DC Next Proudly Presents:

NIGHTWING:

In Hunter Hybrid
Issue Fourteen: The Meek Shall Inherit
Written by AdamantAce
Edited by PatrollinTheMojave
 
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Dick's heart hammered against his chest like a pounding storm as he stood amidst the laboratory, flanked by Artemis and Barry Allen, the Flash. The weight of worry for Mar'i bore down on him unbearably, each moment without her amplifying his anxiety.
In the secluded closet hidden at the back of the lab, Dick and Artemis had found something haunting: a trove of withered seedlings, dead plants that looked alien in nature. Assuming the worst, but needing to confirm, Dick had quickly summoned a friend with a history of running genetic samples - none other than the Scarlet Speedster - to the scene.
Barry’s brow furrowed in concentration as he examined the specimens, having already run several tests.
“I'm limited in what I can do here; I'm a CSI, not a xenologist,” Barry admitted with regret, evoking his favourite chief medical officer of fiction. “Really, this really feels like a job for someone like Cadmus. Alien DNA is their whole deal.”
Dick could only grimace at the suggestion, reminded of the sickening experiments he had unearthed in the bowels of the Chicago cloning laboratory, of the dozens of aborted attempts at cloning Bruce Wayne. It was hard to stomach, especially knowing that he still had no idea who was responsible. “Not an option," he replied firmly. “Not Cadmus.”
Barry raised an eyebrow, his curiosity evident in his expression. “You don't believe those rumours about the Superboy clones, do you?" he asked. “They’re Reawakened through and through. Blame the other universes’ Cadmuses.”
In response, Dick shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s… something else.”
Barry then looked to Artemis and smiled. “It’s, uh… nice to meet you properly by the way,” he said. “I heard you, uh, shoot arrows.”
Despite the terrible situation they were in, Artemis allowed herself a snicker in response to the Flash’s awkwardness. “Among other things. It’s important to branch out, seeing as I know you already have an arrows guy.”
Just then, Tim emerged from behind a sliding door, draped in his red and black Rook gear, a stack of papers in hand. “Got the printouts you asked for,” he said, handing them over to Barry.
Barry swiftly flipped through the pages at super speed, his expression growing grim as he absorbed the information.
“What is it?” asked Artemis.
“What we feared,” he announced somberly. “The dead seedlings match the profile of alien species, with a significant DNA match for the Morning Eclipse sample you got from Starling’s fingernails.”
Dick's frustration boiled over, his voice dripping with anger. “Wilkof,” he spat, his jaw clenched in fury. “He let that damn killer plant loose.”
Tim struck himself in the shoulder in self-reproach. “I should've put it together sooner,” he muttered. “Wilkof knew plenty about Tamaran even before you let him speak to Mar’i.”
“It’s worse than we thought,” added Barry, and everyone’s blood turned cold. “This Dr Wilkof wasn't just releasing the Morning Eclipse, he was trying to propagate them; taking cuttings to grow more of them. We’re just lucky the Earth's sunlight is too diffuse for their growth.”
Dick's eyes widened in horror. “So he’s trying to create an army of killer plants?”
Barry nodded solemnly. “An army or a particularly menacing greenhouse.”
Artemis's brow furrowed as she pieced together a crucial detail. “Wait, a couple years ago they had me subbing in the bio department at school for a few months. I’m pretty sure plants grown from cuttings are meant to be genetically identical to the parent.”
Tim cursed under his breath and then reached for the printouts to give them a check over himself. “You’re right! Genetic variation only occurs after pollination. But these plants aren't self-pollinated. They're too distinct from the original sample taken from Mar'i’s attack.”
Barry's voice quivered as he raised a troubling possibility. “Could there be two adult killer plants on the loose?”
“No, it's not that,” Tim quickly replied again, his expression grave as he looked up from the stack of papers. “It's worse.”
Artemis' heart sank. “How could it possibly be worse?”
“The dead seedlings share identical DNA with each other. And every single one of their genes is present in the parent sample. But the parent also has additional chromosomes that all of the seedlings lack,” Tim explained as his eyes traced the text on the papers once more. “The parent had an extra 48 chromosomes.”
Barry's face paled. "48? Are you sure?”
“48? What does that mean?” asked Dick, looking rapidly back and forth between Tim and Barry.
Artemis gritted her teeth. “Humans have 48 chromosomes. The adult plant is half human.”
“Fully human,” Barry corrected. “And fully plant too. A symbiosis.”
“What does that mean?” asked Dick, scared of the answer he would soon receive.
“It means I think Wilkof merged himself with the plant.”
 
🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹
 
Ker-tonk.
Ker-tonk.
Ker-tonk.
Mar’i lay in the darkness of the car’s trunk, helpless. She couldn’t tell how long it had been since she last felt the sun’s warmth on her skin. She tried to summon childhood memories of Tamaran, of the sun her father had found oppressive and her mother found liberating. But they were distant and blurred, echoes from another lifetime - and another timeline.
As the car rumbled on, she focused on her senses, trying to glean any information about her surroundings. The air was stale and musty, tinged with the scent of oil and rubber. The vibrations of the road beneath her reverberated through her body, a constant reminder of her captivity.
Eventually, the car came to a halt, and Mar’i braced herself as the trunk door creaked open, flooding the confined space with blinding light. Blinking rapidly, she squinted against the harsh glare, feeling the rejuvenating solar rays bathing her, a stark contrast to the cold darkness of her confinement.
Dr Wilkof loomed over her, his appearance now almost normal except for a slight pallor that hinted at something darker beneath the surface. He reached out, his hands enveloping her wrists, which were bound with withered rope. Thick, barbed vines extended from the sleeves of his coat, renewing her restraints and further draining what little power reserves she had left.
As he dragged her up out of the trunk, Mar’i found herself in the midst of a desolate car park, surrounded by nothing but empty space and the looming silhouette of a large hangar. She had nary a clue of where they were.
“It will be easier if you don’t struggle,” he said, his tone devoid of joy or malice, as if he were simply stating a fact. But Mar’i knew better than to trust his words.
As Wilkof led her towards the hangar, Mar’i stumbled along behind him, the vines around her wrists taut like a leash. She tried to reason with him, to appeal to the vestiges of his humanity buried beneath the madness that gripped him.
“You don’t have to do this,” she implored, unsure of how much of his humanity really remained. “The plant doesn’t have to control you.”
Wilkof's eyes gleamed with a haunted fervour as he shook his head, the vines’ grip tightening around Mar'i’s wrists. “I've sacrificed too much to stop now,” he muttered. Those words carried a strange quality,like they weren’t fully his. Maybe it was the plant talking, maybe they were words he had rehearsed to himself enough times for them to become hollow. “I won’t let it all be in vain.”
For a moment, Mar’i was left to wonder what he meant by that. Then she remembered what little she knew about him, and a shiver ran down her spine. (He had fed the rest of his team from the lab to the plant, a grim sacrifice to fuel his delusions of grandeur.*
“No one cared about mild-mannered Hunter Wilkof,” he continued, his voice cracking with bitterness. “The plant promised to make me someone special, to make me famous.”
Mar’i shook her head in disbelief as she continued to be lugged along. “The plant doesn’t speak,” she insisted with a rising urgency. “Its pheromones mess with your mind, make you see and hear things that aren’t there.”
But Wilkof brushed off her words with a scoff. “I don’t care,” he replied, his gaze fixed on the hangar ahead. “I fed the plant like I was told, but the fame never came. I let it eat the only thing I ever loved. But… nothing changed.”
Her heart yearned to find some way to free him of the plant’s clutches, to help him see the light, but she knew well what desperation could do to a person, if left unchecked. She knew how far someone could fall.
“Then I realised… I wasn’t meant for prizes and celebrity,” he continued, deranged. “That wasn’t what the plant had planned for us. It’s just like you said in your Tamaranean fairy tale, the Morning Eclipse and its legend. I knew we were meant for infamy, but just one plant and its keeper wouldn’t do the trick. We needed a bigger family.”
At this point, Hunter stopped, and the pair had finally reached the mouth of the hangar. Mar’i searched through the darkness, but was struggling to see straight at all thanks to the toxic, draining effect of her Morning Eclipse vine restraints.
Wilkof just stared into the darkness, and continued. “I tried taking cuttings, but no matter how much blood, meat or southern exposure I gave them… it wasn’t enough, and they wilted. It wouldn’t tell me why it wasn’t working, and all I knew was that the plant was from Tamaran,” he confessed, his voice growing hoarse with emotion. “So I went to look for Starfire, but she was in space. And then… then I found you. A hybrid like me.”
But throughout Hunter’s grim confession, Mar’i was still missing some important details. “How did you know the plant was from Tamaran?” She defied him, “It doesn’t have a mind of its own, so it couldn’t have told you.”
Hunter smiled. “I used to drive out into the countryside and just leave my car behind, go for these long walks to clear my head when city life got too much,” he explained, a shroud of something resembling peace slowly falling over him. “I always felt guilty for it, reasoning I should have been spending that time in the lab, looking for ways to help people. But this one day, a few years ago now, I realised it was all worth it.”
He then pulled a remote from his pocket and pressed a button at its centre. As the lights of the hangar flickered to life, they revealed a magnificent sight, something Mar’i immediately recognised as a First Class Vegan Star Cruiser - a Tamaranean space vessel from the shipyards of Okaara - resplendent in hues of silver and violet. The ship stood tall and proud, a beacon of extraterrestrial wonder amidst the mundane surroundings of the hangar. But why was it here? And how did Wilkof have it?
He gestured towards the ship with an odd gleam in his eyes. “Suddenly, and without warning, this spaceship came crashing down through the sky just a couple of miles away, out here, where it was just me there to see it,” he explained. “So I rushed over, I searched the wreckage… and that’s where I found it. It was only a sapling, a baby really, and it called out to me. I knew I needed to take it home, back to the lab, back for testing.”
Mar’i shook her head. How was he to have known back then that the plant was pulling his strings?
“I stashed the ship away, knowing its potential,” he confessed. “The ship’s computer confirmed its origins: Tamaran. Apparently it even used to belong to a princess named Komand’r.”
Mar’i's mind raced as she processed this revelation. Komand’r - also known as the tyrant queen Blackfire - was Koriand’r’s sister, and Mar’i’s aunt. Someone she had already come across early in her time in this universe. Then, just in time for him to answer it without her asking, Mar’i happened upon another awful question.
“I got some guys in to make repairs, and another guy to… basically hotwire the thing, before I fed them all to the plant. But the ship won’t fly without one final security measure,” continued Hunter, his gaze fixed on Mar’i. “A pilot with Tamaranean DNA.”
 
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Back in the lab, Dick, Artemis and Tim continued to put the pieces together, now sans Barry who had raced off to join Wally in combing the city for either Mar’i or the Morning Eclipse, not knowing that both were far from the city limits.
“Why Mar’i?” Dick demanded. “What does Wilkof want with her? Her Starbolts could be used to fuel the plant and its cuttings, but that’d only make a difference at night, when they can’t get sunlight for themselves.”
Artemis nodded in agreement. “Surely they can survive a night without sunlight,” she surmised. “So what else would he come to Mar’i for?”
“Could it be her DNA?” posed Tim. “Maybe he has a use for DNA from a Tamanrean.”
“What kind of uses?” asked Dick. It wouldn’t be that, but his mind once again returned to the cloning vats of Cadmus. “No, it’s not that.”
“Then what else could it be?” Artemis sighed, frustrated. All of this analysis, brainstorming and scheming, and they were no closer to finding the missing Titan.
Then, Dick’s face blanched with fear. “She knows the way,” he said simply, his voice barely above a whisper.
“The way to what?” asked Tim, his own anxiety rising.
“To Tamaran,” Dick replied with dread. “A place where the sun shines bright enough for a hundred Morning Eclipses.”
 
🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹
 
In the dimly lit interior of what was once her aunt Komand'r's ship, Mar'i's heart raced with fear and uncertainty, now strapped into her seat beside the demented Dr Wilkof. The vessel, a marvel of Vega System technology, exuded an otherworldly aura, its sleek silver surfaces shimmering with an ethereal glow. Yet, to Mar'i, it felt more like a prison than a wonder.
She couldn't shake the sense of dread that gripped her. Tamaran, a place she once called home, now loomed before her as an unfamiliar and foreboding destination. She knew of the tumultuous history of this universe's Tamaran, the tales of military coups and the reign of the Orange Lantern Larfleeze, all of which added to her apprehension. The planet had hundreds of Morning Eclipses, but none had ever merged with a sapient vessel before. The killer plants were best survived by being completely ignored, which wouldn’t be possible with an intelligent host scheming and bringing the plants to their vulnerable prey. Could she inflict that threat on Tamaran?
Wilkof's jubilant smile did little to assuage her fears as he spoke. “When we reach the planet - with its gleaming sun - I’ll have everything I need. I'll create more Morning Eclipses, genetically superior ones, and they will bond with Tamaranean vessels to enhance their intelligence. And then there’ll be no more sacrifices, just feeding.”
Mar'i's stomach churned at the thought of being complicit in Wilkof's madness. But she also knew that she was in no position to bargain. And he knew it.
With a heavy heart and a sense of resignation, Mar'i steeled herself for the task ahead and the ship hummed to life around them, hurtling toward an uncertain destiny.
Then, as they quickly hit sonic speed, Hunter turned to his pilot and prisoner, keen to share a thought he hoped would bring her peace. “I want you to know… once we get to Tamaran, I’ll never have to return to Earth again. Don’t think about where we’re going, think about what we’re leaving behind. This is you saving planet Earth.”
 
