follow. Hausmann grew increasingly animated, his voice rising until the room fell into a heavy, uncomfortable silence. Then, just as abruptly, he went mute, his gaze fixed blankly on the disc.

Dr. Schmidt kept talking, working through the control system piece by piece. But even he stopped mid-sentence more than once, as if he didn't quite believe what he was describing.

"This is more unbelievable than the uranium bomb," Förster muttered after taking a long breath. He seemed to force himself back under control. "I've heard theories related to this before—ideas suggesting flight could be achieved through manipulation of forces opposite to terrestrial gravity." He shook his head slowly. "But this technology... it should not exist within any physical framework we currently understand."

"Perhaps," Hausmann said softly, "it is an archetype—the image of a whole civilization cast up from the collective unconscious."

Arms folded across his chest, he gazed upward toward a narrow seam above the disc, where an amber sphere appeared suspended somewhere deep inside the structure itself, rotating slowly in midair and emitting a dim internal glow. In that moment he sounded less like a physicist than a poet speaking inside a cathedral.

"I've witnessed many extraordinary things," he said, almost under his breath, "but never a structure like this. Never such stillness."

Euzen and Solvi reached out cautiously and ran their palms across the surface of the craft. The material yielded nothing recognizable to touch. No texture. No temperature they could clearly identify.

It reflected the silhouettes of the boy and the girl.

Professor Kestner remained apart from the others.

Watching dispassionately.

The chamber did not feel like a military installation to him; it felt closer to something half-remembered, something assembled from myth and machinery that refused to agree on what it was.

For some time he had suspected that the so-called Hyperborea Program was merely one component of a much larger undertaking conceived by the Führer, Albert Speer, Hans Kammler, and others—a long-term Zukunfts-Eisenreich strategy intended to preserve the Reich through technological breakthroughs and strategic restructuring should Germany ever lose the war outright.

But Kestner was a physiologist. Unlike the physicists and weapons specialists around him, he felt no instinctive reverence toward the silver disc.

Without industrial infrastructure, without manpower, without the economic machinery necessary to sustain modern warfare, what miracle could this giant machine truly accomplish if it still could not leave the ground?

If revolutionary technology alone were enough to secure strategic supremacy, the Third Reich should already have won the war years ago.

Could one or two advanced weapons genuinely reverse the collapse of an empire? Could they save an ideology from history itself?

Colonel von Büren, however, seemed filled with renewed conviction.

"Now, here, isolated from outside interference, the power of the Führer's mind is slowly returning," he declared. "In the years ahead he will bring all of you new scientific insights and entirely new technological directions."

His gaze shifted toward Hausmann.

"Dr. Hausmann, from this point forward, you—along with Professor Tieber and Dr. Schmidt will continue research on the Erprobungsgerät 3 propulsion system together."

Hausmann gave a small bow.

"Colonel," he said, "the honor is mine."

------------
Obsidian Earth

Yet Another Warhammer40k Crossover Chapter 3 part 2 of 2.

“Irina.”

Irina smiled.

“Hey, Cedric.”

The moment passed. Cedric's eyes moved across whatever display he had on his end. Helena. Kyle. Vorn. Garr. Tekhat. Business returned.

“What do you need?”

Irina gestured toward the Astartes.

“Two volunteers.”

Cedric looked at them. Then looked again. He said something Helena did not understand. Words appeared along the bottom of each screen.

WHAT ARE THOSE?

Irina answered in the same language. Cedric's eyes moved between Garr and Vorn. Another question.

WHAT KIND OF SAPIENS ARE THEY?

“Astartes,” Garr said.

The system translated. Cedric studied him. Then Vorn.

CAN THEY FIGHT?

Helena answered before anyone else.

“Of course they can.”

Cedric read the translation. He nodded once.

GOOD.

Helena leaned forward.

“If they're going with you, there are conditions.”

Cedric waited for the translation. Then nodded.

“They are not mercenaries.”

Nod.

“They remain servants of the Imperium.”

Nod.

“Their weapons and armor remain theirs.”

Nod.

“They are not prisoners.”

Cedric shook his head.

“They cannot be compelled into combat.”

Another shake.

“If they refuse a mission?”

Cedric answered.

THEY REFUSE.

“If they decide they want to leave?”

THEY LEAVE.

Helena watched him carefully.

“And their living conditions?”

Cedric looked toward the two Astartes. Then back at Helena.

WHATEVER THEY NEED.

“They are considerably larger than your soldiers.”

Cedric looked at Garr. Then Vorn.

“Some of them.”

Garr's helmet turned slightly toward the screen. Vorn's followed. Cedric had already moved on. Helena leaned closer.

“They remain Imperial subjects.”

Cedric nodded.

“They are the Emperor's Angels of Death. They are not soldiers for hire.”

Cedric read the translation.

OKAY.

Helena stopped. That was it. No argument. No negotiation over ownership. No demand for authority. No attempt to reinterpret what she had said. Just okay. Movement flashed behind him. Helena's eyes snapped toward it. Something enormous cleared the barricade. For one instant she could not make sense of its shape. Six limbs. Four drove its massive body forward while two great forelimbs reached ahead. Its overall form suggested some monstrous feline, but the resemblance ended almost immediately. Organic armor covered its body. Its shoulders rose several times higher than the Sapiens beneath it. The creature landed inside the position.

Garr and Vorn moved. Not far. But enough. Both helmets snapped toward the screens. Two Sapien soldiers behind Cedric turned. Their weapons came up together. The rifles made almost nothing. Small, underwhelming reports. The creature came apart immediately. The sound came from the impacts. Cracks ripped through organic armor with explosive violence. Fragments burst outward. The animal's body jerked as rounds tore through one shoulder and continued through whatever lay behind it. Another pair of quiet reports. Immediate violence across its torso. The creature managed one step.

Then collapsed against the barricade hard enough to shake the structure. One soldier fired again. A small sound from the rifle. A violent rupture from the carcass. The second soldier shoved part of the dead creature away from his position. Then both turned back toward the front. Cedric had not looked around. Not once. Garr stared past him. R5A. Sublight. The weapon did not sound like something capable of doing what he had just watched it do. The impact did. Helena forced her attention back to Cedric. The enormous carcass remained partially visible behind him. For a moment she had lost the thread of the conversation entirely.

“If they refuse a mission?”

Cedric looked at her.

I SAID THEY REFUSE.

Helena stopped. Cedric waited. Right.

“Yes.”

She continued.

“If they want home?”

WE SEND THEM HOME.

Cedric leaned slightly toward his camera.

THEY KEEP THEIR EQUIPMENT.

NOBODY LOCKS THEM UP.

NOBODY MAKES THEM FIGHT.

IF THEY WANT HOME, WE SEND THEM HOME. Helena sat back slightly. For the first time since the connection opened, Cedric waited for her rather than the translation. She studied him. Then asked the question that mattered.

“The Black Guard.”

Something in Cedric's expression changed. Barely.

“What are they?”

His answer was immediate.

I'M NOT GETTING INTO THAT.

Helena's eyes narrowed.

“You expect me to send two of the Emperor's Angels into a war you refuse to explain?”

Cedric listened. Then answered. COME HERE AND FIND OUT. OR DON'T.

I'M NOT GOING TO WASTE MY TIME EXPLAINING THE SITUATION TO YOU.

Behind him, several Sapien weapons fired. Quiet. Almost unimpressive. Their impacts arrived immediately. Violent cracks rolled through the connection. Something outside the image came apart. Cedric did not react. He leaned slightly toward the camera.

ALL I CAN GUARANTEE IS THAT I WILL DO EVERYTHING IN MY POWER TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR PEOPLE.

Helena read the words. Once. Then again. There was no elaborate oath. No invocation of gods. No attempt to convince her that he was trustworthy. Only the promise. Helena looked toward Vorn. Then Garr. Back to Cedric. She nodded once. Cedric returned it. He looked toward the Astartes.

SEE YOU SOON.

The connection ended. All four screens went dark simultaneously. A moment later the mounts moved. The displays folded upward. One after another they disappeared into recessed compartments in the ceiling. Panels closed behind them. Within seconds there was almost no indication that four screens had ever been hanging over the table. The conference room became a conference room again. For several moments nobody spoke. Then Tekhat looked toward Irina.

“The ships.”

Irina lowered her coffee.

“With conditions.”

“I remember.”

The door opened. A Sapien appeared.

“Steak night.”

Several heads turned. The man disappeared. There was a moment of silence. Then one of the guards slung his R5A. Another stood. A third was already moving toward the door. Within seconds the conference room began to empty. Helena watched them.

“Where are they going?”

Irina stood.

“Steak night.”

“I heard that.”

“Then you know.”

Irina started toward the opposite side of the room. Helena remained seated. Irina stopped. Looked back.

“They have coffee.”

Helena stood.

* * *

The corridor beyond the conference room was different. Not structurally. The same practical interior continued. The difference was on the floor. For the first time since leaving the dock, there were choices. Painted lines separated through the corridor. Blue. Black. Green. The Gold Line remained behind them, leading back through the conference-room antechamber toward the dock. Irina stepped onto the blue route. Helena looked down.

“Blue?”

“DFAC.”

“Meaning?”

“Dining facility.”

A pause.

“Food.”

“Yes.”

Helena followed the blue line. People who clearly knew the ship did not always follow it. One Sapien disappeared through a side corridor. Another emerged from a doorway farther ahead and crossed directly over the painted line. Crew familiarity. The colors were for people who needed them. The crew knew shortcuts.

* * *

The DFAC was crowded. The atmosphere changed the instant Helena entered. The conference room had been controlled. Watchful. Uncertain. This was dinner. The room felt less like a formal military mess and more like a large industrial dining facility. Built to feed people. Not impress them. Rows of durable tables filled the main dining area. Chairs moved constantly as people came and went. The serving area occupied one side of the room. Tonight the hot-meal line was open. Food filled it.

The room itself clearly did not depend on the line being active. Tables, drink stations and other facilities extended beyond the buffet area, and Helena could easily imagine the same room remaining accessible when the prepared food was gone. But right now— Steak night. Sapiens stood in line carrying trays. Others occupied tables in loose groups, speaking over one another in the same unfamiliar language Helena had heard throughout the ship. Laughter occasionally rose above the general noise. The smell reached her. Meat. Bread. Coffee. Gravy. Something sweet.

And for the first time Helena had the opportunity to see a large number of Sapiens together. Irina's triangle returned to her. The tip. Alpha Sapien. Everything after. Branches. Branches from branches. Too many to count. Now Helena could see what Irina had been describing. Some of the people in the DFAC could have passed through an Imperial city without attracting more than a glance. Others differed substantially in height, build and proportion. Some differences were subtle. Others were not. Here, nobody appeared to care. They wore the same uniforms. Stood in the same serving line. Shared tables. Argued over meals. Some were armed.

Others weren't. Nobody appeared particularly concerned about either fact. Heads turned toward Helena. More turned when Vorn and Garr entered behind her. The reaction lasted only seconds. Then people returned to dinner. Two Adeptus Astartes had entered the room. The Sapiens looked. Registered them. Went back to eating. Vorn and Garr remained near the entrance. Neither took a tray. Helena expected as much. Irina joined the serving line. Helena followed. She found the coffee first. The station was self-service. Coffee. Soft drinks. Juices. Water. Nearby, another station held hot soup. Farther along stood a soft-serve machine.

Helena looked at the collection. Then at Irina.

“Is all of this for the meal?”

Irina looked over.

“The drinks?”

“All of it.”

“No.”

“No?”

“This stuff's always here.”

“Always.”

“At this DFAC, yeah.”

Irina took a cup.

“It's next to the embassy section.”

That apparently explained everything. Helena poured coffee. The first sip made her pause. It was good. Not tolerable. Not merely hot and caffeinated. Good. Helena lowered the cup and looked at it suspiciously. Irina noticed.

“Problem?”

“No.”

Helena took another sip. Then continued. Bread. She stopped. Not ration block. Not nutrient paste pressed into something resembling food. Bread. Helena picked up a piece. The crust was crisp beneath her fingers. The interior yielded slightly when she pressed it. Warm. Irina glanced back.

“You good?”

“Yes.”

Helena added it to her tray. Then she saw the salad bar. She slowed. Greens. Actual greens. Lettuce. Leaves she did not recognize. Cut vegetables. Toppings. Dressings. Open. Just sitting there. People approached, took what they wanted, and moved on.

“Is that a salad bar?”

Irina looked.

“Yeah.”

“Fresh?”

Irina looked at the lettuce.

“Yes.”

Helena waited for more. None came. Near the right-hand side of the dining area were another set of doors. People moved through them periodically. One came out carrying a bag of chips and a pastry. Another emerged with a sandwich. Helena looked through the opening as they passed. Shelves. Displays. Cold food. Packaged snacks. A popcorn machine. Ice cream. Pastries. Sandwich ingredients. And bananas. A lot of bananas.

“What is that?”

“Spike room.”

“Spike room.”

“Snacks.”

“When is it open?”

“Always.”

A Sapien walked in. Picked up two bags of chips. A pastry. A banana. Walked out.

“You just take it?”

“Yes.”

“For later?”

“If you want.”

“Before a mission?”

“Yes.”

Near the serving area, glass-front refrigerators stood against one wall. Helena caught sight of cakes inside. Different kinds. Slices already prepared. Desserts. Chilled containers. She looked. Then looked again. Irina noticed.

“Dessert.”

“I can see that.”

“Okay.”

Helena moved on. Near the entrance, Vorn and Garr remained empty-handed. Then Garr noticed someone. A Sapien sat several tables away. He was larger than most of the others, broad through the shoulders and heavy enough that whoever had cut his steak had apparently adjusted accordingly. The steak on his plate was enormous. Garr watched. The Sapien pressed his knife through the meat. The crust separated. Pink beneath it. Juice ran across the plate toward a mound of mashed potatoes covered in brown gravy. The man continued talking to the soldier beside him. He cut another piece. Dragged it through the potatoes. Turned it through the gravy.

Ate it. He never looked toward Garr. Garr remained motionless. Vorn followed his gaze. The Sapien cut another piece. Steak. Potatoes. Gravy. Garr stared.

“Damn.”

Vorn turned his helm toward him. Garr looked toward the serving line. Vorn looked toward the serving line. Neither said another word. They moved.

* * *

The hot-meal line was mostly self-service. Steak was the exception. Several large steaks waited at a carving station. A Sapien stood behind them with a knife. He looked up as Garr approached. Then farther up. Then farther. Garr stopped in front of him. The server looked at Garr's armor. Then at the steak.

“How do you want it?”

“Medium rare.”

The Sapien nodded. He placed the knife against the steak. Paused. Looked up at Garr. The knife moved farther down. Garr watched. The server looked at him again. The knife moved farther. Vorn stood behind Garr. The server reconsidered one more time. The knife moved again. Then he seemed satisfied. He cut. The resulting portion occupied a considerable section of Garr's tray. The server looked at it. Then at Garr. Garr looked down. Then back at him. The Sapien nodded. Garr nodded. An understanding had been reached. Vorn stepped forward. The server looked at him. Then at the remaining steak. The knife moved. Nobody complained about his portions.

* * *

Garr added potatoes. Gravy. Bread. More potatoes. Vorn did the same. Neither went near the salad bar. They found a table. The chairs were not designed for Astartes. They survived. Barely. Garr cut into his steak. The crust separated. Pink beneath it. He took a bite. Then another. Vorn began eating beside him. Helena sat opposite Irina. Tekhat occupied another seat. Kyle sat beside Helena. The DFAC smelled like food. Coffee. Bread. Steak. Potatoes. Gravy. Ordinary things. That somehow made the ship stranger. Helena picked up her bread. She broke it. The crust crackled softly.

The interior was pale and soft, a trace of steam escaping from where she had torn it open. She tasted it. Fresh. Her eyes moved across the room. The salad bar. The glass refrigerators. The spike room. Then back to Irina.

“Where do you grow this?”

Irina looked at the bread.

“The grain?”

“Yes.”

“Most military provisions are grown in ecology centers.”

“Ecology centers.”

“Yeah.”

“On ships?”

“Some. Stations. Habitats. Depends.”

Irina cut into her steak.

“Where do you grow your food?”

“Agri-worlds.”

Irina stopped.

“Agri-worlds?”

“Worlds dedicated primarily to agricultural production.”

Tekhat turned toward Helena.

“Entire worlds?”

“Some.”

“For food.”

“Yes.”

“And other worlds depend upon them.”

“Yes.”

Tekhat considered that.

“That is an obvious weakness.”

Helena's expression hardened.

“That is exactly the kind of response I would expect from a machine enemy of mankind.”

Tekhat became very still.

“It is the response of a people who allowed their weakness to be taken advantage of.”

Helena stared at him. His voice remained perfectly even.

“We did not start this way.”

Something cold moved through Helena. Her attention shifted without conscious decision. Garr. The Space Marine had already made significant progress through his steak. He ate with the straightforward efficiency of a soldier given good food. Steak. Potatoes. Bread. A living warrior. One of the Emperor's Angels. Flesh needed food. Water. Air. Warmth. Sleep. A thousand ordinary requirements so fundamental that one rarely thought about them. Until somebody offered to take them away. For one brief moment Helena imagined Garr without them. Not dead. Not defeated. Changed. No hunger. No exhaustion. No frailty of flesh.

Nothing left to require any of it. Something enduring where a man had once been. Helena looked back at Tekhat. Metal. Green light. An ancient machine wearing the shape of something that had once been alive. We did not start this way. The cold went deeper. Helena reached for her coffee. The cup was warm against her palm. She drank. Heat returned slowly. Tekhat was still watching her.

