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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/ralo_ramone on 2026-02-20 22:37:04+00:00.

“By order of the King, you are to cease all exploration of the Farlands and make no attempt to cross this line. Attempts to trespass across the frontier will have consequences,” the older elf said.

The thin red line was deep in Farcrest territory and almost touched Whiteleaf Valley. By any measure, this was a flagrant overreach of their authority, but elves were not idiots. Well, they had been refusing my help and ignoring my warnings for the past two years, but their isolationism didn’t make them politically inept.

I waited for the elven envoy to say something else—something like ‘April Fools' Day’, for instance. Instead, the old elf and the young one studied my reaction with well-practiced stern faces, revealing nothing at a glance. Unfortunately for them, I had [Foresight], and none of them had the obfuscation abilities the previous envoys possessed.

I decided to proceed with caution.

“That’s Ebrosian territory. It is not up to me to decide its frontiers, but you might try with Lord Gairon or Elemer of Cadria, who resides at the Osgirian capital,” I replied. “Both claim they are the rightful heirs to the kingdom. Pick the one you like the most.”

The elves exchanged a confused look, enough for [Foresight] to read them. Either the King of Tagabiria had told them that I was the one who needed to honor the new border for the diplomatic mission to succeed, or they expected a violent reaction on my part. They were getting none.

I examined the map once again and wondered if my attempts to form an alliance with him had painted me as a needy bootlicker.

“If we were to move the red line, let’s say, fifteen kilometers to the north, I believe we can figure something out,” I said after a moment of silence. “But I’ll charge you for each monster that trespasses into my territory from yours.”

The older elf frowned and tapped the map with his bony finger.

“The line must be obeyed as it is.”

I turned my back to the duo and poured myself a glass of water. It was warm, but I didn’t bother to cool it down. Slowly, I let the water wash away the dust of the road from my throat. My mind was elsewhere, studying different theories and calculating outcomes.

The elves’ proposition was strange.

By customary law, the Farlands belong to no one.

I could understand the elves wanting to fully control the trade route. Even with Cadria turned into a hotbed for corrupted monsters, there were still six powerful dukedoms to trade with. However, the red line didn’t make sense for that goal alone. They wouldn’t need to have it so deep in Ebros to control the trade route.

“It is not about the trade route,” I muttered, turning around to face the envoys. “What did you find?”

The young elf remained unfazed, while the older one showed a hint of doubt. 

Jackpot.

There was a reason why nobles employed either experienced statesmen or utterly ignorant rookies to relay their messages. Information was everywhere for those who knew where to look: in the posture, the expression, and the hand movements. Experts were meant to be impossible to read. Rookies had nothing important to reveal. 

I closed my eyes and expanded my authority to examine the elves’ mana pools. I did it softly so as not to alert them. The older one was a Gilded Warrior, an elven System user of the higher caste. The younger one must’ve been a squire, a non-user like Pyrrah and Hallas, although his pouch had no strengthening fruits.

I examined the Gilded Warrior’s Character Sheet.

He was a warrior and a dangerous man.

“What did your people find in there, Aurelion Bloodrose?”

This time, the squire was shaken.

“How dare you use a detection skill on my—!”

“Lord Clarke used no skills on me, Rhysse,” the old elf said with a cold voice. “People say he knows everything.”

The squire looked at Aurelion, even more confused than before. There was a lot one could learn from reading a person’s mana pool. Aurelion was a Lv. 51 Thorn Sage, and given the size of his mana pool, he must’ve been an accomplished warrior with dozens of titles under his name. [Crown of Thorns] and [Thousand-Needle Bloom] looked like especially dangerous skills, although I couldn’t tell what they did at a glance.

“What did you find?” I asked again.

“Nothing,” Aurelion lied.

I mindlessly tapped my lips with my fingers.

“Let me see. The Elven King sent a warrior and his squire to kick the wasp nest. Not just any warrior, mind you, a Lv. 51 Thorn Sage. Why?”

Aurelion remained silent.

No other envoy had arrived unannounced, much less walked into my house uninvited. Elves were nosy, but their meddlesomeness was limited to sniffing around from the diplomatic shield of the Farlands. They knew how to behave in a foreign country… unless they received explicit instructions to do otherwise. It would make sense to send a high-level warrior to cause a ruckus given their endurance.

I had theories.

Confirming them would depend on how much Aurelion knew.

“I think the Elven King wants me to kill you, either because he wants a casus belli or because you are a thorn in his side,” I said, but quickly discarded the first option. Their reactions made it obvious. “Do you happen to be an important person, Aurelion? High in the military ranks? Related to someone important, perhaps?”

The squire broke out in a cold sweat.

Aurelion didn’t move a muscle.

“Hey, if killing you will give me an audience with the king, I might as well do his dirty work. Your squire will be able to return home with the news,” I continued.

The room suddenly became tense, but I didn’t see confirmation on Aurelion’s face.

None of us moved.

"No? Maybe you are the important one, squire?" I asked, looking at the boy. 

The squire didn’t look like he had even turned eighteen yet, but with elves it was hard to tell.

This time, Aurelion leaned forward in a protective gesture, even if it was a fraction of a centimeter. His expression, however, was that of a guilty man betraying his morals. The squire was the important one, and Aurelion wasn’t supposed to protect him.

“...and that’s a bingo!”

Aurelion moved his hand towards his sword, but I projected my authority forward before he could even grab the handle. The old elf froze in place, his eyes widening in terror as an invisible force gripped his arms and legs. I sensed his attempt to summon his skills, but I squeezed his mana channel so that not even a single drop of magical energy could pass through.