 
Next: Sun it up in Nightwing #15
 

Mini serial up in my head for a while. Writing after 10 years pause, please go easy on me. No hfy yet, just setting things up.
........................
Looking up towards the orbital ring, through dirty plexiglass roofing, James wipes his forehead and furrowed his eyebrows. The ring, known to the local as Halo Station due to the yellow sun glinting off of it when the angle is right, was an ugly strip of brutalist sunshade in James's opinion. It had been hastily constructed over the course of five years with government of private fundings, with the local bureaucrats and politicians the most well off from the scheme. The locals, third generation from the initial colonisers, had been opposed to government postings from the hub worlds but was strong armed by the mining and agriculture conglomerate to accept it. There were of course altercation between the locals and the conglomerate but anything larger than a demonstration were heavily suppressed with threats of cutting off vital terraforming supplies. The uneasy tension lasted until the ring orbital proposal was announced, with the locals divided in two camps. One was in favour, their thinking was that the station would bring attention of the wider human communities to their plights. The opposing view is that it would only bring more corporate interest to their system, with the oppressions and wealth discrimination that their forefathers escaped from to this new world in the first place.
James was of neither the opinions. He was planning on hitchhiking across the frontier worlds, edges of the explored galaxy, relying on his knowledge and skill of hydroponics to earn his living. He empathise with the locals, as he was ine himself, but knew that corporate greeds is as inescapable as taxes and death. The only thing keeping him from despairing the future was the tiny sum his family saved up. He wasrecently orphaned, but his parents were rather well off when they were alive, working on the water treatment plants of the terraforming complex, before an influx of dissolved salts from a hydrothermal vents eruption caused a chlorine gas build up, leading to an explosion when they were doing maintenance on the gas extraction chamber. James was thankful that at least his parents passed away painlessly, but the funeral arrangements had cut into the family funds. It was due to this that he was still stuck on the half terraformed planet.
"Penny for your thought?" asked a hoarse gravelly voice. One would be forgiven for thinking the owner of the voice a male. A frail looking woman with grey hair peered up at James from behind a trellis supporting vines of red pod peas. "Counting down the days the merchant trader will pick me off this pile of dirt," James replied, "Not that I don't see why you would want to stay here." "Can't get the theiving bastards to give me my insurance money otherwise." The woman scowled. " Speaking about that, how's the surgery going? Inhaling that much chlorine would put anyone out of action, not that I'm not thankful for pulling my parents out of there. The company would've let them dissolved if they had their way." James asked the woman. "Well, the off world volunteer doctors bumped me up cue and if lady luck don't interfere, I'll be fully recovered by the end of the local year." she replied with a chuckle then a cough. The planet they are on has a 22 hours day but 976 days per year. This has made the locals used phrase 'end of the year' as a joke for deliberately slow bureaucracy, especially when the government is the one paying. Elisabeth was working with his parents when the accident occured, a toilet break saving her from the experience. She was trained as a first reponder and had taken it up on herself to at least recover the remains of her colleague and friend. Either due to cost cutting or by sheer incompetence, the recently cleared hazmat suit she took from the emergency storage had a leaking hose and she had barely survived. James was grateful for her action and offered her a job in his mostly automated hydroponic farm as she waits for the company to pay her insurance as she can no longer do heavy manual labour. James was going to transfer all his business to her as thanks when he got off planet but had told her yet. "I hope you recover fully," James smiled at the not bad news, "I'm going to give you this farm and the house after I leave. You've been a good friend to the family and I'd to see you suffer because of a good deed." Elisabeth looked thoughtful for a moment then nodded, realising that James was resolved. "I have no need for more money than what I need to survive, I'll send any profits left from the farm to you. You'll need it if you're going to gallavanting around the galaxy." Elisabeth said with a firm tone, or slightly deeper and hoarser to James's ear. "It'll also be somewhere to return to if the galaxy doesn't agree with you. A journey isn't complete if you haven't return and all that." she added. James was expecting this and knows that she won't change her mind. "I'll drop by with souvenirs whenever I come near this part." James said. The rest of the day went by as usual. As James finished checking the monitoring terminal in preparation for the night, a message popped up on his iris implant. He checked the message as he exited the decontamination airlock:
Dear James,
I hope this finds you well. I hate to impose on paying customers but a good friend of mine needs somewhere hole up for a few days on your planet. He has his own ship and offered to take you anywhere you wish after he finished offloading his cargo to the orbital. I have given him your contacts and attached his along with his headscan. I am terribly sorry for taking liberties but I hope you find this a good deal.
Sincerely,
Cpt. Frank Rowe
James was surprised but didn't mind it that much as he had empty rooms and he'll save some money. He quickly went into his sonic shower booth and tapped off a reply to the captain and his guest. He was preparing to cook some of the ripe tomatoes and eggplants he harvested today when Elisabeth came out of her room. He had asked her to moved into his guest bedroom when she started working on his farm and they had been having meals together since. It helped the make the house more lively and Elisabeth liked his cooking. "I don't know if it's the fresh produce or your cooking that make something mundane taste this god." Elisabeth said in between bites, "Either way, I'll miss this when you go. I'll have to remember to scan this into the automeal." "It'll be close but the Dad's recipe needs more dressing oil and salt than the standard automeal will allow. It won't be too unhealthy if you work and sweat enough for two people." James grinned, "My parents always debated this over dinner." "That reminds me about the workload. I will have to automate the fish feeder, my lungs are about done by the time I finished checking the fruit bins," Elisabeth said. "I'll dial in the settings tomorrow, you'll only need to top up pellets." replied James.
That night James got a reply from the guest confirming he will take up the offer. The guest will arrive in two days and James planned to offer his own room. He had not touched his parents bedroom since the accident and he is going to tidy up the room as a farewell. He did not look forward to spending a night in the room but he knows he will regret not doing something to mark off the end of his stay in this house.
On the day of the arrival, James woke up and looked at himself in the mirror. His curly brown hair that he got from his mother was growing out past his liking, along with the light stubble he put off shaving due to being busy setting up the farm for a one person operation. His grey eyes was sparkling and lively, despite waking up an hour before his usual time. He was excited since he will be departing tomorrow and had finished packing last night. After confirming with Elisabeth that everything is working fine in the farm, he left her to get used to the new routine to prepare lunch. A flying taxi touched down as he fished out a large pizza from the oven. He wiped his hands and went to greet his ticket off the planet. A short stocky man climbed down, his skin, where visible was deeply tan, highly unusual for a ship captain travelling long journey through deep space. His dark hair fluttered in the wind and brown piercing eyes take in the rural sight. His glance fell on James and smiled a toothy grin. "You must be the owner of this lovely estate!" he bellowed out with a thick accent James can't place. James walked up to him, offered his hand, and they shook. "James Howard, looking forward to getting on your ship." James replied, a bit put off by the excitement from the man. "Miguel, Miguel Emille. Captain of the Flying Snail. I am very thankful for your hospitality at such short notice. The corpo here kicks the captain off their ship! Imagine that!" James looked around for security drones, a bit fearful of being reported for sedition. The captain looked at him, confused, then in understanding, "Ah, one of those world? Say no more. I won't put my passenger in danger." "Is it not the same where you are from? That's why I'm trying to get off the planet." James asked. "No, I grew up and works mainly for the frontier colony. This one is a special favour for the captain that you contacted for a lift. Contract for some heavy metal isotopes from one of the asteroid mining station for one of your 'esteemed' governer." Miguel winked.
The rest of the day passed by uneventfully, with Miguel switching between telling news of the outer colonies and checking his ship's security cameras. The next morning, James and Elisabeth had a tearful farewell before heading off towards one of the pillar supporting the orbital that doubled as cargo elevator. As they rise, James takes a look at the purple and green landscape falling below. He could see the curvature of the planet right as they enter the orbital. He took a picture of his homeworld, intending to put into his journal to mark the start of his journey. The maglev took them towards the internal docking area, James looking out then windows at the opulence of the wealthy living in the station. As they walk towards the flying snail, they were jossled around wnd forced to stop a few times by the workers and machineries bustling around the dock. James took in the sight of the Flying Snail as they approached, staring at the size and unusual roundedness of the ship, in contrast to the blocky and angular ships standard for most space vehicles. "Custom made on Mariana IX station, designed by my grandfather. A great advertisement for my business and comfortable quarters too. And not as slow as the name suggests" Miguel said as he looked at not a few workers staring at his ship. The advertisement mentioned was stencilled in bright red cursive letters on bare metal, in contrast to the ship's black blocky registration number. As they made their way to airlock, passing the the ship's closing cargo door, an inspector passed Miguel a datapad to sign off. "Cargo confirmed received, payments are being processed by customs due to the new tax coming into effect yesterday. You shouldn't lose much with the currency exchange," the inspector said after looking the form over, " you are clear to depart when traffic control indicates." The inspector turn to another ship busy loading cargo, not waiting for a reply. Miguel lead James through the airlock to his room, a larger than standard room furnished with wooden furniture and upholstered, unheard of in a spaceship from the hub worlds. "Get yourself comfortable then join me on the bridge. The ship AI will help you with the layout. No need to address me as captain since it'll only be the two of us until your destination. I'll be going around looking for government approved bugs. Corporate overlords never can get the idea of privacy." Miguel said before leaving James to unpack. James look around the room, trying to wrap his head around the decor. It was as if someone stole a museum exhibit then use it to furnish a spaceship. He unpacked his luggage, looking around for a storage locker, before putting his meager clothings into a dark wood wardrobe. He then set off to put his toiletries in the attached bathroom before being shocked at the size and items he saw. A large oval mirror hangs on the wall above porcelain basin, with an archaic brass and glass shower cubicle with valves and pipes off to the side. He consdered the logistics of internal plumbing and water storage on the ship for a moment before shaking his head, "Might as well enjoy the luxuries. If this isn't a great start, I don't know what is."
After he finished, James head out of his room then froze as he peered into the corridor. The sterile white panelling had turned into stained wood, the harsh lighting into warm yellow glow from what looks like wall mounted lamps. He turned to look back at his room to see the standard white panelling was still there. He decided to ask the AI for directions to the Captain, "Ship? Where's the bridge?" "Please find the ship map in the mailbox behind the door," a synthetic female voice chimed out. He looked at the automatic sliding door and noticed it had changed to a wooden hinged door with a basket below a metal slot. He grabbed a rolled up brown paper bundle from the basket, unrolling it to seems to be hand drawn diagram of the ship. Other details such as crew members list and meal times are neatly list in one corner. He closed the door before following the map. He was not surprised to find his name engraved below the room number on the brass plaque on the door.
James was apprehensive about finding anything on the ship but there were signs jutting out from the wall at each intersection, surrounded by decorative metalwork in forms of flowers, pointing to major locations. The flooring hard changed from patterned wood to being carpeted the closer he is to the bridge. He finally arrived at a double door, with a plaque indicating that it was indeed the bridge, and he wondered if he should knock. He decided not to, and swung open, to hear a bell ring as the door opens. "James! Come strap yourself in. How do you like my ship?" Miguel was seated on what looks like a couch in the centre of the room, looking at a large screen. The screen shows the outside of the ship, which was the landing bay blast door, still shut. "It's nice but too much like a museum piece to be flying around," James responded, "Isn't it against regulation and too hazardous if the grav generator fails?" "That's why I set the nanites to change to standard whenever I dock. Changed back to what my grandpa designed when we're clear for take off," Miguel answered, " also cleared out to bare walls with carpeting whenever there's an emergency. Only ever happens once in all my years of flying." James had heard of nanites but wasn't aware that it could be used on ships. "The ship was supposed to be a private cruiser for a hubworlder, but he backed out of deal so the swimming pool and hydrotherapy areas was converted into the cargo hold," Miguel added.
James strapped himself in a plush fabric covered armchair near the screen. As he figured out the buckle, the comm beeped then a voice called out, " landing bay E42 cleared. All ships ensure airlock and cargo door are closed before depressurisation in 15 minutes." "Hal, check the doors and prepare for take off," Miguel said. "Sorry captain, I cannot do that." "Stops scaring the passengers. Maybe it's time you watch some modern movies." A huff sounded before the AI replied, "Aye aye, Captain." "She always does that, scaring the living daylight out of my last crew when she pretended to lock the airlock during EVA," Miguel sighed, " i don't know what my Pa was doing, feeding her all that old robot uprising movies." "I thought she was just a basic navigation AI when I asked her for directions." "Yeah, she does that to make people let their guards down before springing the 'Exterminate!' stuff on them. That's why my last crews all signed off." "Isn't that bad on you?" James asked, "also your reputation won't be good." " It's fine, I mainly take on crews for company. Most contracts I got are from fellow captains needing to take orders from regulars but are to far out to accept. She got the latest repair drones and all nanites tech to take care of all damages, excluding only jump core explosions," Miguel smiled.
They waited in the bridge, chatting about life in space and homicidal AI, with Hal, James learned shortened from Haley and pronunciation changed courtesy of the AI herself, chiming in when the checks are done. "Landing bay E42 depressurised in 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Landing bay depressurised. All ships clear to take off in E42 once landing bay door fully opened. Green light will light up when ready for manually piloted crafts. Halo orbital thanks you for your business." The traffic controller speaks through the comm, indicating he is a native. Off-worlder would usually call the station 'The Regina's Ring' after the planet. Once the door slides open fully, ships start to go out in rows. When it was the Flying Snail's turn to take off, a hologram of Hal appeared besides the captain's couch and the ship starts to move out slowly in formation, coordinating with the other ships. Once the Flying Snail cleared the door, Hal spoke, "Captain, there's any energy spike reading in the aft sensor. No details on origin available due to station's plating. Seems to be mostly neutrons" "Perhaps someone forgot to shut their cargo door. Probably transporting tritium or helium three. Put up shield just to be safe."
The captain's decision turns out to be just in time as a heavy blast blew the ships out of the orbital. Alarms started wailing and James was pushed back into his seat. "Damage report!" Miguel shouted over the alarms and a diagram of the ship's system popped up on screen. "No structural damage, low EMP, main computer rebooting, shields down to 60 percent," Hal replied mechanically, "Reboot complete. Putting rear view on screen." The screen shows a large explosion on the inner ring side, dropping debris onto the planet below. The alarms turned off as Hal reports, "Ring appears to be holding. Debris calculated to fall on low population area and ocean. Minimal damage to civilians and properties." " There's that at least. Are we expected to help?" Miguel asked. "Negative, the station order civilian vessels to clear the area. No detention order." "Good, get us to the jump point. James, you got a destination?" Miguel turns to look at James. James was still trying to recover from being slammed into his seat, saved from concussions by the seat's padding. "I need to check on Elisabeth," James said as he reached for his wristcom. He then saw an incoming video call from Elisabeth. He sighed in relief as he picked up the call. "I'm glad you're alright. Exciting starts to your trip, eh?" Elisabeth said after seeing James. "Good to see you unharmed too. Did the emergency broadcast says anything?" James asked. "They were saying no damage to those living below. The corporate news network was saying it was the work of the anti-hub government groups." Elisabeth said with a grimace, "trying to weasel out of responsibility if you ask me. I need to check the farm systems in case anything went down. Safe trip out there, I don't want to cry for the second time today," Elisabeth was starting to tear up as James tried to reply before the call cut off. "All's well that ends well," Miguel said as James gathered himself, "good to see her safe. So, destination?" James thought for a moment then replied, "I've never been anywhere further than the Halo. I was thinking of getting off at the last stops but I'm the only passenger here so I think I'll get off wherever your next business ends." " Fine by me. I'm going back three system on my route here, pick up some cargo and or crews, then out to the frontiers," miguel said to James then turn to Hal, " You remembered the station with extra medical supplies looking for buyers? Set destination there." " Aye captain. Arriving at jump point. Jumping in 5 seconds," Hal said before starting the count down. The jump drive, the second most popular after warp, generates a wormhole from Lagrange points. The energy requirements is higher than warp but the near instantaneous travel time is highly value by merchants and diplomats alike.