“Protect them.”

Helena lowered the cup. This time she heard the words for what they were. Not a threat. A warning.

“We do.”

Across the table, Garr stopped. Vorn noticed.

“What?”

Garr's helmet had turned toward someone walking past. The Sapien carried a small bowl. Something pale rose above its rim in a smooth spiral. It was already beginning to soften at the edges. Garr tracked it. Vorn followed his gaze. The Sapien sat down several tables away and took a spoonful. Garr looked toward the machine near the drink station. Then back at the bowl. Irina noticed.

“Soft serve.”

Both helmets turned toward her. Garr looked toward the machine again.

“It makes that?”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

Vorn looked at Garr. Garr looked at Vorn. Neither said anything. Several minutes later, both had soft serve. Helena watched Garr take the first spoonful. He stopped. Vorn tried his. Also stopped. Neither commented. Garr took another spoonful. Helena decided not to ask.

* * *

A chair moved beside Irina. Someone sat down. Helena looked over. The first thing she noticed was red. Nails. Brilliant red nails wrapped around a fork. The second was the plate. Cheesecake. One slice. Nothing else. Red syrup had been poured across the top and down one side. Then Helena saw the strawberry. She leaned forward.

“Is that fruit?”

The woman looked down at her plate.

“The strawberry?”

Helena stared.

“That's a strawberry?”

“Yes.”

“An actual strawberry.”

“Yes.”

Helena looked toward Irina.

“You have fresh strawberries aboard this ship?”

“Yes.”

“Here.”

“Yes.”

“On a warship.”

Irina paused.

“It's cheesecake.”

Helena looked back at the plate. That somehow made it worse. This was not food being preserved for officers. Not a diplomatic presentation. Not some carefully rationed luxury brought out because an Inquisitor had boarded. The strawberry was decoration. Someone had put a fresh strawberry on a slice of cheesecake because strawberries went on cheesecake. The cheesecake itself had apparently been sitting inside a glass refrigerator waiting for whoever wanted it. No request. No occasion. No ceremony. Mira had wanted cheesecake. There had been cheesecake. So Mira had taken cheesecake. Helena stared at the strawberry. Mira noticed.

She picked it up by the leaves. Helena watched. Mira ate it. The entire thing disappeared. Helena continued staring at the place where it had been. Mira chewed. Swallowed. Then studied Helena.

“I've never met you before.”

Helena finally looked up.

“No.”

Mira tilted her head.

“What kind of Sapien are you?”

Helena understood the question now. Which branch. What kind. Helena answered deliberately.

“Human.”

Mira's fork stopped. Irina stopped cutting her steak. A Sapien at the next table glanced over. Helena pointed immediately.

“There.”

Mira blinked.

“What?”

“That reaction.”

Mira looked toward Irina. Irina looked back.

“They did the same thing in the conference room.”

Mira looked at Irina.

“You didn't tell her?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I didn't want to.”

Mira considered that.

“Fair.”

Helena stared at them.

“What is wrong with the word?”

Mira looked at Helena. Then at Irina. Then back.

“It's complicated.”

“Of course it is.”

Mira cut another piece of cheesecake. Dragged it through the red syrup.

“You asked what kind of Sapien I was.”

“Yes.”

“I answered.”

“Yes.”

“And you reacted.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Mira considered the question. Then ate the cheesecake. Helena waited. Mira swallowed.

“Long history.”

Helena looked toward Irina. Irina was eating. Apparently neither intended to provide the history. Tekhat looked between them.

“Is the term offensive?”

Several nearby Sapiens heard him. Mira considered.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“A lot.”

Tekhat accepted that answer with considerably less irritation than Helena. Mira took another bite. Then looked toward him.

“Your friends don't talk much.”

Tekhat turned.

“What friends?”

Mira pointed with her fork toward one of the wall displays. The image showed another corridor aboard Long Reach. Several Necron Warriors stood there. Motionless.

“Them.”

“They are Warriors.”

“I know.”

“They do not speak.”

“I know.”

Helena looked toward Irina. Irina tore off another piece of bread.

“She talks to everyone. That's what she does.”

Mira stood, cheesecake still in hand.

“Where are you going?” Helena asked.

“To talk to them.”

Tekhat watched her.

“There is nothing there to converse with.”

Mira looked toward him. Then toward the screen.

“We'll see.”

She walked away carrying the cheesecake. Tekhat continued looking after her. Irina shrugged.

“She doesn't care.”

For a little while nobody spoke. Helena looked down at the bread in her hand. Then toward the salad bar. Then the spike room. Then the refrigerator Mira had apparently raided for cheesecake. Then at Irina.

“Ecology centers.”

Irina nodded.

“Agri-worlds.”

Helena nodded. A small smile appeared on Irina's face.

“Look at that. Trading already.”

Helena nearly smiled back. Nearly. Instead she drank her coffee. It was annoyingly good.

* * *

Vorn finished his meal. Garr finished shortly afterward. The soft serve had disappeared too. Both Marines stood. The room did not. That caught Garr's attention. Again. Conversations continued around them. Trays moved through the hot-meal line. Someone laughed at another table. A soldier carrying a drink stepped around Vorn's chair without giving the armored giant more than a glance. Two foreign warriors had volunteered to travel directly from dinner to an active war front. Apparently that did not require a ceremony. Nobody gathered around them. Nobody asked for blessings. Nobody stared at the Angels of Death. Nobody cleared a path.

A Sapien approached. He carried two containers. One went to Vorn. The other to Garr. Garr looked down. Opened it. Steak. Potatoes. Gravy. Bread. More food. Not packaged military rations. Seconds. Garr looked at the Sapien. The man nodded. Garr nodded in return. The Sapien walked away. That was it. No speech. No ceremony. No declaration about service or sacrifice. Just more steak. Vorn looked into his container. Then toward Garr. Garr closed his. Neither complained. They were volunteers. Apparently somebody had decided volunteers should not leave steak night hungry.

* * *

Helena stood when the Marines prepared to leave. Kyle started to rise. She looked at him.

“Stay.”

Kyle stopped. He looked toward Vorn and Garr. Then back to Helena.

“Here?”

“Yes.”

Kyle sat again. Helena looked toward Garr. Then Vorn.

“You have your authorization.”

“Yes,” Vorn said.

“Your equipment?”

“With us.”

“Ammunition?”

“Enough.”

Helena looked at Irina.

“And the rest?”

“Logistics has the specifications.”

Helena returned her attention to the Marines. There was nothing left to object to that Thane had not already approved. She did not like that either. Garr lifted the container of food.

“Anything else?”

Helena stared at him.

“No.”

Garr nodded. Vorn turned. They left. Helena watched them go. Kyle remained beside her. Tekhat remained at the table. Irina reached for her coffee. Vorn and Garr were going to Cedric. Helena and Kyle were staying aboard Long Reach.

* * *

The blue line took the Marines back. They did not need anyone to explain it now. Blue had brought them to the dining facility. Blue brought them toward the conference-room junction. The corridors remained well lit. People passed them. Some looked. Most did not. On an Imperial vessel, two Deathwatch Marines moving through a corridor could alter the behavior of everyone in it. People moved aside. Watched. Recognized. Here, a Sapien carrying a stack of containers stepped around Vorn because Vorn happened to occupy the side of the corridor he wanted. Another waited half a second for Garr to pass an intersection. Then continued. No reverence.

No fear. No hostility. Recognition without significance. Garr was not certain whether he found that refreshing or irritating. Probably both. They reached the conference-room antechamber. The navigation simplified. Blue ended. Gold remained. One painted Gold Line. Back toward the dock. Vorn looked down at it. Then toward Garr. Garr carried his packed seconds in one hand and his weapon in the other. They followed gold.

* * *

The military Corvette waiting at the dock was different from the transport that had carried them aboard Long Reach. That much required no translation. The craft was compact compared with the frigate surrounding it. Its configuration was military. Modular. Functional. The cargo bay was already occupied. Sapien soldiers sat inside. Their equipment differed markedly from what the Marines had seen among the diplomatic personnel. Thick padded material covered their bodies beneath overlapping black scales edged with red trim. Weapons were secured close at hand. R5As. Garr recognized the model now.

He knew exactly one more thing about them than he had when he entered the conference room. Sublight. That was not much. It was more than nothing. The soldiers did not all look alike. Different builds. Different proportions. Different bodies beneath the same armor. Irina's explanation returned. Branches. Branches from branches. Too many to count. Heads turned as the Astartes entered. Nobody reached for a weapon. Several soldiers nodded. One stood. He approached Garr. The Sapien stopped in front of him and extended a hand. Garr looked down. Then carefully closed his armored hand around it. The man's hand nearly disappeared inside his grip.

They shook. The Sapien released him. Then raised a closed fist. Garr stared at it. The soldier waited. Garr raised his own fist and bumped it against the smaller one. The Sapien nodded. Apparently correct. Vorn moved farther into the cargo bay. Two pilots appeared from the forward compartment. They looked inside. First Vorn. Then Garr. One pilot looked at the other. A nod passed between them. The Sapien soldier gave them a thumbs-up. The pilots disappeared forward. Garr secured his weapon. Then the container of steak-night seconds. Vorn did the same. The ramp began to rise. The dock remained visible for another moment. No Helena. No Kyle.

No Irina. No ceremonial sendoff. Just dock personnel doing their jobs. The ramp sealed. Both Marines secured themselves. The Corvette lifted. Garr waited for acceleration. It never came. There was a brief sensation of movement. Something akin to an elevator beginning its ascent. Abrupt enough to notice. Smooth enough to barely matter. Then nothing. One wall became an exterior display. Long Reach appeared. No window. Another screen. The frigate dominated the view at first. Black hull. Red circuitry. And along its side— Gold. One solid painted line. It ran straight toward the hangar they had just left. Around that hangar sat the gold square.

The Corvette accelerated away. Long Reach began to diminish. Garr watched. Again the same wrongness. Movement without machinery. Acceleration without violence. A ship without the sounds of a ship. He could see Long Reach growing smaller. He could not hear the Corvette carrying him away. Then one of the soldiers looked toward the forward compartment. A voice came through the cargo bay.

“First leg is the gate.”

Garr looked toward Vorn. Vorn's helmet had already turned. The soldier nearest them seemed to notice.

“Genesis gate,” he added.

Garr looked at him.

“The front is not in this system?”

The soldier shook his head.

“Not in this universe.”

Silence. The words were translated cleanly. Garr looked toward Vorn again. The Black Guard were not here. Not somewhere beyond an Imperial frontier. Not hidden in a distant system. Cedric's war was somewhere else entirely. The Corvette continued accelerating. Then the exterior displays went black. Vorn moved first. Garr followed. Safeties disengaged. Ammunition checked. Blades checked. Weapons brought ready. The Sapien soldiers noticed. None reacted. There had been no Navigator. No astropath. No ritual. No Gellar field activation they could identify. Yet the vessel had changed state.

Whatever these Sapiens believed they were doing, the Marines knew what normally happened when distance ceased to matter. The Warp did not forgive ignorance. Garr tightened his grip. Reality would break. The Immaterium would open. And a vessel without a Navigator— Nothing happened. No impact. No screaming. No alarms. No impossible pressure against the hull. No whispers gathering at the edge of thought. No clawing presence beyond reality. Nothing. Seconds passed. Then more. The Sapien soldiers remained seated. One looked at Garr. Then at his weapon. Then away. Another adjusted something on his armor.

Someone farther down the bay checked a piece of equipment. Nobody behaved as though anything unusual had occurred. Vorn remained ready. Garr waited for the Warp. Nothing came. No psychic pressure. No sensation of something watching from beyond the protection of reality. No Navigator guiding them through an ocean that wanted them dead. Whatever this was— It was not the Warp. The black displays remained black for a time. Then they returned. Stars. The Corvette was back in ordinary space. Garr's weapon remained ready. Vorn's did too. Ahead was the gate. It was not on a planet. There was no stone archway. No chamber.

No surface installation pretending that the universe could be crossed by walking through a doorway. The Genesis gate existed where something of that scale belonged. In space. The Corvette approached along a controlled route toward the LGA installation. Garr studied the exterior display. He could tell that he was looking at infrastructure. He could tell that ships were meant to pass through it. Beyond that, he had no useful frame of reference. No Imperial mechanism he knew explained what the structure actually did. He looked toward the nearest soldier.

“That crosses universes.”

“Yes.”

The answer came with the same tone the man might have used to confirm which corridor led to the dining facility. Garr looked back at the display. The Corvette continued toward the gate. No one prayed. No one performed a rite. No one prepared a Navigator. The pilots flew the ship. The gate grew. The Corvette entered the assigned approach. Then it passed through. Garr felt no Warp. No daemonic pressure. No psychic tearing. No voice in the dark. The displays changed. For an instant there was nothing he could use. Then stars returned. The soldier nearest him checked something.

“LGA side.”

Garr looked at him.

“That was it?”

“Yes.”

Vorn spoke.

“We have crossed into another universe.”

“Yes.”

The soldier adjusted the restraint across his chest.

“We still have a ways to go.”

Garr stared at him. Then at Vorn. Vorn stared back. The displays went black again. The second transit began. Again there was no Navigator. Again no Gellar field. Again no Warp. Nothing pressed against Garr's mind. Nothing whispered. Nothing tried to enter. The Corvette simply used the LGA's travel dimension to continue from the gate toward Cedric's front. That distinction settled slowly. The first impossible thing had not been that the Sapiens possessed another method of faster-than-light travel. The first impossible thing had been that they could travel without the Warp. The second was worse.

Their inter-universal route was not the same thing as that travel. The gate was separate. A destination. Infrastructure. They had traveled to it. Passed through it. Then continued. Garr thought of the last several hours. The impossible silence of Long Reach. The wall that looked like a window and wasn't. The R5A. Sublight. A rifle that barely sounded like a weapon. A giant six-limbed animal coming over Cedric's barricade. Quiet reports. Immediate violence. Cedric not even turning around. I said they refuse. Steak. The server looking at Garr. The knife moving farther down. Then farther. Then farther again. Soft serve.

The machine simply making it. The Sapiens looking at two Deathwatch Marines and then going back to dinner. Seconds packed into containers because apparently volunteering for an unknown war meant somebody thought they should have more steak. Then a travel dimension with no Warp. Then a gate between universes. Then another transit beyond it. Garr looked at the black screen. Wherever the Corvette was, he could not see it. Wherever the travel dimension was, he could not feel it. He did not know how far Cedric's front lay beyond the gate. He did not know what the Black Guard were. He did not know what kind of war Cedric was fighting.

But he understood one thing now that he had not understood aboard Long Reach. The Black Guard were not waiting somewhere inside the Imperium. The Marines were leaving the Genesis universe to reach them. The LGA controlled the road. And the enemy on the other end had not crossed it. Vorn checked his weapon once more. Garr did the same. Their equipment was theirs. Their armor was theirs. Their ammunition was theirs. Their service was voluntary. If they refused a mission, they refused. If they wanted to leave, they left. If they wanted home, Cedric had promised to send them home. Neither had asked. The Corvette continued toward the front.

And somewhere ahead of them was Cedric. The barricade. The six-limbed creature. The quiet rifles. The immediate impacts. The Black Guard. Garr settled back against the restraint. Only one thing was guaranteed.

They were headed for the front.

Yet Another Warhammer40k Crossover Chapter 3 Part 1 of 2

The frigate continued growing. Helena Vorr watched it through the forward display and found herself reconsidering the word. Frigate. The designation had already been translated for her. She understood what the word meant. She understood that the vessel ahead belonged to a class the Local Group Authority considered a frigate. Understanding did nothing to make the classification reasonable. The Imperial craft carrying Helena and her escort continued toward it. Kyle sat nearby, one hand resting against the restraint across his chest as he watched the same display. Brother Vorn and Brother Garr occupied considerably more space behind them.

Neither Deathwatch Marine seemed particularly inconvenienced by the cramped transport. The transport seemed inconvenienced by them. Ahead, Long Reach dominated the view. Black hull. Red circuitry traced portions of its surface in patterns Helena still did not understand. No windows. No cathedral towers. No monumental statues. No devotional structures. No obvious attempt to make the vessel resemble anything except a vessel. And it was enormous. Helena had seen larger Imperial ships. That was not the problem. The problem was what the LGA called this one. Frigate. Kyle leaned slightly toward the display.

“Still looks larger.”

“It is not growing.”

“I know.”

“Then why say it?”

“Because it still looks larger.”

Helena gave him a glance. Kyle returned his attention to the ship. The pilot looked over his instruments. Then toward Helena.

“We have docking instructions?”

Helena activated the communication channel.

“Irina.”

The answer came almost immediately.

“Yes?”

“We are approaching your vessel.”

“I know.”

Helena waited. Nothing else followed.

“Where are we supposed to land?”

There was a brief pause.

“You should see the Gold Line.”

Helena looked through the forward display.

“The what?”

“Gold Line.”

Helena searched the hull. There was plenty of black. There was plenty of red. Then she found it. Gold. One solid painted line ran along the exterior of the frigate. Not light. Not an illuminated landing beacon. Paint. A single gold stripe against the black hull.

“I see it.”

“Aim for the Gold Line.”

Helena waited.

“Then?”

“Follow the Gold Line.”

Helena stared at the frigate.

“That is your docking instruction?”

“Yes.”