Aurelion brought a hand to his throat as he gasped for air. The influence of my authority over him must’ve felt like I was strangling him. I knew from experience that the brain came up with every strange method to attempt to process what happened in the magical plane.

I wondered how he saw me. Was I a huge creeping shadow? A monster? A non-human intelligence wearing a human appearance? I sighed in disappointment. Even high-level elven warriors were not a good target for practicing my natural magic. 

At least my self-teaching was starting to yield results. 

Aurelion was nothing but a worm in the palm of my hand.

The squire drew his sword and pointed it at me.

“Rhysse, was it? Look. The thing is, your king wants you dead, and he sent Aurelion to ensure that happens. I am unsure if he wants to blame your death on me, but that isn’t important for this conversation,” I said, looking the squire directly in the eye. “Aurelion wants to kill you. Do you want me to kill Aurelion?”

The funny part was that I hadn't moved from my spot across the room, and I still had the glass of water in one hand and the vase in the other. 

The squire remained petrified.

“Do you want me to kill Aurelion? Yes or no. Answer.”

Suddenly, the young elf seemed to awaken from a trance.

“No! Don’t kill him! He wouldn’t want to kill me! He wouldn’t!”

“I never get these things wrong, kid. This is Snow White all over again, and Aurelion’s knife is going to tear your heart out of your chest soon,” I said. 

The squire shook his head.

“He wouldn’t!”

My authority pulled back, and Aurelion fell to his knees, coughing and gasping for air. The younger elf knelt by his side, rubbing his back while giving me quick glances to make sure I was standing still in my corner. The warrior trembled like a leaf. For him, I was a monster.

I watched the scene in silence, wondering what to do.

The Elven King had found something in the Farlands, and he wanted to get the kid killed. That only left one question. Was I just a useful fool, or did he really want a reason to wage war against Ebros?

“Don’t try anything funny, because I swear I am capable of much worse,” I said, pouring myself another glass of water.

I wished I could turn it into scotch.

I rubbed my left temple and said, “I have enough problems, so please don't kill that kid in Marquis Kiln's territory.” 

A migraine was certainly coming.

“Aurelion isn’t going to kill me,” the young elf said in a serious voice.

“Is it as he says, Rhysse. The king wants you dead,” Aurelion said. “But Lord Clarke could—”

“No, I can’t,” I cut him off before he could finish the sentence. “Do you know how many responsibilities I currently have? Loans, taxes, budgeting. Keeping everyone safe and well-fed. Prepare for the advent of a second Corrupted Ancient. I’ve been fighting for two years with the orcs to make their women stop drinking alcohol while pregnant, but nobody listens to me! So, no. I don’t care who you are. Unless you can get me an audience with your king, you are leaving....

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KyleKKent on 2026-02-20 21:10:55+00:00.

First

The Dauntless

“And we’re down.” Herbert says as he’s taken off the Private Stream cap entirely after finishing the last few commands of the landing sequence. The doors on the transport are opening and he heads into the main chamber just behind the pilot cabin. “So, find anything interesting yet?”

“It’s not here.” Koga says.

“Then what is here?” Herbert asks as he bites back the curse. Of course it’s not here. Whoever has it will have taken it with them. It’s probably the only thing in this mess that isn’t immediately replaceable.

“Thirty seven assorted Synth bodies ranging from the kind you use to clean sewage pipes to a brothel special complete with telescopic dick and everything in between.”

“Fun, self lubricating too?”

“I didn’t check.” Koga says dryly.

“I’ve been able to put together a general sensation of things. Whoever is responsible for this mess, sat over here, and I’ve gotten a few samples of assorted hairs and have scanned the area. DNA analysis so far says Kruga female, but nothing beyond that in this early stage. We’ll have her full ID in the hour though.” The Officer says from a raised up area away from the lights. There’s a large lounging chair in there and she has several small drones floating around to scan things in high detail.

“I have found an additional cache of Frenzy Patches in three different makes and models, I also have found several weapons that have had crucial khutha components removed from some and the trytite components removed from other identical models. I believe whoever is responsible for this was soon to move into testing Blood Metal’s use in a physical weapon and not merely forced into a person.” The Battle Princess says.

“Well that doesn’t make sense at all, why did our mad scientist skip directly into forcing blood metal into people when they hadn’t already seen what it can potentially do when incorporated into technology? It’s still a fascinating topic but will get you far less attention, resistance and blowback.”

“Maybe she already did and we’re just finding the left over weapons she already tested and set aside?” The Princess asks.

“Maybe, this...” Herbert begins to say as further officer, forensic experts, hackers and security rush in. “This is now in the hands of our professional secret extractors. Damn good work team. Take ten and grab a drink. Day’s not over yet but take your breaks where you can get them.”

“What are you getting?”

“Chocky Milk.” Herbert answers.

“... there are times I legit cannot tell if you are or are not your presented age.” Koga remarks.

“At my size a hard whisky is OFF the table. To say nothing of the fact that the day’s not done yet so getting drunk is not a good idea. And I have kids. And wives that are too young to drink, not to mention too fragile. So yeah, chocolate milk.

“Screw that, I’ve got a bottle of Habu Sake and two cups.” Koga says.

“Really?”

“Being able to disappear is a skill we both share, but you can full invisible. That at least earns a drink.”

“After. After we have the crazy bitch contained and all missing blood metal accounted for. We need to be sharp.”