The jump starts without a hitch and they exited into a red dwarf system. As they make they way towards a spherical station above a green gas giants, they were hailed on all frequencies as the screen starts to shows an armada of black pyramids blockading ships trying to enter and leave the station. The screen suddenly flickers then shows a black upside down triangle with glowing blueish white lights runni ng on its surface. The speakers blared out a high pitch voice, " Bags of mostly water our flattest desire exchange thinking patterns. Flattest yours here deliver. Airwaves produce expect agreement." This broadcast then repeats itself. "Ain't this the strangest day of my life," Hal said loudly. "Exciting first day for our passenger here for sure," Miguel added. James just stared blankly at the screens.
.......................

I've been really busy lately and my eyebrows have lost a bit of their shape. I want to try something new. Has anyone ever used stencils to tweeze/clean up their brows? I want them to be even but I'm feeling lazy about self-care because life is so in motion right now. Thanks!

(Part 1)(Part 2)
A ping flashed my radar.
$8.74 fare. 4.3 mile trip. Pickup 1.2 miles away.
My finger clicked accept without hesitation. It was apparent to a math flunky that the fare would come in at over $1 a mile, and the Ants were out tonight. I’d already calculated it at $1.59 a mile, but we just met, and I don’t want to come across cocky. I eased into the pickup for rider, Margot, 3.9 stars, the extra “T” no doubt responsible for her deflated rating. She made me wait four minutes before sliding into my car.
“Fastest route or fewest turns?” I asked, searching for her eyes in the rearview mirror. Margot with a “T” responded with a pop of her Bubble-Yum.
There’s no training to be an Uber Ant, so you learn through what doesn’t work. If you’re a ridesharer already headed that direction and want a little pocket change, any fare will do. If you need to worry about paying bills, you gotta be choosy. Short trips are king. You need to make $1 a mile to break even. That includes deadheading so you better have math skills or develop them quick. If a long fare drops you in the middle of nowhere, the empty ride back factors into your calculation. Airports are the kiss of death. Uber artificially deflates airport fares based on the belief that travelers are well-to-do and more likely-to-tip, an assumption I have found-to-be-bullshit.
I pulled over at Margot’s drop off. “A little further,” she demanded in between smacks of gum.
“You need to change the destination in the app.”
“Yeah no idea how to do that. It’s just like a mile, bro.” Margot met my eyes in the rearview mirror, “What, you want a one-star rating?” You could get an Ant to light himself on fire under threat of a one-star. Not only do ratings influence a pax’s willingness to get into a stranger’s car, but Uber also uses them to determine who gets pinged with the plum fares.
Four unpaid miles later, Margot with a “T” exited my CR-V with a slam, nose buried in her phone as she clicked her way up the footpath to her Ayn Rand book club. Ding!
REVIEW RECEIVED: 1 Star
Ho.
It should’ve tickled me when Margot tripped and starfished onto the lawn hard enough to knock the “T” off her name. But instead, I felt my teeth clenching, a low rumble building in my head louder and louder and louder until the car seemed to vibrate around me—
Ding!
Pickup request from Misfits Pub. Jimmy. Likely drunk. Nearly out of gas and patience, I declined. I calculated my timing belt had 250 miles left in it, and I needed a repair before it broke. Preventative maintenance was best in people and cars. It was time to fill up and call it a night. I pulled into Arco. $4.78 for regular, fuck me into the sun.
I first knew I was good with numbers in 7^th grade statistics. I never raised my hand; it was much worse than that. Mr. Maliborski would cold call me when the class was stumped. Always having the correct answer made me radioactive to girls, so I offered the wrong one 20% of the time. Only Emma noticed. I had some sort of eye flutter when I lied. Emma was perfect in every way imaginable, and I dutifully avoided her.
I forgot to switch off my app and got another ping at the gas pump. Jimmy. Same dude, probably stranded. To this day, I don’t know why I clicked accept. I wonder how differently things might’ve turned out if I hadn’t. But there I was, .13 of a mile from pickup when I heard the timing belt give out. That wasn’t even the bad part.
The pax loaded into my backseat without a sound. No words, no butt sliding across faux leather, no belt click. Just silence. No, not silence. A void.
“Quickest route or fewest turns?” I asked. Instead of searching the rearview for my pax’s eyes like I always did, I turned around. My eyes globed.
I was looking at myself.
I slid into bed, careful not to disturb my wife. She had an exam tomorrow morning, and any disturbance might be responsible for a few percentage points. As I Cirque du Soleiled my body under the sheets, she turned and smiled.
“I’m pregnant.”
I beamed at Emma, the girl from statistics class. Didn’t think I’d get up the guts to talk to her, did ya? When Emma was a kid, she used to tackle 8,000 piece puzzles in front of the TGIF lineup every Friday night. But her most famous trick was solving a Rubik’s cube in under a minute. Her record was forty-three seconds which she achieved in front of the cafeteria as we scarfed on rectangular pizza slices. She’d graduated from puzzles to people, and I was her 1,000,000 piece challenge.
We’d been unsuccessfully trying to get pregnant for years. I cited cost for refusing medical help, but it was more a fear of a doctor challenging my already-diminished manhood. I argued it just took longer in our late-thirties. Teenagers got pregnancies they didn’t want at the flip of an erection, and we put our careers in front of building families and then wonder why we can’t get pregnant. Not that I had a career beyond Uber. I set all that aside to support Emma’s dream of returning to school to become a therapist.
As we laid in bed, staring into each other’s eyes, I felt a tickle on my hand. I raised my finger to a ladybug tottering over my thumb. A sign of good luck. It was the happiest moment of my life.
Fuck this motherfuck piece of donkey shit!
I was no mechanic, and staring at the engine of my car that refused to start merely confirmed. Despite my eleven-minute YouTube education, I still wasn’t able to repair my timing belt.
“Car trouble?” our neighbor, Ted, observed astutely from his lawn.
“Yeah, Ted,” I tossed back with the minimum threshold of sarcasm required by law. Ted was an actor who drove Uber parttime to make ends meet – not an Ant lifer like me – so we compared notes occasionally. Everything was a performance with Ted. He watered his flowers with panache, combing his hands through his hair careful to let me know about his green thumb and ability to grow bangs.
I had my car towed into G&D Automotive, run by Gustavo who I’d gotten to know over the years. Ants know their mechanics. As Gustavo wrestled with the timing belt, I sat in a waiting room spotted by grease and termite droppings. Local news ran on the tube television on the desk. Here’s the thing, it wasn’t so much the grotesque details of the murder being reported that grabbed my attention, though it probably should’ve been. A beheading was news even in L.A. where even the criminals try to one-up each other. And it certainly wasn’t the victim’s name. Margot Truscott didn’t ring a bell. What chilled my bones was the headshot –
It looked a lot like Margot with a “T.”
“$476.53!” Gustavo shouted from behind, neglecting to monitor me for heart failure. I handed over my Discover Card (shut up) and held my breath as he swiped. Gustavo shook his head at the “Declined” message. I’d already started running through options in my head – ask my estranged father for a loan, fall sobbing at Gustavo’s feet, hang myself from a ceiling fan – when an Uber message dinged my cell:
Tip Added from Jimmy $476.53
The back of my neck suddenly grew warm and humid. I felt pulsating breaths against my skin. There was a presence behind me, and I wasn’t sure it was human.
When I spun around, no one was there.
I scrubbed past footage of my backseat from the previous night’s rides. There was the pukey girl, the guy on MDMA that turned my CR-V into an EDM rave, Margot with a “T.” Margot was almost certainly the girl from the news report, but she wasn’t who I was looking for. There! I hit play, and there he was. There I was? Jimmy seemed to resemble me, but it was hard to tell. He was partially hidden in shad—
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING???” I’m sure Emma didn’t all-caps yell, but it felt like it. She peered over my shoulder at my computer screen. I asked her, “Do you notice anything…odd about this pax?”
“Pax?”
“Passenger.”
“I swear you guys speak a different language.”
She didn’t mean anything by it, but the “you guys” really got in my feelings. I started driving to make a few bucks on the side when she went back to school. Now I was a “you guys” with ambition nowhere in sight.
Emma leaned into the screen. “He’s hiding in the shadows.” She didn’t mean it to be terrifying, I don’t think. Then, a street lamp draped the pax’s face in a yellow hue.
“See! He looks just like me!” I exclaimed.
She bolted out of the room. From the sounds emanating from the bathroom, it didn’t seem she was running from the footage. Morning sickness called, and cleanup was needed on aisle seven. I scrubbed the last of several stray pieces of vomit plastered to the outside of the toilet bowl when the doorbell rang, leading me to wonder if anyone other than axe murderers make house calls.
“Uh—oh—hello, officer,” I stammered from behind my Walter White smock and goggles.
“James Wiggins?” Officer Smerconish inquired. “I need to ask you some questions.”
“Uh. Okay.”
“At the station.”
“Honey, who is it?” Emma yelled from the bedroom. I was thankful she couldn’t see my eyes flutter as I returned some excuse about running an errand.
I suppose it was a kindness that Smerconish didn’t force me to ride in the backseat of the cruiser, but it was clear that’s where he thought I belonged. At the precinct, he locked me in a shoebox of an interrogation room and let me sweat it out like an old pair of Nikes. The red dot of the security camera studied me like its prey on the open savannah, preparing to eviscerate my meats. When Smerconish finally came in, I was ready to confess to JFK and Epstein.
“What’s your occupation?”
“Uber—I drive,” I responded flawlessly.
“Not Lyft?”
“I don’t…uh…don’t like pink,” I said, not wanting to get into the lifetime ban issued after a false user complaint last year.
“Did you give a…” Smerconish checked his notes, “…a Margot Truscott a ride three nights ago?”
“We don’t get last names—”
He flashed a photo of Margot with a “T,” may she rest in peace or at least starfished on a lawn.
“Are you aware she was murdered the night you gave her a ride?”
“No that’s uh—terrible—”
“We believe you were the last person to see her alive.” Smerconish scraped his metal chair closer, a move he’d perfected. “We have evidence tying you to the scene of the murder.”
Poker paid my tuition at Santa Monica Community College. It was the perfect combination of my strength—numbers—and my weakness—people. I got better at the second part after learning the fundamental truth about poker: who you are at the felt is who you are in life. If you’re an aggressive bluffer trying to shove the table around no matter the hole cards, I’d wager ten to one you’re a bloviating asshole to the waiter, too. I lost my love for the game, but not before I learned how to disassociate. An opponent couldn’t read me if I was detached from the cards I was holding. I was physically at the felt, but mentally? Cabo. Criminals made for great poker players and vice versa. This was my first police interrogation, but I’d already withdrawn far behind my eyes, present in front of Smerconish in technicality only.
HONNNNNKKKKKK!
I jerked the CR-V back into my lane as a pickup truck raced by. My eyes adjusted from blaring headlights to dark road. “Watch where you’re going, chief,” a businessman in a Brooks Brothers suit hollered from my backseat. I was just shocked to discover I was diving. I didn’t remember getting into the car. What time was it anyway? Jesus, 3:23am.
I can only guess what I’d told Smerconish.
Weeks passed, and Emma grew more pregnant as pregnant women do. Here’s what you missed on this season of Uber Fucked My Life:
A slurry dude named Dodge sporting a handlebar mustache and a “No Fear” T-shirt piled into my Uber screaming at me to take him to some bar. It was the bar he’d just stumbled out of.
I was struggling to get to a pickup point because of an accident. It turned out that one of the drivers in the accident was my pax, and he was Ubering to the hospital to avoid an ambulance charge.
A bachelorette party put their passed-out bride into my backseat to continue partying without her. The bride spelled her name Taylyr like vowels came at a premium. When she woke, she jumped out of my car screaming she’d been kidnapped.
I hadn’t heard from Smerconish. I contemplated calling the precinct to see if I was still a murder suspect, but that seemed a bit like the kid who reminded Mr. Maliborski at the end of statistics class that he’d forgotten to assign homework. It was me, I did that.
$3.13 fare. 3.6 mile trip.
I clicked accept without calculation. Uber was squeezing us with a new fare structure that went like this: ping a specific driver with a lowball offer. After he declined, the fare was put out to bid where the rest of the Ants had seconds to decide whether to accept a lower fee in a race to the bottom. It was pretty neat and cool and I had no notes.
It was raining hard now, and I was driving 14-hour days. Emma was 16-weeks pregnant and we didn’t have health insurance and America and stuff. I’d even been doing airport rides (hot tip: they don’t tip). The only fare I declined was a hospital ride. Hospitals didn’t have the resources to provide all their discharges with rides home, so they took to booking UberXL. Inevitably when you got your pax to drop off, they needed help to get into their houses. Touching a pax was sin numero uno, and watching patients crawl to their doorsteps was a total bummer.
I picked up the pax. She was hammered and demanded Drake. When I dropped her eight minutes later, she dropped herself. She face-planted into the steps of the next party. There’s a lot of falling in my line of work. I probably should’ve hung it up for the night right there. I needed to meet Emma at the gyno to find out the sex of our baby. I was already in the doghouse for not building the crib she ordered off Amazon, so I couldn’t be late. Just one more fare.
$8.54. 8.3 mile trip.
Accept. As I pulled up to the pickup point, the hair on my arm crackled upright. I knew who my pax was before he got in.
He slid into the backseat. I’d say he appeared if that didn’t sound crazy. I met his black eyes in the rearview. He was riding under a new user name: Cyrus. He didn’t make a sound the entire ride, and when we got to the destination, he didn’t move. Neither did I. I was too scared.
“This is uh…” I cleared my throat. That’ll show him. “This is you.”
No movement. I fumbled with the handle of an umbrella underneath my seat. What I was going to do with a yellow polka dot umbrella wasn’t apparent, but it was time to make a move. I spun around, and there he was, as crystal clear as Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men.
He was me.
The same thick eyebrows, the hairline that receded at the same angle. His stubble was missing in the same spot that would connect mustache to beard on the right side of a more masculine mouth. He kept staring. Not at me, but through me, as if seeing my soul, my weakness. I was determined to prove him wrong.
“G—g—get out.”
A half-smile parted the right side of his mouth, and I regretted my demand. So I doubled down.
“Get out of my car!”
To the most assertive I’d ever been, he didn’t blink. I wondered if he’d ever blinked. A shiver rolled up my spine. I swung open the door and launched into the rain. I didn’t even open my polka dot umbrella. I’m a man. I swung around to the passenger side. Now or never, DO IT NOW! I flung open the door!
But he was gone.
I’m not sure how long I stood in the rain, mouth gaped, when my cell buzzed. I pressed the cell to my ear. “We’re having twins,” Emma’s voice was terse with anger. “Thanks for showing up.”
And then she hung up.
I sulked into the house prepared to receive my just punishment. Emma was at the kitchen table, mulling the cleanest way to dispose of my unimpressive body.
“Emma, I’m so so—”
She sprung out of her chair and threw her arms around me. She kissed me—a real kiss, not the ceremonial peck that couples who’ve been together 10 years give where they retract as if touching Polonium-210. Without a word, she led to me into the bedroom. When I spoke, she shushed. It was like the old days when we were learning each other’s bodies. We tried things we hadn’t tried since we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and if it was possible for Emma to get pregnant again, she would’ve. Feel free to strike that from the record.
“So uh, twins huh?” I said, lying next to her in the afterglow. She laughed, and I refrained from asking what the hell had just transpired.
As I stood in the doorway of the room that was to become our nursery, I only had more questions. The walls were painted, stenciled ducks swam around the perimeter, the baby dresser was installed, the Babyletto crib assembled. And I hadn’t done any of it. I glared at a duck, but whatever secrets he had will go to his grave.
We ate cereal for dinner. Emma stole glances at me in between spoonfuls. I couldn’t help but think the newfound electricity was ill-gotten. I wasn’t about to tell her I didn’t build the nursery, and I didn’t know who had. Who knows, maybe I did it when I was so exhausted from driving that I don’t remember? Let’s go with that. Before I knew it, my mouth was forming words. Dumb words.
“He’s back,” fell from one of the holes in my face.
“Who?”
“The pax that looks like me.”
“Well, they say we all have a twin,” she said with a calming nonchalance.
Normally I would’ve calculated the odds that my single twin in all the world got into my car twice (it’s .000000000004%), but I was too busy contemplating the purple horseshoe marshmallow in my bowl. What made horseshoes lucky anyway? An animal relegated to being ridden by humans for sport didn’t strike me as particularly fortuitous, and that’s before we considered their shoes are nailed to their fucking feet.
My mouth was off to the races like Secretariat, “It’s not that he looks like me. He is me.”
Emma laughed. She had this snort that made me love her a little more each time. “Oh, you’re not kidding,” she realized.
“Strange things have been happening.”
“Strange like what?”
I didn’t really build the crib? I’m the suspect in a brutal murder? I have this gnawing fear that the twins aren’t even mi—
“I feel like I’m being watched,” seemed like a safe share.
“You know what this is? Repressed trauma.”
“I don’t have repressed trauma.”
“That’s what someone with repressed trauma would say.”
Emma thought my father was the root of my problems, but I never saw Dad hurt a fly. He used to take me on annual father-son vacations when I was young. When I was five, we went to Cabo. The next year was New York to see Don Mattingly play. Dad hollered out in between innings, and Donnie Baseball tossed me the ball. Dad was great that way. My favorite trip was when he took me to Disney World. Disney World blows Disneyland out of the water, and I’ll not have any more discussion on the matter. I was twelve, and it would be our last father-son trip.
An email came in from Uber support:
Hi James Wiggins,
Your driver account has been suspended for poor passenger experience. Please review the following: A Rider filed a complaint for UNPROFESSIONAL CONDUCT for a fare completed at 01:34am on 5/06/24.
“The driver drove past my drop off. I told him to stop but he wouldn’t. He stared at me with these dead fucking eyes WHILE HE WAS DRIVING! He kidnapped me! I had to break the door handle off because of the child locks!”
I called Uber Support to tell them this simply wasn’t possible. I wasn’t even fucking driving at that time. I know because it was one of the only days I took off to go to a Cinco de fucking Mayo party at Emma’s urging. Uber fucking Support told me there was nothing they could do. My account was fucking suspended until their fucking investigation was complete. Dang it!
I stormed out to my CR-V, slid open the backseat door, and there it was –
A door handle, sitting on the floorboards.
I got into the driver’s seat, and it was too far from the steering wheel. I slid the seat forward, but something was stuck in the track. I reached down and pulled at an object…cylindrical… squishy… when I finally tore it out, the color drained from my face.
It was a severed human finger.