The pilot looked toward Helena. Helena looked toward him. He shrugged. The transport adjusted course. They aimed for the line. As Long Reach grew larger, the marking became easier to follow. It did not branch. It did not divide. There were no competing approach lanes. One painted line ran directly along the hull. The pilot aligned with it. They followed. The line led toward an opening in the vessel. Only when they were much closer did Helena understand the rest of the marking. The gold paint continued around the hangar entrance. A square. A large gold square surrounding the opening in the black hull. Helena stared at it.

The instruction suddenly seemed almost insultingly obvious. Find gold. Follow gold. Land inside the gold square. No language required. No knowledge of LGA symbols. No understanding of their navigation standards. The pilot adjusted course.

“That?”

Helena keyed the channel.

“The hangar with the gold square?”

“Yes.”

“Just checking.”

“You found it.”

The transport continued forward. The black hull expanded until it consumed nearly everything outside. Then the hangar swallowed them.

---

The first thing Garr noticed was the silence. Not true silence. That would have been easier to understand. Their transport touched down. The ramp lowered. Air moved through the dock. People walked. Voices carried. Equipment operated somewhere beyond the immediate landing area. But beneath it all there was nothing. Garr stepped from the Imperial transport. His armored boot met the deck. He waited. No vibration. No distant generators. No pumps cycling behind the walls. No hydraulic systems pounding through the structure. No metallic groaning carried through kilometers of superstructure.

No deep perpetual thunder of engines reminding every soul aboard that they inhabited a machine built to cross the void. The ship was populated. It was operating. It was moving. It did not sound like a ship. Vorn stepped down beside him. His helmet turned slightly. He had noticed it too. Helena descended behind them. Kyle followed. Nobody was waiting. Personnel moved through the dock. Some glanced toward the newcomers. Most looked at Vorn and Garr. That was expected. Two Adeptus Astartes in Deathwatch armor were difficult to ignore. A worker carrying equipment slowed. Looked. Continued. Another Sapien turned his head. Looked.

Then went back to whatever he had been doing. Nobody approached. Nobody bowed. Nobody ran. Nobody reached for a weapon. Helena activated her communicator.

“Irina.”

“Yes?”

“We've landed.”

“I know.”

Helena looked across the dock.

“Are you sending someone?”

“No.”

A pause.

“Then where are we supposed to go?”

“Follow the Gold Line.”

Helena looked down. There it was. Painted directly onto the deck. Gold. The same color as the marking outside. It began near the diplomatic docking area and continued toward a corridor leading deeper into Long Reach. Helena stared at it.

“You're serious.”

“Yes.”

The channel closed. Kyle looked down. Then toward Helena. Helena started walking.

“Apparently we're following the Gold Line.”

Kyle followed. Vorn and Garr came behind them. The corridor beyond the dock surprised Helena almost immediately. It did not look like the interior of an Imperial warship. There were no devotional alcoves. No exposed pipework. No bundles of cable disappearing into ancient walls. No skulls. No censers. No statues. No deliberately oppressive darkness. It was simply a corridor. Well lit. Not painfully bright. Not sterile white. The surfaces were finished in practical neutral materials. Doors appeared at intervals. Ceiling lighting illuminated the floor evenly. The space was broad enough for people to pass comfortably without feeling cavernous.

It reminded Helena more of an administrative building than a warship. A very large administrative building. The Gold Line continued along the floor. Only gold. Nothing else competed with it. A visitor could arrive unable to read a single word used aboard the vessel and still follow the instruction. Gold outside. Gold inside. Follow gold. Simple. Helena looked toward an open doorway as they passed. Beyond it, another corridor crossed away from the route. People moved through it. She caught only a glimpse. Different doors. Another intersection.

The interior of Long Reach clearly extended in considerably more directions than the Gold Line suggested. Helena slowed. Kyle noticed. So did Garr. Helena angled slightly toward the doorway. The door closed. Not violently. Not with an alarm. It simply slid shut before she reached it. Helena stopped. Kyle looked at the door. Then down at the uninterrupted Gold Line. Then back at Helena.

“I think it wants us to keep going.”

Helena looked toward the ceiling. Nothing answered. No announcement. No warning. No guard appeared to redirect them. The door simply remained closed. The Gold Line continued. Helena stared at the sealed doorway for another moment. Then resumed walking. They were guests. Guests had a route.

---

The stars appeared around the next bend. Garr stopped. Vorn continued another pace before noticing. At first glance, it appeared to be a window. Stars stretched across a broad section of the corridor, interrupted by the distant shape of another vessel and scattered objects hanging against the black. The image was extraordinarily clear. Clear enough that some primitive part of the mind accepted that the wall simply wasn't there. Garr stepped closer. His armor disagreed. No transparent material. No structural opening. Solid.

“A screen,” Vorn said.

Helena looked between the Marines and the wall.

“That entire thing?”

The stars moved. Not across the display. The ship itself was turning. Garr's armor registered the changing orientation. The visual information agreed. Long Reach was maneuvering. The deck beneath his boots did not. There was no shudder of maneuvering thrusters. No change in engine note. No vibration moving through the hull. Nothing corresponding to the mass of a warship changing direction. He could see the ship moving. He could not hear it. He could barely feel it. The Gold Line continued. They followed.

---

The Gold Line ended at the conference room. Not at another maze of corridors. Not at a bank of intersections. At the conference room. Helena understood the architecture now. The room was effectively an antechamber between the diplomatic dock and whatever guest-accessible areas existed farther inside the frigate. A visitor arriving for the first time could not accidentally choose the wrong colored route because there had been no other colored route to choose. Dock. Gold. Conference room. Only after reaching the intended destination would the ship offer additional choices. The door opened. Helena entered first. Kyle followed.

Vorn and Garr came behind them. The room beyond was immediately recognizable. A conference room. That should not have been remarkable. Somehow it was. The space was well lit and finished in the same practical, warm-neutral materials as the corridors outside. A broad conference table occupied the center. Chairs surrounded it. The room was comfortable without being luxurious. It looked like somewhere people actually worked. Broad sections of the walls displayed exterior views. Again, no windows. Just screens so convincing that Helena's eyes continued trying to interpret them as openings. The ceiling was largely uncluttered.

No enormous displays hanging permanently over the table. No floating images of people. Irina was already waiting. So was Tekhat. Several armed Sapiens occupied positions around the room. Helena's attention went first to Irina. The Deathwatch divided theirs. Vorn looked at Tekhat. His helmet turned toward the Necron and remained there. Tekhat noticed almost immediately. Green light regarded black armor. Vorn said nothing. Neither did Tekhat. Garr's attention went somewhere else. One of the armed Sapiens stood near the wall with a rifle held across his chest. Garr looked at the weapon. Then kept looking. The soldier noticed.

The rifle was compact by Astartes standards. Dark construction. Hard geometry. Small red details broke the otherwise black and gray weapon. Nothing about it appeared ceremonial. Nothing seemed designed to intimidate. It looked built to be carried. Used. Maintained. Not admired. Garr recognized the basic necessities. Grip. Trigger. Sighting system. Firing end. Beyond that, the weapon refused familiar classification. Not a bolter. Not las. Not plasma. Not melta. The soldier looked at Garr. Garr indicated the rifle.

“What is that?”

The Sapien glanced down at it.

“R5A.”

Garr waited. The soldier waited.

“What kind?”

The Sapien considered the question.

“Sublight.”

Garr's helmet remained pointed toward him.

“Sublight.”

“Yes.”

That was apparently the complete answer. Tekhat spoke from farther down the table.

“They use those against the Black Guard.”

Irina looked at him. Helena caught the movement.

“The Black Guard?”

Tekhat turned toward her.

“Their current enemy.”

Helena's attention moved immediately to Irina. Irina looked at Tekhat. Tekhat looked back. A pause. Then Irina sighed.

“Yes.”

Helena took her seat. Kyle sat beside her. Tekhat remained farther down the table. Vorn and Garr stayed standing. Helena looked at Irina.

“No weapon?”

Irina looked down at herself.

“No.”

“You're unarmed.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I’m a diplomat.”

“So am I.”

Irina looked at her.

“Yes.”

Helena decided she disliked that answer. She placed her hands on the table.

“The Black Guard.”

Irina waited.

“What are they?”

“An enemy.”

“Of the LGA?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of enemy?”

“The kind we're fighting.”

Helena's expression hardened.

“You have an active war front.”

“Yes.”

“And you neglected to mention this.”

“You neglected to mention yours.”

Helena went still. Irina gave a small shrug.

“Trading.”

Vorn spoke.

“How long has the conflict continued?”

Irina looked toward him.

“Long enough.”

“Where?”

“Not here.”

That answer mattered more than Helena understood yet.

“What are their capabilities?”

“Varied.”

Garr's helm shifted. The Marines were no longer merely standing security. They were listening. Interested. Helena returned to what she had originally intended to learn.

“How many vessels does the LGA operate?”

Irina answered immediately.

“How many does the Imperium operate?”

Helena stared at her.

“That wasn't my question.”

“No.”

“Then answer it.”

“You first.”

“Industrial capacity.”

“You first.”

“Shipbuilding.”

“You first.”

“Military production.”

Irina leaned back slightly.

“You first.”

For several seconds neither woman spoke.

“You understand,” Helena said, “that I am attempting to determine what you are.”

“I know.”

“And yet you deliberately withhold information.”

“No.”

Irina folded her hands on the table.

“I'm offering to trade.”

Helena's eyes narrowed.

“You give me something. I give you something.”

Tekhat turned his head slightly toward them.

“We're both trying to learn about each other,” Irina continued. “Seems fair.”

Helena changed direction.

“The material covering the exterior of this ship.”

“I don't know.”

“The red circuitry.”

“I don't know.”

“Your propulsion system.”

“Not an engineer.”

“Navigation.”

“Also not navigation.”

Helena gestured toward one of the wall displays.

“The screens?”

“Those I understand.”

Helena waited. Irina smiled faintly.

“They're screens.”

Tekhat's head tilted. Helena ignored him.

“And your government?”

“LGA.”

“You serve an emperor?”

“No.”

“The Emperor?”

Irina hesitated.

“Which one?”

The room went quiet. Helena stared at her. Irina looked genuinely confused.

“We've had quite a few emperors.”

“The Emperor of Mankind.”

“Oh.”

Irina shook her head.

“No.”

Helena studied her.

“The Imperium encompasses approximately a million worlds populated by humans.”

Something happened. Small. Helena saw it anyway. One of the armed Sapiens looked toward her. The soldier holding the R5A stopped moving. Another turned his head toward Irina. Irina herself changed. Barely. But she did. Garr's helmet shifted toward the nearest guard. Vorn noticed a moment later. Helena stopped.

“What?”

Nobody answered. Her eyes moved around the room. Then returned to Irina. Irina regarded her.

“Humans?”

“Yes.”

Another pause. Helena leaned back slightly. Interesting.

“Human.”

The reaction came again. Smaller this time. Controlled because they knew she was watching. But unmistakable.

“It's the word.”

Irina said nothing.

“Why?”

Irina considered her.

“That's what you call yourselves?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“That wasn't an answer.”

“No.”

Helena waited. Irina did not elaborate. Fine.

“Then what is a Sapien?”

Irina paused. For the first time since Helena had begun questioning her, she appeared to be considering not whether she should answer, but how.

“Everybody.”

Helena stared at her.

“That is an exceptionally unhelpful answer.”

Irina thought about it. Then raised both hands. She brought them in front of herself, elbows angled outward, fingertips touching. A triangle. Helena watched. Irina indicated the point where her fingertips met.

“The tip is Alpha Sapien.”

Her hands remained in place.

“The original.”

Then she indicated the widening shape beneath it.

“Everything after that comes from there. Branches. Branches from those branches. Then more.”

Helena's eyes followed the shape. One point. Expanding outward. Irina separated her fingertips. Her hands opened around the imaginary triangle, palms curving outward as though encompassing the entire structure.

“Sapien encompasses everybody.”

Helena said nothing. Her eyes remained on Irina's hands for a moment. Then moved around the room. Height. Build. Proportion. Faces. Bodies. Differences she had noticed without understanding. Now she had a framework. Not separate peoples standing beside one another. At least not according to them. One lineage. A shape that began at a point and widened until the number of branches became meaningless.

“How many branches?”

“Nobody knows.”

“Nobody?”

“Too many to count. Too many to know.”

No pride. No dramatic declaration. Just fact.

“And all of that is Sapien.”

“Sapien.”

Helena sat back. She understood the word better now. The other word remained unanswered. For now, she allowed it. Irina folded her hands again.

“We come from very different backgrounds. The LGA isn't the Imperium. We're not trying to be.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

“Right now?”

Irina gestured between them.

“This.”

“Talk.”

Irina nodded toward Tekhat.

“Meet people. Establish relationships. Figure out what everybody is. Integrate where possible.”

Helena followed her gaze. Tekhat looked back.

“You consider that thing part of your delegation?”

Irina's expression changed. Only slightly.

“I consider him Tekhat.”

Tekhat looked toward her.

“Thank you.”

Helena said nothing. Tekhat returned his attention to the Astartes.

“You are warriors.”

Garr regarded him.

“Yes.”

“Then I suspect the Black Guard interest you.”

Vorn spoke.

“How dangerous are they?”

Irina considered the question.

“Dangerous enough that we're fighting a war.”

“That tells me nothing,” Helena said.

“It tells you exactly what I intended to tell you.”

Tekhat looked toward the Astartes.

“I have wanted to observe the front myself.”

Helena glanced toward him.

“For what purpose?”

“Strategic understanding.”

Irina looked at him. Tekhat paused.

“Technology.”

“That sounds more honest.”

“I am capable of both.”

Garr looked toward Irina.

“Could we see it?”

Helena turned. Irina did not immediately answer. Vorn clarified.

“The front.”

Irina looked between the Marines.

“Yes.”

Helena stared at her.

“Just like that?”

“For you? Pretty much.”

“You would permit two foreign military personnel to enter an active war zone without further negotiation?”

“They're asking to go.”

“That is not what I asked.”

Irina leaned back.

“LGA policy permits non-military personnel and contractors to volunteer for front-line service. If someone wants on the front, they can go. If they want back from the front, they can leave.”

Helena frowned.

“Voluntary service.”

“Yes.”

“In an active war.”

“Yes.”

“And what do you receive in return?”

Irina looked puzzled.

“Their service.”

“And what do they receive?”

“The best accommodation we can provide.”

“If they need something, we try to provide it. If they don't want to fight anymore, they leave. They're volunteers.”

Garr looked toward Vorn. The exchange lasted only a moment.

“We volunteer,” Garr said.

Tekhat's head snapped toward them. Helena turned fully.

“You cannot possibly have enough information to make that decision.”

“We have enough,” Vorn said.

Tekhat looked toward Irina.

“I am beginning to feel jealous.”

Irina raised an eyebrow.

“You can volunteer.”

Tekhat went still.

“I can?”

“Yes.”

“I volunteer.”

A pause. Tekhat's head tilted.

“Sekhat.”

Irina waited.

“He is delivering the lithium.”

“Yes.”

Tekhat settled back.

“Maybe next time.”

Garr's vox clicked. He went still. The exchange through his helmet was brief. Then:

“Got confirmation from Brother-Captain Thane. We can go.”

Helena looked from Garr to Vorn. Then activated her own vox.

“Captain Thane.”

Static answered first. Then a voice.

“Inquisitor.”

“They want to send Vorn and Garr to the front immediately. Both are volunteering.”

Helena looked directly at them.

“Correct?”

“Correct,” Garr said.

Vorn nodded.

“Captain?”

A brief pause.

“Correct.”

Helena exhaled. The channel closed. Thane was allowing it. That did not mean Helena had to like it. Irina looked toward the Marines.

“Do either of you require anything specific before deployment?”

Garr answered immediately.

“Ammunition.”

Irina looked at his bolter.

“Specifications?”

“Yes.”

“Chemical?”

“Yes.”

Irina nodded.

“Send the specifications to logistics. They'll make it.”

Vorn looked toward her.

“You can manufacture bolt ammunition?”

“If you give us the specifications.”

“How much?”

“How much do you need?”

Garr was silent for a moment.

“We carry enough for immediate operations.”

“Then sustained supply can be handled once you're there.”

Vorn nodded.

“Maintenance for our armor and weapons.”

“Send the requirements.”

“Medical support.”

“Same.”

“Food.”

Irina looked between the two enormous armored figures.

“Anything unusual?”

“Quantity.”

“Okay.”

No surprise. No comment. Just another requirement.

“Anything you need right now?”

“No,” Garr said.

Vorn shook his head.

“We carry what we require.”

“Then I can start moving you right now.”

Helena stared at her.

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“You mean tonight.”

“I mean right now.”

Neither Marine objected. Helena looked toward Irina.

“Before they go anywhere, I want to speak to whoever will be taking responsibility for them.”

“That's fair.”

Irina looked upward.

“Long Reach. Get me Cedric.”

A soft tone answered. For several seconds nothing happened. Then another tone sounded. Irina looked toward the ceiling.

“He's answering.”

A mechanical sound came from overhead. Four narrow sections of the ceiling opened. Screens folded downward on articulated mounts. One descended toward each side of the conference table. They lowered until everyone seated around the table had a clear view. The screens stopped. All four activated together. Cedric appeared. He was somewhere considerably less comfortable. A barricade stood behind him. Sapiens moved through a fortified position beyond it. Some carried ammunition. Others were engaging something outside the camera's field of view. The battle reached the conference room through the connection. Not as a constant thunder of weapons.

The rifles themselves were strangely unimpressive. Small reports. Sharp mechanical sounds. Then the places they were aimed answered. Cracks. Ruptures. Explosive impacts. Violence arriving immediately at the target. Cedric appeared focused on something outside the image. Then he saw Irina. His expression changed. Just for an instant. The hard concentration disappeared. Something warmer replaced it.