“It’s possible to be too sharp. You need to also be calm and clear headed.” Koga answers and Herbert nods.

“Hence the chocolate in my milk.” Herbert’s tone is pure child.

“You’re really putting some allegations on your wives with that kind of routine you know?”

“I only look a couple years younger than them.”

“... You know what? No. I’m not touching that immeasurable mess that is your wedded life.”

“And which part’s the biggest part of the mess? The fact that I don’t qualify for the half plus eight rule for my wives physically or that they mentally don’t reach mine?”

“Change of subject!” Koga insists.

“Think the crazy bitch made a blood metal dildo?”

“We’re changing it again.”

“Probably for the best, sometimes the shit I say shocks even me.”

“And you’re one of our heads of Intelligence, we are so fucked.” Koga notes in a disbelieving tone.

“Hah!”

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Admiral Cistern’s Office, Main Council Building, Centris)•-•-•

The image of the musclebound woman in a labcoat and a long, long list of concerns from numerous professors, lab technicians and doctors. No official diagnosis, she never consented to such a thing. But a long history of outright sociopathic disregard for the lives of others. But there were several patents and radical techniques developed by her.

By Doctor Ycand Rancyk Ngok. A woman that could never keep a researcher position for more than two years before her sheer anti-social behaviour and sheer disregard for protocol got her expelled. The note of a fellow researcher who had apparently once been in class with her noted: ‘Crazy witch cut out the mercy and restraint in exchange for more processing power.’

A madwoman through and through. One regarded as a greater danger to herself than anyone else... until now.

He already has several teams going to her currently registered residence and checking her last three, as well as doing a general scan of the neighbourhoods. Just in case. The prey has gone to ground, so it’s time to smoke her out.

“The fact we got some internal security feeds is just icing on the cake. We’re actually privy into her thought patterns.” He notes.

“Yes but... why does she have such a childish understanding of Centris Law?” Miya Umberclaw asks incredulously.

“It’s clearly not her area of expertise. Chemistry, biology, physics, metallurgy and an inexplicable degree in musical theory leading to a short but successful career as a musician.”

“Yes but... this is... oh no... She’s pulled her legal understanding from Investigator Illias.”

“From what?’

“A popular and ridiculously long running holo-series. It’s older than you by a significant margin. It started as a detective series and has evolved into courtroom drama and is in the process of changing again into a romantic drama. The basic premise is that it’s supposed to cut to the heart of ‘law’, but it’s set on a world that had an Axiom Lane recently shift to bring it into Prosperous Space as opposed to Frontier Space. Something which has only happened a few times in galactic history and... to be frank never happened anything like this. With all the individual murders, court cases and such that’s happened it would have surpassed the time it would take for a world to fully transition from a frontier colony to a proper prosperous world.”

“Suspension of disbelief being stretched aside, what is the part you truly recognize?”

“Mimic AI’s are not unknown. But they’re generally complicated and have a very, very short lifespan. Even shorter than standard AI’s because every but of input is immediately placed into a potential process to act upon. Observation Based, Pattern Seeking or Artistic AI tend to be a little more robust. Not by much. But a Mimic AI generally has at best two thirds the lifespan of other types of AI. Anyways, back on topic. In the show a Mimic AI codenamed Duplex, because imagination was in short supply even back then in that writers room, had framed Donny Illias, the younger brother of the main character and a true crime enthusiast, by copying his interest in in crimes and investigations and then going out to live through them as he often wondered what it would be like to do those things. Which was caught on camera, but he was determined to be innocent because he never actually performed any criminal acts.”

“That’s not going to work, at all. The woman had to repair and maintain the AI to keep it acting as she did. Even if her every word of phrasing was all framed as her talking to herself in hypotheticals, which it was not, then she’d still be responsible for modifying and maintaining the dangerous AI despite knowing what it was doing.” Admiral Cistern notes.

“No doubt she’s going to say ‘I didn’t see it commit any crimes, how was I to know it was actually doing these things and not just calculating what would happen? Do you accuse people typing in prompts to algorithms of doing the deeds they are prompting?”

“It’s odd that the definition of Plausible Deniability seems to have slipped past her like this.”

“I blame Investigator Illias for this.” Miya says before sighing. “To be honest I blame that serious for a lot. Anything like that in human culture?”

“A popular cartoon has convinced many people that nuclear material glows bright green and not blue. And that somehow as a power source it’s dirty to the point of being filthier than coal potentially. Doesn’t translate to well to galactic concerns though, Axiom makes a power plant like that somewhat redundant.”

“Well considering a good chunk of the murder cases involve things that would at worst give you mild indigestion, I think we can call this bit of cultural clash mutual.”

“Indeed.” Admiral Cistern says with a slight smile. “Now...”

Before he can speak any further the com button on his desk starts flashing. “Admiral Cistern with Miya Umberclaw of the CDIC present.”

“Sir, ma’am, we haven’t found the suspect, but we have found something of interest we’re ninety percent positive is hers.”

“Details?”

“Single pod cloning device with an extensive off grid database hooked up into it. Password protected at the moment, but it certainly seems significant and it’s in a storage unit barely three hundred meters from her former apartment complex and was last registered to her name. But she hasn’t been seen here...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Risesohigh33 on 2026-02-20 16:17:05+00:00.

First | Previous

(Author's note: for an extra little juice reading this chapter, listen to "The Book" by Glum Aleks. It was on repeat in my earbuds as I typed.)

A mass of humanity dominates my vision.