Author's note: This story takes place prior to Jerry and the E-Girls.
"Thank you very much for this opportunity," I told the Engagement Liaison for the Notre Dame University Guest Speaker program. As I'd come to expect, she didn't smile, she just gave me another look that, if I didn't know better, would have seemed incredulous.
I smiled, but she didn't smile back, so my smile died a slow, torturous death as I failed to figure out what, exactly, to do with it.
This woman, Lucinda Wright, had been acting as if I'd offended her since I arrived. And she was my sole point of contact for this whole speaking engagement. I racked my brain to try and recall anything I might have done that might have pissed her off, but nothing occurred to me. She did look kinda familiar, but that was it.
"So, uh..." I went on, uncertain of how to proceed.
"The talk starts in five minutes," she said primly. "If you go left out of my office, the door to the backstage area is marked 'speaker'."
"Ok," I said, and then I couldn't remain quiet any more.
"Did I do something to offend you?" I asked. She regarded me like a scientist studying a new species of cockroach for a second.
"Why do you ask," she stated. Not asked. Stated.
"I just, uh... I feel like you don't... Uh, really care for me."
"Have I done something to insult you?" she asked.
"No, but... It's just..."
"Ahh, I understand. You're used to women fawning all over you. Well, I'm afraid my fawning days are over."
I flushed bright red as the heat filled my cheeks. "I don't... I mean, I'm not... You weren't..." I stammered, trying to regain some semblance of balance, but it was too far gone for that.
"Four minutes," she said, and it took me a moment to realize what she meant.
"Oh, uh, right," I said. I stood up and offered her a hand, just on instinct. "Thank you again," I said. She stared at my hand until I dropped it.
"I'll just, uh..." I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. She quirked an eyebrow at me, so I let discretion be the better part of valor and scurried out of her office. I was so flustered that I turned right instead of left out the door and walked for a solid two minutes before I realized I'd gone the wrong way. I hurried back, finding the door marked 'Speaker' and stepping in, where I found a young production assistant.
"Mister Williams?" she greeted me, smiling. The smile helped a lot. I really wished I'd known why Lucinda didn't like me. This PA was a pretty blonde with short, spiky hair and a neat business suit. A part of my brain absently noted how thin she was, and wondered what Inanna would think. Inanna's tastes in women were really all-encompassing, and it was more a matter of imagining how she might compliment the petite girl than wondering how attractive she'd find her. The answer to that last question had always ever been a simple 'yes', after all.
"Yes," I said, smiling back. I made sure I was clamping down hard on my aura. No sense in making a scene.
"You're almost on," she said. "There's no time for makeup, if you'll come with me, please?"
"Of course," I replied. She led me through a curtained archway, where I could hear the host just wrapping up my introduction.
"...unarguably the most prolific spellwriter practicing, as well as arguably the most prolific artificer, not to mention his efforts in protecting the world from various supernatural threats. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to introduce you to Doctor Jerry Williams."
A polite round of applause began and the production assistant gave me a little shove towards another set of curtains. I walked through them, emerging into bright stage lights that made me squint. I'd done this enough times to know not to bother shading my eyes, so I simply walked onto the stage and spotted the host, sitting in one of two comfortable-looking chairs surrounding a small table with a pitcher of water and two glasses on it.
I stepped forward, where another production assistant handed me a wireless microphone, and then made my way to the empty chair and sat down, giving the crowd a polite wave and a smile.
"Welcome, Doctor Williams," the host said. I recognized him as the regular host of these talks, which I often watched on the public-access station at home or in my office.
"Doctor Moore," I replied, holding up my mic so it would catch my voice. "The pleasure is entirely mine, I assure you." I reached across to shake his hand before we both settled back into our seats.
"So, Doctor Williams. I was wondering if you could speak a little on the subject of your latest white paper, the description of the cross-planar trawling taps. The design is quite intriguing and, if properly executed, promises to revolutionize the collection of arcane energies for use by both wizard and artifact."
"Yes, of course," I said, feeling a lot more at ease now that I was back in my comfort zone. "So the inspiration came from the way that I and other demidivine individuals were accessing energy, through the wells, and the way that..."
----
For ninety minutes, we had an enjoyable chat about some of my newest research as well as some of the politics and culture around the still relatively new field of arcanology. Dr. Moore was articulate, polite and extremely knowledgeable, despite his degree being in particle physics. A lot of the older wizards out there had advanced STEM degrees that predated the return of magic, and Moore was one of the most prominent among them.
I enjoyed pointing out many of his contributions to the field, and going into some detail about how I'd built upon his work in a lot of my own. When it came time to take questions from the audience, they kept it remarkably free of questions about my more violent exploits, focusing on my work and the intricacies of magic.
When our two-and-a-half-hour time was up, I bid the audience goodbye to a much louder cheer than had welcomed me (they were probably relieved it was finally over) and made my way backstage. I found a gaggle of production assistants and Lucinda waiting for me.
She wore the same look of disapproval she'd had before the talk, and the PAs all seemed a bit muted in her presence.
"Thank you for attending," she said, snatching the mic out of my hand. Coming down off the good feeling of the talk, and being tired, I let my annoyance override my confusion for a moment.
"What the hell did I do to you?" I asked.
"Excuse me?" Lucinda replied. The PAs all froze and went silent, staring at us. I could feel their stares boring in to me, but I'd gotten my blood pressure up already, and I had some momentum to ride on, so I pushed through.
"You've been glaring at me since I first met you," I said. "You've been short-tempered with me, you made, frankly, offensive assumptions about me, you refused to shake my hand... I don't even know you, but you seem to have some massive grudge against me. What did I do? I'm not some kind of jerk who just goes through life without a care for anyone who gets in my way. If I knew what it was, I could apologize for it, or try to make it right or something."
I started almost angrily, but my voice had turned pleading by the end.
"You don't know me," she said. Then she laughed once, ruefully. "That's right. You don't know me. You've never known me."
She turned and marched away. I glanced around, finally meeting the gazes of the shocked PAs, who were still standing around.
"If any of you know what the issue is, I'd really appreciate it if you told me," I said.
One of them, the same pretty blonde who'd greeted me here earlier, raised a tentative hand. I met her eyes.
"Miss Wright just got divorced a few weeks ago," she asked as much as said. "She's been a little on edge since."
"Yeah, but not like today," one of the others said. The whole group nodded in agreement that her behavior with me was atypical.
----
I had a lot going on at work, so thoughts of angry Lucinda faded quickly. The whole incident quickly slipped itself into that particular set of memories that only return when I'm laying in bed, trying to sleep, and my brain decided to remind me that I'm a moron and an asshole instead of simply slipping unconscious.
It was about two weeks later when I got a call from Notre Dame.
"This is Williams," I answered.
"Doctor Williams, this is Tammy from Notre Dame. We met at your speaking engagement a couple of weeks ago."
"Uh... Tammy..." I said, trying to jog my memory.
"Short, spiky blonde hair," she prompted.
"Oh yes!" I exclaimed. "The production assistant. You were quite pleasant, as I recall. What can I do for you?"
"We're all looking for Miss Wr- Sorry, Miss Ramirez. She didn't show up for work today and wasn't answering her phone. When I went to her apartment to check on her, I found it unlocked and empty, and, uh..."
"Have you called the police?" I asked, my brain going to the worst place immediately because, well, thanks brain. It's really nice to always be assuming the worst. I'm sure there's no correlation between that and all the gray hairs on my head and in my beard.
"I did, and the detective said he was going to contact your company, so I told him I had your direct office line, and he asked me to call."
"Let me speak to him for a moment, please," I said.
"Sure, one sec," she replied. I heard muted voices and some shuffling, and then a male voice came on the line.
"Doctor Williams," he said.
"That is I," I replied. "To whom am I speaking?"
"I'm Detective Brown with the Baltimore Police."
"Good to meet you, Detective Brown," I said, trying to recall if I knew him or not. "Can you tell me anything about what happened to Lucinda? I'll start putting together a response team, right now."
"This is more about speaking to you than involving the Group in my investigation," he said, catching me off guard.
"Okay," I replied rotely.
"What can you tell me about your relationship with Miss Ramirez?"
"Uh, I only met her the one time. She didn't seem to like me very much. In fact, she seemed to have a marked dislike for me, though I have no idea why."
"You only met her once when?"
"When I was there a couple weeks ago for the talk," I said. "Why do you seem to think I have some kind of relationship with her?"
"Well, Doctor Williams, do you think you could come down to the station to answer some questions anyway? I'd like to find out exactly what's going on here, and I think you might be able to shed some light on the situation."
"How about I meet you at Miss, uh, Ramirez' apartment? I can be there in less than one minute." Something about that name was niggling the back of my mind.
"Uh..." he said, and I could hear him playing it all out in his head. He was trying to figure out if I was trying to get one over on him by suggesting this. I wasn't, and he seemed to be a smart man, because he continued just a second or two later. "Sure, we can do that."
"All right," I said. "Give me the address and I'll be right over."
"I'll see you- Oh, the address. Yes, one second. It's, uh... Two-thirty-three Chancery Road."
I typed it into Google and zoomed out a bit on the map that popped up. I checked the satellite view, then the street view.
"I'll see you in just a moment," I said.
"All right," he replied.
----
I teleported myself to a point a few hundred feet off the ground, scouted out the layout as I began to fall, then teleported myself to the ground before I built up too much momentum. It was the easiest, safest way to teleport to a new place. And it didn't have the effect that me descending from the heavens would on anyone already there, which was nice.
I found Detective Brown, whom I recognized, even though I don't think I've ever worked with him before, out front. We shook hands and re-introduced ourselves, and then he cut down to brass tacks.
"Look, I'll be straight with you. We haven't ruled out foul play yet, and in the event that's what happened, you're our prime suspect at the moment. That being said, I don't think you did it. It doesn't make sense given the circumstances, you've got too much to lose, and it doesn't jive with everything I've ever heard about you. So I'm happy to treat this like an assist, provided you can answer some questions for me."
"Fair enough," I said. "I'll answer as honestly as I can."
"Thanks. So, you're sure you don't know her from before the other week?"
I frowned and thought. "I'll be honest, I thought she looked a little familiar, and something about her maiden name was familiar, too. But I've tried to recall where I know her from, and I'm coming up blank. Maybe there's something inside that'll refresh my memory."
"We'll take a look. Before we do, I want to prepare you."
My eyes widened. "For what?" I asked.
"There's a shrine," he said, and I knew immediately what he meant.
Look, I'm kind of a celebrity. I'm no Timothee Chalamet, mind. Hell, I'm not even a Deacon MacDouglas. I'm just played by one, on TV. My face is not as familiar as his, and the truth behind the nonsense I've gotten involved in is not as well known as the plot of the show. But it is somewhat well known. I do get recognized sometimes.
My point here is that I've seen a few Jerry Shrines before. Pictures of me, printed off the internet or cut from magazines. Trinkets similar to my things, or sometimes actual possessions of mine that I'd lost over the years. The worst one I'd seen was a sex shrine built by a masochist, in which a bunch of casings from one of my guns had been embedded into the largest, most intimidating Bad Dragon I've ever seen in my life.
Ahem, if you don't know what a Bad Dragon is, then don't google it. Just count your blessings.
"Well," I said with a resigned sigh. "Let's see it."
As shrines went, Lucinda's was pretty tame.
There was my graduation photo, printed out at four-by-six and taped to the wall above a dresser in her bedroom. Below that, a couple of printouts of online news articles about me were stuck to the walls with pins. On the dresser top, there were more printouts. I began to look through them until one caught my eye.
"Holy shit," I said, burning up my first allotted curse word for the day.
"What's that?" Brown asked. I showed him the printout. It was from a college newsletter, many decades back. The print wasn't even text, but what looked like a photograph of one of the issues. It described how an unnamed student had voluntarily left the school after accusations of attempted rape.
"Lucinda, that's what was throwing me. When I knew her, she went by Cindy."
"You know who that was?" Brown asked, scanning the article quickly.
"It was me." He turned an arch look on me.
"I didn't actually do it. The guy she started dating... I walked in on him molesting her as she was unconscious at a party and I tried to stop him, but he was a lot bigger than me. His friends helped him, too. They pulled my pants down in the process of beating the tar out of me, kicking me in the groin and stuff. When she woke up from the commotion, she saw me, bloody and beaten, with my pants down. She drew her conclusions from that."
"Shit, and you had been trying to stop it, huh?" Brown said, clearly taking my story at face value. Or appearing to, in any event. I nodded.
"She'd actually been coming onto me that whole night," I said. "But she was so drunk that I was very uncomfortable. It felt like taking advantage."
"Smart man," Brown said approvingly. "I'm having trouble picturing you getting your ass kicked, though."
I shrugged. "I wasn't always a wizard," I said. He shrugged back.
"So why do you think there might be some foul play?" I asked. "Aside from the fact that she apparently left without locking her door."
"Blood in the living room," he said. "Not a lot, but it's clearly blood."
"Hmm, let me take a look," I said. I ran through the events of the past in my mind. The last time I'd seen Cindy was the day she'd found out the truth. After the night of the party when the incident happened, she had started dating the guy who had actually taken advantage of her. I guess she saw him as having saved her from the creepy weird guy, namely me. He'd convinced her to file a complaint against me with the school, which resulted in me leaving the school to go to my second choice. A few months later, I'd ran into them, and found Asshole (the boyfriend) alone. I confronted him, calling him a rapist, and timing it so that she'd hear when he finally got flustered and confessed to what he'd actually done.
She'd been apologetic to me after, but my trust had already been broken. I had really liked her, and for her to immediately believe that I could do such a thing, especially because it meant taking the word of a drunk fratboy she didn't even know over mine, was more than even my desperate, lonely heart could handle. I'd given her a ride home, but told her in no uncertain terms that I never wanted to see her again.
Apparently, that had hurt her. And she'd held onto that grudge for decades.
I poked through the other papers, then checked her nightstand. I found a final divorce decree there. So her divorce had been finalized just yesterday.
Brown showed me the spots on the carpet. Immediately, I began to doubt his suspicions. For starters, there were six spots, and they led from the front door to the bathroom. I knelt down next to the one closest to the bathroom and touched it.
The blood was dry, but not too old. I felt the magic inside of it, and I could feel life there. Not the life of the blood cells, which were long dead. But residual life magic, along with something that wasn't blood. I used some knowledge magic to check it and found that it was urea.
"This is menstrual blood," I said. I used a little bit of time magic to get a reading on the age of the blood. It was about fifteen hours old. I moved to the next spot, and checked that. It was very close in age, but just barely older.
"Yeah, this isn't an indication of foul play," I said. "She came inside while leaking urine last night. I think she had an accident and the urine pulled some blood from her tampon or panty liner. You notice how the blood looks a little thin?"
"I figured it was a little older. Maybe a day or two."
"There any pets?" I asked and Brown snapped his fingers. "I knew that felt off," he said. "Yeah, no pets."
Pets walking across a trail of tried blood would have explained why each spot had a dark ring, but was thinned out in the middle. It was the sort of thing they teach detectives about, one of those weird little quirks of life that only matter to those in very specific careers. I wouldn't blame him for seeing their state and immediately assuming a pet had trampled the spots, because it was really very common.
"You're sure about the composition of those droplets?" he asked. I nodded. "Very much. This blood is also menstrual blood, I'm certain of that, as well."
"So, more likely she had a night out drinking," he said.
"Yeah," I replied. "That seems more likely. She held it in on the way home, but leaked a little on her way to the bathroom."
"I can write it up as a missing person, then," he offered. I nodded, rubbing my chin thoughtfully.
"You got some idea of what happened to her?" he asked.
"Maybe," I said. "Where's Tammy?"
"The girl that called us? She's out front, why?"
"I want to ask her some questions."
----
"Did Lucinda say anything about me after the day of the talk?" I asked.
Tammy's eyes slid away from mine and she looked nervous.
"I'm not going to be mad at you for telling me," I assured her. She fidgeted for a moment, then spoke.
"She went on a rant about how selfish you were. How you hold everyone's mistakes against them. It was... Really awkward. It was like she wanted us to hate you."
"Huh," I said.
"So the question, then, is where she went," Brown said.
I thought about it. Then I turned to Tammy. "When was the last time she mentioned me?"
"She's been complaining about you since the talk," she said.
"So her divorce got finalized yesterday, she was fuming about me," I said. "And she likely had a night out drinking. A *lot* of drinking."
"Are you in the white pages?" Brown asked, catching on.
"No," I said. "But my offices are."
----
I walked into the lobby with Tammy and Detective Brown hot on my heels. I'd called to ask if there had been a disturbance, and sure enough, there was one ongoing.
"..fucking assholes!" Cindy Ramirez was shouting at a pair of guards, both of them holding up their hands in pacifying gestures. Neither was really trained for this. Generally speaking, disturbances involving the Group tended to be a lot more violent and weird.
"I've got this," I announced to them when they looked up to see what fresh hell was coming through the door for them.
Cindy spun, fixing glassy, angry eyes on me.
"You fucking asshole," she spat.
"Tell me what's wrong, Cindy," I said.
"You fucking asshole!" she repeated, louder.
"Cindy, we haven't spoken in decades. Why are you angry at me now?"
"Because all of it started with you!" she spat, as if that explained it.
"All of what?" I asked, keeping my voice soft and level.
She snarled, then sobbed and fell to her knees. I honestly had no clue what to do here. Should I try to comfort her physically? Put my arms around her? Should I keep my distance? Shit, I needed someone who knew this sort of interpersonal stuff better than me to tell me what to do.
I drew up some knowledge magic and infused my brain, then reached out to Kathy with a mental message. Hey, I have kind of an emergency situation here. Are you free to consult?
Her response was almost immediate. Consult? With you? I mean, uh, yeah, but like... On what?
There's a woman in the lobby having a crisis. I knew her in college. There was an... Incident. We'd gone to a party and she got really drunk and was hitting on me. I know, it's hard to believe anyone would hit on me back then, but we had been friends and I'd been comforting her through a breakup. She was really drunk though, so I put her in one of the rooms upstairs to sleep it off. When I went to check on her, I found a guy molesting her and tried to intervene. As expected, I got my ass kicked. When she woke up, that guy told her that he caught me molesting her and she believed him. That's why I changed colleges, my Junior year. A few months later, she found out what really happened and tried to apologize, but I was hurt and I told her I didn't want to be friends anymore.
Okay, and she's in the lobby upset with you now? What, like, twenty years later?
A little more, I sent, But yeah. It's been a long time.
Okay, I get it. So let's see... I don't really know enough to really dig into it, but I'd guess she's had bad luck in love ever since then. Did you guys run into each other recently?
Yes, I sent. I gave a talk at Notre Dame a few weeks ago. She was my primary point of contact there.
Okay, that tracks. It brought you back into mind. Do you know if she had any other incidents?
One of the PAs told me she got divorced a few weeks prior. The surname she was using then was her married name, and she's switched back to her maiden name since.
Wow, this is making a bit more sense. Okay, so -and bear in mind, this is not a formal diagnosis, or even a particularly detailed one- I'll lay this out as best I can.
Hit me.
Okay, so for starters, I'd guess that she had a crush on you even back before you were helping her through that breakup. I can't really say if it's more likely than not, but it's possible that the crush on you precipitated the breakup, at least in part. Which was fine enough until she ended up divorced, and then just a few weeks later, runs into you. Now, she's feeling lost and adrift, which is normal following a divorce, especially if it went quickly. But she's looking to make it all make sense, and the way to do that is to blame you. I'd bet she's had a few failed relationships before she got married, too, which would only reinforce the thought that you turned her down the wrong path.
Okay, I sent. So what do I do?
You can't really help her. She needs someone to talk to. And don't even think about bringing her home to Inanna. That'll only make things worse.
I have no intention of doing that, I assured her. Can I comfort her? Give her a hug?
Yeah, but don't try to do any self-deprecating stuff. Seriously. Don't admit to being wrong, partially because you weren't wrong to cut things off, that was kind of fucked up of her to take some rando's word over her friend's. But mainly because you'd just be feeding into her rationalizations. Be clear that you're not apologizing or admitting anything, and that you're not open to 'fixing' anything. At the same time, you can offer her forgiveness. You had a right to be upset, and if she's this worked up about it, it's got to be because a part of her knows that. She very well may try to kiss you or something. Don't let her. But you can give her a hug, get her back home and tucked into bed. Is she drunk?
Extremely, I said. She peed herself, looks like last night, and enough that it made her tampon or pad drip onto the floor.
Ugh, that's gross. Well, to be fair, Lya actually did the same thing, once.
Yeah, I recognized it because Inanna's first period after Sara was born, we went out drinking and she overdid it.
Still gross.
Agreed. But drunks, so... Forgivable.
Yeah. For the record, it's never happened to me.
Good to know, I sent, making sure my deadpan tone carried through. I heard her laugh in my mind.
Alright, I followed up a second later. I'm going to try to get her back home. Anything I should know about followup?
A therapist is what's needed. But it might be helpful to talk to you about it all, in the future. For now, just focus on calming her down and getting her home. Getting her to agree to talk to someone would help, too.
Thanks, Kathy, I sent.
Good luck.
I took a steadying breath, then knelt down next to Cindy and put an arm around her shoulder. She tensed as she felt the touch, but then relaxed. Then she leaned into me.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I didn't know what to believe. There were four of them, and they all said the same thing, and I remembered trying to get you to come upstairs with me. I thought that we did, and started doing something and I passed out. But Norm convinced me that it wasn't innocent. He said he had locked the door while I was sleeping, and that you picked the lock and they heard you making noises, which was how they knew."
I sighed. "Cindy, that's the distant past. We're both much different people. I don't have any hard feelings over it any more."
"Everything went to shit after that," she said, sniffling. "Norm was an asshole, and you exposing him in that library was the only good thing that's happened since. I dated more guys like him, until I finally married one. And then I caught him in bed with a sixteen-year-old."
"Jesus Christ," I muttered.
"Yeah," she sighed. "He's in jail. The divorce went really fast."
"Cindy," I said. "You need to be talking to someone. This stuff is not the kind of thing that a person can just power through."
She didn't say anything, but I felt her head move slightly. She was turning her face towards mine. I once again -seriously, this was like, the millionth time- notched up my estimation of Kathy's psych knowledge. I turned my own head slightly away, a very subtle movement that would make it so that she'd have to pull away to get her lips in range of mine.
"Let me get you home, okay?" I asked. "You're pretty drunk right now, and you could really use some sleep."
She laughed. "Is that funny?" I asked.
"It's stupid," she said. "The last time I really talked to you, I got drunk, and you helped me into bed to sleep it off."
I realized that she was right, but I didn't know quite what to say about it. So I let my mouth do its own thing.
"Yeah, well, this time, I'll clear the house of horny frat boys. And if there are any, I'm pretty sure I'll win the fight."
----
Tammy and Detective Brown waited in the living room while I got her tucked into bed. Cindy was all but incoherent at this point. The Detective had already cleared out the shrine. There was no advantage to letting her hang onto that stuff.
"If you fucked me, I'd be happy about it," she muttered.
"No, you wouldn't," I said. "At least not for very long."
"I dreamed about it for years," she said. I didn't say anything, I just tucked the blanket under her. I'd only taken her shoes off, not anything else, because I didn't want to give her ideas. Apparently, taking her shoes off had been enough.
I flipped off the lights.
"I'm going to have someone call you," I said. "A therapist. A friend of mine. You'll like her. One day, we'll talk again, I promise."
"Mmm, g'night," she muttered. It was two o'clock in the afternoon.
"Good night," I said, pulling the door gently shut behind me as I left.
"Well, that went a lot better than most MPs I work," Brown said.
"Is she gonna be all right?" Tammy asked. I shrugged. "My friend, Kathy, is the best psychologist I know. She's helped quite a few people through some stuff. I'm going to ask her to call Cindy tomorrow. Hopefully, she'll work through it."
----
My phone rang as I was driving back to the office. It was Inanna.
"Hey baby," I answered.
"Hey. I called your office, but I didn't get any answer. When I called the duty desk, they told me you were involved in some kind of altercation in the lobby."
"Yeah..." I sighed. "Do you remember, years ago, I told you about Cindy Ramirez? The girl who accused me of sexually assaulting her?"
"Yeah. You were trying to be a gentleman, and she ended up believing some horny frat boy over you, right?"
"Right. Well, she was my contact at Notre Dame for that talk. I didn't recognize her, because of the time, and she gave me her married name, despite going through a divorce. Well, it turns out that she's had really back luck in love, and was blaming me for it."
"She tried to attack you?"
"No, she wasn't particularly violent, just upset. She broke down, crying at the end."
"Well shit, bring her home. I'll comfort the shit out of her," she said. I smirked, shaking my head.
"I spoke to Kathy about it. That's the last thing she needs."
"Shame. But you owe me fifty bucks."
"Wait, what?"
"I told you when we first met that you were a sexy bitch. And you told me you knew for a fact you weren't. Well, you'd already broken one heart by that point. Non-sexy bitches don't break hearts."
I groaned.
"I'll bring you some cash," I said.
"I'd prefer to collect in ass," she said.
"Yes, dear."