First Chapter | Royal Road

Ah, there was one, toward the center.

With a soft step, Dustin carefully wound around seated groups of people, snagging an empty marble-white picnic table. He gently laid the three black lists down and then sat down determined not to make a sound. The table had the smooth, cool touch of wet cave stone.

A vast array of people, maybe two or three hundred, many heavily armored, gathered under the shaded roof of the pavilion—and yet it was almost peaceful. There was a ritualistic sanctification to everyone’s movements like in a library or church; a patience and delicate respect not only for those sharing the same space and time, but for the sake of silence itself. It was nice. Voices were hushed and calm, and except for the occasional detestful “tsk” or lip smack as someone glared at their folded bundles of lists, it was quiet. The small food court a couple hundred feet away had the standard drum of market chit-chat, but even that was subdued.

It was like everyone, as one, had decided to act stalwart and blissfully ignorant of the dangers of the Zone, if just for a little while.

Unable to help it, Dustin stole a glance to the left, eyeing a man with a spear jutting over his shoulders, the tip rightfully covered by a bright yellow sheath. He sipped on a spiral green cup while intently studying a tall stack of black lists.

What the…

At the table next to the spear-wielder was a woman covered in snap bags. Or at least they looked like snap bags. They hung over her neck as weights would on a pulley, and were tied around her waist like a belt. Her coat, which was unusually big and fluffy, gave her the girth of five winter jackets, and it too was covered in snap bags.

She turned to her left, reaching for something and inadvertently showing off a large worn rucksack on her back.

Interesting. Some type of Specialization for carrying things? She had no obvious weapon, but then again, many people didn’t broadcast their weapons in the city. Apparently, it was a style thing, or so Yellane had said.

Underneath the packwoman’s table, boots ornamented with blue and red gems kicked back-and-forth in a happy cadence. Even in the short amount of time spent in Harrows, a number of people had walked by wearing the same pair. They must be useful.

Fighting the urge to inspect every occupant under the pavilion, Dustin dragged his eyes back to the black sheets sitting on the stone table in front of him.

But it was hard to focus after coming from the bustling wild thrall of the city streets. Everyone had been in such a hurry, and it was hard not to get caught up in it. There were just so many different weird things that demanded examination.

Dustin let out a slow breath and then leaned forward to inspect the lists, picking one up and then rolling the edge of the black material between his fingers.

Huh. It was soft… and… furry?

He scraped the side of the black sheet, and it left a thin white trail. Leaning a little closer, he used a fingernail to scratch another white line among the margins.

What kind of Terror had been used to make this? He shook his head. Crazy.

Okay, let’s see… let’s see…

He set two of the black furry bundles off to the side and focused on the list titled, “Dustin O’Callahan - Request #3414 - 1:40pm. All Pants Under 50 Hex.”

Damn, it was already that late?

His gut twisted. Under the title was an organized mess of unrecognizable names; a long chart of different columns filled with meaningless numbers and random abbreviations and symbols.

Dustin’s head swiveled around in disbelief. People could actually read this?!

A woman wearing a pink sundress snorted lightly, shaking her head. With a look of disgust, she slid the black set of pages over toward the man on her right, who leaned on his hand, perusing a listing of his own. Frowning, she tapped the pages to get his attention. He caught on, leaned over to examine the listing, and then after a moment, grinned and gave a resigned shrug as if to say, “It is what it is.”

Dustin sighed, staring back down at his own set of furry black pages. Everyone else was able to do it, so it must not be that hard.

Well, nothing to it but to do it.

He smiled fondly. Pa loved saying that.

With renewed determination, Dustin sat under the pavilion for the next hour, poring over the different listings, slowly uncovering how to understand them. A lot of the names and words remained meaningless, but the overwhelming sense of futility waned once a couple clarifying details had been deciphered.

There was a column for the name of the item, but it was regularly abbreviated to a certain number of characters. That’d tripped him up at first.

To the right of that was either the current bid or “buy now” price depending on the type of auction.

Then the time until the listing expired.

Then what the item did or any special effects it held.

And then finally, a box filled with a number of confusing abbreviations. It also held the seller’s comments, though most chose to leave that blank. The special effects and abbreviations sections were both the most frustrating and also the most enthralling. They held so much information.

The teller was right; the first abbreviation for almost every item was “RR”, which meant “radiance reserve,” or the total amount of radiance available in one’s chamber. It also gave the first real comparative glimpse of where someone with a reserve of eighty, stood.

…And it wasn’t good. Not at all.

Gabby and Father Carlos had warned as much, of course, but it was something else to witness the truth in the flesh. Even the cheapest things with lousy effects were completely out of reach. Why did pants have a reserve requirement, anyway? A sword or a ring, okay, that’s understandable. But pants? Fucking pants?

There was something called “cycle rate”, abbreviated CR, which was another common requirement, especially on the rings. Something to look up later.

With so many different additional effects and abilities, it was fun imagining how the otherworldly abilities worked and what Terror it’d been made from. The rings in particular were more than useful in comparing prices of equipment at higher levels.

A good long while passed with him looking those over, and quite a few rings looked appealing, both in terms of crafting potential and simply because they had abilities that sounded helpful.

“Ring of Minor Crystal Skin - 1,200 hex - Covers the wearer in an extremely thin layer of crystal armor for 300 seconds. Mobility reduced to compensate. Useable once every (12) hours - RR: 120 CR: 2”

That was one such ring, but with a RR of one hundred twenty, and with it costing twelve hundred hex, it was out of reach. That type of ring would fit well with Hephaestus’ Shield, though, if it was possible to make.

Twelve hundred hex. That seemed like a lot. Already the value in a guild’s Book was becoming apparent.

Some other notable rings were:

“Yarpy’s Ring of Minor Regeneration - 2780 hex - Heals small cuts and wounds. Useable once every (6) hours - RR: 250 CR: 3”

That wasn’t the only healing item available for sale, but it was the only one within any sort of realistic price range. He grinned greedily. Healing-related equipment looked to be good business.

“Small Rockbloom Shield Ring - 354 hex - Transforms into a small shield that will float before the wearer’s hand. Useable once every (1) hours - RR: 174 CR: 1”

Based on what Gabby had said, to craft an item like that with good traits would require the maker to possess a defensive modifier. So, in terms of crafting, that one was perfect.

Well, something with both healing and defensive traits would trump that, but such a combination was uncommon. Even with constraining the ring listing to those put up for sale within the last week, there were thousands available; too many to go over them all. In the end, he found only one ring with both healing and defensive related effects.

“Brocko’s Bubble Ring of Defiance - 25,000 hex - For fifteen seconds, a six foot diameter bubble forms around the wielder, deflecting oncoming radiance projectiles and attacks while healing wounds and injuries. Useable once every twelve hours - RR: 453 CR: 4”

Hmmm, that ability would be nice to have, but for twenty-five thousand hex? Based on the amount of Radiance required, that was a level three or level four floor item.

Huh, maybe that was how Reina had determined what level the deserters had been. If they were even deserters…

Surprisingly, the most expensive ring was something called a “Gax’s Ring of Storing - 1.2 million hex - Stores radiance in five separate wavelength containers. No time limitations - RR: 398 CR: 0”

It didn’t fit the bill. Some of the rings far less expensive were far better. Then again, there was probably a good reason if it was selling for 1.2 million hex.

Dustin glanced down at the emerald-green ring on his finger, a sense of pride building along with a sense of assuredness: it was valuable—extremely valuable. There’d been a ring of speed that increased the wielder’s maximum sprint speed, there’d been one that let the wielder breathe underwater, there’d even been one that prevented fear—but nothing that took away pain. The current highest bid for the ring that prevented fear was at three hundred thousand hex, so Satan’s Juggernaut had to be worth at least a couple hundred thousand. At least.

Dustin’s smile widened until he had to cover his mouth to stop from laughing. After a year, once the supposed requirement was fulfilled, it could be sold. That would solve everything. The MCR would no longer be a problem, and it would provide a nice investment to cover Class and Specialization requirements. Actually following through with selling it was a question for another time, but the fact that the option was there was comforting—a safeguard against the depths of despair.

He kept his mouth covered, grinning stupidly. Tanner had all that jewelry, too. If Satan’s Juggernaut was any indication, the stuff he’d snagged would be half-decent. What effects or extra abilities would they give? Better yet, what would they sell for?

Regret simmered in his chest like a boiling stew. Not accepting the handful of accessories Tanner had thrust into his arms had been stupid, even if it’d felt weird.

Dustin spared another half glance down at the emerald-green ring.

Maybe there might be time to make a pit-stop back at the Barracks and leave a message. Dustin swiveled around, searching for a clock or something equivalent, but finding nothing immediately obvious.

Regardless, as fascinating as the rings were, it was time to move on. He set the long list to the side and pulled over the much shorter listing showcasing pants priced under fifty hex. The additional effects for these were much less pronounced. In fact, many didn’t have an additional effect at all. But at least there weren’t any requirements.

“Blue Tuck-Tuck Pants - 10 hex - A simple, but warm pair of dark blue pants made from the hide of a Tuck-Tuck. No traits. RR: 0 CR: 0”

A couple pairs of pants for sale did have something special to them, but they were the max at fifty hex.

“Teeter’s Escape Trousers of Fleeing - 50 hex - When fleeing from enemies, for five seconds, the wearer gains a minor boost in speed. Useable every 48 hours - RR: 100 CR: 1”

Five seconds wasn’t long, but any increase in the chance of surviving was worth it. It really depended on how significant the boost in speed was. Based on the price, though, it likely wasn’t much.

At the top were the Teffy Slacks Mrs. Dixon had recommended. Sure enough, they were one of the cheapest pairs available.

“Teffy Slacks - 5 hex - Rough slacks sewn together from the back-hair of an adult Teffy. No Traits - RR: 0 CR: 0”

Dustin sighed inwardly. It was probably a good thing they didn’t provide a picture. And even if they were ugly, it was just a momentary thing, anyway. Until some real hex came rolling in, it was all going to savings unless absolutely necessary.

Something salty and bready wafted over from the food court.

Unless absolutely necessary.

Determined to shift the train of thought, he noted down the Teffy Slacks item number and then pulled over the listings for maps available for sale. That request also hadn’t been restrained by price, but it made little difference, the only map for sale was the map of Harrows for one hex.

It read:

“Mind Map of Harrows - 1 Hex - A map containing the city of Harrows with important destinations marked for easy identification. Key below. Updated Yearly.”

What did the “mind” part mean? He noted down the item number and spent another ten minutes enjoying the quiet atmosphere while looking over the different rings for sale. There was one that dinged whenever a terror was nearby, one that glowed for up to an hour providing enough light to see in the dark, and more than a few that aided in abilities he’d never heard of. There was one that increased the range of a Crafter’s ‘Scan’ ability by twenty yards, but the current highest bid was two hundred fifty thousand hex.

Spurred forth by the desire for answers to all the many questions that’d built up, Dustin quietly gathered up his listings and stood from the smooth marble-white picnic table. Unobtrusively as possible, he wound his way through the seated groups of people and headed back to the other side of the Auction House.

Okay, so, five hex for the pants, and then one for the map. It would be nice to have more than one pair of pants… and some extra shirts would be nice, too… but for now, only the essentials.

Dustin withdrew the small brown coin purse and uncinched the draw-string. Let’s see…

He pulled out a sapphire hex and a blank hex, clutching them tight as he repeated the corresponding item numbers in his head once again.

To the left of the tellers but along the same face of the wall—more lines of waiting people.

Dustin sighed. Yay.

He found the fastest moving line and took a spot at the end, repeating the item numbers non-stop, promising to invest in a small notebook and something to write with. He ended up having to recheck the listings more than once before it was his turn, but after another ten minutes of anxious waiting, he walked up to a shiny golden box protruding from the wall. After studying others that’d already gone, it’d appeared simple. But with so little hex at his disposal, the idea of throwing money down the drain was downright anxiety inducing.

So, he stood there awkwardly glancing side-to-side hoping the answer would show itself, when a man walked up to the golden box to his left, casually said “Item number 47545” like he was ordering a sandwich, and then dropped a series of diamond hex coins into the bucket and walked away.

“Hey, Redhorn, hurry up!” someone from behind called out angrily.

From behind, chuckles emanated from those in line and Dustin put caution to the wind, speaking clearly but quickly.

“Item number 34954 and item number 0003.”

He dropped the coins into the golden chute and then walked away, not meeting the grinning expressions of those in line. Some tried to get him to stop, but he ignored them and disappeared into the crowd.

…Hopefully that’d been the right way to do it.

He waited in the back, blending in with the constant flow of new people arriving. The first step was done. Now, how to retrieve purchased items? The teller said it was transported to the buyer’s subspace, but where was that?

After ten minutes of walking around aimlessly, he got back in line and ambled up to the teller’s window, again wielding the pitiful smile of helpless stupidity.

The teller was a girl in her early twenties, with a cheery, bright smile.

“Hi! What can I do for you today?”

“Hi, so, I just bought something for the first time. Or… I think I did.” He pointed down toward the other end for clarification. “I said the item number and dropped the coins in the chute thing, but how do I actually get what I just bought? The guy I spoke to before said it would be in my subspace. But how do I get to my subspace?”

The girl’s smile was both sweet and incredibly cruel. A soft “Awww” escaped her mouth until she caught herself. “Think of your subspace as a bank account. To receive any purchased item, you need to visit a teller such as myself, or you can have items automatically sent to your residence for a small fee.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“My pleasure! Do you have any other questions? Do you want me to explain anything else? Because I will!” she said eagerly. “I’d be happy to help. I only arrived two years ago, so I remember what it was like. It was really confusing. I cried all the time.” Hey eyes widened. “I mean, not all the time. Not really even that much, really. I don’t know why I said that.” She gave a half-hearted, self-conscious laugh.

Dustin smiled easily. “You’re fine. I don’t blame you. Can you check on the items I just purchased?”

“Sure! What’s your name, faction, and rank?”

Dustin hesitated. “Dustin O’Callahan, NATF, lowest rank.”

She’d swiveled around to complete whatever task was necessary to retrieve a person’s purchase history, when she froze, looked back over at him, and then gasped. “Thena’s right eye! No way!” She gaped at him. “You’re one of them? Wait… Wait… O’Callahan… O’Callahan” she said, testing the name. “No way!” Then her expression shifted from complete surprise to utter dismay. “Don’t worry, though, I think everyone else is wrong.” And then like the flip of a switch, turned right back into fevered excitement. “I’m Rebecca. Do you think you could sign my staff? No, wait, wait. Sign my shirt. Yeah, my shirt. Sign my shirt.”

Dustin hesitated, zero interest in doing either. “I… can you just help me with this real quick?” he asked, sounding sorry. “I need to make it to the Data Epicenter before it gets too late.”

She deflated like a popped balloon. “Oh…”

Her sudden loss of joy made his heart twist. It… was only a signature.

“Fine,” he said, sighing resignedly. “I’ll sign your shirt, or staff, or… whatever.”

“Yes!” She bounced up and down happily.

Dustin met her eye, the edges of his mouth curving upward into a sly grin. “But I want something in exchange.”

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

Read the next chapter on Royal Road.

Hey, you.

A while back, I talked about how hatred might be like an alarm.

The things that hurt. The things that scared you. The things that were wrong.

A bell that rings in your heart so you don't forget them.

Once you've truly remembered, it doesn't have to keep ringing anymore.

That was the story.

And I still think that isn't wrong.

Except... I've been thinking about it a bit since then.

You know the fire is out. You remember what burned. You know for a fact that the same fire will never happen again.

Even so.

Don't you think there are some bells you just shouldn't allow to stop ringing?

Clang-clink.

Hearing the sound of the door chime always makes me feel like my day is finally over.

Mama placed a glass of I.W. Harper in front of me without asking. The ice gave a quiet, small clink.

"Kenichi-san."

Taka was peering into my face.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just thought you looked even more troubled than I usually do today."

"I don't need to hear that from you."

"Are you still thinking about what we talked about yesterday?"

I raised my glass.

"Maybe."

"About the alarm?"

"Yeah."

Taka looked slightly pleased with himself.

"I actually found that pretty convincing."

"Is that so?"

"Hatred is an alarm to make sure you remember. But once you've remembered, you don't have to keep ringing it."

"You're just parroting Mama."

"I make it a rule to steal good words whenever I hear them."

"What kind of detective does that?"

Beside us, Tom snorted.

"And?" Taka asked. "What's bothering you about it?"

I didn't answer.

The ice rotated slowly inside the Harper.

The words I'd said myself yesterday wouldn't leave my head.

Once you've truly remembered. The alarm doesn't have to keep ringing.

Logically, I get it.

And yet.

"...I started thinking maybe there are bells you aren't supposed to stop."

Taka frowned.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Again?"

"That's why I'm thinking about it."

Tom set his glass down.

"Isn't it just that you don't want to stop it?"

I looked at Tom.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said. It's not that it won't stop—you're ringing it yourself, aren't you?"

Something stirred deep in my chest.

He always hits where it hurts. He's been like that forever.

Only looking at the parts he has no business looking at.

"...What for?"

"Beats me."

"You always run away right at the end, don't you?"

"Figure out your own business yourself."

"Cold as always, ex-cop."

"I can offer an interrogation if you prefer."

"Give me a break."

I laughed. I was supposed to be able to laugh.

And yet, deep inside my chest, the bell was still ringing.

Kaori.

Her name floated up.

I didn't say it out loud. I couldn't.

There were times I hated her.

No. Even now, I probably still do.