Standing atop a platform that extends out from the stairs down to the floor of the hanger, I am flanked by James and Klara. Each is wearing a Fireborn uniform, not yet in armor. Matteo is directly behind me. I just got done speaking to him on the walk to the hanger. We were going over final checks for the gunship he's piloting that will carry one of our teams. I am on a gun.

Hector looms behind us with Captain Fazoon and a few other chosen captains, radiating heat and anger. Augustus' grandson has been stewing for days. He's itching for a fight.

I will be happy to have him by my side, because he is with us. He, along with a few others, volunteered once our plan was revealed to the fleet commanders, though not the fleet in total. Sensitive information.

I could see the pain on Augustus' face when she granted his request. She was in no place to tell him no--I have learned that Hector is a hurricane of violence and a perfect fit for our escort. His is a veteran of seven spheres in three systems, beyond proficient with any sort of field equipment and so overly physical in close-quarters combat that I do not see how one could stand against him.

Hector served in the vanguard of Fireborn Legion from the tender age of eighteen to twenty-three, as many in his family do. He represented them all well. Better or worse yet--depending on which side you're on here--a man that large should also not be that quick. I have seen him train. Spare with James and Klara.

He deserves to be on this elite team. Still, she is his grandmother, so I cannot blame her hesitancy to let him join us.

Viola, I notice, is absent. Probably with Lily, as she has been for much of this. Viola knows as much as the rest of us that this fight could kill us. She also had to say goodbye to her daughter, as Augustus told me the little girl will be exiting the fleet just before jump. She will be escorted to a safe house that only Senator Augustus, Viola and the team that is transporting her will know. There are contingencies for her safety if we lose.

If Augustus believes she will be safe, I have to as well. Still, I will worry for the little Terran. she's just a child.

Most of the ships in this hanger have been lowered into their holding stations beneath the floor, both to prepare for final checks and to give Senator Augustus this stage. To fit this collection of five thousand killers. And so the bodies stretch and stretch.

In the other, massive hanger, another three thousand wait. They are watching via some massive hologram projected into the air.

All of them have come from this ship and others to stand here. They are aligned in row after meticulous row. All of them are armored, standing a foot taller than their typical heights, weighing an extra two hundred pounds. They are all equipped with enough weaponry to decimate a city block.

Some of them will be tasked with assaulting and boarding enemy ships. Just over fifty of them will be in our party. Another group has orders to defend our capital ships, because our enemy will attempt to board just as we will.

These are monsters, killers, heroes. These are commanders, captains, commandos, pilots and infantry. These are gunners, assassins, snipers and bridgebreakers. These are proper Terrans.

And they are Fireborn, all. This is how the Nightmare went to war, with one last, united, desperate roar into the void. So Senator Augustus will, too.

I cannot help but be struck with the awe that this species is able to wake within me. Proud as my people are, we are nothing against these Terrans. But, as I am learning, Gyn and human can work together and prosper. It is one of the many lessons these people have taught me.

It is no wonder they have taken so many allies. And no wonder why their many enemies quake in fear. Because from behind the formation, a single fist rises into the air. My eyes strain to see so far away, even though I know who it is.

Senator Augustus does not wear armor, because she will command the Devil's Warden from its bridge. She strides forward to the open, middle lane of the formation wearing a black jacket and black pants. Her face is crossed from forehead to jaw with three stripes of deep, purple paint. It is the symbol of the Nightmare himself.

The powerful woman is going to war in the name of her most famous ancestor. With his own mark. In the name of the most famous son in humanity's history. Her enemies will see this and know her vocation. I cannot imagine they will be pleased, because Augustus is stating that the Nightmare would bless her campaign.

And as she comes level with the back of her formation, Augustus hammers her fist into her chest. I hear nothing. But then the back line of the formation, as she passes, collectively raises their fists in unison before slamming them into their armor.

That I hear. THUMP.

She passes another line, keeping her eyes forward, head high. Fist to chest. Thump.

Another three lines of Terrans echo her. THUMP.

As she continues, Augustus quickens her fist, slamming it twice into her breast. Thump-thump.

Her army echoes her. THUMP-THUMP.

Thump-thump-thump.

THUMP-THUMP-THUMP.

Thump-thump...thump-thump.

THUMP-THUMP...THUMP-THUMP.

She's closing in on our platform now, perhaps fifty or so feet away and fifty below. As she reaches the very front of her formation, I cannot help but believe it is the very heartbeat of her people that carries her forward. It's defiance is manifest in the precise, devastating, echoing quake that shakes that hanger from the armored fists slamming into armored chests.

Augustus hits the stairs, and all the Terrans around me begin to beat their chests. Without hesitation, I do the same. She climbs slowly but deliberately, refusing to lower her eyes. She is the master of this ship, after all. It isn't long before Augustus is climbing the final steps and bringing herself onto our platform.

She nods at each of us, and when my eyes meet hers, I see the murder in them. Then she is turning back to her host, finally raising an open hand. All of the thumping, all of the noise, is silenced in no more than a moment.

Quiet takes hold. And then Augustus is speaking.

"My friends! My brothers and sisters! My Fireborn!" she roars, her voice amplified by some device on her jacket.

STOMP.

The armor punching the floor makes it shake, even for me and this far away from them. I can't help but look down. Smile. Admire the strength.

"It is now that we go to war, now that we refuse to yield," Augustus says, her eyes scanning. "We go to war as our ancestors did, with the blood hot in our veins. Let not anyone say that this was our first choice! Do not let anyone tell you that you fight for anything but justice!"