First Previous
Wiki RoyalRoad
Cover Art & Travis Portrait by Pedro Puglisi
Fan Art of Seleyna! - By KyrionDraws
Journal Entry #27
Lesson Number 2 -- You are a mortal with mortal limits. Divine retribution awaits those that try to remake reality.
That one needed some context, but rather than explain, the witch had me learn the lesson intimately by having me cast off wave after wave of synchronized mana. Each time I felt a stronger connection to the world around me, and each time my ease of bending the heat or water vapor in the air became easier, but then the pain came.
It started off small, just stiffness in my shoulders, but then it traveled down, and my muscles began to cramp. I got told to stop, but the power I felt was so addictive, and my mind somehow kept arguing that I could hang on just a little longer.
Then I suddenly came to. I was bound and gagged, violently ill to my stomach, covered in dried blood and feathers, and had no clue as to what put me there. The orc was nearby watching me, and after asking me a few simple yes and no questions that a two-year-old could've answered, removed my gag and bindings, then explained that I went feral, tried to attack the witch, and ate a wandering chicken.
Raw.
I immediately threw up.
Travis
Rainsday, the 6^th of Ninethmonth
Union Fortress -- Jarl's Palace
My feet were unable to fully hide my irritation and exhaustion as they trudged alongside Seleyna's graceful steps when we exited our private breakfast with the jarl. Yesterday was a long day, even before I exited the musical to discover what was happening outside, and the subsequent ruckus at the palace while separated from Arc only turned up the heat on the pressure cooker that was my stress level.
Seleyna checked to make sure we were actually alone in the hallway and away from her bodyguards for a change, then broke the silence with a sarcastic tone, "It'll be pleasant meeting Myrtice when we get back. I'm sure she'll have some wonderful things to say to me."
My head turned in surprise, "Why would she be angry with you? It's not like you're the one to blame for this mess."
She laughed, "You clearly don't have any older siblings. If you did, you'd know that the youngest always gets accused of being the favorite child. Trust me... She'll find a way in her mind to justify blaming me." Seleyna sighed before muttering to herself, "They always do." The princess then shook away the unpleasant thought and nudged me in the arm with a more cheerful tone, "Did you get any sleep?"
Taking the hint to change the subject, I waggled my hand, "A little once I got done getting questioned, but it sure didn't feel like it when my alarm rang. How about you?"
She shrugged, "No true beauty rest on a bed for me, but I managed to at least sneak in a few naps on a chair. Mother insisted that I listen in on the interrogations and [Message] transmissions."
My bleary eyes turned to examine the princess as my sluggish thoughts worked to rationalize the disconnect between what I was hearing versus seeing. Seleyna looked as radiant as the day I met her, with sandy colored hair flowing down past her shoulders in waves, a sun-kissed complexion that contoured her entrancing stone-blue eyes, and... a teasing grin that was having fun at my expense.
She chuckled in chorus with my groan, then reached into a pouch on her belt to pull out a small vial, "Here, give me your hands."
I did as instructed, then watched as a few drops of a strong peppermint scented oil were placed in my left palm.
"It's called Morning Refresher, an infusion of stimleaf and some other herbs. Rub it around your eyes and face. It'll help perk you up."
Eager for anything to relieve my bloodshot eyes, my fingers dipped into the oil, then massaged the tiredness away as the cool sensation pumped fresh blood into my skin. It worked wonders, invigorating every pore on my face, but sadly did nothing to penetrate the buildup of anger simmering deep below.
We eventually approached my room, creating an awkward moment when Seleyna stopped along with me outside my room, leaving me scrambling for a polite way to ask her to leave, "Umm... sorry, but... I'm going to be a few minutes."
"Oh, of course. I'll... see you down at the dock?"
I nodded my head, feeling bad as I entered my room, but knew it was the right call when a guttural growl finally cracked open the seal on my emotions. I was just supposed to do a quick check to make sure nothing got left behind by the corpsman when they came for everyone's storage crates, but I desperately needed the moment of isolation to finally vent the rage that had been building up ever since Arc was returned to me.
"Okay, I get that you're a bit upset... but, hear me out---"
"A bit?!" I barked, unclipping Arc from my belt so I could hold him in front of me and properly glare, "Only a bit? You created a national incident last night while you were ducking around!"
"C'mon bud, you're making a mountain out of a gopher hole; corrupt politicians crop up like weeds all the time."
My grip tightened, "Were you not paying attention when the jarl was profusely thanking Seleyna and apologizing to me? That weed is from an inner ring family, was publicly endorsed by Crown Princess Myrtice before the recent election, and nearly won it. The Jarl took a huge risk when he assembled the guards, and only had the confidence to do so because that Royal Knight was available and willing to investigate."
"Okay... I'll admit I got lucky there... but you know how it is, no plan survives first contact, and even if that part failed, I still had options. It's not like any sane person would presume I escaped on my own into the night with the weapons."
I could almost feel him squirming in my hands as he tried to downplay what happened, but I wasn't having any of it.
"And what would you have done then? Left a pile of weapons on the front door of the palace with a written note? Smuggle yourself back in and leave me reaching to explain why my weapon's rack has extra armaments?"
"I... umm... uh, well... no." Arc's blustering finally ended, and his tone shifted into a morose tenor, "I'm sorry. Private Tomas was about to get killed, and I panicked. Afterwards, when I finally was able to think of something plausible, Bones mentioned that they had stolen other weapons like me in the past, and well... I thought maybe..." Arc faded out, unable to continue.
I sighed, letting the billowing steam inside me vent out completely, then sat down on the bed with Arc laid out next to me.
"Were you at least able to talk to the other weapons?"
"No... the first one I tried to talk to just got upset with me for waking them and told me to leave. The others... they didn't even respond."
My fingers traced along Arc's scabbard until they found his favorite spot and began scratching. It must have been utterly disappointing for him to go through all that effort, only to find the venture pointless.
We sat there for a minute, hearing the shuffle of armored boots exiting the neighboring rooms, the occasional whinny from a horse outside, and the ticking of the clock informing me of the time.
I sighed once more, wishing the tiny respite could last longer, but at least I was able to think of something that might cheer up Arc.
"I'm pretty sure Lancel's figured out that something's off, and he might be growing a tad paranoid. Would you be willing to properly meet him?"
"Already? Umm... yeah, I... I would like that. Did you have a time and place in mind?"
"Well, I was originally hoping to do it this morning, but... ugh, now that I think about it, doing it half an hour before we board a crowded boat might not have been the best idea."
Arc started laughing, "No... probably not. Let me think... there's still stops at Brushstroke and Loggercliff before we start marching to Coldwater Spring. We might be able to find the time there, assuming nothing world-shattering happens along the way."
My head slowly turned down to stare at him incredulously.
"What?"
"You recently berated me the other day for tempting Phymur."
"I did? When?"
"Right when that Mudfish grappler attacked. I remember because you called me something rude in that weird language you won't tell me the origin of."
"I think your memory is playing tricks on you. I don't recall saying anything, and we both know who is more reliable in that regard."
I shook my head, happy that Arc was feeling himself again, but slightly annoyed that meant he was back to his half-mad state of mind.
Checking the clock once more, and figuring it was time to get moving, I got up to open the door and step out but ended up lurching back uncontrollably to keep from crashing into a commando preparing to knock on my door.
The leather-clad assassin held up their open palms, "Apologies Sir Travis, it was not my intention to startle you."
My breathing must have taken a full minute to calm down, but the hooded figure was patient, and simply stood there motionless as I regained control of myself, "None needed, umm... Raven Four?"
"Yes, The Raven Four." They folded their forearms into a formal salute, then did something unexpected, "As the entrusted captain of this battalion regarding mission security, let me begin by extending you a formal apology on behalf of Squad 3. I should not have fully trusted the local palace guard to deter thievery."
"Oh... umm, thank you." I stammered out, not quite sure how to react. Every commando I'd interacted with before always spoke in a gruff monotone with no readable body language. This one was expressing genuine emotion, not just in his vocal tone, but with the way his shoulders slumped in defeat and how their eyes lowered in shame.
Raven Four's demeanor didn't last long, however, and he quickly returned to his usual mysterious nature, "I also volunteered on behalf of the captains to come and ask if you were satisfied leaving the investigation in the hands of Royal Knight Blavot, or if you will be remaining here to conclude the investigation."
Remaining here? What the...? I have neither the rank nor authority to change my own mission mid-assignment. Gods, I'm not even a fully titled mage yet, just an Initiate. Why is he asking me that?
I remained quiet, drumming my fingers against my thigh in confused thought, glancing occasionally at the commando, until the obscuring fog finally lifted.
Ugh... I'm an idiot. Lancel used to complain about officers in the army springing competency tests on him. I should have known this was going to happen eventually. Hector literally stated that the purpose of these expeditions was to give us field experience.
Grinning with satisfaction, I turned to Raven Four, "Sir, unless I'm ordered otherwise, my current mission for the kingdom still stands. I do not intend to abandon my squad over a personal matter."
Raven Four's large eyes narrowed at me for a minute, then suddenly widened enough to show the whites, "That's... eh, correct. We have not issued you new orders... and complications aside, we still have a mission to complete." He nodded as if to reassure himself, then resumed, "If you have any questions regarding the investigation in the future, you are welcome to ask, given that you were targeted."
Arc whispered to me using my earring, "Hey, can you ask him about what will happen to the thief?"
I asked, then felt a tremble of anxiety run down my spine as the commando contemplated the question for a full minute before responding. "That depends on the judges. Paulus has been cooperative so far, despite some clear agitation whenever a commando enters his cell, and is providing information on the local Thieves' Guild, so that will lower his sentence. What will hurt him is that Galoys, his partner, is claiming that they stopped him from killing a corpsman that entered your room, and was left bruised, bound, and abandoned in retaliation."
"Uh-oh... that's not what happened..."
A deep pit of dread formed in my gut, "Will that testimony affect his sentencing?"
Raven Four nodded, "Yes, by a great deal, full calendar cycles of indentured servitude in the capital instead of a few years if the judges believe him."
Rot! I'll never be able to live with myself if I don't figure out a way to help.
My jaw clenched in agitation as my brain tried to think of a subtle way to inform them of the truth, but before I could, Raven Four audibly gasped and shifted into a defensive stance with both daggers retracted from his wrist sheaths.
I stepped back from the twitching commando, wondering what the rot was going on at first, until a sneaking suspicion started tingling in the back of my skull.
Raven Four stood there on the defensive, then after what felt like ages, turned his head my way before raising his forearms to return his daggers, "Apologies again... I... I need to report something." He then spun on his heels and ran out of the room.
I waited a few seconds for him to get out of range, then rapped Arc with my knuckles, "What did you do?"
Arc cackled like the madman he was, "Sent him a Message over his private channel. Given that all the commandos I've seen so far sleep in their uniforms, he's probably panicking at the thought of someone skilled enough to touch his cowl without getting noticed."
I sighed, mainly because my earlier scolding failed to stick for more than six minutes, but also to cover the smile trying to creep across my face.
Arc
Philiadra River -- Hillstripe County
ETA to Brushstroke Fortress -- 8 Hours
My focus floated over the crowded main deck to watch in awe as Varguk's hands dexterously prepared stimleaf concoctions with the speed and flair of a Vegas bartender. And I do mean bartender. The typical lattes were getting interlaced with espresso poured into shot glasses, iced drinks shaken like cocktails, and one weird order where an egg was stirred into a mixture till it thickened enough to get slurped up like a Jello shot.
It was quite the change from the typical morning aboard the ship, and I was curious as to why. Normally the cessation of morning drills would give way for individual training under a tight schedule to fairly divide the time. Though, I had a feeling my answer was walking up the steps to the aft deck.
Spartan Captain Aguk carried a drink in each hand, paused briefly after the ascent to set his jaw, then approached his fellow Squad Captain Adaline, "Good morning, would you care for a stimleaf beverage? Spartan Varguk added steamed milk for nutrition and infused caramel to provide a palatable flavor."
The Royal Knight slowly removed herself from the railing she was leaning on, then turned to smile at the half-orc with noticeably tired eyes as she took the latte, "Thank you. I must admit, I was surprised to see you grant permission to the junior's request."
"His reasoning was sound, given that you and many of the mages and knights were unable to get a full night's sleep." "Plus," the half-orc paused to look down at the battalion as they mingled with one another while waiting for drinks, "I felt it was an appropriate relaxation of military discipline, befitting the spirit of Union Fortress."
Adaline sipped at her drink during Aguk's explanation, then raised an eyebrow, "That's... err, I intend no offense, very un-spartan-like of you."
Aguk cleared his throat and shifted his weight to the other leg, "No offense felt. And... thank you for the compliment. Spartan attempts to integrate more with the other branches of the military haven't always meshed smoothly." His hands readjusted their grip on his drink, "On that note, let me thank you for filing a recommendation to have Varguk join the battalion. A skilled chef is always welcome, but a spartan that can take off their stripes along with the armor... that's... well... Have you ever met some of the more hard-headed spartans who served under the previous queen?"
The Royal Knight chuckled, "Yes, I have." She sipped on her drink, then had a moment of realization before looking back up at the tall and broad man with a nervous smile, "I need to correct you, Princess Seleyna put in that request, not me."
"Oh... I see." Captain Aguk's chest deflated, "That's twice I owe the princess now."
"Twice?"
Aguk nodded, "Yes, back in the spring when I was scouting for talent, I heard the story about the princess attending an outer-ring party, and was surprised that the spartan she danced with was a potential recruit I dismissed. I grew curious, and after a little digging, I was able to find an after-action report that helped explain the glaring contradiction in behavior from what his psych profile suggested. I determined that if he was willing to push himself in such a fashion, then he would be an excellent fit for the Combined Arms branch, and perhaps even act as a role model for future recruits."
He gestured down to where his point was being actively illustrated; Reidar discussing possible equipment options with Travis the mage, Lieutenant Fernrod the knight, and Longspur Eleven the commando.
"I was still a sprout back when Queen Claudette came into power, and one of the first recruits to be subject to her push for cultural integration." The half-orc sighed with a forlorn expression, "I sometimes think I was the only one of my squad-siblings to earnestly try and find common ground with civilians and the other branches."
A gentle hand rested on the spartan's forearm, and he looked down to see its owner gazing up at him.
"I'm glad you did, and that you keep trying."
The two smiled at each other... until the moment lasted a bit too long and shifted into that awkward stage, resulting in them quickly shifting their attention back to their battalion.
Adaline summoned the confidence to speak first, "This social hour seems to be going well. If you're willing to adjust the morning schedule, I'd be amenable to repeating it tomorrow."
"I can do that. However, Staff Sergeant Julien will need your authorization to request supplies at the next fortress. Varguk donated his personal stock today, and I feel we should not take advantage of his kindness."
"Agreed."
"Put me down, you mud-footed beast!" Private Tomas narrated in his terrible rendition of an elven princess. It was sadly much better than his attempt to lower his voice for the grizzled spartan covered in blood and assassin arrows. "I cannot comply. My orders are to escort you safely to the capital."
Ugh, I can't believe I'm listening in for the plot...
With nothing better to do, I continued monitoring the corpsman (and the creepily attentive horses), discovering that after fleeing to safety, Drozuk collapsed onto the ground from blood loss, startling Princess Radelia. Growing worried, she removed the damaged armor from the muscular orc, then began to bandage his wounds with torn strips from her dress.
Bowing out before things got steamy, I floated my focus up a level to where a pair of spartans were waiting for their turn to spar.
"Then after we had enough time to get a feel for each other, we started going at it like beasts for hours. It was exhilarating!" The half-orc paused to catch his breath, "And... exhausting, I almost slept through rollcall this morning."
The female spartan shook her head, "You and your fetishes..."
"Hey, Fortresses & Fighters is a legitimate hobby. It's even on the list of recommended leisure activities to engage in with non-spartans."
"It's a children's game..."
"Originally designed by a Baron General Knight to teach large-scale military tactics." The first spartan argued.
I mentally rolled my eyes, then kept floating along, finding it noticeably harder than usual to stave off the boredom. The anticipation of finally saying hello to Lancel must have been getting to me and was probably compounded by the small taste for socialization I had yesterday talking to Bones. I moved up to the aft deck where the knights were receiving magic instruction, keeping a healthy distance from the former guard captain to keep temptation at bay, and decided to be a more active help to Travis as he taught Galehaut.
"Condensing array number 2."
Travis gestured at the goliath to turn over his forearm, then briefly compared the inactive enchantment with the custom diagram he sketched for the man's large forearms before critiquing, "Your diameter on this line end needs to be wider. If that pull isn't strong enough, you won't be able to recycle the water flowing over from the other side."
Galehaut grumbled, then glanced at the answer key before fixing his enchantment formation. Despite only using a trace amount of mana to create the equivalent of a pencilled-in sketch, the constant reshaping was clearly draining the man's mental fortitude as he kept practicing.
"You're making steady progress. I haven't even mastered this enchantment yet." Travis reassured, then nodded when the corrections finished, "That looks good. Switch arms."
The big knight relaxed as he let the formation disperse, then raised his other arm to start stenciling out the enchantment before tilting his head to the custom diagram Travis wrote up, "At least I have you here to help with the hard part. Would have taken me weeks to make sense of all those calculations."
Travis looked up with a sheepish grin, "Umm... this is the easy part."
Galehaut locked eyes with Travis, then at the diagram, then with his arm, then back to the diagram, and finally back up to Travis, "This..." his deep baritone voice cracked, "this is the easy part?"
My best friend held up a palm, then summoned a thin ball of Water Mana, "Once you have this memorized, the next step will be to maintain the exact same structure and shapes while increasing the density of the mana enough to finally trigger the enchantment." Travis flexed his fingers, forcing more and more mana into the sphere until the attracted water vapor condensed into a bead of water. "After that comes the hardest part, not letting it fall apart in combat." He demonstrated by gently banging his hand against the knight, causing the hovering thimble of water to ripple with instability.
Galehaut sighed, then to Travis' delight, clenched his jaw and redoubled his focus on his next attempt. He still ended up with some lines out of tolerance, but the number of overall errors had gone down. Sadly, their allotted time for practice was almost over, and the goliath had to quit before his elevated mana amperage grew too high.
Travis handed Galehaut the diagram to keep, then gave his neck and arms a quick stretch after the two parted, leaving me an opening to speak.
"You are aware that you just lied to him, right? His affinity should kick in to help once he tries activating it."
"I'm aware," Travis whispered into his arm as he brought it across his chest to stretch his shoulders, "but that will only ever apply to Water spells, and if he cobbles his enchantments together haphazardly, they'll be underpowered and too expensive for reliable use. It's better for him in the long run if he develops a habit of learning spell formations properly, especially if he wants to expand his repertoire. Besides, he's been putting in a lot of effort to teach me proper swordsmanship, it's only fair I return the favor."
"You know, I sometimes miss that little kid who'd loosen the ink jar lids at school when no one was looking..., but then I get reminded that he never truly left." Travis smirked at my comment, but my 360-degree sword vision spotted Vesril approaching, so I figured I better warn him, "Heads up. Edgelord is coming to talk."
The elven Ice Mage sauntered in next to Travis, leaned against the balustrade with his arms crossed, then cast off the Wind Mana collecting around his shield/snowboard to form a [Sound Barrier].
"Captain Adaline denied my request to go wake surfing. Said that boredom wasn't a compelling reason, and that I should be taking this time to 'become acquainted with my squadmates.'" He rolled his eyes behind the twin lens of Shadow Mana floating in front of them, not even bothering to hide the snark in his voice, "Hence why I'm here. Talking to you, the social bee of the battalion."
Travis' face went from confusion over why the anti-social elf was talking to him, to full-blown gobsmacked after being called a social bee, and for good reason too. Despite his best efforts to be more outgoing, Travis was still an introvert at heart, preferring to hang over the railing and watch the scenery pass by (or sneaking below deck to coddle his nameless horse), instead of playing cards or sharing stories. Heck, it was only a year ago that Travis was turning down offers from the other boys in his village to visit Lakewell Fortress, actively ignoring Ingrid's attempts at flirting, and spending every waking hour training to become a mage.
"Figures..." The punk-rock elf covered in piercings muttered after Travis failed to respond, "The one time I actually do what my dad wanted... and you become tongue-tied."
He reached into an elongated pouch to touch a wand he carried, then cast a [Remote Ear] spell in sync with one of the frequencies to start listening to the fantasy equivalent of a gothic metal band. The dark atmospheric undertones crossed with harsh vocals eventually snapped Travis out of his stupor, and they listened in until the end of the current song.
"This is... different. Does this band just happen to be performing right now, or do they take turns with others?"
Vesril groaned, clearly annoyed that he'll have to actually talk, "The band playing right now, Stonebreaker Tempest, is one of a dozen bands booked to play their set once per day on this frequency."
Travis nodded along, tapping the helmet clipped to his belt, "Huh, I guess it never occurred to me that Message channels could be dedicated to music instead of long-range communication."
The Ice Mage shrugged, "Not surprised. Used to be impossible to stop some duck-feathered asshole from adding their own inputs and shitting over everything. But about a calendar cycle back, some genius finally figured out how to make a relay artifice that didn't distort or pollute sound enough to make your ears bleed." He gestured at the spell as it started outputting a new song, "The channel jockey I pay manages a master feed with a dozen other guys, then distributes copied signals. Either a private one like mine, or a shared channel that only needs a couple dozen people to reset in case a mudfoot gets a hold of it."
The two kept talking, but I got distracted by a fast-approaching ship entering the outermost range of my vision and sent out my focus out to get a clearer picture. It was of an older Lakelander style (Viking longship from my old world), but what really caught my attention was the two mana users on board. A woman wearing a wide brimmed hat inexpertly using Wind Mana to fill the sails and propel the vessel faster, and a man with a very blatant Fire Affinity with matching inscribed sword manning the rudder.
The unknown ship exited the river connecting to the lake we were on, and as if guided by fate, turned to face us.
Artificer Volmaegar, standing watch at the prowl, spotted the target and called it in, "Captain, unknown vessel on approach." The beardless then flipped down the visor on their helmet, and pumped Metal Mana into the glass while triggering their mana sight, "I'm seeing over a dozen rowers, a Wind Witch, and... Rust! Confirmed pirate, Verain the Scorcher."
"Prepare the cannon." Ordered Ship Captain Sampson. He then turned to face an approaching Captain Adaline, "Normally I'm obligated to pursue and eliminate any and all threats, but..." The ship captain tilted his head towards Seleyna.
The Royal Knight nodded grimly, "The safety of the princess supersedes that, plus..." she paused to glance at Travis and the other gathering teenagers before whispering, "I'm not a fan of having kids blooding their swords."
Volmaegar interrupted with an update, "We've been spotted... they're turning tail."
Captain Sampson grimaced as he adjusted the wheel, "I need orders..."
Adaline clenched her jaw with indecision but got saved by Raven Four speaking over the Message channel.
"My team is willing to capture all targets, we only require the mages to disable the enemy ship."
I saw the tension bleed from Adaline, and after exchanging nods with Captain Aguk, messaged over the battalion's channel, "All squadrons prepare for combat."
Taking over command, the spartan leader turns into a possessed man as he barks out orders in and out of everyone's helmets, sending the knights and spartans of each squad to the edges of the main deck; Travis, Vesril, and the Creeksmith twins to the foredeck; then assigning Seleyna, Drozuk, Mattius, and Treblana to guard the aft deck. This, I assume, doesn't go over well with the princess... given that her fingers are clenching quite visibly around her bow as she prepares it, but she manages to hide her annoyance in time before her bodyguard turns around and gives a "you will stay right there where it is safe" glare.
Captain Sampson focuses on his attunement with the artifice engine, then begins to ramp up the crystal mana embedded into the gears turning the propeller, causing them to spin faster and faster, until Warden's Hammer increases speed enough to slowly begin catching up, giving everyone on board enough time to get into position before attack. Wanting to get a good view of the action, I moved my focus to sit behind Travis, who is looking like a proper badass wizard at the starboard prowl, poleaxe held in his right hand and his left extended to cast a mixed trio of Orb spells in preparation, waiting in anticipation for the action to start.
A trio of [Fire Bolts] from the mages sounds off the attack, all three aimed high at the sails, but the Wind Witch onboard the pirate ship counters with a swipe of synced Air Mana through the spells to disrupt the formations. Her cloud of mana then raises high in the air before brutally slamming down to deflect a follow-up volley of [Water Bolts] targeting the rowers.
Interesting... I've never gotten to see a witch use magic before. Well... I guess I technically saw Brains back in the day, but he was showing off for a crowd, and wasn't exactly using a completely legal style. Now that I have a comparison, his spellcasting looked more like a halfway point between mages and witches. This lady isn't using spell formations at all, just using the natural pull energetic mana has on matter to force the air to do her bidding and summon strong gusts of wind.
Her witchcraft seems effective too, the mages on the foredeck can't get anything past her, but... as the onslaught from Travis and the twins continues, the more and more obvious it is that her strategy doesn't have staying power. Infusing her mana evenly into the environment is exposing it to getting discharged at a higher rate, which means she needs to keep pumping out more and more freshly synced mana to keep her dominance. Sure, the higher the pulse-rate of mana, the stronger the pull, and the more bang for her buck she's getting with each mote, but I can already see her internal mana amperage pushing into Stage 2 mana sickness. If she doesn't give up soon, she'll go feral.
Warden's Hammer keeps a respectable distance as it pulls parallel to the pirate ship, letting the mages on the aft deck contribute, but despite the pounding the enemy ship is taking (or the looming cannon a very eager artificer is pointing at them), the pirates still refuse to give up.
Growing irritated at having to contribute more than minimal effort, Vesril loses his patience, and pulls his weapon by the handle to lay atop his outstretched arm. Mana flows off his body onto the shield, levitating just off the surface to create three long condensing array lines to summon a cylinder of water in the center. He then adds in additional lines on each end to create forward-pointing triangular flanges, a wide and long set at the base to act as fuel for propulsion and a smaller set at the tip for stabilization.
And... I just now realized why they're called Arrow spells...
The Ice Mage chuckles as he extends his left hand and molds a trio of Wind Arrays into a wind tunnel before he calls out, "Is that the best your feeble magic can do? Let me show you your place human."
The [Water Arrow] launches, and an eye-blink later, a thunderous crack erupts from the pirate ship as a shotgun spray of wooden shards assault the rowers on the other side. The Wind Witch screams in agony as she's hit with debris then looks up in horror as the mast holding up the sails topples over like a falling tree.
Capitalizing on the distraction, the commandos launch their attack, leaping over the knights and spartans, and diving into the water. Except for Raven Four, who goes full ninja and sprints across the lake surface, using his summoned cloak of Shadow to leave behind a mana clone each time he zigs and zags.
Beserking into a rage, Verian the scorcher draws his sword and summons a torrent of Fire Mana into his palm, crushing it till it concentrates into Light Mana, then launches it at the dozen Shadow clones leaping onto the ship. It's not enough to fully negate the spell with the opposing mana type, but it is enough for Verian to quickly spot the real commando and slash with his sword.
Raven Four narrowly dodges by rolling onto the deck, then is forced to leap back when Verian continues his swing while activating the sword inscription to not only coat the weapon in flames but spew out Fire out the false edge like a gods and God-damned rocket, propelling his body to move in a fast 360 to try and finish his foe with an overhand chop.
Holy crap! That is the most awesomest weapon ever!
"I know! Right?" Travis chimes in, fully in sync with my excitement. "That's definitely getting added to the list of possible inscriptions for my poleaxe."
Really Travis? I get to watch a pirate get into a sword fight with a ninja, and you have to ruin the moment?
I ignore the traitorous bastard, opting to watch closely as Raven Four continues the fight, weaving and bobbing through Verian's attacks by using his summoned cloak to obscure his movements, before creating a false arm with his mana, and tosses a dagger at an exposed limb. The weapon flies true, penetrating deep into the pirate's leg, and causing him to cry out loudly in pain. The distraction is more than enough for the commando to go on the offensive, who kicks out the legs beneath the rapscallion, palms the enemy's skull, then pulsates every mote of mana in his body at once to provide the force needed to bury Verian into the wooden deck with a heavy thud.
A pained groan escapes the pirate, letting me know he wasn't dead (yet), but Raven Four takes no chances, breaking all four shins and forearms with heel stomps, then gently picks up the inscribed sword. He then checks his surroundings, nodding with approval that his team was able to successfully secure their onlooking targets by swimming under the ship and attacking from behind, then returns his attention back down.
"So," Raven Four growls, "care to explain why a well-known pirate is traveling on a main thoroughfare?"
Verian wheezes but manages to get enough air to spit up blood and a single word, "Behemoth..."
Well... fuck. That's not good.