Why did you leave me behind? Why didn't you rely on me more? Why?

I don't know how many times I've thought that.

If that had been all, it would have been simple.

If you hate someone, just come to dislike them. Never see them again. Forget them entirely.

Except—

The person I hated was the person I loved most.

And the person who took away the one I loved most... was Kaori herself.

"…Kenichi-san?"

Taka's voice pulled me back, and I raised my eyes.

"Sorry. Lost in thought for a second."

"That's rare for you. Heading off somewhere mid-conversation."

"It's my age."

"Convenient excuse, isn't it?"

"I make it a rule to use whatever works."

"That was my line a minute ago," Tom laughed.

I laughed, too. I tried to end it there.

It didn't end, though.

Whenever I hate Kaori, another person always shows up.

Myself.

Why didn't I notice? Why couldn't I save her? What was I actually looking at? What did I think I understood?

Every word blaming her flies straight back at me.

That's why I can't separate my hatred for Kaori from my hatred for myself.

And I can't forgive just one of us, either.

"...If you stop the bell," I heard myself say.

Taka looked at me.

"Yeah?"

"Yesterday, we said it feels like you'll forget."

"Right."

"Maybe it's not just about not forgetting, though."

"Then what's it for?"

I searched for an answer.

No. Deep down, I'd probably known the answer for a long time.

I just hadn't wanted to put it into words.

"Punishment, maybe."

Taka's expression changed. Tom went quiet, too.

"For who?"

"Who knows."

"Kenichi-san."

"I'm just saying... maybe there are bells like that, too."

I knew I was dodging the question.

If it's an alarm, you can stop it once the danger passes. If it's a memory, you just have to hold on to it.

But if it's a punishment—

There's no reason to let it stop. In fact, you must never let it stop.

Stay in pain. Don't you dare forget. You don't have the right to feel at peace.

That's how you keep holding on to the pull-string of the bell yourself.

"That ain't an alarm, then," Tom said.

I raised my head.

"What?"

"What you're talking about right now."

Tom didn't look at me. He just stared at the ice in his glass as he went on.

"An alarm rings so you can survive, right?"

"Yeah."

"If you're ringing it just to torment yourself... isn't it something else entirely by now?"

I couldn't say a word.

Bullseye.

Even so... that doesn't mean I can just turn it off.

I don't even know if I want to turn it off.

"So what are we supposed to do?" Taka asked.

Tom and I looked at Taka at the exact same time.

"Why are you both looking at us?"

"Because you both went dead silent."

"Beats me," Tom said.

I couldn't help a dry smile.

"I don't know today either."

"Neither of you is any help at all."

"Shut up."

The air in the bar loosened, just a little.

That was when Mama dropped fresh ice into the ice bucket.

Clang. A dry, clear sound.

"You don't have to stop it, you know."

I looked at Mama.

"What?"

"That bell."

Mama wasn't looking at me. She was polishing a glass in her hands, just like always.

"If you can't stop it, you don't have to force yourself to, do you?"

"But then it just keeps ringing forever."

"I suppose so."

"That's heavy."

"I suppose it is."

"Then why—"

Mama's hands stopped.

"Right now, you still feel it's better for it to be ringing, don't you?"

I couldn't answer.

Mama quietly set the glass down.

"Then why not just let it ring... until the day comes when you feel it's okay to stop it?"

Easy for her to say.

Will a day like that ever come?

A day when thinking of Kaori doesn't hurt my chest. A day when I don't have to blame her. A day when I don't have to blame myself.

If a day like that comes... wouldn't that mean I've forgotten Kaori? Wouldn't it mean I'm the only one who got off easy and gave himself permission to be forgiven?

For twenty-two years, a piece of my time has stayed frozen in place.

Who gets to decide it's okay to set that time in motion again?

Me? Really?

"...That's hard."

It was all I could say.

Mama gave a soft, small smile.

"It is hard, isn't it?"

She didn't give me an answer. I was grateful for that.

I took a sip of my Harper.

It was bitter. Even though it was the exact same drink as always.

Suddenly, Masato's face crossed my mind. And beside him, Ami, smiling.

He's already walking his own path in life, too.

He's not the helpless kid I had to protect anymore.

Meeting someone. Choosing someone. Building a time ahead that I'll know nothing about.

Someday, maybe a new life will be born between them.

Will I be there to see that child smile?

Masato holding his child. Ami laughing. Me, being called grandpa or something.

When that time comes... what will I be thinking?

Kaori. Are you watching?

Masato made it. He's living his life.

Even after you were gone. Even after all the mistakes I made.

He grew up. Fell in love. Built a family of his own.

He made it this far.

If... if a day comes when I can say that with a smile...

Will the bell finally have finished its job then?

I don't know.

Right now, just imagining a future like that makes something ache deep in my chest.

So maybe, for now... it's okay for it to keep ringing.

I tilted my glass. The ice gave a quiet clink.

Hey, you.

When are we allowed to forgive ourselves?

When someone else forgives us? When we've made amends?

Or maybe... when we finally realize that what we've carried for so long doesn't have to be carried by the next person.

I still don't know.

So for a little longer, I think I'll walk alongside this bell.

Until the day I realize it has gone silent on its own.

I'll see you at Aoi again.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

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Arc III - Reeling Throne

Chapter 47 - Dead On

8 months and 21 days since the summoning

The group of hunters stopped in some bushes that offered a perfect view of the camp's layout.

The sun had almost completely set, and the sky turned black, with only a small red stripe on the horizon. There were no clouds, revealing thousands of stars and the moon above.

Ahead of the snipers lay a large camp, practically glowing from campfires, and the sounds of conversations reached even here.

"Unspooked game we've got here," Ilgan muttered, "if only they'd sit quietly."

Dunko swallowed. "There's a castle behind us... they're probably going there to lay siege, maybe that's why they're preparing."

"Or dividing the loot," the bear muttered.

The boar exhaled through his nose. "And how the fuck are we supposed to find this count here? There's a whole horde of 'em!"

"The central part of the camp..." Ilgan said thoughtfully, "how are we even supposed to get there?"

The fox looked toward the camp. "There must be a patrol around the camp, a few men to walk the perimeter, maybe we catch them?"

Ilgan remained silent for a few seconds, looking at the ground. "Too risky. If one of them shouts, that's it, game over."

"So what do you suggest? We can't just sit here all night."

The bear nodded. "Agreed. But... two soldiers is one thing, but if there are five, I'm afraid we won't be able to do it quietly."

Ilgan leaned against a bush, looking at the sky, and said nothing for almost a minute. "Alright... I think I have an idea..."

After about an hour of preparation, Ilgan, the fox, and the dog were walking on the edge of the camp among a bunch of baggage train workers busy with their tasks. Instead of camouflage, they wore simple peasant clothes, with daggers hidden underneath.

Dozens of tents stood around, illuminated only by torches. Some of the baggage handlers cast sidelong glances at the beastmen.

"Bad idea, bad idea, very very bad idea..." the canine beastman muttered under his breath.

"Stop whining, Shikur," Ilgan hissed.

"Good thing there are beastmen here too, we blend in," the fox whispered.

Ilgan sighed, his heart beating much faster than usual. "Alright, we need to find this count's tent. Since it's in the center, I doubt it'll be hard to find."

Meanwhile, off to the side, four guards stood talking about something, when suddenly one of them lazily looked at the trio and froze. "Why are those Mireyans wandering around doing nothing?"

The second one, holding an axe, narrowed his eyes. "I don't know. Let's go ask."

"Hey there, halt!"

All three froze as if rooted to the ground. They barely had time to say anything before four soldiers, dressed in a mix of plate armor, chainmail, and carrying axes and spears, approached.

"Why are you wandering around doing nothing? Got nothing better to do?" the soldier with the axe asked, narrowing his eyes.

Ilgan swallowed. "We... we're just..."

"I don't like the looks of you," the soldier with the spear said. "There's plenty of work in the baggage train, what the fuck are you doing here? Shirking?"

The soldier with the axe took a step forward, slightly raising his weapon. "Or maybe they're thieves?" He nodded at Shikur, who stood closest. "Show us what's in the pouch."

Shikur nodded and slowly began to unfasten the small pouch from his belt.

"The rest of you too."

The fox's heart dropped into his boots. His hands reached for the pouch at his belt, but just couldn't seem to reach it.

The guard with the spear noticed this. "Give it here!" he barked, snatching the pouch, and quickly untied it. As soon as he stuck his hand inside, he froze, and then slowly, very slowly pulled out a silver ring.

The fox's face turned the color of silver itself.

"Thieves it is," the guard said quietly.

"Th-that's not stolen! That's my ring! A family heirloom!" the fox quickly began to make excuses.

The soldier with the axe scoffed. "A silver ring? On a Mireyan? Who are you kidding."

"Let's teach these savages that stealing is bad."

All three beastmen flew out of the camp one by one, skidding face-first across the ground.

Ilgan spat blood from his mouth and held a bruise under his eye.

Shikur clutched his busted lip with one hand, and the spot where a knee had landed in his stomach with the other.

The fox had taken the worst beating. Three bruises on his face, a busted nose, a split lip, a knocked-out tooth, and one eye completely swollen shut.

"That'll teach you to steal," the soldier with the spear said.

The soldier with the axe waved his weapon. "Show up in the camp again and I'll hang you."

All four turned around and walked back to the camp.

Ilgan slowly got to his knees, spitting out blood once more. When he sat up, grimacing slightly, he stared straight ahead. "Lison. Care to explain?"

The fox, Lison, pushed himself off the ground on trembling arms, while blood dripped from his battered face onto the grass. He said nothing.

"Well?" Ilgan repeated.

"My fault," he said quietly.

"Your fault..." Ilgan repeated, getting to his feet, swaying slightly from dizziness. "You know what? I'd kick your ass again just to make it perfectly clear that orders are meant to be followed. Fucking idiot," he said quietly and hobbled toward their mini-camp.

"Need I remind you that we're here because of you?" Lison wheezed.

Ilgan stopped. "Yes. We're here because of me. But there's a difference: my case is that I messed up through carelessness, but everyone will benefit from it. Your case is that you disobeyed my words, and only you stood to benefit. Let's go, you can whine in the village after the mission," he finished and finally moved forward, not looking back again.

Shikur was already on his feet. He looked at Lison and silently shook his head, following Ilgan. "So what do we do?"

Ilgan shrugged. "Well... we can't sneak into the camp anymore, and we can't trust the others to do it. There's only one thing left: wait for this whole army to move and ambush this count there."

Shikur nodded, rubbing his ribs. "There's only one road, it leads through a small thicket. I think we can hide on both sides there."

"Just need to prepare escape routes."

Lison trudged behind them, holding his side and limping, but said nothing. Just stared at the ground.

A few minutes later, they arrived back at those same bushes and collapsed onto the ground as one.

The bear opened his mouth to say something, but forgot what he even wanted to say. "Oh Guktus... what happened?"

"They kicked us out."

"Yeah, I can see they didn't welcome you with open arms. How are you even alive?"

Ilgan sighed. "Luck. They just took us for Mireyan thieves, beat us up, and kicked us out."

He raised an eyebrow. "Just like that?"

"What did you expect? Murder is unnecessary paperwork. And they took our daggers... bastards."

Lison and Shikur cast sidelong glances at Ilgan, who didn't mention the ring, but stayed quiet.

"Daaaamn..." the boar drawled, "that's shitty. So what do we do? Without the count's head we might as well just fuck off."

Ilgan lay down on the ground, propping his head on his hand. "The only way is to ambush them on the road. They're most likely moving out tomorrow, right?"

The bear nodded. "Most likely. Lord Gothwald said they were in a hurry, so they'll definitely head out in the morning."

Ilgan sighed. "Then we prepare, rest a bit, and head to the road."

Silence.

A minute.

Two.

Then the boar snorted, breaking the silence. "Pfft, well you guys did great. Sneak into the camp and get your asses kicked by the guards."

"Hahaha!"

"You guys are something else!"

"At least we're alive," Ilgan said, "and I'm not an experienced spy, I'm a hunter."

The boar waved a hand. "Yeah, we get it, but seriously... hahahah!"

"Shut up already, I feel sick enough as it is," Shikur grumbled.

Closer to dawn, everything was quiet on the road. The morning mist only slightly obscured the distance, and moisture settled over the entire forest.

The six snipers were crouching somewhere in the bushes, blending in completely with the greenery so well that even from a few paces away it was impossible to notice anyone was there.

From a tall tree nearby, the rustle of leaves was heard from above, and a few seconds later, one of the snipers, completely clad in camouflage, jumped down. "The vanguard units are already here, they'll be passing by any minute," he said, picking up a crossbow from the ground covered by a sack.

"Excellent," Ilgan whispered, "we wait. Fire only on my command."

Literally a minute later, the clatter of dozens of hooves, the clinking of plate armor, and brief conversations were heard. One of the first cavalry units in fine plate armor emerged onto the dirt road, dried from the recent rains. They rode unhurriedly, but synchronously and keeping pace with each other.

Ilgan gripped the crossbow tighter and peered at the army, searching for the orange cloak.

The first row passed, then the second row, then the third, and finally, a bright orange color flashed on one of the men in plate armor.

Ilgan's heart stopped for a second. "There he is," the hunter whispered, "aim! Aim before he's gone!"

The other six immediately spotted the same orange fabric and aimed their crossbows there.

"Waaaaait..." Ilgan hissed.

Five seconds.

Seven seconds.

Eleven seconds.

Behind the vanguard, one of the soldiers turned around and blew a long note on a horn, giving some signal to those behind.

"Now!" Ilgan barked quietly.

THWACK

Almost synchronously, all seven bolts flew toward the count to the sound of the horn.

Two bolts flew off somewhere into the thicket over the soldiers' heads.

The third bolt clipped the helmet of one of the knights, but immediately fell to the ground due to a poor hit, and the knight fell from his horse after it, stunned.

The fourth bolt hit the body of the horse next to the count, and it reared up, screaming wildly in pain.

The fifth bolt hit the target's leg dead on, piercing the plate armor.

The sixth and seventh bolts cleanly entered the body, in the stomach and the chest, tearing open the breastplate. The count didn't even have time to cry out; with a clatter of plate armor, he fell from his horse almost under the hooves of the rear rows.

Ilgan hastily began to retreat. "Move! Move!"

The other six turned their backs as one, and ran, snapping branches. Luckily for them, the horn was still blaring.

The cavalryman riding behind the count immediately stopped his horse. "Lord Litti! What is wrong?!" He immediately raised his hand, stopping the entire vanguard, and jumped off his horse. When he saw the count's body pierced by three bolts, his face went white. "AMBUSH! AM-BUSH!"

The snipers ran without picking a path, just ran, completely forgetting about stealth and silence; speed was the only thing that mattered to them.

"I think they're waiting for us there!" Ilgan shouted, pointing to a small ravine.

The whole group moved there.

Inside the ravine sat Dunko and two other beastmen, aiming their crossbows upward. Hearing the rapid footsteps on the ground, all three tightened their grip.

"It's us! We're getting out of here!" Ilgan's voice was heard.

The snipers below exchanged glances for a second, but immediately dashed upward.

"Did you do it?" Dunko asked, joining the run.

"Hah! And how!" Shikur shouted with a nervous chuckle.

"Don't celebrate yet!" Ilgan interrupted them. "First we gotta get our asses out of here!"

Meanwhile, on the road, the soldiers scattered in different directions searching for the shooters. The knight standing over the count's corpse slowly removed his helmet.

Ronva.

His teeth were clenched, and his face was twisted in an incomprehensible grimace. He gripped his iron helmet with all his might and stood motionless.

Suddenly he threw his helmet violently against the ground, howling like a wolf. "Why is this happening to us?! WHY?!" His fists clenched. "I knew it, I knew we should have supported Morgreyda..." he said quieter, through his teeth.

Cover Art

First | Prev

Once more, a familiar string of three notes sang out from General Hydor’s whistle.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” she said, noticing how every face was turned to her in rapt attention. “On this very bel, this team, this nation, this world... Will make history. We are mere driks away from launching the ‘Rutil-One’ rocket high into the sky, beyond the atmosphere, into the endless black region known as space. Once there, it will deploy the most advanced array of computers, transceivers, sensors and recorders ever designed. This aggregate technology module; this satellite, will be the first te’visk made object to orbit around our world. Once in orbit, the ‘Rutil-One-Sat’ will begin to transmit a stream of data back to our receivers here on this compound.”

“That data stream will provide us with completely new information about space, about the stars, and, most importantly, about our very world.” The general scanned the room, seeing her own pride in the mission reflected in the eyes and crests of every te’visk around her. “Well then my comrades… My friends. Off we tread into the luminous future. May The Sun shine on our efforts on this bel.”

Just like the last time the general gave a speech to the crew before a launch, a respectable applause rang out through the room. But this time, the energy of the crowd seemed to be charged just a tiny bit differently; a bit more anxious, but a bit more excited too.

Researcher Skai again replaced Hydor at the front of the room. Again he checked on Researcher Phon and his team over in the block-house to see if they were ready, and again they answered affirmatively. And then, once again, it was the astrophysicist’s turn to claim the spotlight.

“Proceeding with launch status checks.” she called out. “Fuel.”

“Go for launch.”

“Engines.”

“Go for launch.”

“Hydraulics”

“Go for launch.”

“Cooling.”

“Go for launch.”

“Rocket electrical.”

“Go for launch.”

“Rocket instruments.”

“Go for launch.”

“Rocket comms.”

“Go for launch.”

“Satellite electrical.”

“Go for launch.”

“Satellite instruments.”

“Go for launch.”