STOMP. STOMP.

"Your officers have told me that none of you have chosen to sit out this fight!" Augustus lets emotion seep into her voice. It is real, honest and raw. She is inspired by their faith. "I did not expect this belief, nor do I feel I deserve it. But I shall not waste it. I will not forget it!"

One, huge, monstrous STOMP.

"And yet, I know the perils we are about to face! I know our enemy and its strength! I know the narrative it has spun. I beg of you, any of you, should you not want to take part in this fight, do not be ashamed!" Augustus lets up for a moment. "You will find no dishonor in choosing to stay. So, finally, will you stand and fight when I have no guarantee we will return?"

Silence again. It is another piece of brilliance from Augustus. She implored her officers first. They accepted to stand by her. Then she had her officers ask her sailors, troops and marines. Still, they stood by her.

She offers one last out. And she is met with a deep, dark silence. I can't help but feel my mouth curling into a smile as a single Terran steps out of the assembled formation perhaps halfway back. Whoever this is, their armor is on, and their helmet is already up.

This Terran strides forward with sullen silence, save for the sounds of armored boots into floor. The Terran makes its way up the open spaces between blocks of soldiers, owning the middle path alone.

A minute or so passes as the Terran makes their way forward, reaching the front of the formation. There they stop, raising their throat at the command platform. And the Terran, with as much anger as they can muster, slams their boot into the floor.

As they do, the rest of the formation, all of us included, offer two, deafening stomps in return.

My bones shake. My brain rattles. My ears are overwhelmed.

The Terran below us stomps again. Everyone returns it twice. And then their helmet slides down, revealing the rage-filled, purple lined face of Viola Augustus.

She grits her teeth up at us and raises her throat, straining her neck. "Firebornnnnnnnnn!"

Two, earth-shaking stomps.

"Firebornnnnnnnn!"

STOMP. STOMP.

Viola strains her neck further. I ca...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/PSHoffman on 2026-02-20 14:53:32+00:00.

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The two avians locked themselves together. It didn’t seem to matter that Agraneia was still standing in the room.

Agraneia coughed awkwardly. “I’ll, uh, see you two later.” She didn’t think either one of them heard her as she slid the door shut behind her.

She knew she should be glad for Eolh and Ryke. They deserved all the happiness that life could offer. Agraneia should feel relieved that the Scar hadn’t crushed the Ark into dust, and that their xeno patchwork of a civilization would find a new home …

But she couldn’t feel it. No relief. No joy. Nothing but her bruised flesh and sharp pains where the Sovereign’s monster had tried to break her.

There was someone Agraneia needed to see, only she wasn’t sure if Talya would want to see her. After all, Agraneia had left Talya—more than once—to seek out some stupid ideal. To do the right thing. And, if the gods demanded it, to get herself killed.

But the gods demanded something else. And that was turning out to be far more difficult.

And now, Agraneia was afraid that she didn’t deserve to see Talya again. Maybe Talya doesn’t even want to see me. Is it cruel to seek her out? Or just selfish? Hells, it was possible the Queen’s wingmaiden had already found someone new. Someone who wasn’t an emotionally-stunted coward with a monstrous past.

But her legs knew something that her mind didn’t, because they were already in motion. Agraneia limped through the Ark’s corridors and crowds of xenos (disheveled and exhausted and crying with relief). Without really meaning to go, she found herself standing in the hospital ward. Nurses with bloodstains and sleep-deprived doctors fretted to and fro like bees tending to a hive, worrying over patients in their cots. The scent of dried blood and old sweat and sharp disinfectants stung at her nostrils. Shouts for sedatives competed with the screams of some poor soul who was being carried away for an amputation. Heart hammering in her throat, Agraneia unconsciously wrapped her hand around her liquid arm. Feeling a surge of dread and sympathy for the unfortunate patient.

“Patient intake?” A plump red-feathered nurse came charging past her elbow, eyeing her impatiently. “What’s the nature of your wounds?”

“Oh, I’m not here as a patient.”

“No?” she clucked doubtfully, eyeing the burned bands of flesh around her wrists and arms.

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Family or loved one?”

“I … I think so.”

“You think so? Well, you can find a list of patients over there, but I’m warning you now, it’s long.”

“Not a patient. Looking for someone who works here. Talya?”

The red avian’s brow feathers rose a few inches, and her crest feathers spiked. “Oh,” She uttered icily, “I see.”

Agraneia swallowed. “Is she here?”

“She is.”

“Can I … see her?”

“If it were up to me?” The nurse sighed heavily, shaking her head as if to say ‘not my problem.’ “Talya’s in the back.”

Agraneia thanked her, and the nurse gave a curt toss of her head, before tending to the next xeno.

The back was quieter, though the antiseptic smell was stronger. Almost intoxicating, but far from pleasant. A tech was mopping a long, bloody stain on the floor. Agraneia limped through halls crowded with cots and barely conscious patients. In one room, a family was sobbing over a body, covered with a towel, while a nurse gently urged them to take their grieving outside, so they could make room for other patients.

Talya was in the last room on the left, helping a blue-feathered nurse peel the bloody wraps off a patient. Both their white uniforms, and Talya’s white feathers, were stained with blood.

Agraneia stood in the hall. She couldn’t bring herself to step inside. Maybe she doesn’t want to see me. Why would she? Frozen by indecision, gritting her jaw, Agraneia just watched the wingmaiden work. Two techs hurried down the hall with a gurney, shouting for Agraneia to move out of the way.