Feeling more ready today for Taxol/herceptin/scalp cooling tomorrow! Welp, my rolling tote bag that I ordered for this purpose hasn't come yet, so I may be lugging my gear in a backpack. But I got help from someone at Paxman and practiced doing my cap a few times with my hair wet/slicked back. I feel more prepared now at least for that part. I also have a wig and some eyebrow stencils in case I have more hair loss than I bargained for. The wig matches my natural texture and almost my natural color and I practiced using the eyebrow stencils and they look natural to me (pic in comments). My booties and mittens are frozen, I have a cooler, my cap kit is packed with all the "amenities," lol, that it comes with. I also ordered some compression socks and gloves from Amazon as well as cotton glove liners. I am just putting my all into preparation to take away some of the anxiety of starting chemo.

Chapter 8 - Arrival
Previous Chapter
Joshua tapped on the captain’s door. He could hear faint trumpets from within, which was odd since none of the captain’s usual tastes in music included trumpets, but one thing that holds true for long trips is that the same old stuff gets boring. Trying something new was hardly a surprise.
The music inside cut off immediately, and the door slid open. The captain was in his recliner, a tumbler of amber liquid at his side. He set down his quickboard and waved Josha in.
“C’mon in. Sit down. Want a drink?” He stood up from his chair and walked over to a nearby cabinet.
“Sure. Mint Julep.” Josh took the offered seat, and watched as the captain pulled bottles down. “Easy on the syrup. You always make ‘em too sweet.”
Alexander grinned and poured each measure into a glass, before picking up a small metal spoon and stirring it together. “Yeah, I remember you like them stronger.”
After dropping a small straw in, he walked over and handed the drink to his XO. The bright green of a small sprig was at the bottom of the glass. Joshua took a small sip, and smiled appreciatively. “Fresh mint?”
“As fresh as it gets out of deep storage. It’s a special occasion! We’re about to initiate actual first contact with multiple new species! Speaking of which, I'm guessing you’re here to tell me that you’re planning on coming with me to the station. Am I right?” Alexander sat back down and picked up his glass, sipping at the whisky within.
“Well, yeah. Are you surprised?”
“Not at all. But Josh…” Alex set the glass back down, and leaned forwards, clasping his hands in front of him. “I’ve told you time and again. There’s no more debt. It’s been repaid. Several times over. You don’t need to feel obligated anymore.”
Joshua’s eyes narrowed at this, and he chuckled humorlessly. “Do you honestly still think I’m following you just because you got me out of the shit? C’mon, Al. You should know better.”
Alexander waved this away. “Yeah, you say that but… I dunno. This ain’t just a simple mission. This is me being selfish as hell and making what even I admit is a goddamn stupid decision purely out of childish optimism.”
Josh relaxed and raised an eyebrow. “You never did entirely grow up, that’s part of your… I hesitate to use the word, charm. So yeah, childish as shit. But you don’t seem very optimistic about it. You’ve gone out of your way to make this sound as unpleasant as you can.”
Alexander shrugged at this. “We’ve discovered that out of a very small handful of races that exist out there, at least one of them is hostile. Openly so. Not just to us, but to everyone. And so far none of the rescuees have been encouraging about how their governments will react to us. We’re almost completely in the dark about what’s waiting for us at that station, and still I can’t help but hold out hope about what’s waiting for us there. Optimism.”
Over the past couple days, Par had been quizzing each of the members of each species about their government, their people, and their attitudes towards other species. The responses were mostly just confusion - none of the aliens were more than laborers of one form or another, and it seemed like none of them had ever really cared much about inter-species relations.
“Well if they do react badly and you end up with a knife in your gut, you’ll need someone to sew it up. And I’ve already talked with Ma’et. She’s in as well.”
Alex blinked at this. “She asked you to tell me?” Knowing that his cyber specialist was coming along wasn’t surprising. Her asking someone ELSE to relay the message for her, was surprising.
“She’s in a mood. Doesn’t want to talk to you right now.” Josh chuckled at that. “You know how she gets sometimes.”
Alex snorted in response. Ma’et was notoriously mercurial, and her sudden mood shifts were notorious amongst the crew. As was her abject hatred for being asked ‘what’s wrong’. She often claimed it was the result of being a ‘true blooded spacer’, but Alexander knew plenty of other spaceborn and while most of them shared the same fierce independence that she often did, none of them were ever half as quick to change their minds and moods so suddenly.
He’d been about to retort, when a soft chime rang out. Alex pressed a button on the recliner’s armrest and the door slid open, for Par to float in.
“Captain. I’m afraid we have a situation with our passengers that requires attention.”
—--
Alexander had a nice buzz going back in his quarters. If he'd had his way he'd have finished his drink, listened a bit longer while the alcohol did its pleasant work, then have a nice cool glass of water before turning in early for the night. Instead, he was now staring at a potential diplomatic nightmare on the screen in front of him.
“The issue began roughly three days ago, when they were introduced to d-space. Immediately the two Fwenth crewmembers were enthralled by the view.”
The two crewmembers had collapsed entirely, and were now prone on the sleeping pads. Forset was at Shith’s side, and one of the other deckhands was with Thimp. They were slowly squeezing paste from tubes into the weird stickbug’s hands.
“Apparently they were so taken by the sight they stared at it for the past three days without eating, sleeping, or drinking. And they collapsed when their bodies ran out of energy.”
“I’m going to assume that gray paste is food? That’s being put on their… hands?” Alexander watched the screen intently.
“Correct. Apparently one of their grasper limbs also houses their mouth-analogue.”
The screen zoomed in and now Alexander could see the paste being sucked into a small hole there. It flexed and convulsed, occasionally widening to show a ring of small, sharp teeth. The motions looked so unnatural he felt queasy at the sight, and quickly looked away. “Aside from the whole ‘unable to function’ thing, does the d-space view actually harm them?”
“Not to the best of my ability to determine. They simply enjoy the view so much they can’t stop looking.”
“Okay, fine. Limit each of them to eight hours of viewscreen time per day. Tell them we’re conserving power or something so they don’t get bitchy about it. Now what am I seeing with the others?”
The viewscreen shifted away from the sickening display of the Fwenth’s mouth, and back up to Forset. His fur had been falling out all over, with patches of tan skin visible where the brown fur had fallen out. “That almost looks like mange or something. Did we miss some kind of mite or parasite in the decontamination of the bay?”
“I am still analyzing their biometrics with the Executive Officer. However it seems likely to be a side effect of their preferred means of entertainment.”
“Entertainment? What kind of entertainment?”
“Physical entertainment. I showed them the audio and video libraries but they didn’t express much interest in them. They expressed great interest, however, in the drying function of the sanitary room. Apparently they take turns using it for roughly an hour at a time, during most of their waking time.”
The headache was getting worse. “So because we don’t know how to properly entertain aliens on our ship, two of them hypnotized themselves until they collapsed, and the rest are playing with hair dryers so much it’s making their fur fall off.”
“That does seem to be the most likely explanation. My apologies, Captain. I was inattentive towards them, and their current state is a result of my negligence.”
“Stow it. You know as much as anyone about alien physiology, which is damn near nothing. You’re not to blame.” the captain waved off Par’s attempt at taking responsibility. “We're less than two days out from the station. Best we can do now is just… limit the damage I think. Have they stated what kind of entertainment they’d prefer? Something that doesn’t cause chunks of fur to fall off or whatever?”
“They expressed interest in ‘lightboxes’ and ‘scent-pads’. However they were unable to adequately describe how either one worked, only that they helped pass the time. Based on comments made, the view into d-space reminiscent of the visual stimuli of the ‘lightboxes’, albeit more intense. They have expressed dissatisfaction at the lack of color, which I believe may be why the effect is so muted for their species.”
“I take it that means they weren't interested in looking out the window for the rest of the trip.”
“They were intrigued but not immersed as the Fwenth were. A couple of them watched for a few minutes, but it did not hold their interest.”
“Hmmm. Interesting but not really useful for us. Those scent-pads might be useful, but if they can’t tell you what they’re made of then we’re boned.” He sighed. “Okay, if possible see if we can’t wean the Bunters down to just half an hour each in the dryer. In the meantime, fab up a checkers board or two and see if you can’t get them to try out boardgames or something.”
—--
Amanda’s lab was the very definition of neat and tidy. Everything in its place, everything sorted out and arranged meticulously. All tools were clamped against magnetic restraints, all papers were perfectly aligned in binders and folders without a single stray page askew. In all the scene looked like a carefully prepared image for a pamphlet, or magazine cover.
Along one wall was an array of screens, each one connected to various different components of the ship’s sensors. When the external array focused in on a target, her displays told her everything about it. It’s composition via spectography. Any and all emissions from it, be they radio, infrared, ultraviolet, or radioactive. She could bombard it with any of the above, and watch for reactions that might give her insights into any material they found in space.
Next to it was a long desk with an array of scientific instruments, from the simple centrifuge to electron imagers. Any samples the crew brought her would be subject to an endless array of tests to ascertain its every property - and with it, the value it would hold. The entire room was designed around the sole purpose of quickly and efficiently allowing her to identify the materials that would feed into the ever expanding economy of the outworlds.
At the very end of that long desk, nestled against the far wall, was a small console. Very unassuming looking, with a clear plastic shield over a small sample tray. It looked positively mundane next to the larger, fancier equipment nearby. Yet only Amanda knew that particular piece of equipment was worth more than the rest of the room combined. It was, in fact, worth more than the entire ship. Because only known to her, that console was a rarity amongst rarities - a means of FTL communication that allowed her to report back to the company.
Her fingers tapped in a short sequence on the device.
\** Captain proceeding to first contact. Refuses to withdraw. Advise.*
The simple sentence took well over five minutes to transmit. FTL comms were still in their infancy, and the bandwidth this one used was unimaginably low. Still, the ability to report back to the company from literally anywhere made it utterly invaluable to her. The sound of a small bell ringing softly announced the reply.
\** Allow first contact. Continue gathering information. Identify trade opportunities.*
THAT was unexpected. The company’s opinion of the Captain was largely the same as her own. So why would they suddenly be so supportive of him in such an extremely delicate situation?
\** Please elaborate. Captain not diplomatic. Likely to cause incident. Recommend formal diplomatic mission.*
She sat there in the lab, listening to the deep background hum of the ship’s engines and reactor, as she awaited the reply. She was already disliking the fact that she’d have to about-face and support this lunatic mission. She had plenty of time to think about it, as the response was even slower than before. Almost a full hour later, the announcement came in.
\** Political situation with Sol deteriorating. Company cannot risk losses or escalation at this time. Captain not official agent, will be less likely to aggravate relations. Authority granted to establish xeno relations provisionally. If situation worsens relations can be used as leverage.*
Damnit. That changed everything. She could all too easily envision the company execs reaching out to the Proxima council, and the council wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to use this as diplomatic clout. If Proxima made first contact without Sol, there’d be hell to pay and god only knows how bad things would get. But if Sol was offered the chance to make contact at the same time, they could stall out any conflicts indefinitely while under the pretense of making preparations for establishing permanent contact.
\** Affirmative. Will update when opportune.*
The terminal went into standby, and she quickly left the lab to head back to her cabin. The short exchange had taken nearly two hours due to the extreme lag that FTL comms produced, and the news had completely blindsided her. She’d expected to be given leverage to use against the captain to force his hand, and instead she’d been told to ENCOURAGE this mad endeavor.
Still, she was here for good reason. The captain’s missions had been wildly lucrative for the company, and so they’d put one of their best on the ship to support him. Or, if the situation called for it, restrain him. Not that she’d had much luck with the latter, but she couldn’t think of any other company reps who’d be able to do better. His reckless enthusiasm could be as much of a boon as it often was a curse, and she’d proven more than once she could be the perfect foil to it when needed. The question now was how much she’d need to step in to keep him from fucking up.
She walked into her cabin and began rehearsing the expected encounter in her mind. The captain would surprise her, she was sure, so meticulous preparation was always key.
—--
Alexander doubled over as the fist connected directly into his gut. He folded over himself and sank down to the floor as he temporarily lost the ability to breathe and his body fought to recover. Gasping for breath he looked up at Ma’et as she stood over him.
It took a minute before he could squeeze out the words. “What… was that… for…?”
“I was mad at you. Now I’m not. That’s all.” She leaned over to ruffle his hair, then continued past him down the deck, away from the mess.
Alexander slowly, carefully lifted himself back upright, leaning against the bulkhead for a couple more minutes as he recovered from the sucker punch. It wasn’t the first time he’d done something to earn her ire. In fact he kind of enjoyed finding new ways to tease her. But not recently. He couldn’t think of a damn thing he’d done to her since the jump into the JR692 system that would warrant such a response.
As he recovered from the unexpected assault, he resumed his journey into the mess hall, one hand still clutching his stomach where her fist had landed.
“Morning, Captain.” Ji-jun was already seated and digging in to a meal. “It looks like Ma’et found ya after all.”
“Parts of her found parts of me, at velocities I did not appreciate. Any clue what bee got into HER bonnet today?”
“Didn’t ask. She just wondered who was coming in and I said you were the only one I hadn’t seen yet today. Then she took off.” He lifted a mouthful of scrambled egg (synthetic of course) to his lips. “I imagine it’s probably related to our destination.”
“It’d be nice if she’d actually use her words and not her fists to tell me what the problem is."
“Speaking of our destination, we need to go over trade commodities. We used up way too much polymer on the rescue, and my diagnostics yesterday showed some stress microfractures on the particle shield emitters. Which isn’t really surprising since we didn’t give the system much time in n-space to recover.”
Alexander walked over to the large fridge, opening it to peruse the options available to him. “Do we need to drop back into n-space to repair it?” the highly energized charged particles of d-space were held at bay with the particle shielding. Without it, the ship would be torn to pieces and incinerated. But if there were any actual danger to the ship, chances are his engineer wouldn't be calmly eating scrambled eggs and toast.
“Nah, we’re well within tolerances. But once we reach the station I want to set the fabber on making replacement emitter panels and swap ‘em out. And if the stress fractures are being caused by crystallization, we won’t be able to recycle the old ones. We’ll need a resupply afterwards.”
“Sounds like a plan. Let’s wait until we’re actually on the station to start. I want the fabber available in case we need to make anything fancy for trade.” Alexander pulled out a small plastic dish, removed the lid, and slid it into the microwave.
“Mac’n’cheese for BREAKFAST?” Ji made a face.
“Shut up.” Alexander flipped off Ji as he pressed the buttons on the appliance. “Before I forget, once we get to the station I have a task for you. Judging by those repeaters they use, we don’t have compatible comm equipment right now. I want that to be your first priority once we get there. Find out what we need to get talking to their systems the same way they do. We need clear comms ASAP.”
“Thought you didn’t like giving out orders when you weren’t in the Big Chair?” Ji stood up, carrying his dirty plate over to dump into the auto-wash.
“I don’t. I just thought of it. ‘Manda was right that there’s a billion things that go into this and every minute something new occurs to me. But if I don’t remember about it later, you get the blame instead of me.”
Ji picked up a salt packet from the mess hall counter, and flicked it at the Captain, smacking him directly on the forehead. “Fine. But only because you sign the paychecks. How’re our passengers doing?”
“Well aside from two of the deckhands getting into a fistfight because one of them cheated in checkers?” Alex pulled the steaming hot bowl of food from the microwave, and walked over to the table. “Much less eventful than before. The stickbugs don’t seem to get tired of watching the patterns out there in d-space. I’m kind of jealous because it makes them easy enough to keep occupied. The worm dude is in some kinda funk, just stays on his bed all day. But Par assures me that he’s not ill or injured, just unhappy.”
“Well, maybe he’ll perk up once he’s off the ship. Speaking of, I’m going to go down to engineering to run some final checks on the cannon before we reach exit locus. If you need me, break something.” Ji wandered out into the hallway, leaving the captain behind.
—--
Twelve sets of eyes watched in awe as the blue beam pierced through the roiling chaos of d-space and a yawning black void opened up in front of them. Even Guhfnord was watching, though he waited until the second the cannon actually fired to try to minimize the damage that the strange patterns of particles did to his equilibrium.
Forset braced himself, unsure how the transition from FTL to normal space would work. Unlike jumps which occurred so quickly they left the body feeling like its senses were lagged behind this left only a strange tingle across his body. Enough to raise his fur, but it passed quickly leaving him almost disappointed at the mundane experience. Travelling faster than any other member of his race (Excluding those beside him) should have somehow been more eventful and impactful.
The screens were mostly blank at first, showing only the steady pinpricks of starlight with a nebula faintly visible off to one side. Yet as the ship’s sensors oriented themselves, the view slid around to the largest source of emissions in the sector. As they watched, the image came into focus, then rapidly grew as the lenses aligned and zoomed in. A large, rotating silver cigar blew up on the screen and Forset stared as he recognized the symbols on the closest deckplate. Farscope Station. The most centralized location in claimed territory. The only station that belonged to no single race. They’d arrived in less than 10 days. He tried to envision what this would mean for… for everyone! That there existed a way to travel so quickly, so easily. The implications for transit and trade were mind boggling.
Even more important, the Humans were true to their word. He’d had no reason to think otherwise, but even so he couldn’t shake his nagging doubts about them. They had too many excuses for refusing to interact more directly, too many oddities stood out about them. Their technology was, of course, impressive. Scarily so. Faster FTL than anyone had ever encountered before. Glowing batteries with insane amounts of power. The ability to generate power without using rotation. And Par had avoided explaining any of them, citing reasons from the complexity of the systems, to ‘information that has yet to be confirmed available for distribution to non-human species’. The secrecy had kept him on edge.
He heard several others breathing out sighs of relief and inwardly he joined them. The insanity of the entire ordeal was finally, finally coming to a close. He looked forward to a return back to order, back to the simple predictability of routine.
But while Forset looked forward to order and routine, elsewhere was beset with sheerest chaos.
—--
“What is it?” “Where’d it come from?” “How’d it get past the interdiction?” “Are they attacking?” “What ships do we have in that area?”
A dozen or more voices rang out almost all at once, as people ran back and forth through the control room, trying to get a grasp on the situation. Nobody had any answers for any of the thousand questions being shouted as the sense of panic grew.
One Bunter fell to his knees, knocked to the side by another one carrying a stack of printouts over to a command table already covered with them. A frazzled Cetarian sat there on an oddly curved chair which followed the contours of his elongated body as he tried shouting out commands into the din, only to be drowned out by the simultaneous voices.
As he gestured and shouted, trying in vain to make his voice heard, a door opened and a large figure walked in. The newcomer took one distasteful look around and opened its mouth, letting out a sudden shrill piercing whistle that drew all attention.
“Oh thank the planets the moons and the stars you’re here, chief!” The Cetarian’s relief at this newcomer was palpable.
The station’s chief of security strode purposefully into the room. Her voice was calm but raised so that everyone inside could hear. “That’s enough, people. We are professionals and we must act accordingly.” She turned to the administrator at his command post. “Important things first. How far out did the ship appear?”
A smaller Cetarian lifted up a sheet of paper. “We detected an anomalously high emissions source approximately 250,000 herim from the station proper. According to the scanner crew, there was a bright spot that appeared in space and the ship came out of it.”
The chief glanced up at one of the many readouts, ignoring the printed pages before her. “So roughly halfway into the interdiction zone. Have we identified the ship or its crew yet?”
“No, chief, nothing like it on record.”
“And it hasn’t responded to communication requests?”
“Nothing at all.”
The chief frowned at this, and swept her wings in front of her. Control nodes lit up on the tips, and she tapped at the illuminated buttons in sequence. “Send out defense wings one through four on an intercept. There’s a chance of communication problems but play it safe. Load wings one through three with EMP warheads and give four AM missiles. Nobody is to fire without my express permission.”
As the commands rang out, another door slid open and a Bunter ran up panting. “Sensor data! The ship is emitting on EVERY SINGLE BAND.” He slapped down a large sheaf of paper on the desk, spilling the pages out everywhere. “They’re lit up like the station itself out there. A blind ghempt could see them coming from miles off!” He smiled at the little joke, but seeing the serious and stern faces around him wilted quickly and ran back to the sensor suite he’d come from.
“Hmmm. Not very subtle.” The chief looked down at the printouts of the sensor readings, then turned around to face the displays. “An unknown ship, making no effort to hide, appears out of nowhere’ in the center of an interdiction field.” She summed up the situation with a hint of amusement in her voice. “And here I had hoped today would be dull.”
—--
“Captain, we’ve definitely stirred up a hornet’s nest here.” Ma’et’s voice called out from the speaker on his armrest. “We’re counting over sixty small ships coming at us on a rapid burn.”
“We’ve been seen. Good. Decel to 50mps then cut the engines. Keep up the particle shields and ready the barrier system, but don’t activate it yet. Prep decoys and jammers but DO NOT LAUNCH.” Alex was trying hard to exude an aura of cool confidence, but the sweat on his palms betrayed that. Thankfully none of the crew could see it. “Plan for the worst. Hope for the best.” He muttered under his breath.
“Engines are down, Captain. Reducing generator output to minimum readiness.” Joshua’s voice rang out clearly, as his fingers flew across the console. “Par, you’re up.”
“I am now broadcasting the prerecorded message on the frequency identified by the distress beacon we originally picked up. I am also sending copies on approximately seven higher and seven lower frequencies, just in case.”
“In case of what?”
Par displayed a holographic image of a cartoon explosion in front of his chassis. “In case the distress beacon was broadcasting on the wrong frequency. The damage to the ship WAS extreme.”
“Fine. Once we establish contact, get the rescuees on the screen ASAP. I want them to know that we’re trying to get them help. Then, Ma’et, I want you to remote pilot the shuttle. We’re on less time pressure here with no dying generators or warships taking potshots at us. I hope.”
“You and me both. Those small ships are coming to a rest at approximately 50k clicks out, captain.”
The forward screen popped up and zoomed in to the ships. They weren’t very long but they made up for it in width, with a large central core and two ‘wings’ fanned out on either side. Engines were arranged on the back of the wingtips as well as the core, and under each wing large bulbous objects were stored.
“Those look like missiles to me. If there’s a launch, how quickly can we get jammers out and up?”
“I can have jammers out and at full power in five seconds. Decoys would be closer to 15. You want me to warm up the Pee Dee turrets?”
The captain stared at the missiles and tried to weigh the pros and cons. Pro, turrets can help stop missiles from blowing up his ship. Con, he’s trying hard not to be provocative and power readings to lasers can easily be misinterpreted. “Negative for now.” Please, please, please be peaceful.
—--
“They’ve cut engines. We’re only reading passive shielding and their emissions have dropped significantly.” The sensor techs were relaying to her in real time as the ship slowed to a crawl. It was still moving towards them, but before the engines had been cut they’d decelerated greatly. It was the clearest sign yet that whoever or whatever was over there was not trying to be aggressive.
“Still no communications?” The chief tapped one taloned claw on the floor in irritation. If they weren’t here to cause trouble, why wouldn’t they respond?
“Nothing yet. We’ve sent over a hundred queries and there hasn’t been a single response. We’ve also tried to link up with their computer systems, but they aren’t responding either.”
The claw kept tapping as the chief mulled that over. “Bring up the image from the lead of wing 1.”
The ship appeared on the screen. It was definitely an odd looking ship. It was much longer than it was wide, making it unlikely to be Kt’cheeees’tien in nature. Yet the large panels covering the exterior were flat, with hard angles around them. That ruled out Cetarian construction. The Bunters and Fwenth used the same ships which nearly always had trilateral symmetry, but this one looked to be closer to bilateral. The Qyrim only fly haulers and transports, yet this didn’t look remotely like either. She narrowed her eyes. “Can we get a closer look?”
“Not without moving the fighter closer, but the book says 25,000 herim for non threatening standoffs.”
“Tell wing 1 leader to dump his missiles, then approach slowly. And make sure to enable the trackers on those warheads so we can pick them up later.”
—-
“Captain! Missile sep!” Ma’et’s voice rang out.
“I see it. Hold off.” Alexander was now visibly sweating, not just on his palms. The missiles were cut loose from the front fighter, but the engines weren’t engaging.
As he watched, the fighter’s engines lit up and it began creeping closer. “Hold steady. No launch. ETA until it reaches, say, 10k clicks?”
“At their current acceleration? Looks like… 10 minutes.”
“Hold steady.” he repeated. “This is the make it or break it moment, I’m sure.”
He leaned back humming slightly, hoping that his voice wasn’t betraying the tension.
—--
“Chief! We have identified a signal! It’s on an old Fwenth emergency frequency!”
The fighter had closed to 15,000 herim before the security chief had halted it. The closer view wasn’t helping. They could see bristling antenna and dishes all over the ship, yet the vessel still did not respond. All that detection gear and they couldn't pick up a simple call?
“Emergency frequency?” The ship wasn’t responding, but it didn’t appear visibly damaged. Its emissions were strong and clear before they’d cut their engines, and as she stared at the foreign shape she was hard pressed to think of what kind of emergency would leave a ship so intact. “What’s the transponder ID?”
“No transponder. Audio only message. They claim, well, to be a new species?”
That gave the chief pause. A new species was not unheard of, though she herself had never encountered it. That would explain some mysteries. But not others. “What dialect?”
“Uhm, universal, ma’am.”
Even more questions. How could a new species know universal? It was an artificial language, one created piecemeal from multiple others. If they had already made contact with another species, why hadn’t anyone on the station been informed? “Put the audio up then. Let’s hear what they have to say.”
There was a brief burst of static from the speakers as the computers rapidly dialed in to the radio signal, then a beautiful melodious voice rang out. “We bid you greetings. Our ship is called the ISC Arcadia. We are representatives of the human race. We have come to the aid of a number of your kind that were trapped in a dying ship. We seek permission to disembark these individuals for medical treatment and rescue. We also seek permission to dock at this station and establish formal relations amongst those gathered here. At this time we lack the communications equipment normally used and we request that you respond to us on this frequency. This message will repeat.”
So now they had a name to go with the odd visuals. The question is, do they take these beings at their word? Grant them access to disembark and land at the station? Technically emerging within such close proximity of the station could be construed as a hostile act, but that opened an entire host of new problems.
“Administrator?” The chief turned to the Cetarian in his odd seat. “Your call. Do we allow them in?”
“I… I mean, they’re a new species, and…” The cetarian stammered, glancing around wild-eyed. Inwardly the chief sighed - the administration of the station was shared amongst the Cetarians, Fwenth, and Bunters as all 3 had collaborated to build it. The Fwenth and Bunter representatives were often dry, unimaginative administrators who followed the rule book by rote. The Cetari typically just dumped whomever they didn’t want to deal with for a while into the role.
The chief realized she’d be the one who would have to make the decision. And war with an unknown opponent wasn’t something she wanted to court today. “Withdraw all fighters from wings 2 through 4. Wing 1, go ahead and shift into an escort formation above and behind. Weapons ready but keep all targeting systems offline until they make an overt act.”
“Comms, broadcast a reply on whichever frequency they're using. Reply as follows - Request acknowledged. Docking request received. Please allow for…” she glanced up at a timekeeper device on the wall. “Half a day for quarantine emplacement and medical preparation. Will any of the injured require emergency treatment before then? Send reply.”
After establishing communications, the reply came back swiftly. “No emergency treatment required. Arcadia acknowledges escort and will comply with local rules and regulations for docking and disembarkment of passengers. Per our species’ custom, our ship will remain in station outside the periphery and away from the station proper while we send a transport vessel to dock instead. Is this acceptable?”
As the melodious voice responded back, the chief found herself almost mesmerised by it. In fact it took her several moments before the exact contents of the message sank in, and she quickly shook off the effect the beautiful tones had left on her, leaving her to ponder just what the request itself meant.
They could certainly dock a ship that size with ease. It was less than a quarter the size of a Qyrim tanker, and those came and went all the time. There wasn’t any particular need to use a second vessel to ferry back and forth… but there also wasn’t any particular reason not to. “Reply in the affirmative. Instruct them to maintain a distance of at least 5,000 herim from the station at all times. Approaching closer than that will be treated as an act of aggression.” That felt a little confrontational. Best to end this message with some courtesy. “And finish it with ‘Welcome to Farscope Station, Arcadia.’”
—--
Next Chapter