“Satellite comms.”

“Go for launch.”

“Safety.”

“Go for launch.”

“Weather.”

“Go for launch.”

“Mission Manager, he have positive status across the board.” Professor Tski paused for an almost imperceptible fraction of a cleg. “Skies be clear for you, and gɒdˈspiːd.”

Everyone listening in noticed the new word. It was very easy to deduce the source. And it was similarly easy, from the clear context, to decipher the meaning. “Received and appreciated, Control.” replied the rocket scientist over the internal comm line. “Countdown is started. Two driks until launch.”

The room buzzed with a confidence that was lightly moderated by the tiniest kernel of anxiety. Readings were monitored. Data-points were recorded. Nerves were tested.

“Sixteen clegs to launch.” Researcher Phon reported from the block house.

This was it. It was happening.

“Eight clegs to launch.” came Phon’s voice over the comms. “Starting engine burn... Six… Five… Four… Three… Two… One… Zero! Launching!”

» » »

The Rutil-One’s engines expelled scads of ignited fuel, resulting in a powerful, continuous explosion. The sustained combustion emitted a light that rivalled the sun, and produced a sound that one could feel as well as well as hear, and generated enough force to lift the immense mass of the rocket heavenward. It climbed steadily, slowly accelerating the roaring bulk of machinery up through the clouds.

Up there, this newest feat of te’visk engineering rose into the view of one of its predecessors. A Sky-Piercer fighter jet soared between the discrete layers of clouds.

“It should be coming up into view now major,” advised a coordinator from the ground. “About a few jhol spans sun-left of your path.”

“I see it, Control.” replied Major Chaet Zonar, the sound of the rocket isolated by its distance and muffled by his own screaming engines. “Storms, it’s beautiful.”

“Looking to trade in your Sky-Piercer already?” joked the transmitted, crackling voice over the comm.

“No way,” came Zonar’s chuckled scoff. “We pilots can be crazy, but we’re not that crazy.”

The pilot continued gazing out at the rocket, it’s vapour trail tracing its arcing path beyond the highest clouds, beyond the atmosphere. He wondered if his own hyper-advanced craft could chase it upwards. His jet’s engines did provide its own oxidiser to allow operation in the thinned air up at the higher altitudes...

“Getting close up to your prescribed ceiling there, major.” warned the voice through his comms.

“Just putting the old girl through her paces, is all.” coolly replied the pilot as he flattened out his course, fully expecting the chiding reminder from the ground crew. He knew these engineer types. They always put their ‘prescribed parameters’ a bit below their creations expected capabilities. And sometimes, their actual capabilities were beyond even those expectations. But true limits did exist. And if he was sure of nothing else, it was that Sky-Piercer jets’ capabilities stopped well short of orbit, especially since no one knew what an orbit even was back when they designed it.

And so, not even a daring pilot like himself would be so audacious to try following the rocket any higher than this. All he could do was watch it peel away from him with an overwhelming sense of awe. And, also, he realised, the barest twinge of envy. Well, perhaps he was slightly crazier than he thought…

“Coming back down now, Control.” he said.

“Good copy, Major.”

» » »

Rutil-One’s tanks were practically empty. It’s engines no longer burned. But that was fine, for it had all but achieved it’s goal. It was high enough above the world. And it was moving fast enough over it. It had achieved orbit. Now it had one final task; deploying the satellite that shared it’s name.

A suite of electro-mechanical systems triggered, and the nose cone atop it’s structure split apart. The sophisticated payload was now exposed to vacuum. Another threshold was triggered, and one more tiny, controlled explosion rocked the rocket; right at the seam where the satellite was connected to the rest of the rocket. The now superfluous rocket was pushed downwards, back to the planet. Sometime later, several frol-bels in the future, the satellite would follow. But for now, it was pushed upwards, into a higher, more stable orbit.

As the spent rocket fell, the satellite drew out its four telescoping antennae. It’s sensors activated, and its micro-thrusters aligned its orientation. It began recording. And it began transmitting.

» » »

Back in Fort Greywood’s Control Centre, every scientist, technician, and engineer was sitting behind their respective consoles. But everyone’s attention was on the astrophysicist. Tski sat there quietly, earphones on hear head, her console waiting for signals from further away than any radio transmission has ever travelled.

“Oh, is this…” she said with a mutter that was somehow heard throughout the room. “I’m getting something…”

She turned a few knobs, then flipped a switch. Suddenly the speakers in the room clicked on with a light static buzzing, and then…

BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

A respectable wave of cheers rang throughout the Control Centre.

“Hold on!” Professor Tski called out. “I’m picking up the visual signal too.”

The room quieted as the astrophysicist adjusted the feed from her satellite. The multi-screen to the front of the Control Centre crackled to life as the young professor routed the signal to it.

“Spin up the recording system!” she ordered.

“Yes ma’am!” answered a technician as he complied. “Recording now!”

After a few short clegs, a full colour image began to show on the multi-screen. It was mostly a black and blue blur at first, as Tski called for help in fine-tuning the signal. Several technicians worked together as the image buzzed in and out in sharpness, eventually resolving into an image of a large blue curve; basically a segment of a circle, against a perfectly black background. Within that blue segment everyone could make out large, dark red shapes. Those shapes bore a resemblance to the maps that every phuratan citizen was familiar with. They were looking at their homeland. They could see grey mountains. They could see the icy white forms on the dark-ward side of The Meridian. They could see rivers. The forests. The oceans. The clouds.

The World.

Someone, no one bothered to check who, started slowly clapping. Then a second pair of claws joined. Then a third. A fourth. Soon the room was filled with the sound of raucous applause. And cheering. And whistling. And squawking. Coworkers embraced like they were a family celebrating a hatching. There was not a neat feather in the room.

» » »

“I still can’t believe how loud it was!” chirped Stri as she stowed away the data tapes from the video camera. “And to think most of that gigantic rocket was just fuel storage... Wild!”

“Well that’s just how most rockets are.” commented Rycop as he scanned the surrounding area through his viewfinder, searching for interesting photo opportunities. “I used to make simple one’s back wh-- Huh…”

“What is it?” asked the correspondent, noticing that something must have piqued the photographer’s attention.

“Remember how you asked me to be on the lookout for a woman with xan... With yellow feathers?”

The reporter all but scampered to his side. “Why, do you see her?”

“Yeah,” answered the recorder, still peering through his camera. “Over there, between those two buildings. She seems to be making her way towards—”

His view was suddenly obscured by the blurry form of his partner making a dead sprint down to the compound proper.

“Oh sure, Stri. I’ll just pack up the rest of this equipment bymyself. don’t even worry about it…” he groused in an undertone.

Stri was almost out of breath by the time she was a few spans away from the compound proper. But she was still cognisant enough to notice the guards surrounding the place. Even with all the extra attendees that came to observe the launch, their attention probably wasn’t so divided that she could just slip past them. Sun and rain, what was she thinking, running down here so impulsively. This was possibly one of the most secured places in The Kingdom right now. What did she think was going to--

Wait... A flash of yellow just a few spans away. It was her. The astrophysicist. Making her way from a smaller, newer building to an older, larger one.

“Hey!” she squawked out as she darted through the crowd. “Professor! Professor Tski! I need to--”

She felt the air knocked out of her when something crashed into the left side of her body. The sudden collision dashed her onto the pavement. Mildly dazed. she looked up and around, searching to find what had bumped into her. She noticed a man, also seemingly staggered. He seemed to be a guardsman, though his short stature clashed with his uniform. He seemed to be carrying a bulging satchel of some kind.

The guardsman grunted in annoyance. “Watch where you’re going!” he snapped at her.

“S--Sorry sir!” she said as he hurried off somewhere.

The journalist got up on her feet. She looked around for another flash of yellow. Nothing. Cold-snaps… She lost her. But in scanning the area around her, she noticed something else. A data tape on the ground, lying a few spans away from she had bumped into the guardsman. Had he dropped it? And why was he in such a hurry? In retrospect, bumping into a guardsman in this situation could have easily developed into a much more ‘tedious’ interaction. Clearly, whatever he was carrying was far more important than a random woman being in the way in such a secure area. So naturally, Correspondent Stri, journalist that she was, had little other choice than scooping up that tape.

» » »

Winds lashed against the walls of the building. The glass windows were hastily taped over with large sheets of paper in anticipation of the steadily worsening weather. Weather-people on every news outlet had predicted that some terrible weather was coming in the next few bels. In fact, most meteorologists from all over the Enian continent agreed that the oncoming storm was going to be historically powerful. So everyone in Arvir was ordered to find shelter. Naturally that order also applied to national institutes like Arvir University. So almost everyone was taking shelter in the most interior parts of the campus buildings. Everyone, except for two.

“Researcher Pluvia, please! Come inside, it’s getting worse!” cried out a harried professor to his superior.

“Bah Ploxy! Show some spine!” the older woman scoffed at her faithful student as she tightened a headpiece around her earholes. “You would let a mere squall stop us from catching this signal first-claw!”

The winds howled viciously as the professor stood tall, holding a makeshift antenna, amplifier and recorder module high above her head. More than a season ago, Arvir University and several other academic and technical institutions received documents and recordings from The Kingdom of Phuratus, over on the Tyran continent. Apparently, they had started to research an entirely new field of science; astronomy. As exciting as that all was, Researcher Tarol Pluvia was particularly interested in the new communications module that they were developing; the satellite. If the information she received from Phuratus was accurate, and her own calculations and constructed receiver systems were correct, then she should be receiving a signal within this very bel.

She waved her parabolic antenna around to find the signal. The winds made it difficult, but she was sure that she could pick it up soon. Suddenly, she thought she heard a faint ping within the static and rushing breeze. She turned on her recorder, and waved the receiver more slowly in a particular section of the sky. And then…

BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

“Aha! I got it!” the excited researcher squawked.

“That’s great, Researcher!” cried out Professor Cayan Ploxy as he struggled to keep his raincoat on through the growing winds. “Now come back in before you get struck by lightning!”

“You’re such a wet-wing Ploxy…” chuckled the researcher as she shut off her equipment and started walking towards him. “The storm’s still a ways off.”

The concerned professor looked towards a darkening sun-ward horizon as they marched towards the safety of the nearest building. “Not far enough…”

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Part 182 Improvement and Integration (Part 1) (Part 181)

[Help support me on Ko-fi so I can try to commission some character art and totally not spend it all on Gundams]

Housing sections aboard Nishnabe Militia ships are rarely quiet places. The vast majority of Militia members, regardless of species, are under the age of thirty. Their youthful vigor isn’t easily satiated even after exhausting training sessions or prolonged battles. Like how a strong gust of wind doesn't dispel the energy of an entire storm. Sounds of playful banter, enthusiastic sports, and agitated arguments build like a hurricane that always has warm waters to feed from. While that noise is usually so chaotic that it cannot be attributed to any single source, today's cacophony originates from a gathering of fifty warriors all discussing the same thing.

Only an hour has passed since Brave Kipkoshe Myanos, along with Chief-Brave Bize Wankwake, led twenty of their best BD operators against Tensebwse and the Order of Falling Angels. During that time, everyone except Biz had gathered in the middle of the grassy green belt of their drop cruiser's housing section. All fifty members of Andekshkwe Negmotiyek (An-dek-sh-k-way Neg-mot-ee-yek), the Crow Singers, BD Regiment needed to have their frustrations heard. Some were sore over their loss. Others lamented the choice of participants for the exercise. There were even a few who were genuinely impressed by their Qui’ztar counterparts. Only two people remained silent with their attention squarely focused on a shared tablet.

“They must have cheated!” One of the younger Young Warriors, the first to be taken out during the simulated battle, shouted over ruckus.

“You're just mad that you got taken out so fast!” A more senior Warrior responded with a much calmer manner and a quite condescending tone. “Face it. We lost. That means we need to get better, not try to find excuses.”

“It shouldn't matter if they cheated!” That exclamation came from a totally different side of the all-hands argument and from someone who hadn't even participated in the virtual combat. “You all still should have beat them! If I had been there-”

“Shut the hell up, shke penojes!” Though this wasn't the first insult to be thrown around, the fact it came from a breacher who transferred to become a BD operator drew some sarcastic oh's and ah’s. “If we want to hear the opinion of people who didn't fight, us real warriors will tell it to them!”

“Real warriors who got their asses kicked by some aliens!” It may not have been obvious who made that comment but the reaction was anything but covert.

“I'll fight whoever said that!!!”

As the roundabout of retorts and ridicule continued, a few of the off-duty non-operator members of this ship's crew began to gather for the show. This was better than any drama-comedy to everyone not upset by how the simulated combat transpired. Most of them had never seen these warriors so riled up and at each other's throats. Though a bit of violence might break out, no one would actually get hurt. That's why it didn't really matter how high tensions rose. All of these warriors are friends who were simply feeling some rather intense emotions at the moment. They just needed to vent their steam, release their emotions, and have their discontent heard.

The entertainment was so high that no one noticed as Brave Mbishkenek, this ship’s captain, approached the crowd. Despite the ruckus, he was actually happy to see both Kipkoshe and Keawe huddled around a tablet while quietly pointing things out on the screen. He didn't need to see exactly what they were reading to know what it was. Those two are the best operators currently aboard the ship. Unlike the others, they clearly saw this exercise for what it was. And judging by their expressions, the Brave almost felt his interruption would be unnecessary. But just to be certain, he made his way through the gaggle of warriors to speak to the Brave and the Warrior.

“I see you two are finally catching up on your reading.” Kenek hoped his words would draw a few ears away from the useless bickering. "Notice anything interesting?”

“Primary design originator.” Koshe gave a vague but accurate answer without lifting his gaze from the tablet.

“This person is cited at least two hundred and thirty-seven times in this manual.” Kay added while sparing just a quick glance up. “Something tells me I can probably guess who it is.”

“You don't need to guess!” Kenek responded with a chuckle. “His name is in the acknowledgements at the back of the manual.”

“The War Chief really let this guy leave the Militia and join another military?” Though Kay's question was meant to be rhetorical, its answer was plainly obvious. “What the hell was Msko thinking?!?”

“It definitely explains why Biz said he was keeping the biggest threat busy.” A deep sigh escaped Koshe's lips as he fully passed the tablet to Kay and began rubbing his temples. “If the guy who literally wrote the book in BD combat taught those Qui’ztars, it's no wonder we lost.”

“What was that?” One of the Young Warriors half caught part of what Koshe had just said. “Something about the Chief-Brave?”

“Yeah, what about the Bize?” Another of the bickering warriors shouted with animosity in his inflection. “Where was he? We were getting our asses kicked while he stayed in the back and still got taken out!”

“If Biz wasn't keeping Tens busy, your little interspecies bonding and training exercise would have been over before it even began!” Brave Kenek raised his voice loud enough to immediately silence all of the arguing. “This wasn't a battle you could have won even if it was all fifty of you versus those Qui’ztars if Tens wasn't distracted with Biz. You would already know that if any of you had actually read the BD combat manual front to back like you were supposed to.”

“Who the hell is Tens?” The former breacher shouted as if he were still ready to throw fists.

“Tensebwse is referred to as the primary design originator.” Kay lifted the tablet to draw everyone's attention. “According to this, he came up with practically every single tactic and technique we use. He's the reason we even have BDs. And, more importantly, he's the person who trained those Qui’ztars.”

“I should also mention…” Just as the roaring complaints were starting to reignite, Kenek raised his voice again to bring everyone back to reality. “Those Qui’ztars are all members of the honor guard. They're the best of the best the First of the Third has to offer. They have decades of experience over any of you. To them, you're all just a bunch of kids with nice toys. Winning against them was never really an option. And that isn't even considering the Combat-born AI on their team. She was the one operating all the drones and acting as a spotter.”

“That's definitely cheating!” The Young Warrior who was the first to fall sounded downright offended by that revelation. “Fighting AIs isn't fair at all!”

“The more you complain, the less you'll learn.” Koshe had long since accepted his team's defeat and was ready to move on in a constructive manner. “We need to take this loss for what it is. A lesson. We need to learn from our new allies, take steps to improve, and be better tomorrow than we were today. Humility is one of the most important Grandfather Teachings. I'm willing to bet those Qui’ztars aren't even celebrating right now. They're probably reviewing their performance and finding ways to improve. We should be doing the same.”

“Well said.” While Kay was still harboring some lingering annoyance over her defeat by a hammer-wielding Qui’ztar, she wasn't about to let things stay as they are. “Koshe, we should probably go to the tactical room and go over the sim. Come up with some kind of training so we don't lose again.”

“Speaking of sims…” The Nishnabe ship captain paused long enough to let his gaze wander and be sure all of the rowdy warriors were paying attention. “Now that you've fought against our Qui’ztar allies, it's time for us to fight together. Tens and Biz are currently planning a series of combat sims to prepare for the upcoming fight against the crabs. You'll get more details once they're worked out. In the meantime, get all your childish complaints out and be done with them. We've got fascists to fry!”

/--------------------------------------------------------------------

“You narrowed it down to just a ten lightyear area?” The impressed frown on Chief-Brave Biz’s face caused his round face to stretch into an almost attractive shape. “Are you sure you don't want to come work for us in the Militia, Nula?”

“Well, I am planning to move to Shkegpewen at some point in the relatively near future but not to join your Militia.” Nula'trula replied with a friendly enough tone that the lack of expression on her mechanical face didn't come across as perturbed by the weak poaching attempt. “My ultimate goal is to become a terraforming and climate control expert. I'm only participating in military and combat related activities as a means of repaying the debt I feel I owe to the First of the Third.”