Talya kept working, but her partner glanced at the doorway. The nurse’s face darkened. “Talya,” he whispered, and nodded at Agraneia.

First, the wingmaiden turned. Her eyes widened. Her beak fell open in stages.

“I …” Agraneia rumbled. “Talyam I’m …” The room was spinning, and she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t find the words. She never had the damn words.

It didn’t matter.

“AGRANEIA?” Talya screamed. A few conscious patients lifted their heads.

Before Agraneia could open her mouth to say another word, Talya threw herself across the room like a feathered missile. She slammed against Agraneia’s chest, and wrapped her arms around her waist, squeezing exactly where the Sovereign had broken her ribs.

Agraneia toppled over with the smaller avian still holding on. Together, they crashed to the floor, and Agraneia gasped in blissful agony.

“You’re alive!” Talya squealed between a barrage of kisses, “You’re alive!”—kiss, kiss, kiss—“You’re alive!”—kiss, kiss—“By the gods, you’re alive!”

There was nothing sanitary about this, and Agraneia was pretty sure Talya’s hands were still covered in someone else’s blood, but Agraneia was damned if she was going to stop her.

***

The city built by the xenos on the Ark’s habitation deck was in ruins. While the experts searched for a new home, the xeno survivors had to share the rest of the ship. People slept in shifts in the barracks scattered across the bowels of the ship, or made their homes in tucked-away corners in the halls and corridors of the Ark’s mazelike interior.

Talya had claimed a prime spot in the aftward grow labs, where green stalks grew out of hydroponic beds and broad leaves tickled at the ceiling. Grassy smells and the insect-like buzz of growlights gave it an almost pastoral feel. There were other xenos, other families, scattered through the growing crops, but spread out enough that Agraneia could almost pretend she and Talya were alone. If not for the hallucinations …

The dead faces lurked in the shadows of the ripening nangka fruits and sugar grasses. Their eyes weighed on her, their whispers rustled as soft as leaves. Agraneia fought to keep her eyes on Talya, who patted her bedroll, inviting the cyran closer.

“Agra? What’s the matter?”

“Hmm,” Agraneia hummed through her frown. Shouldn’t it be easier now that they were safe? But the words were stuck in her throat.

Talya watched her, but didn’t rush her. Ever patient, she waited in silence.

Agraneia growled at herself. If Talya could be patient, then why can’t I find the strength to speak? She squeezed her eyes shut, and took a deep breath, and spoke in a rush. “There’s something wrong with me, and it’s been broken for such a long time that I’m afraid it can never be fixed.”

Talya reached out. Feathers brushed over scales as her fingers intertwined with Agraneia’s. And, silently, the wingmaiden waited.

“I …” Agraneia hesitated. The words were getting stuck again. Her chest was tight, and not just from the bandages wrapped around her torso. Agraneia growled, trying to force it out. “Wanted to ask—you—I’m asking—Maybe if you could—”

“Agraneia,” she said, soft and sweet. “Are you asking for my help?”

Agraneia swallowed. And nodded.

“Don’t you know that I love you?” Talya asked.

“But I left,” Agraneia's brow furrowed. “I left you on your own.”

“Because you stopped loving me?”

“I always loved you.”

Talya’s smile was like a sun burning through the clouds. Yet, just as swiftly, it was gone again. “Then why did you leave, Agra?”

Agraneia stared into the green walls of plants. A sprayer hissed as it showered another crop a few rows over. It didn’t quite drown out the whispers. They were talking to her. About her. Saying all the things she didn’t want to hear. Some of them were even true.

“Because I hate myself,” Agraneia finally said. “Because I don’t think—I didn’t think—I was worthy of your love.”

“Do you want to change that?”

Agraneia’s eyes shot back to hers. “More than anything. But I’ve always been this way. I don’t know if I can change…”

“Back when Gaiam was occupied, Queen Ryke used to tell me things about the gods. About their great works. Their magical artifacts,” She nodded at Agraneia’s liquid arm. “But Queen Ryke always said these things were nothing compared to their greatest power. What separates mortals from the divine? They had the power to change themselves—with nothing but will.

“And when the Magistrate’s forces took hold of the Cauldron, Ryke always told me to remember one thing. That we are descended from the gods. Even you. If they can change, then why can’t you?”

***

When the xenos chose a new world, it didn’t have a proper name—just a string of letters and numbers in the Ark’s sensor data logs.

The xeno people were still arguing over what to call it as the Ark descended into the new world’s atmosphere. Without Yarsi to guide the Ark, the descent was more than a little choppy. Teams of navigators, engineers, and other officers chattered and squabbled as th...

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First/Previous/Next

Wiki

Chapter 24: Progress

Feb 01, 2025: Amanda

Human Mage and New Hire

This place is strange. Even by my standards. The Fae that work here are all named. That’s rare enough. Clients are what I expect with such staff, and then some. And then there’s that demon. Lust demon of some sort. She’s got to be powerful if her aura is anything to go by. But she’s so subdued. She hasn’t done anything overt. Must be part of a deal to work here.

“Amanda, we need to clean this machine. It needs to be done today, so please come help and learn how, okay sweetie?”

Oh, you’re good. But I won’t be falling for your tricks or wiles. I’m a witch. I know better than to fall for the deceptions of a demon.

We get to cleaning. Wow. She smells so nice. I look up at her beautiful green eyes and I’m suddenly wondering how anything so pretty could be evil.