Part 33
Beatrice pulled me into what turned out to be a spartan bedroom, with a bare mattress on the floor, a standalone wardrobe with a couple of shirts and dresses hung in it, and a desk covered in papers and a small laptop. She closed the door and leaned against it.
"I'm not-" I started to say, but she put a finger to her lips.
"Just wait," she said.
I sighed, but crossed my arms and waited. Wearing these clothes was making me uncomfortable. The changes wrought by Kathy's magic didn't bother me as much as being dressed like a greaser. I shifted, not liking the way the leather creaked when I moved.
Less than a minute passed before someone started pounding on the door.
"Put your pants on, I'm coming in!" a feminine voice called. Beatrice moved away from the door and turned around to stand next to me.
The door opened to reveal the tiniest little vampire I'd ever seen. She had to be four-foot-seven, if not shorter. She was kind of thick, but in a very attractive way. More curvaceous than chubby. She had dark hair, a prominent nose and glazed-over dark eyes. Her features were patrician, like a librarian or a lawyer. I frowned, her appearance striking a chord with me.
"Hey, Robin," Beatrice said. I glanced over at her tone, something else triggering at it. I eyed her up and down. She had a lopsided bob that was vaguely reminiscent of a bowl cut, but decidedly feminine. She had a couple of earrings in the ear exposed by the cut. Her t-shirt was V-necked, and instead of jeans, she wore baggy jean shorts and black leggings over combat boots. The rips in her leggings were clearly not artful, judging by the shiny stains around them.
The name was on the tip of my tongue.
"Did you ever watch MTV in the nineties?" I asked.
Beatrice gave me a surprised look. "Yeah, why?"
"There was this show..." I said, remember the old DVDs my mom had that I'd watched as a kid, not really understanding them, but liking the unique animation style.
"Yeah, Daria. I look like Jane Lane, I know. Everybody in their sixties tells me that. I'm surprised you know it."
"How old is he?" Robin asked. I looked back and did a double take as I realized what had struck me.
She looked like a mini-Inanna.
Pale and dead and tiny, but Inanna. I mean, Inanna's not a big girl. She's five-foot-five in her stiletto heels, but still. Her features weren't exactly the same. Her jaw was a little thicker, her forehead a little bigger, her breasts a little smaller. But they could be sisters, for sure.
"Yeah, and I look like Ishtar Winters," Robin said, breaking the spell.
"Yeah you do," I muttered.
"Come on," Robin said. "Glenn's just being paranoid again. I talked to him, he's making the call now."
"We'll be there in a minute," Beatrice said. Robin eyed me up and down, then quirked an eyebrow at Beatrice. She shrugged. Robin shrugged back and stepped out, closing the door.
"What the hell just happened and why do you both look like characters from television shows?" I demanded.
"Robin's the real brains of this outfit. She has a thing for Glenn, but Glenn has a thing for me. Robin and I get along because I don't want anything to do with Glenn. Robin is the one who keeps things running, Glenn just kinda does what she says, mostly because he knows I want him to."
"Uh huh, and the second question?" I asked. She shrugged at me.
"Coincidence," she said. "Notice how nobody's recognized you or asked why you look like Jimmy Winters?"
"I look like one of you. A good disguise doesn't need much," I said. "You change one thing that changes the context in which they see you, and they won't notice the resemblance."
"Or," Beatrice said, holding up a finger. "None of us have really paid any attention to the television for the past fifty years."
"Robin knew who she looks like," I said.
"Because people won't stop telling her," Beatrice pointed out.
I shook my head slowly. "That woman is a ringer for my wife, if she had a shrinking ray accident," I said. Beatrice just shrugged again -god, this was really not helping me forget that stupid cartoon- and walked over to the bed, where she laid down, hands behind her head.
"Give it about ten minutes," she said. "Then we'll go back out there. Glenn will have made the call, and he'll be all flustered because he thinks I'm in here getting fucked by you. Then you can let me go."
"Why would I let you go?" I asked.
"I cooperated, didn't I?" she asked.
"You're also a vampire who lives off the death and suffering of others." I said.
"Am I?" Beatrice asked.
I turned to face her, meeting her eyes. "I am an oracle. I followed the threads of your life as I was interrogating you. I've seen what you've done."
"You were paying attention to those first few years, huh?" she asked.
"Kinda hard not to," I said. "You took over the body of an abused, confused young girl, then spent the next few years in an orgy of blood."
"You know how old I am?" she asked. I nodded. "Your birthday was yesterday. A hundred and thirty three."
"You know how old most of the rest of us biters are?"
I shrugged, not knowing what she was getting at.
"The only one whose age I know was in her eighties."
"Which one?"
"What, do you all know each other?" I asked.
"A lot of us do, especially the older ones."
"Kelsey," I said. "Chesterfield."
"Little thing, right? Skinny, brunette, horny as the day is long?"
"That sounds about right," I said.
"She dead?"
I didn't say anything, letting my silence speak for me.
Beatrice sighed.
"Fifty years in the night is what most of us consider an elder. I'm an elder twice over, almost three times over."
"Are you trying to imply," I said with a deep sigh, "that you are too old to kill?"
"No, I could kill. But it's boring and it makes me feel bad."
"You have killed," I said.
"When I was a baby vampire, yeah. And in self-defense. And once or twice, because the fucker had it coming. Do your thing, see for yourself."
She eyed me expectantly. Tentatively, I reached out, finding the threads of her life and following them into the past.
I found the early years I'd already explored easily enough. I followed threads, zooming forward. I watched her kill and feed. I saw her try -and fail- to have sex, her body not producing the necessary fluids, and the concept of lube still poorly understood.
I saw her celebrate her rebirth in an orgy of blood that slowed and faded over time as the thrill was lost. I saw her find the cult, and join a coven. I saw her ennui growing. I saw her become more and more disaffected by her life. I saw her walk into the sunlight, expecting to die and finding a moment of joy when she realized it would no longer kill her. I saw her grow bitter as her life with the cult nonetheless kept her out of the sun.
I watched her feed, saw her habits change over time. She withdrew from the others, going out hunting on her own. I watched her hunt two or three men a night. She liked thin, dark-haired men, punks and metalheads. Pretty men, with dark eyes who smirked and made sarcastic quips. I watched her follow them home, and then let things progress until the clothes came, off, when she would attack.
I watched her draw her nourishment from them, but then pull back before they died. Enchanted by the minor mind magics these vampires used and low on blood, she would touch their unconscious bodies, their stomachs and shoulders and genitals. She would watch them, enraptured herself. Sometimes the reverie would last a moment or two, other times it would go on until they began to stir. Each time, it was the same. The same type of man, the same trip back to his place, the same foreplay, the same strange worship after. Then she left.
Tens of thousands of such men, a repeating pattern. I could feel the pleasure she took in this act, as it first fulfilled her, and later faded, becoming the barest whisper. Yet still, that was her manner of hunting. That was how she took in her nourishment. She refused to partake of the women and men kidnapped, kicking and screaming by her coven mates, and in those moments, I sensed secrets inside of her.
Following those threads, I found memories of her carrying unconscious bodies out of her covens. Of her unlocking cages and whispering instructions to frightened captives. And more. I found memories of her slipping notes to hangers on, humans who wanted to become vampires. Of her pulling them aside and telling them to run, sometimes threatening them.
She had been saving people from the other vampires!
Not all of them. Not even most. But some. Those whom she felt might listen, or whom she knew she could get away with.
I backed off, looking at her hunts again. I dug inside of her and found the longing that prompted her choice in men. It was that these men were the opposite of her father, and the vampire who'd turned her. Both were large, masculine, humorless men. I followed those threads back to that night she'd been infected, and there I found pain.
The pain was physical. I moved from her own psyche to that of the vampire, and watched the events through his eyes. No longer was this a rebellion, an adventure. It was a rape. I heard the cries of the girl under him as each thrust caused her agony. I felt the laughter that bubbled through him as he thought about how he'd infect her soon, how her struggles to throw him off would turn to gratitude as the fresh spirit took over her body.
Primary vaginismus. It was a term I found following a thread of knowledge out from the sensations she felt. She had thrown herself into this encounter, precisely because of her fears and the taboos against it. That fear had, in the usual way of this condition, become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
I followed it forward through time, and found where she'd tried again. A few times, with her slender, sarcastic, pretty men. A few times with other vampires. Always, it came with pain. In time, she gave up.
And that was the key that unlocked the rest.
She'd given up a long, long time ago. She'd given up on being a vampire. She'd given up on finding any happiness in her life. Her attempt to step into the sun hadn't been her first suicide attempt. She had slit her wrists, put a gun to her chest and pulled the trigger. She even ate a shotgun, once. It had been pure fortune that she survived the last; the owner of the shotgun had loaded it with slugs, and enough of her brain remained for the rest to grow back. Eventually, she even gave up on dying.
This woman was the shell that remained.
I came to laying on the floor. Beatrice was standing over me, her face a mask of confusion.
"What the hell happened?" she asked.
I pushed myself up, "Jesus Christ," I murmured.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"I'm fine," I said. "I just lost track of the real world while I was following the threads of your life."
"So what's my body count?" she asked.
"About two dozen," I admitted. "And none in a very long time."
"What's yours?"
"Billions," I said bitterly.
"So?" she asked.
"So what?" I frowned, unsure of what she meant. My head was still reeling with all the information I'd absorbed.
"So are you going to let me go?"
I shook my head. "Jesus Christ... No, not right away at least. Shit, when this is over, I'll probably offer you a job, so long as you keep helping."
"I don't need..."
"Yes you do," I said. "I'm not the master of psychology that Kathy is, but I've picked up a few things, and the one thing I'm a hundred percent confident of is that you need a purpose. You've been living so long without one."
"A purpose, a body that works, a way to live without taking..." she said bitterly. She walked back to the bed and crouched down to sit on it.
"Is this your room?" I asked.
"Yeah. I insisted on some privacy. I'm old enough to get my way, most of the time, so I got one of the bedrooms."
"Has Glenn waited long enough?" I asked, looking around.
She snorted. "It's been like thirty seconds, man. Chill."
"You know, I know why sex hurts you," I said. I walked over and lowered myself to the bed, a foot or so away from her.
"Why?" she asked idly.
"Primary vaginismus," I said. "You were so scared that first time that it became a self-fulfilling prophecy."
"I've tried since. Eventually gave up."
"Magic could treat it. Temporarily, at least. Like the opposite of a little blue pill for guys. Take away the fear, the act doesn't hurt. I could show you how."
"You coming onto me?" she asked.
"No!" I objected, probably too forcefully. "It's just... Sex magic is kind of my specialty."
"I thought everything was your specialty."
"Well, it's my special specialty."
"Huh. So you're saying it's all in my head."
"No, it's a physical reaction. It's instinctive. The part that's in your head is buried deep. It's not like, just a phobia you can force yourself through. But if you suppress your ability to feel fear, you could get through it. You do that enough, eventually you can probably start having sex without the magic."
"Huh. So how do I get some of this fear suppressing magic."
"You'll need an artifact," I said. I stood up and walked over to her desk, stacking up the papers -mostly printouts of web articles on a large number of subjects- and stacking them aside. When I was done, I produced my tools and a small captive bead ring, along with a piercing needle. I set up the magnifier and got the etcher plugged into a wall outlet as she stood and walked over.
"Holy shit, you're gonna make it right now? How long will that take?"
"About ten minutes," I said. "But there's a catch."
"What catch?"
"Well, it needs to go through your skin. A piercing." I began to carve tiny runes into the ball.
"I can tell," Beatrice said.
"The catch is in where it needs to go..."
----
Kathy Evenson, Badass (Vampire) Bitch
Kathy eyed Gary when Beatrice and Jerry vanished into the room.
"He's totally gonna fuck her," she said.
"Ayup," Gary agreed. Glenn looked back and forth between them, his expression almost one of panic. Kathy figured he must have a crush on Beatrice. But then, what about the girlfriend she had mentioned? Robin?
"Fucking hell," Glenn muttered, stomping off towards the back wall, where an office with the windows full of cardboard stood. He opened the door and stuck his head inside. A moment later, a diminutive vampire walked out. That would be Robin, she thought.
As the pair returned, she noticed Robin's looks and flipped her head back to eye Gary. "Remind you of anyone?"
"Mini-Ana," he said, his voice almost betraying some humor.
"It's uncanny," Kathy agreed, watching Glenn move off to go talk on the phone he pulled out of his pocket in privacy. She worked a little magic to overhear what was said.
"Th'other one looks like a character from this cartoon I used to watch on MTV," Gary noted.
"Which one?"
"Daria, it was called," he said.
"Hey," Glenn said. A voice that was vaguely familiar responded.
"You got them?"
"Yeah, but we lost most of the group. Bea came back with three others, from another coven. Everyone else is dead. Oscar, Harry, Christine... All of them."
"You're suspicious?"
"I don't know. One of them is the kind of guy she likes to eat, but... You know. One of us. She said he's her boyfriend or fuck buddy or something."
"She's not exactly very horny," the oddly familiar voice said.
"I know. But she's the oldest one I know. I have no idea what goes through her head, most of the time. Hell, I suspect she might have let some of our food go, last month. This chubby Puerto Rican lady I was really looking forward to eating just vanished while we were out."
"She's one of us. The Call of the Dark Lord can't be ignored."
"I know, it's just... It's just weird, is all."
"But you have them. And you ensured it was really them?"
"I checked their faces before I locked them up. It's them, plus the two demigods."
"Good. I'm going to send someone to pick them up. Stay there."
"You're not coming yourself?"
"You know the rules about exposing myself," the voice said. "You said yourself that you're suspicious of Bea."
"Right, I just..." Glenn sighed. "Fine. We'll be here."
"Two hours," the voice said, then Kathy heard the change in the silence as it disconnected. Glenn looked at his phone, then shut the screen off and stuffed it into his pocket. By that time, Robin had returned from following Jerry and Beatrice into the room.
David Moriarty's not coming, she sent to Gary. He's sending a crew who'll be here in two hours.
I heard, Gary replied.
Did David's voice sound familiar to you? Kathy asked.
Nope.
Kathy nodded subtly to herself and paid attention to the pair in front of her.
"She's trying to get laid," Robin said as she intercepted Glenn on his way to the other door. "That's it. She does this every couple of years. She'll try, won't be able to go through it, and then she'll be in a funk for the next couple of weeks."
"She said she's already fucked him," Glenn moaned. God, this dude really had the hots for Beatrice. Robin rolled her eyes and sighed with long-suffering patience. She knew about his crush. Kathy guessed that the women were cool with each other only because Beatrice had no interest in Glenn and Robin knew it.
"Come on," she said. "Let's go to bed."
"Okay," Glenn said. He looked pained as he eyed the door to Beatrice's room, then he nodded and walked purposefully towards the room he'd retrieved Robin from. Robin gave Kathy and Gary a look-over.
"Robin," she said.
"Claudia," Kathy replied. "And that's Louis." She hooked a thumb over her shoulder at Gary, who grunted.
"Huh," Robin said, then walked after Glenn.
Kathy and Gary waited. Five minutes passed, and she began to get antsy.
"I'm gonna go in there," she said.
"Likely to see a lily white ass bouncin' around," Gary replied.
"I don't care. I'm getting antsy. He can tuck it back in his pants and get some when he gets home, the horndog."
Kathy opened the door to find Beatrice standing, facing her, with her pants and underwear around her ankles. Jerry was crouched in front of her -fully clothed, thank god- but obviously playing with her junk.
"What do y-AAAIIIEIEEEEEEIIIAAA!" Beatrice cried out, grabbing Jerry's shoulders and leaning on him for a moment, breathing heavily.
"Done!" Jerry said. He gave Beatrice a minute to recover, then stood up. Kathy recognized his movements. He was at ease, relaxed. Something had caused him to flip Beatrice out of the 'enemy' category in his mind.
He turned around and stepped aside. Kathy could see that Beatrice had a clitoral hood piercing, with a little bit of blood around it. That explained the shout, she thought.
Jerry spotted Kathy, and the smile on his face vanished, replaced by a look she knew all too well. If he still had circulation in his skin, he'd be beet red from the neck up.
"I did not fuck her," he insisted.
Kathy arched an eyebrow at him. "Yet," she said.
Part 35