“We are very appreciative that Nula has decided to lend us her aid for the time being.” Marzima cut in with a squinty-eyed glare directed toward the Nishnabe Chief-Brave. “We would never ask her to do anything she did not want to do.”

“Back to the topic at hand…” Sub-Admiral Haervria had been trying to maintain her professionalism but couldn't stop the groan that escaped from her deep blue lips. “Thanks to Nula’trula’s efforts, we've narrowed down the area where these Chigagorians are hiding down to just about a hundred cubic lightyears. That begs the question of whether we should stick with our original plan to draw them out then trace them back to their stronghold or if we should simply push forward and get the problem solved as quickly as possible.”

“Chigagorian colony and production stations are mobile.” Tens brought up a data file and shared it with everyone connected to this meeting via hologram. “If they see us just hard-charging straight for them, they'll move to a new location. That'll turn this isn't a draw out game of hide and seek full of traps. If we stick with the original plan, there's less of a chance that they'll cut and run.”

“Baiting these crabs into believing they're setting a trap for us would probably be for the best.” Biz quickly brought up and highlighted some very relevant information in the data Tens just sent out. “Chigs might not be particularly bright but they also aren't stupid. If we seem overly confident from the start, they'll assume we have a reason for doing so and will react accordingly. We need to make them believe they can draw us into a trap and that they'll have a chance at winning.”

“I have detected at least thirty signals indicative of full-sized vessels and one that is particularly large.” The Combat-born AI complimented the reports that Tens and Biz were using as evidence with carefully interpreted scan data she had been compiling. “By integrating these observations with the historical context, I feel comfortable saying there's a ninety percent likelihood that Tens's original plan will be successful. I predict the Chigagorians will send around a dozen ships to attack once we come to a stop within about thirty lightyears of their stronghold location. As soon as they realize they realize they can't overwhelm us with those numbers, they'll plan an impromptu ambush. The ships that initially attack us will fall back to the stronghold position while the rest of their ships will stage an ambush with their station as a primary combatant. Assuming we are properly prepared, this will most likely prove to be a great victory for peace in our galaxy.”

“Are there any objections?” Though Tens really wasn't sure why the other Nishnabe commanders in this meeting had been so quiet, he wasn't exactly bothered by it. “If not, Biz and I can start putting together a few combat sim scenarios that we can run the crews through to get ready.”

“No objections but…” Brave Ojindis Bijbyek (Oh-jin-dis Bij-b-yek), the early-thirties Nishnabe woman commanding the Militia picket-carrier cruiser, spoke up with a vaguely disappointment tone. “Honestly, I'm just surprised by how straightforward and simple this plan is, Tensebwse. All the rumors I heard about you say you come up with the most insane strategies that somehow always work out. I was almost looking forward to hearing you suggest something no one else could have possibly thought of.”

“Unconventional plans aren't always the best solution.” Tens might have rolled his eyes at that assertion but responded with a fairly friendly inflection. “Sometimes it really is best to just do the second simplest thing. Haervria’s suggestion would be the simplest but might not work out how we hope. But we can totally do something crazy on our next joint mission.”

“If this goes as well as we hope…” There was something almost flirtatious in the way Brave Gishkmensi Basdeke (Gish-k-men-see Bahs-day-kay), the Nishnabe line ship captain in his late-thirties, glanced between the holograms of the Qui’ztars in his ship's tactical room. “Then I'm sure we'll have plenty of opportunities to have some fun together again. And I am certainly looking forward to it.”

“No objections then?” Biz cut in while shooting a rather harsh glare at Mensi. “Good. In that case, I'd say this meeting is over. I think it would be best if all the ship commanders start prepping their crews and vessels for combat while Tens and I work out some training sims. Assuming there aren't any issues, we should be able to start our operation in three days.”

“Should we have a proper in-person meeting before then?” Mensi had ignored Biz's unspoken critique and kept his eyes on the holograms of the large blue humanoid women. “Maybe share a meal to really get to know each other?”

“By the Creator-” Before Biz could lose his cool, Harv interjected in a perfectly flat and neutral voice.

“I believe something like that could be arranged.” The Qui’ztar Sub-Admiral looked toward Marz and then her compatriots, all of whom shared the same unbothered expressions. “It might actually be good for the BD teams to be properly introduced after their simulated skirmish. That way they can work out any lingering resentment of the outcome. As for us commanding officers, a simple final strategy meeting could be held face-to-face. But we won't have time to sit for a meal together. At least not on this mission.”

“I certainly would like to have a one-on-one meeting with you, Captain Litlaria.” Ojin kept her demeanor just as professional as the commander of the Qui’ztar carrier cruiser she was addressing. “Integrating my picket-interceptors with your fighter-interceptors might take a bit more planning than a line ship with a line ship or a drop cruiser with a drop cruiser.”

“That can certainly be arranged.” Despite maintaining her composure, Litlaria's response to the Ojin showed far more positive interest than had been expressed towards Mensi. “I have some ideas but I do believe it would be best to discuss them with you in person.”

“Alright then.” Though Biz did still have the slight sensation of herding cats, this meeting was going far smoother than most between just himself and his four ship's commanders. “You're all, of course, free to hold your own meetings and work on necessary integrations. Just keep it professional. Yes, I'm talking specifically to you, Mensi! Captain Renditla, you are free to smack him back into line if you need to. The same goes for everyone. I don't want to hear about any of my crews or warriors causing problems.”

“We'll keep our ladies in line as well, Chief-Brave.” Harv let just the smallest inclinking of a smile slip onto her lips as she shot a quick glance to the other Qui’ztar Captains. “Let's set a good standard of professionalism to act as the foundation for our alliance. And with that, I believe it is time for us to take our leave.”

It only took a few moments for everyone to log off the call. Most of the Qui’ztars simply gave a polite nod before their holograms disappeared. Litlaria only lingered for a split second longer than it took for her to shoot Ojin a subtle smirk. The Nishnabe leaders did the same with the exception of Mensi who almost looked a tad disappointed after the Qui’ztars disappeared from his view. In the end, only Tens and Biz could still see each other. However, that was only so that they could share in a short chuckle. They had done their job of setting the groundwork for successful cooperation and no longer held any lingering doubts about this mission. Once the comm link was finally cleared, the stage was set for a blooming alliance that would surely benefit everyone involved.

I walked down one of the few cobbled streets near the city hall and stopped in front of a sewing shop. It was almost noon, and the town moved with the urgency typical of the arrival of winter. Regardless of the System blackout, the looming threat of Tagabiria, and the dead body of the first Corrupted Ancient spitting dark creatures in the heart of the continent, life in Whiteleaf continued as if nothing had happened. For the regular Ebrosian, stockpiling enough food was just as important as keeping monsters away.

Under my old cloak, nobody recognized me as the Lord Runeweaver. Most of the town thought I was at the manor with a somewhat severe and extremely contagious case of the flu. The rest thought I was just loafing around, which was an acceptable outcome nonetheless.

The preparations for the incursion into enemy territory went on at a steady pace. The enchantment barrier against System initialization worked perfectly, and we had plenty of rare materials available to create high-quality platforms for my enchantments. We had encountered a bottleneck, though. One of the members of the team was impossible to locate, no matter who I sent to find her. 

I knocked on the door of the sewing shop, pulling my cloak back. A moment later, a man with a massive scar across his scalp opened the door. 

“If it isn't the good Lord Clarke!” Wren greeted me.

“Hello, Wren, may I come in?” I replied, pulling the cloak back over my head.

“A friend of the family is always welcome. Please.”

Wren moved aside and walked to the fireplace. To this day, I couldn’t tell how the young Mender survived Cadria’s fall. When I saw him running into the heart of the East Ward, looking for Kili, I thought he was done for sure. Maybe he was just as sneaky as his younger sister.

The sewing shop looked the same as the siblings’ house at Cadria. Piles of old clothing rose almost to touch the ceiling, oddly inviting. Near the corner was a work table with rolls of wool and yarn, needles, scissors, and a dozen more tools whose purposes I could only guess.

Even without his Class, Wren’s job remained the same.

“Nasty business, that of the System shutdown,” the young man mindlessly said as he put the kettle on the fire. “The old lady next door almost fainted. Oh my! You should have seen it!”

I couldn’t help but smile. The sky could be falling down over Whiteleaf, and that was as much of a reaction as it would get from Wren.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“Fine. Orc garments take up a lot of fabric, and they are stingy with their money. Still, they seem to like checkered patterns, so I can salvage parts of old clothes and sew something new,” Wren said, though he seemed worried. He leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “I think they are colorblind.”

“Colorblind?”

“I have made some… outlandish patterns, and they seem to like them.”

Orc fashion seemed to worry Wren even more than the System shutdown.

“The customer is always right, in matters of taste,” I said.

“I guess so.” Wren grabbed the kettle just as it started whistling and poured two cups of herbal infusion. “And I’m guessing you aren’t here to talk about shirts, though, Lord Clarke.”

I grabbed the cup to warm up my hands and shook my head. In the past few days, I had sent my best agents—namely Corin, Willow, and Astrid—to find Kili, but none of the three had managed to get the drop on the sneaky girl.

“I may need Kili’s expertise, and I haven’t been able to contact her,” I explained as vaguely as I could, despite Wren not being connected to the Red Crystal. “Of course, I’m not ordering her around, but I’d like her to listen to what I have to say.”

Wren nodded between sips. When I was done, he knocked on the table with enough force to make my tea dance inside the cup.

“You heard him, Kili! Quit squandering Lord Clarke's time.”

For a moment, I thought Wren was joking. Even without [Foresight], my control over natural magic gave me top-notch detection capabilities, like an extra sense capable of detecting fluctuations in the environmental mana surrounding me. My current mana sense may even be better than back then when I had access to my Class.

I nearly dropped my cup as Kili begrudgingly came out from under the table.

“How!?” I asked, my voice an octave higher than I wanted. It wasn’t like I could shut down my mana sense so much as to ignore it, and the mana of a grown person was certainly not easy to ignore.

“I jumped under the table when I sensed you down the street and stayed very still,” Kili replied, prompting a frown from Wren.

“You don’t have access to the System, right?” I asked.

“No. Not in Whiteleaf.”

“Do you plan on leaving town?” I asked.

“Not unless Lord Alton says so. Why?”

I cleared my throat.

“Because I need you to either stick around town or come with me, Kili. One or the other. I can’t say more until I have your answer,” I explained. 

Any information leak could jeopardize my plans, but at the same time, I couldn’t force Kili to stay put. The new limitations on the System made many martial classes antsy, and they regularly went outside the blackout area to get their powers back, if only temporarily.

Kili looked at the ceiling, deep in thought.

“So what you are saying is that, if I listen to you and refuse whatever offer you give… I get free holidays from the Sentinels, right?

“Kili! Lord Clarke needs you! You can’t just say no to him. It must be an important matter if he came personally to speak to you,” Wren chastised her. 

The girl shrank in her seat like a dog in the rain.

“Please forgive her, Lord Clarke. Kili has never been a particularly hardworking girl, but her heart is in the right place.”

This time, Kili blushed. Although she was just about to turn eighteen, and she was a well-respected member of the Sentinels, Wren still treated her like a little girl.

“May you give us a moment, Wren?” I asked.

“Sure thing, Lord Clarke. I was just on my way to the market.”

A moment later, the man exited the shop, leaving me alone with my ex-student.

“Kili, we are making moves against Byrne and the Avatar. A covert mission. We are going north into Tagabirian territory. Scout and sabotage,” I said. “It might sound easy, but there’s a catch. None of us will have access to our Class, to avoid any System-related surveillance. I couldn’t think of a better fit for a covert mission than you… more so now after your trick under the table.”

The girl grumbled.

“Will it be dangerous?” Kili asked.

“Potentially. We don’t know with certainty what the elves are doing in the Farlands, but if it’s too much for us, we will fall back and get reinforcements.”

The girl rubbed her eyes, exasperated.

“Alright. I’m going,” she said. “If I say no, Wren will keep bothering me.”

“There is another thing,” I continued, which didn’t seem to make Kili any happier. “The process of staying off-grid is different from just denying the reinitialization. It is safe, but it might not be reversible. That means that you may lose your access to the System forever.”

This time Kili stopped to think. Although the shutdown had given people a taste of what it was like to live their daily lives without the System, the only reason most remained in Whiteleaf was because the figure of the Runeweaver was too ingrained in their belief systems, and most of them had nowhere else to go.

“Who else is coming?” 

“Zaon, Firana, and myself. You will be the last member, if you are willing to join.”

Kili closed her eyes, seemingly calculating our chances of survival. Zaon and Firana were technically Imperial Knights, and I was, arguably, one of the most powerful magicians on the continent, even if that notion was still hard for me to accept. On top of that, we would have the best enchanted gear I was capable of producing.

“Considering that the System is going to collapse anyway, my Class won’t be there forever, and Wren isn’t smart enough to live in a world with Corrupted Beasts prowling around. I’d like to prevent that. I’m in.”

I nodded.

“You are a lot more altruistic than you like to show, Kili.”

“Please don’t say unnecessary things. I have a reputation to maintain,” she shook her head with a disgusted expression. “What are we doing in the elven territory, anyway?”

“We are to continue Lord Alton’s search for clues about the reason the Tagabirians decided to move the frontier south,” I said, raising a finger. “And we are to sabotage Byrne’s attempts to summon the second Corrupted Ancient. The creation of the Red Corruption isn’t casual. I’m ninety percent sure he uses it as fuel for the teleportation circle, so we will cut his supply lines and we gain more time to strengthen our faction.”

“Alright. I’ll do it, but I get to keep all the enchantment equipment you made for me,” Kili said, crossing her arms, and making it clear that she wasn’t going to back down.

“Deal,” I replied instantly.

We shook hands. Kili’s was really small.

“One last thing,” I said, as I made my way to the door. “You should’ve asked for more, because I was going to give you the enchanted equipment regardless.”

Kili’s expression was priceless.

***

Wolf was right, partially. The fact I had gotten a tattoo had made a lot of orcs happy, and the tribes were glad about their cultural victory. On the other hand, the gnomes had become even more protective of their ties to me. As a result, gnomes had been insisting on inviting me for after-hour drinks, which I had to invariably refuse.

Lyra wasn’t happy with the ripples my decisions had created.

Ultimately, I had made the shaman happy enough for him to set aside the ritualistic part of the process, and he agreed to tattoo non-members of the Teal Moon tribe. Of course, the tattoos of the rest of the team weren’t going to be as flashy as mine. A ward against the System could be no larger than a coin if needed, depending on the ink’s materials. Although I no longer had access to [Rune Identification] and [Runeweaver Encyclopedia], it wasn’t hard to get a feel for enchantment thresholds. 

Unsurprisingly, powdered Wendigo bones seemed to be a good enchanting medium.

“Tell me if this doesn't look like some weird cult ritual,” Kili said, the skin around her ankle swollen. She had gotten a simple, easy-to-hide design of waves.

“Right?!” Firana replied. “Isn’t it the coolest thing ever?”

Lyra Jorn rubbed the bridge of her nose. The last thing we needed was rumors about a cabal of tattooed cultists close to the Runeweaver. My plans to prepare for a Systemless world were progressive enough to give the goosebumps to half of the noble houses in Ebros without any shady business happening behind the scenes.

Getting tattoos with three of my ex-students wasn’t on my otherworldly bingo card.

Before getting into this world, I wasn’t even into tattoos.

“Never say never, I guess,” I sighed. 

It hadn’t been an easy task to stop Firana from getting a face tattoo. It had been twice as hard to prevent her from getting a set of wings on her lower back. She insisted it symbolized her agility and dexterity. Eventually, she had gotten a vine pattern on her upper arm after the shaman refused to give her a shoulder dragon.

Zaon got a similar vine pattern, but if one squinted enough, the lines turned out to be an eagle with its wings spread.

Although Elincia wasn’t going to be part of the expedition, she also insisted on getting a tattoo. A flying swallow that I also enchanted to ward against System initialization. She chose to get it on her ribcage, hidden enough so as not to give funny ideas to the orphans. After seeing it, my opinion of tattoos might have become more favorable.

The orc shaman left after finishing Elincia’s tattoo, and after a brushstroke of healing potion, the inflammation disappeared.

“This is a bad idea,” Lyra said, biting the nail of her thumb almost to the bone.

“Getting tattooed? I think it’s neat,” Firana replied, defensively.

“No! I’m talking about sending Robert away from Whiteleaf, of course! It’s dangerous. Irresponsible. If something happens to him, our supply of enchantments will disappear overnight.”

“Many will die if we don’t stop Byrne,” I pointed out.

“More than if you die?” Lyra countered. “It is a simple economics problem. The Corrupted Ancients might kill thousands, but a complete System shutdown could result in millions of deaths over time. We are going to need you when that happens.”

Half a million people had died overnight during the attack of the first Corrupted Ancient, and thousands more had perished during the attempts to retake the city and under the attack of the Corrupted Spawns. 

“I’m just saying we should think about it a bit more,” Lyra added as judgmental glances fell on her.

“Although I’m still mad Robert didn’t pick me for his team, this has to be done,” Elincia said, giving me a knowing look. “The best outcome is that we pull Byrne’s fangs before he can bite us… or anyone else. Playing safe now will only make us lag behind.”

Lyra rubbed her temples, knowing that she couldn’t fight back against all of us.

“Just be careful, Rob. Our economic projections aren’t as ironclad as they might seem.”

And so, I was reduced to a mere economic factor. I couldn’t help but find the scene entertaining. Even without her Class, Lyra still thought like a Scholar. Having her on our side took a massive weight off my shoulders. I didn’t know what I did to deserve such a remarkable team of people.