I picture her and myself in my apartment and she’s flogging me, the skin bleeding and the pain excruciating and so very delicious.

She’s stopped moving. Wait…

She turns at me and her eyes are just a little too turned on to be a coincidence. “Wow. Normally that kink stops before you bleed when people have it.”

“You made me think about that?”

She shakes her head. “No. Sorry. I’ve always been good at guessing the things people like when I was alive. When I fell, it became part of my skill set. People’s fantasy’s appear as such to me. It used to be I just saw what they liked. Now I keep being in the fantasies and I really wish I could stop them. The intense ones actually cause the person to daydream about it while I watch. I don’t intend to do it. Just happens. I’m working on controlling it but there aren’t a lot of ‘how to’ books about demonic powers so I’m making it up as I go. Okay, so this is where we need to check for things like spills that weren’t completely cleaned up. See?”

I lean forward and see what she’s pointing at. She purposely moved out of the way so I wouldn’t have to look over her shoulder. If she hadn’t, I’d be looking down that shirt with the enchanted button and damn that would be a nice sight. I guess she’s not trying to seduce me. Too bad.

Wait.

Fuck.

“Alright. I want you to go ahead and wash these off, we’ll put them back on the machine. I’m going to clean this and put it back together.”

“Okay. I head to the sink. Pat the Mermaid walks up to get something, she takes that opening to say something to me. “Mona is probably our best person aside from Dis and Queen BossBitch. Listen to her.”

I look over and see she’s changed how she is leaning to avoid giving everyone a show. “I can see why. She seems nice.”

Pat laughs. “You’ve no idea.”

I want to.

Feb 02, 2025: Jen

Human

The man in black has entered the shop and I’m still trying to figure out why he was so scary according to some of the veteran employees. I mean, Yeah, he’s like winter or something, but can he be that scary? Especially with that smile. “Morning Jack, Winter’s Delight, or something else?”

“I believe a treat is called for. Vanilla Bean Crème Frappuccino, 1 pump hazelnut syrup and drop a Birthday Cake Pop into the blender.” He winks at me.

“Cake Batter Frappuccino it is. What’s the special occasion?”

“Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow. 6 more weeks!” He produces his black credit card and pays. Awww, he gave me a nice tip. I smile and wink at him.

“Coming right up good sir! Glad we have you for a while.”

I make his drink and go to hand him it when he looks me in the eyes. “How go things with that young gentleman?”

I try not to let my happiness get too crazy. “Great. We have another date Saturday. He’s been the second best thing in my life.”

“Is this the first?”

I shake my head. “No, this and him are close behind, but becoming the real me was first.”

He nods. “That makes sense. If it helps, do tell me if anyone deadnames you. I promise I’ll curse them.” He winks.

Suddenly I feel a real chill. Several Fae in the room turn in terror, he made a vow? Oh, he truly means it. Suddenly I understand how scary he can be. Also, he’s fucking amazing!

Feb 04, 2025: Mab

Sidhe Queen and Maiden of the Trinity

I stand in front of the garden. It is a beautiful one. I love this little piece of home Skerrit has brought to us. Connie’s trees are at the four corners, standing guard for her and all the residents. I could get used to this. This place is special. I can feel all the power within this building and the owner has given me a special gift. But I am not here to talk with him.

“Hello, Bob.”

“Medb, Queen of Air, Darkness, and Magic. Lovely place.”

“Everything moving as you think it will with the one you are most interested in?”

He chuckles at me. “You know that every one of them, and you, are the one I’m most interested in. All my creations are. And yes.”

I shake my head. “I know there is some end game you have ready. I am not sure what it is, but I have ideas. Tell me, where do I fit in these plans?”

“You’re a key component. I’m hoping you’ll find happiness. I’m hoping you will be able to show your love what she means to you. I don’t know if it will happen. Not for certain as free will has a funny way of messing things up. I trust you’ll be able to steer things to your dreams.”

“You are not telling me something, Bob.”

He nods. “I’m not. Because I’m not sure what will happen at that crossroads. If I say anything, you’ll attempt to change things and in doing so, bring a horrible fate to many.”

I nod. “Do I have a choice in the end?”

He hugs me and I feel fear for one of the first moments of my long life. “You’ll have a choice. Betray your love or betray yourself. When that time comes, you’ll know what to do.”

I nod. I resolve to get the important ones together and help the woman I love find even more happiness. I owe her that much.

Feb 05, 2025: Connie

Sidhe Wood Nymph

I get out of the bedroom a little late today. My Lady and I spent half the night talking. It was a wonderful time. Not as wonderful as the actions when the noises that Laoch and Jackie made set my lady on edge and she needed little encouragement from me for more fun activities.

Still, very much a great time. I worry about her. Almost as much as I do Mona. I know Mona is getting ready for work. Why do I want to talk to her so much? Ugh. This longing is bad.

I decide my pride isn’t worth as much as talking to her and pull out my phone. As I unlock it, it has an incoming FaceTime call. OH…

“I was unlocking my phone to call you.” My look of shock is visible in the corner, her beautiful and wet face is as well.

“Funny, I was in the shower and missing you.” She winks. I know what she was doing. I giggle. Bob I love this woman…

“Can I talk with you while you get ready?” I’m hopeful.

She nods and the next 15 minutes are spent chatting and planning for tomorrow. She’s coming here to stay the night, My Ladies have both said it would be wonderful. We’ll be watching movies. Life is good.