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Never say it will never happen. No matter what the circumstances, it will never happen.
I'm saying never say never.
You think nobody is stupid enough to be outside a ship when it goes to hyperspace?
Nobody is stupid enough for it to happen by accident with all the safeties and protocol?
I'm here to tell you, some jackass will do it on purpose just to see what it is like. - Hyperdrive Mk 0 design board memo
The stars streak toward him, filling his vision. The middle went black and slowly spread out, the gaps between the streaks grew larger.
Color began filling them. Geometric shapes being hinted at. Swirling, flashing colors that sometimes streaked away and other times morphed and warped.
--DON'T LOOK DON'T LOOK DON'T LOOK-- was streaming down his visor, but by the halfway point it slid to the side and streaked away.
A screaming Telkan Marine in full power armor come out of the black, tumbling, and hit him, phased through him, merged with him.
He knew it was Xulrek, Second Squad, Third Platoon, Bravo Company, from Nevelstet-4.
More streaks. He saw at least three other screaming Telkan slam into/through/past/around him.
His suit went dead. The linkage from the M318 went dead.
He could hear himself breathing, hear tones and chimes and ringing and squeals.
--DON'T LOOK DON'T LOOK DON'T LOOK--
He could hear his heartbeat thudding in his chest.
He was suddenly falling, thrown backwards, still while the universe moved around him, thrown upwards, pulled to the right and left, pulled in two directions at the same time.
Pulled from everywhere all at once.
The stars came back with a grand crescendo of noise.
He vomited into his skull his brains leaking out his ears and from his eyebrows.
The music of the spheres went through his stunned brain.
He turned inside out and upside down.
His fur rubbed against each other as the vomit in his skull ran down the inside of his armor.
A burning white hot hook grabbed behind his nose and yanked him rightside in.
He was tumbling, falling, spinning. The stellar mass kept whipping by. He could see huge constructs on the distance.
Training pulled his arms and legs in, cradling the M318 close, as he moved to the fetal position.
He managed to get the bit in the middle of the funnel between his teeth in time.
He projectile vomited into the tube.
He was aware he'd lost control of his bladder and bowels.
He let go of the bit and whooped a big inhale, then started panting.
His suit was stifling, hot, the air too thin and stale at the same time.
Reflexes and instinct told him to paw at his faceplate. Pull it off. Get a deep breath. Yank his helmet off.
Training kept his hands still.
--hang on rebooting--
It wasn't the visor, it was appearing in the middle of his retinal link, the words jammed up and the spacing between letters too far as the letters merged together and bled together and ran down the inside of his iris to pool behind his lower eyelid and slowly slide out to slide down his face and
The suit went live for a second. The visor flashed white and went frosted.
The suit went dead.
--running checks--
The letters spiraled around each other, swirling and moving, then shrinking to a pinpoint before exploding out of his vision to stick on the inside of his visor and slowly drip down.
He managed to get the bit between his teeth in time to dry heave convulsively into the puke funnel.
He felt ghostly fingers plucking at his marrow. Red hot claws tickling his nerve endings in his joints. Ghostly taps against the inside of his eyeballs.
The suit went live.
Then died again.
--complete failure of anything not backup hardwired-- 8814 sent over the retinal link.
The words whirled and spun and he pressed his nose into the vomit funnel as he dry heaved again.
Stars, the stellar mass, impossibly huge objects, flashes, streaks, and discolored space filled his vision as his visor stayed clear. The light from the star seared his eyes, crisped his fur, scorched his soul.
He closed his eyes.
Training kicked in.
I am a Telkan Marine. I always maintain my arms, my equipment, and myself. I am an expert and I am a professional. I am the bulwark of the Confederacy. I stand ready to deploy, engage, and destroy, the enemies of the Confederacy. This I hereby swear upon my life.
He swallowed, getting control of his stomach.
I am Private First Class Jaskel, a Telkan Marine, the bulwark and armored fist of the Confederacy, he told himself.
The sip of water training demanded tasted like lilies soaked in raspberry jam.
My weapons, my training, my courage, my expertise keep the people of the Confederacy safe regardless of species, ethos, creed, or religion.
He swallowed another swig of tepid water.
It tasted like asphalt smelled.
War father protect me, guide my hands, steady my weapons systems and steel my greenie. Grant me the strength for one last stand, one last push, one last trigger pull, one last breath that I may be judged by my ancestors as worthy. Counted on the rolls among the honored dead. May my enemies burn in the fires of scarred Telkan, amen.
He could feel the strength, the sensation coming back to numbed limbs.
The suit rebooted.
The OS crashed.
But he could feel the slight tremor he'd never felt before that let him know his faithful suit wasn't completely dead.
--got atmo and life support most other systems down coding and os is hashed-- 8814 said.
"Can you hear me?" Jaskel asked. His voice was high, tight, from fear and stress and he cursed himself.
--yes--
"Did you take that hit?"
--no greenie shell housing stabilized for lots-- 8814 said over the link. --how about you you stared eternity everything nothing in the face--
"I think I threw up inside my skull," Jaskel said.
--biometrics shaky looks like died at least three times-- 8814 said. --what happened--
"Ship crew panicked. We had a good two hundred boarding stars heading for us and they rolled the ship," he said. He remembered the boarding tube shattering, the way the station started to tear apart as the ship's grav drive shredded the superstructure.
"They did an emergency jump to hyperspace before we could get onboard," Jaskel said. He felt fury well up. "They killed the whole battalion."
--trying to get commo up-- 8814 said. --sar beacon is pinging--
"Don't bother," he said.
The stellar mass slowly went across his visor, the smartfilm darkening it mechanically.
"There's nobody out here."
The stars went by.
His bone marrow and nerves were still being plucked and tapped.
--system is fried looks like complete os and vi and complex process activation model crash-- 8814 said. --going to have to wipe everything but hardwire and reload all software from cold storage--
"Well, we're not in any hurry," Jaskel said. He gave a wry chuckle that grave humor sucked dry. "I'll try to make sure we don't wake the neighbors."
--har har har--
Jaskel was glad he was wearing a standard assault suit, rather than the scout suit. Standard assault suits had their own reactor sets, all the way down to a zero-point backup. They were basically self-contained armored spaceships without any drives or thrusters.
"Who do you think the grey guys were?" Jaskel asked after a while.
--grey guys like the Greys-- 8814 said. --greys vanished everyone thinks were eaten by mar-gite--
"No, big gray ships. We're talking as big as one of those standard Mar-gite hive constructs," he said. "Well, I'd show you in the battle-WORM, but it fried out."
--maybe not battle-worm survive almost anything-- 8814 was silent for a minute. --ooh boy--
"What?" Jaskel said.
--nasty ships not recognize-- 8814 said. --but other problem--
"What?" he felt stupid, like he was constantly repeating things.
--rebooted radar so can keep meteor from hitting us rebooted sensors but on machine language data only translation libraries still decompressing from storage-- 8814 said. --bad news--
"Hit me," Jaskel said.
--we are out past gas giant-- 8814 replied.
"Great. So we're screwed. Just waiting for the power to fail and we die or we spend the next fifty years living off of nutripaste, recycled piss, and bad breath," Jaskel said, shaking his head.
There was silence for a while. He started panting as the heat rose. Sweat covered him. He kept taking drinks of the water but it tasted flat and like old motor oil and sweat, doing nothing for his thirst.
The fans kicked on, sputtered, died, then kicked on again at low speed.
--got enviro up more-- 8814 said. --gun dead but ammo forge working--
"Thanks. Was getting hot in here," Jaskel said.
--storing heat in thermal cores to use later so do not freeze to death--
"Good plan."
More silence. Jaskel just took a nap, relaxing. He knew a nap would help his body and mind heal from what he had just been through.
He dreamed of Telkan even though he had never been there.
A pinging woke him up.
--trouble-- 8814 said.
"We're out past the Oort Cloud and in the gulf between arms?" Jaskel guessed.
--system not have Oort Cloud-- 8814 said. --news may be worse may be better--
"We're in a system being overrun by the Mar-gite," Jaskel said.
--yes--
"The task force had to flee."
--yes--
"We were exposed, unprotected, to hyperspace entry."
--yes--
"Our suit failed and we fell off the ship after like a half-second."
--yes--
"We're past the gas giant and heading for the deep dark."
--yes--
"While the Mar-gite and an unknown force fight."
--yes--
"In a busted suit."
--yes--
"And our guns are dead."
--yes--
"All right. Hit me with the news."
--radar contact moving in--
"Not like we can do anything about it. Can you at least stop my spin?" Jaskel asked.
--sorry grav systems offline no eva thrusters--
"Well, there's nothing we can do about whatever they're doing so we might as well not stress out over it," Jaskel said. He gave a big sigh, still feeling the ghostly plucking at his bone marrow and scraping of tinsel over his nerves.
After a long moment he felt soft but unyielding hands cradle him, slowing down his rotation, bringing him to a 'stop' so the stars and the stellar mass weren't whipping across his vision.
After a moment, he could see bay doors go by as he was pulled into a ship's boarding bay. He could see painted lines and stenciled runes, floor decking, and definite technology.
"Well, at least it's not the Mar-gite," he said.
--watch bright side-- 8814 said.
As the doors closed he could feel the grip on him tighten slightly.
"Do we have any suit function?" Jaskel asked.
--negative lost limb control on third reboot--
He could tell the bay was repressurized by that slight change in clarity that always happened.
After a moment he felt the suit lifted. His faceplate went dark when something was put over it. He could tell he was being carried, but the ride was smooth. After a moment he was set down.
--something trying to link to suit-- 8814 said.
"Let it. Might as well see what they can do," he said.
After almost a full minute 8814 sent a string of emojis indicating shock and surprise.
--antiviral software os and suit was infected by malware and virii--
"Is it working?"
--cutting out suit functions like mobility-- 8814 said. --whoever it is they know suit encryption and suit code--
ASSUMING CONTROL appeared on his visor. FEAR NOT
"Oh, like that is reassuring," Jaskel said.
--just got locked out of control systems can still talk to you--
There was a long moment of silence.
Then his armor moved around him, standing him up. The visor cleared and he could see around him.
He was standing in what was obviously a medical bay. There were tables and gurneys, medical monitors, and the outline of a Telkan on one of the interactive 2.5D screens behind one of the tables. Another, smaller table had the outline of a greenie on the 2.5D screens next to it.
In front of him stood two obvious robots.
They were bipedal. Two arms, two legs, head on top of the torso that was half of the body mass. They were white plastic that was almost opaque but Jaskel could see electronics and robotics underneath the plastic plating. The coloration was weird, the edges were opaque white but it became more transparent toward the middle of the plates. The joints, waist, and neck had obvious robotics. The head was robotic with a blank white opaque plastic oval at the front.
As he watched, the oval on the front of the head seemed to suck inward, becoming contoured, with a nose, chin, cheeks, eye sockets, brow ridge. Two splits in the eye sockets opened to reveal lavender colored eyes. The mouth slit changed so that it had lips which parted to reveal white enamel teeth.
"That's... that's..." Jaskel stammered.
--a terran-- 8814 answered.
"YoU aR3 iN in IN in IN n33d oF MediCA-ca-ca-CAL aT-ten-10-TENti0n," the one on the left said.
The voice was made up of different words, syllables, sounds from different speakers. Some male, some female. Some spoke in a sigh, others harsh and aggressive.
Still others sounded like they were screaming.
Speaking Old Confederate Standard.
"y0U aR3 SUFFER-suffer-suFFER-SUFFERing hyperSPACE-ace-ace expOHzur3!" another said, the last part a shout. "YOUR-your-YOUR lifeSIGN-sign-SIGNs WIll TERminATE-terminate-Terminate-TERMINATE withOUT medICal atTENTion."
--these aren't terrans-- 8814 said. --sound like pawm--
"Oh, crap," Jaskel said.
"DO n0T b3-be-be-BE AFR1AD, T3Lkan-kan-kan-KAN! Do not-not-NOT FEAR **Man-**man-MAN-TID. YOu Ar3 AmoNG FRiend friend FRIENDS," the robot said, gesturing at the table.
--suit ejection triggered-- 8814 warned.
His suit cracked open as his neural plug disengaged. For a moment his knees gave out and he sagged/stumbled from the suit.
One of the robots caught him, surprisingly gentle.
"You are suffer-*suffer-*SUFFERing jumpshock-shock-SHOCK!" the robot said, guiding him to the bed.
Jaskel turned to look in time to see another robot gently catch 8814 when the engineer protective housing opened and the diminutive green mantid poured out with the kinetic shock gel.
The robots laid him onto the bed and stood beside his bed.
"Who," he licked suddenly dry lips. "Who are you?"
The robot leaned forward slightly.
"We are-are-ARE humanity."
"shit"
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Please share your experience, good or bad, with using eyebrow stencil stamp kits? Any advice?

Right now I am feeling a lot of things. I don’t know how this happened. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I think my relationship is definitely over. My wife is asleep now after crying to the point of throwing up for several days. I’ve made an urgent mental health referral for her but she’s going to go stay with her mother for a while.
I never thought I’d actually be posting here about my own relationship but here we are. And the most humiliating context possible. It doesn’t seem real, I know because I struggle still to believe this has happened but I promise it is. I’ve barely slept for a week and this is going to be long I think so I’m sorry if parts don’t make sense.
I have already sought and received (conflicting, contradictory) legal advice. I’m posting here asking for advice about the relationship. This case is slightly different I think because I’m not worried about her cheating on me again. What I’m struggling to deal with is the knowledge that this thing has happened, and I can’t undo it. I need advice on how to deal with this knowledge and whether this relationship can be salvaged for the sake of our child.
What I will do is try and briefly summarise what’s happened from both of our perspectives. With mine you will understand my initial shock, then with hers (which I have struggled to make head or tail of for days) you will see what this evil fucking bastard piece of shit has done.
MY PERSPECTIVE
I am 34. My wife is 32. We have been together for 7 years, married for 4, and have a 2-year-old son. My wife was an only child from a wealthy family. She was raised in a strict religious setting and has been quite introverted with few romantic relationships in her life. She had one serious boyfriend before meeting me, from her church.
She is intelligent, she’s not stupid, she has a master’s degree in history from a good place. All her life she’s conformed to a certain stereotype of being a stay-at-home wife, trying to do the right thing, whatever. She’s involved at church and does lots of charity work. I have always felt I don’t deserve her. She’s unbelievably beautiful not just in the outside but on the inside too and for the past 7 years I’ve been living a dream.
I’m a project manager. I earn okay money. Before our son was born my wife worked part-time as a teaching assistant at a school for kids with special needs. After he was born she stopped working to take care of him and money got strained.
In my job, there is a programme manager (like my boss’s boss) who is one of the biggest assholes you could ever imagine. For the sake of this story I will call him Scott. Scott is only 29 but he’s the nephew of one of the directors. From day 1 he’s done everything he can to mock and bully people under him. He’ll ask for changes to be made to certain work deliverables at 5pm, we’ll work on them all night, then in the morning he’ll smirk and say ‘actually I think I liked the old version better, forget it.’ He openly tormented one of my work buddies with a stutter until he signed off with stress.
There is so much more he has done but I want to keep this short as possible. I’ve complained to my wife about him many times over the years but crucially she has never met him, as he goes to separate work parties with senior managers and we obviously aren’t connected on social media.
For a long time I was promised a promotion to senior project manager, with a significant pay bump. This is why we had a kid when we did. The promotion never came. Cuts were made, some people got the promotions, some people didn’t. Scott had a big say in this. He has hated me since I called him out for his behaviour in front of other people (I told him to lay off an assistant PM who was crying while he mocked her).
I didn’t get the pay increase we were expecting, but I couldn’t easily quit due to the job market and the fact other places paid even less. They dangled the promotion in front of me - a few more months, a few more months. I began spending more time at work to grind for the promotion, I wanted it to be impossible for them not to promote me.
My wife found things tough after the birth. She felt lonely and confided in me that she wondered how things would be if she had built a career instead of staying at home. There weren’t really any arguments over this but she was often sad and contemplative. Still, she did her best.
Cut to last Summer. I get called into a meeting with Scott. He offers me a contract with a guaranteed promotion in 10 months’ time, with a bigger pay rise, if I commit to leading an important project for the firm. He said he understands if I can’t hack it with the baby. I tell him of course I can. I get on the project and start working even more hours, getting in early and staying late, doing some weekends, but all for our family.
My wife was supportive. At first, never complained. We were a team. However, she started dropping our son at her mother’s and getting involved with clubs and meet-ups to keep her from boredom. One of these was a painting club. Her Facebook is public and she posted about starting this painting club before I had the meeting with Scott.
She mentioned to me a few times about a new friend she had made, let’s call him Jeff, at the painting club. Jeff worked for a charity, she said, and had pictures of himself in Africa and South America helping disadvantaged kids. Naturally I feel a little bit jealous that someone else is getting to spend time with her, but I trust my wife, I’m glad she’s having fun.
Jeff was very artistic, he knew a lot about stuff like music and history and she enjoyed getting coffees with him after art class occasionally. Once we invited him for dinner, and he accepted, but cancelled last minute and asked for a rain check. Schedules never seemed to match. He didn’t have social media.
Around this time she started getting jealous and insecure when she never had before. She would ask questions about where I’d been. If my phone pinged she would always ask who text me. She started crying and saying how much she loved me, missed me, but I would remind her why I was working so much, for her, for our son.
She started getting especially jealous of an assistant PM who she met on two occasions at work events. I had no idea why she became jealous of her. She would interrogate me about her and demand to know if I had seen her. At work, Scott kept giving me more and more work, and demanding I visit client site, which meant no cellphone access for long periods of time and overnight stays.
Let’s cut to the chase. Currently the project is nearing completion, only a couple months left. Last Friday afternoon Scott dumps a ton of work on my desk that needs to be reviewed with the client before the weekend. I hop in my car and explain to my wife that although I’ll be unavailable, I’ll be driving home that night, as I wanted to be with her Saturday morning to start the weekend together.
I go to the client site and end up working until around 11, but get everything done. I leave and cellphone access returns. I have 5 missed calls from my wife and these texts:
‘Are you fucking kidding me’
‘I know exactly where you are’
‘How could you do this to me’
‘Pick up the phone’
Then a while later
‘Don’t come back tonight.’
And then
‘I have dropped (son) at my mother’s house. I’m out with friends. We will talk tomorrow.’
I am utterly bewildered. I phone her but it goes straight to voicemail. When I get home the house is dark. Her car is gone. I phone her mother and she says my wife just dropped off our son and left, by herself, in tears, but didn’t explain anything. She assumed we had a big argument.
I phone my wife’s friends (she doesn’t have many) but none of them know where she is or have heard from her. Eventually I panicked and called the police, but they weren’t interested. I fell asleep at her mother’s place and woke up early. I had 2 ring camera notifications on my phone - one at 0357 showed my wife entering my house with a stranger. Literally a guy I’ve never seen in my life. He looks like a trucker or biker type in his 40s or 50s, got a gut, disheveled, unattractive. He’s grinning to himself. Another ring notification shows him leaving the house at 0543.
Naturally I freak the fuck out, I think my wife has been kidnapped or killed or something. I shout for her mother to watch the baby and drive like a madman to our house. Almost break down the front door. She’s in the bedroom just got out the shower and drying her hair. Everything is clean. I ask her where she’s been and what the fuck is going on. She just raises her eyebrows at me and stays silent. I demand to know who the guy was, where she’s been, is she okay, my panic starts turning into anger. She just quietly goes in the bathroom and closes the door to finish getting dressed.
A while later she comes out, she’s clearly been crying and she’s shaking slightly. She sits down at the table with me and tells me she knows where I was last night. I say I was at the client site like I said. She gets angry. She tells me she’s fucked two other guys, so now she has one over me.
It felt like my heart dropped out my chest. I start to cry. She starts crying too, she says she hates herself and what she did but I made her do it. I beg her to tell me what’s going on and she goes ‘I know, I know, don’t lie to me, I know you fucked (assistant PM).
She then shows me a photo.
I don’t know if this photo is AI, photoshopped, doctored, or what. all I know is it LOOKS like I am standing outside a hotel in our city kissing (assistant PM). I’m speechless. She’s sobbing hard asking how could I do this to her, now everything’s ruined, our family is destroyed.
HER PERSPECTIVE
This is already long so I will try really keep this short and I can give more detail in comments if needed.
My wife gets lonely and bored when I work late. She regrets not using her degree or making a career. She tells herself it’s all worth it because I’m a good man and her being at home is helpful to me.
She eventually starts leaving our son and going to the hobby clubs. At the paint club she meets Jeff. Jeff is in fact Scott, my colleague from work, but she doesn’t know it. But Scott MUST have known it, and in fact he MUST have stalked her to that club deliberately. He lies about who he is and what he does. He weasels his way into a friendship with her. He starts to act as a confidant. They hang out occasionally outside of the paint club, but nothing ever happens (I believe her here).
Subtly he puts doubts in her mind about his work. He misses a session of the paint club one week and tells her it’s because he’s helping his sister, who got cheated on (Scott doesn’t have any sisters). With my wife so bored, her imagination goes into overdrive and he stokes it.
She stalks my social media and finds a picture where it looks like assistant PM is grabbing my bicep in a group photo. She obsesses over it to an unhealthy point. She confides in Scott/Jeff, shows him the picture, he agrees it’s worrying.
Scott/Jeff presents himself as a bohemian artist, a free spirit, which fascinates her. He claims he only enters open relationship because human sexuality is too sacred and expressive or something. He goes on and on about that sort of stuff. Since she is from a very conservative religious background, and had only slept with one guy before me, she’s quietly fascinated.
On the Friday it all went to shit, after I go to the client site around 1630, he calls her asking to meet urgently. He says he needs to talk about me but that my wife shouldn’t worry, it may be nothing. He sends her a picture - the picture she showed me - of what looks like me with assistant PM.
She drops our son off and meets him at a dive bar in a fairly rough part of town (so none of our acquaintances who would be out of a Friday would see her, I think). She cries, he keeps drinking with her. Obviously she can’t talk to me and Scott knows this. He fans the flames as much as he can and starts suggesting things to her. ‘Im so, so sorry’ he tells her. The best thing to do is to get back at me. I’ve been treating her like a fool the whole time. I expect her to be the good girl, she’s been the good girl all this time, and where has it led her?
He knows her insecurities and uses the things she has shared with him. She’s very drunk now and still crying. He starts picking out people in the bar, ‘what about him? Or him? Maybe that guy would hurt him the most? You deserve this, let’s get back at him.’
His arm is around her and when she turns to look at him she makes a decision and kisses him. She feels completely betrayed and that her whole life has been wasted as a housewife. She’s never done the ‘crazy thing’, she’s never ‘’’lived’’’, I’ve cheated on her, her obsessions and suspicions pile up, she is drunk, and something snaps. I don’t understand why or how this could have happened under my nose. She ended up fucking Scott, not even at his place, but in the dirty fucking alley behind the bar.
Once it was done she said she felt ‘confused but empty’. He buys them both another drink. She talks to him about his ‘free love’ philosophy, I have no idea the kind of bullshit he peddled her but it was persuasive, he preyed on her insecurities and asks her if she feels good being ‘wild’. She feels so hurt, confused, betrayed, and yeah, probably exhilarated from what she did, that she takes it as some kind of epiphany.
Scott is done and says he will leave, but he tells her that what many of his hippie girl friends used to do (who all live such amazing, interesting lives now, in beach huts in Bali, etc, etc) as an ‘initiation’ sometimes was play a game, where they would go to a bar alone and pledge to fuck the first guy that hit on them, no matter who he was or what he looked like.
He buys her another drink and leaves her in that shitty dangerous bar alone and drunk. She steels herself and thinks that by degrading herself she is claiming power in her life and getting revenge on me. After a while a middle-aged drunk hits on her, she invites him back to our place, they make out in the taxi, they fuck on our house, in our bed.
CURRENT STATE
I spent some time convincing my wife the picture was fake. She had the digital version and also a printout she made. When I moved the digital from her phone to the PC and blew it up massively you could see faint traces of edits. I also showed her assistant PMs social media, and she had Instagram stories with friends in a town in another state the night before. She entered some kind of shock/denial, still insisting I had done it, trying to find a way for it to be true to excuse what she did.
It was more difficult to find out Scott/Jeff’s real identity. He text her from a mobile number, he didn’t like her taking his picture, when we looked at his number in WhatsApp his pfp was of a sunset. However, I suspected it would be someone from work who would have known about assistant PM and been able to see pictures of her. I went onto her social media and scrolled through her followers, bringing up different profiles for her to see, feeling increasingly nauseous as we reached Scott’s profile.
I told her who he really was and it finally hit her. She went white as a ghost, began loudly retching, and ran to throw up violently. She was screaming and hysterical and so was I. She started literally pulling her hair out. I don’t want to go into all that.
She’s now severely depressed. It turns out that the name he gave her was actually Scott’s middle name, so he didn’t give her a fake name. Some people have told us that he hasn’t done anything legally punishable, as he claims the picture was sent to him by someone else from a secure proton mail email account. Apparently telling her all the stuff about working at a charity isn’t a crime.
The person I love most in the world has fucked the person I hate most in the world, not to mention a complete dirty stranger in our own house where my son lives. I don’t want to live in the house any more, I have been sleeping in my car, I don’t want to imagine what happened between 0357 and 0543. I don’t want to know details of what happened in the alley. I torture myself wondering, I ask her, she either shakes her head and sobs or I force her to tell me, then immediately tell her to stop when I hear a detail.
She was deceived, she thought I had cheated on her, and it was the result of a definite mental break. She wasn’t her right self, beyond just being drunk, something is seriously not okay. Scott had manipulated her into this behaviour for apparently no reason other than to try and destroy me.
Realistically what steps can we take from here. Is there anything to salvage? I’m so tired and sorry that this was so long and full of typos probably. I don’t want to tell anyone we know and neither does she. I haven’t been into work since this happened.

I'm hoping theres a PMU artist on here who can answer this for me.
With tattoos, most artists do not freehand. They do a stencil that the customer approves first before they begin the irreversible part.
Is there a logical reason why this isn't done for microblading first.
For example, I had a consultation before my actual appointment (on a different day). My artist said they always do a consultation and never microblade people the same day as the consultation. Made total sense to me as thats the case with most ethical businesses that do things like this. For example, a plastic surgeon would never treat you on the same day they met you for the first time. Nor would a dermatologist. But during my consultation, she only drew on the outline of my brows to show me the general shape and size that she was recommending.
So why don't PMU artists use a pencil or something to draw on the eyebrows first? Take some pictures, get a signed consent, or even let their client go home with the drawn on eyebrows for a day to sleep on it and be sure? I'd gladly pay an extra $100 for this level of service during my consultation. And there seem to be SO many people with regrets that I don't understand why such a simple precaution isn't standard in the industry?
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