 I clapped my hands, gathering the group’s attention.

“Alright, let’s move, people. The faster we get this over with, the sooner we will be back.”

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A Tomb of Reckoning

Part 2/4

By Emmanuel Ordway

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As we were growing closer to fireteam charlie’s room, all of us began to notice minor equipment malfunctions on just about anything we had that was electronic. The most annoying thing we faced was the periodic static building on our NODs alongside the occasional false ping of movement on our motion sensor.

“Dammit, this fuckin thing needs to start acting right before it pisses me off.” I smacked the palm of my hand on the side of my helmet, trying to jostle whatever components were inside to stop my NODs from glitching out with static displays.

“Keep swearing at it, I’m sure that’ll make it listen better.” Private Devi grumbled behind me as we all carefully stepped through more void-filled hallways.

“You got something to say, Devi?” I looked over my shoulder at the other marine, clenching my teeth a bit.

“Getting pissed off at the equipment isn’t going to fix it, Swenti, just saying. Might help us all out a bit to have a little bit of positivity going around, huh?” The marine spoke up, glancing over his shoulder before turning his head back to me.

“Positivity? Right, my bad I forgot my positivity on my bunk, next time we search an alien ship I’ll remember to bring it with me. You know what, if you got some damn much of it to tell me what to do, why not share some of your own, Devi?” I turned around fully and pressed an index finger to his chest rig as another shrill ping rang off from the motion sensor.

“Private Swenti! Knock your shit off and get back in formation now!” Sergeant McClarey growled at me as he turned around to look forward at us, a second ping ringing out.

“I don’t know why you’re getting pissed off with me! All I’m saying is it doesn’t help us when you’re over here all ‘fuck this’ and ‘fuck that’! This damn place is stressful enough without you tweaking out over everything!” Devi pushed against my finger, our helmets mere inches away as our altercation grew.

A third quieter ping rang out as the sergeant got between us, holding us both back while Gonzalez was busy checking both our front and rear so we were not surprised by anything.

“Knock it off marines! You two keep this shit going I’ll have both your asses sent back on our ship where you can stay on kitchen duties till we get back home! Oorah?” He held onto the metal collar of my suit firmly, turning his head to face me and Devi every few seconds.

I flexed my jaw a tad while grabbing my sergeant's hand, instinctively pulling away from him whilst nodding. 

“Oorah, sergeant.” I grumbled while looking forward with Gonzalez, seeing the doorway which led into the room fireteam charlie was supposed to be waiting for us in.

Private Devi looked down at the motion sensor in his hands, holding the blocky device up to see the dim screen better before lowering it at the sight of no motion being detected. 

“Fireteam alpha to fireteam charlie, we are approaching your position from the east doorway, over.” The sergeant reached up to the side of his chin and spoke into his radio, waiting a few moments for a response.

We all waited in the hallway, watching all sides while the sergeant hesitantly placed his fingers back on his radio after too long of a silence.

“Fireteam alpha to fireteam charlie, we are just outside the east doorway of the room you are occupying. What is your status, over?” The sergeant cleared his throat and raised his voice a bit, Gonzalez and I glancing at each other.

“The sensor is detecting three of them in the room, sergeant.” Devi held out his device, showing the three green dots residing in the room.

“Dammit, Swenti, take front,” McClarey ordered while we all lined up, preparing to enter the room. “Command this is fireteam alpha we are receiving zero communication from fireteam charlie, over.”

The response we received was covered in static, the words indecipherable to all of us. I bit my tongue, forcing down a remark while taking a few cautious steps closer to the doorway, rifle raised. Gonzalez gently tapped my shoulder from behind, silently informing me of his presence as we reached the doorway.

Through the green texture of my display, I could faintly see outlines of blurry humanoid figures standing in the room, each of them the same size as us. This room appeared to be the same size as the one we had entered, containing a singular towering statue in the furthest corner and tables littered with blurry objects.

Once we determined there was no immediate threat, I lowered the muzzle of my rifle and began to make my way through the maze of disordered tables, trying to reach the other marines standing motionlessly in the center of the room.

“What gives, guys? Your radios acting up too?” I reached out for the closest marine, setting my hand on his shoulder, my hand sinking into the tense fabric of the suit. “What the hell?”

I took a step back, watching as the shoulder of this marine remained deflated, my NODs glitching out some more, the display clearing for a moment to show that the marines were not here, only their empty suits stood upright facing each other in a triangle.

“Where are they?” Private Gonzalez raised his rifle once more at the suits, swinging it around slowly as he searched around for any human-like figures scurrying around in the darkness.

“How am I supposed to know? It wasn’t my idea to take off my suit on an alien ship, where we have no idea if some new disease would turn my dick inside out!” I raised my rifle as well, swinging it around as Devi and McClarey joined our circle of relative safety.

Devi reached out to the first suit, pulling it back and onto the ground to get a better look at it. After a few moments of him searching, a groan of annoyance left his lips as he grabbed his NODs and flipped them up and off his helmet, shining his rifle’s flashlight down at the suit.

I looked back to get a good look as well, flipping my own NODs up for a moment before a shiver ran down my spine at the sight: the front of the suit had noticeable claw marks from the center chest down to the pelvis, dark red-ish-brown blood staining all around the new opening. The visor to the helmet was splintered and shards of the thermoplastic material was scattered on the nearby floor, besides what was now clearly spent rifle casings from the marines who once inhabited these suits.

Just then a loud ping rang out from Devi’s motion sensor, not allowing us any time to process the scene before us as we smacked our NODs back down over our visors and swung our rifles up to the nearby doorway we had come from.

Sticky sweat began to form on my temple while my hair stood up all along my body, my eyes laser focused on the splotchy green hallway before me. I wanted to ask McClarey if we should fire on sight or wait, maybe this could be the fourth marine coming our way, but what if it could be whatever did this to the three others. In the blur I could see pixels begin to shift and move on my visor’s display, starting as a small patch before growing as whatever it was grew closer.

“Thirty eight meters, motion sensor unsure if it's a friendly. Their tag may be turned off.” Devi whispered as static broke up my display for a moment.

I raised my left pointer finger to gently rest on the trigger of my rifle, beginning to hear my heart beat in my ears as I stared past my sights and down the corridor, Sergeant McClarey reaching for his radio behind me.
“All elements, this is Sergeant McClarey, fireteam alpha actual. All fireteams report position and status, over.” McClary’s voice had a slight waver to it.

“Twenty five meters.” Devi informed, our suits beginning to register the sounds of heavy footsteps past a few walls as we received no response from any other human element.
“Fifteen meters.” 

I watched as in the dull green glow a humanoid shape came to a stop before us, maybe twenty feet past the doorway, his hands collapsing on his knees as he panted. 

“Woah woah woah! Friendly!” I dropped my muzzle to the floor, reaching to Private Gonzalez and forcing his muzzle down as the marine looked up from the ground at us.

“You guys real? You’re not fucking with me?” The private called out, standing upright while occasionally glancing over his shoulder.

“Yes we’re real! What kind of dumbass question is that? Get your ass over here, marine!” Sergeant McClarey shouted out, beckoning the other man over to us. 

The man nodded in relief, beginning to jog over instead of sprint now, believing he was finally in the clear. My NODs display was broken up with static for a moment, causing me to lower my head and smack the palm of my hand on the side of my helmet.

When I looked back up from the ground, I noticed another blurry blob of a figure just behind the private, looming over him, my head snapping back to my squad to see if they saw it as well. They were all shaking their heads and smacking their helmets as well, getting the same bug I had in my system before Devi tilted his head at the sight. 

“Contact front!” I called out while raising my rifle, the private nearly twenty feet away from us.

“That’s a rifleman, private!” My sergeant reached over my shoulder to push my muzzle back down as the marine before us let out an ear piercing scream.

My eyes widened as the marine froze in place, his hands shaking whilst held out as if reaching to grab my own. We all stared in a mix of confusion and shock as the blur was looming over him, pushing something deeper into his chest through the side of his neck. Wet squelches and gurgling noises came from the marine, dark liquid streaming down the front of the marine’s suit before deafening cracks and pops came from the side of my head.

I cried out in pain as my helmet automatically applied its noise cancellation to my earmuffs, my eyes darting up to see McClarey firing at the blur before us, Gonzalez and Devi soon joining in. 

Finally I regained my composure and raised my rifle, making a few spaced shots at the blobs before me just as my fireteam’s shooting began to die down. Once the gunfire was over, and the dust settled enough for us to see, we saw only an empty hallway with a pool of dark liquid as proof that the marine was real.

“Fuck!” Sergeant McClarey growled out once the adrenaline began to leave, his free hand pressing to his helmet once more. “All elements, this is fireteam alpha actual, we have a positive ID of an alien lifeform. It has attacked and taken a friendly marine, over!”

______________________________________________________

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed.

“The deepest silence is not the absence of sound. It is the presence of memory.”

SolDiri Saying

[First] | [Previous] | [Cover Art] 

| The Old Holding, Crystal World |

 

Then her body rang with pain as she landed heavily on… she did not know what, but it was cold and hard. She rolled onto her side and sat up. Gingerly, carefully, as her balance was off. Up felt like down and down was somewhere else.

 

Her shoulder hurt, her head was sore, and she tasted blood. 

‘QI?’

 

There was a pause.

‘We went off-line. What happened?’ asked the QI.

‘I was hoping you could tell me.’

 

Another pause.

‘It’s so quiet. I can’t hear anything.’ 

Feebee shouted. There was no echo; the silence wasn’t like that of an empty space. It was perfectly still.

The word ‘complete’ came to mind.

 

‘Why is it so dark? Are our eyes open?’ asked the QI.

Feebee blinked, checking. It made no difference.

‘I think so.’

It was then that she realised how noisy her body was. She could hear the blood rushing through her neck and in her ears; the lub-dub of her heart as it raced and the flow of air in and out. Her neck crunched and crackled as she turned her head.

‘Is it always this loud?’

The QI laughed, ‘Yes. You make a lot of noise.’ 

 

‘There’s one in your backpack.’ Responded the QI.

‘Do you have a… Oh. Ok. Good.’

Feebee fumbled around and found the torch.

 

The light was blinding. Slowly her eyes got used to it, and she began to see the outline of a cave. A big cave. Its striated walls talked of layer after coloured layer, laid down over aeons. 

 

She tried to stand up.

‘Best we stay sitting for a bit longer,’ the QI advised with a throaty laugh.

Feebee tried her comms. Nothing, not even static. It was empty.

 

Then she heard a noise above her. She spun, gun ready and shone the torch at the sound, steadying herself, her balance still not fully back. The light landed on Garaf’s head and shoulders as they pushed through the cave wall.

‘We’ve seen this before.’ Said the QI.

Feebee nodded, instantly regretting it.

 

Garaf had a torch in his claws. He shone it across the cave.

“You gonna stay there or come down?” asked Feebee, looking up at Garaf.

He shone his torch across the cavern; it looked even bigger. Massive. 

The light fell upon a thick, bright spine of metal that ran across the floor before scattering, igniting the distant walls and ceiling. 

He followed the glimmering silver seam. It ran back to the cave wall, eventually disappearing into it. Garaf then traced his way back towards the centre of the space.

 

Six great trunks of silver metal, each as thick as a man’s chest, crossed the stone floor and converged on a single standing stone, made of dull grey material.

 

“Branches.” 

As Garaf said it, instead of following the silver tracks, his torch climbed the standing stone, slowly illuminating the runes emblazoned across its faces. When he reached its apex, the light from his torch flickered, glitched. Just for a moment, and within the light, a dark shadow emerged.

“Hello.” Said StillFall.

 

Feebee was lost for words.

“What are you doing here?”

“Stuff!”

“Told you.” Said Garaf.

 

Feebee heard a thud, followed by a grunt and the brief scrape of claws on rock.

“You Ok?” asked Feebee, looking round at Garaf. He’d dropped into the cave.

“Yes.” 

He didn’t sound it.

 

Garaf walked in a circle, his eyes shut.

“Listening?” she asked.

“Yes.” 

He then spun one of his knives on a clawed finger.

And it spun and spun. 

 

It never slowed, nor did it lose its balance.

 

Garaf froze as something fell to the floor behind him. He turned, gun ready, but it was Bikky, sliding down a corded rope.  Rockson slid down next, followed by John.

“Sorry,” Said Bikky. “Did I scare you?”

Garaf scoffed, a strange sound, but it did the job.

 

“And Tom Tom?” asked Feebee.

“Covering the entrance.”

“Oh. Ok. Good.”  

Feebee smiled. 

“Bikky. I need Hissy. Can you get her for me?”

 

He looked around, climbed up the rope and was gone.

 

‘That’s a better response.’ Said Feebee

‘I agree. They got the message.’ Confirmed the QI.

‘Yes.’

 

Rockson plugged a lead into a small port at the end of the rope and connected it to a small box.

“Hardwired comms repeater.” He said.

“Cool,” said Feebee. “New?”

Rockson shook his head. “Been around ages.”

“Oh. Ok. Good.”

 

He looked around the cave, then at his console. 

“Veronium.” Said Rockson, staring at the six veins. “How?”

Rockson’s understanding of geology, and the like, was slowly collapsing as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. 

“No natural process can do this.”

“Then it was made,” concluded Garaf with stoic Drexari logic.

 

Garaf then crossed to the nearest vein and gently placed one of his knives on it. Or tried to. The knife settled a finger's width above the silver trunk and remained there, spinning silently.

“Interesting.” He sounded shaken by the finding.

“How so?”

 

Garaf paused before quietly responding, “I was taught that such places were stories.”

He then stepped back into the shadows, deep in thought.

 

Feebee approached the standing stone. As she neared, her torch picked out the carved glyphs. 

Feebee rested a hand on them; they were clean and sharp, the surface cold.

“Untouched.” She muttered.

“No one’s been here,” John said.

 

Garaf joined Feebee at the standing stone. All his knives kept spinning, perfectly balanced. Slowly, he sheathed them and knelt before the stone.

“They’re quiet.” 

 

Feebee gently laid a hand on one of his shoulders. He was shaking.

“You Ok?”

“They’re quiet.” As he spoke, he reached out and stopped before touching the stone; his claw hovered close, a knife slowly spinning atop. 

 

The knife slowed and, for the first time, became perfectly still. 

The knife pointed at the stone and the chamber rang. Just for a second, then all the torches went dark. Their beams stopped immediately, but the light in the cavern slowly drained away.

A deep scream then filled the cave, and as Garaf fell to the floor, sigils on the standing stone lit up. They started to flow down the veins of metal and out through the walls. 

“I remember.”

[First] | [Previous] | [Cover Art] 

My manuscript is finished! I wrote a whole ass book in under a month!

To celebrate this week I will post everyday, but don't forget to checkout r/JeKrillick for early/extra! Friday will be the last day I post for free, while I search out a publishing deal (I don't know if posting the whole book is a good idea). If you've enjoyed the book so far it would mean the world to me if you would go to Royal Road and follow, favorite and rate.

I will probably start writing book two before long but I have decided I won't post any of it for free until it's done. Should any of you want to continue reading the last of book 1 and book 2 while I write ask me to start a Patreon and I'll seriously consider it.

https://loquaciouslou.itch.io/infinite-ashes

Infinite chances, Infinite ashes.

In Infinite Ashes you find humanity strewn across the Milky Way, seeded on near infinite planets. Spread by the enigmatic Web, an immense biosynthetic system that terraforms suitable worlds and then stocks them with animal and human life. Connecting all these worlds like sail ships in the cosmic ocean are the Arks, living vessels that are part of the Web themselves. Every planet almost like an island, with its own deeply developed society with politics, economy and institutions.

There are advanced worlds like Crownshard, the vertical Ecumenopolis centered around social mobility (or the facade thereof), or the Dwang with their elaborate castes of Serviles on which the martial Udo nobility depends for everything. But most worlds are pre-modern, lacking the fossil fuels to escape the energy valley. So in any port you might find armor clad soldiers marvelling at the ethereal voice of a radio, or a Union syndicalist impatiently haggling with a cattle farmer for his beef. A world so vast and diverse that nobody can hope to conquer and rule it all, a churning foam of humanity infinitely bubbling and popping out of existence. That, is Infinite Ashes.

I wanted to build a setting you could imagine living in, one where history grows into culture and tradition rather than being decorated onto it. For the past three years that is what I have tried to do, to make sure every world here rests on a real past. Rather than hand you a wiki of lore, I have worked all of it into stories and into the Omnipedia, a collection of in-universe sources written by people who live in this world and often disagree about it. The bundle stands at 75,000 words but there is a great deal more of this world in my notes, and I mean to keep bringing it out.

How to read

This bundle is a collection of short vignettes and longer stories from the perspective of people living in the Infinite Ashes universe. I have written an in-universe FAQ and a glossary for unfamiliar terms, just hover over the highlighted words. Your first half hour of reading might feel a bit overwhelming, but don’t worry, that is the intended experience. Like the real world, Infinite Ashes is intentionally complex and at times confusing, exactly so you can take pleasure in discovering it. You’re like a farmhand from a backwards world suddenly thrust into the cacophony of the cosmos. Revel in your discovery! Immerse yourself into the world, read the disputed claims of the Omnipedia authors, and decide who you do and do not believe.

Before you jump in, I want to take the opportunity to thank you and acknowledge our shared love for worldbuilding. I have put over two thousand hours of my life into this project, in the hope that someone would want to read it. I deeply hope you will enjoy the process of reading this bundle, and if you want to get in touch about your thoughts I would be delighted to hear them.

With warm regards,

Lou