Feb 06. 2025: Hanna

Enlightened Therapist

I wasn’t expecting to see this person. I mean, I get it, but still, not someone I expected to be here. The red hair’s in a ponytail, she’s smiling and she appears ready to talk. Let’s see what we get as I open this book which only has her background info answers and see what she needs.

“Hi Doc. Pat told me that you helped her get to the point where she and I could be a thing, so I guess I should start by thanking you. Thank you.”

She’s sweet. She’s also stalling. Hmmm. “You’re welcome, Jacqueline. Now, why are you actually here?”

“I’m a mass murderer.”

…

“What?”

She begins crying. “I killed 7 werewolves in one night. The first one was trying to kill Beth. I torched that one like a bonfire. Then I got to where Pat was protecting Todd. Anton, a vampire, had almost been torn to shreds keeping Todd alive and the werewolves had been eating both of them. I got so pissed. I threw that first one’s skull at them and mocked them. They went to jump me and all died in a flash fire while Pat saved Todd. I…I was happy. There’s a part of me that wanted to make them suffer more. There’s a part of me that takes over when I embrace my power that wants to set everything on fire. I’m a monster. These powers let me be with Pat, but at what cost?”

…

“Doc?”

I should say something. “Okay, a lot to unpack. I’ll point out you killed them all in either defense of someone else or yourself. I’m sure you already know that.”

“I probably could have not been as terrible. I could have set them on fire for a little bit and walked away, they would’ve survived then.”

I nod. No sense denying something she knows. “You could’ve. You also could’ve attempted that only to have one kill someone you care about or even you later. What could have been is unknown. We’re going to deal with what has been. And we can work on preventing such situations in the future. I’m sure you are worried you’ll hurt someone in the future.”

“I have a feeling a prophecy says I’m going to kill again, and it is going to be someone I love dearly.”

“Do tell me.” Can’t let her know this prophecy weighs heavily on Patricia, she’l...

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First contact officer Kla was not having a good day, or even a good month. For years, she had been working hard to be able to participate in a first contact situation as a senior officer. She had dreamt of how she would handle it, how the interactions with the new species would play out. Would they be more advanced? Less advanced? Would they be familiar or utterly alien? Every possibility was fascinating to her but now… the dream was turning into a nightmare.

“Ten thousand dead?! How am I even going to report this!”, she yelled in frustration at no one in particular after reading the latest report on how the first humans were settling on her planet, as part of the first contact exchange protocols. The idea was that a select number of individuals of each species would live with the other for about a month, to establish protocols and judge how and if they could coexist on the same planet, before opening up to the rest of the species. It was a system that made sense but it never backfired so spectacularly before.

“But officer Kla, those humans are really difficult to manage you know, I myself am happy with keeping my fifth human alive, it is better than the average of 10 deaths per caretaker”, replied her junior colleague, Tel, almost boasting.

“What is wrong with you Tel? Even a single death is one too many. Sure, there may be accidents and it happens but 10 000? It is like we are exterminating them! Do we know how our exchange is going on the human side, what do they call it again, Earth, right?” Kla lamented. Tel was normally smart and considerate, how could he even think that, let alone say it to her face?

“Yeah, Earth, or officially Sol-3. And you know very well we cannot access this information until the meeting with the humans next week, or it would spoil the results”, her junior helpfully reminded her.

Right, the meeting, she thought. This was going to end her career at the very least, and there would likely be more severe repercussions. She had tried her best to obtain all the information from the humans to ensure the first group to live with her people would strive. They had provided everything requested and more, and yet… how had this happened?

At the end of the day, Tel went back to his residence, and was welcomed by his friend and fellow junior officer, Tak, and their fifth human, John.

“So how was your day?” asked Tak. “I had to deal with accounting again on some of the first contact preliminary trade agreements, I am beat. But John wants to go explore the neighbourhood again and try more of our food, what do you say?”

“Man, I have had a bad day, senior officer Kla chewed me off because of the number of human deaths, but how is it my fault? It is not like we are trying to kill them, they actively try and hurt themselves, no offense John.”

“None taken” the human replied. “Actually, I looked at the deaths of the previous four humans you tried to take care of and I must say with the knowledge you had at the time there wasn’t really anything you could have done, I blame my government for not giving you more guidance on how to handle us.”

At that, both Tak and Tel felt a bit better but also curious: “Oh really? Can you tell us quickly what you think went wrong for each? We will talk while walking around and going for a drink, your people drink low alcoholic content drinks too right?” Tak asked.

“Yes, a trait I am happy we share!” Replied the human before continuing: “well your first human died of poisoning after you tried to discourage him from eating your spices. In typical human fashion, he took it as a challenge and woke up in the middle of the night to sneak into the spice storage and try several of them, poisoning himself and dying almost instantly. It is almost like you needed to baby proof your place”.

Neither Tel nor Tak were quite sure what “baby proofing” meant but they nodded along. Did babies need some sort of proof they were babies on Earth? Some sort of ID perhaps, or some sort of identification on dangerous areas so they would recognize it as a place not to go to? A question for later, translators were always a bit iffy in the first few months of first contact after all.

John continued: “the next 3 deaths are various unfortunate accidents caused by the humans themselves. One insisted on racing in one of your small aircraft, and he had a pilot license too so your authorities let him. He promptly overrode the limiters and crashed.”

Tel winced at that, not only did he like that human as a fellow pilot, but the cost of the aircraft had been billed to him, and it would take a while to recover from that.

“And if the information you provided is correct, the other two fell from high places, one was trying to access the rooftop to get a better view of the moons, and another insisted the higher gravity was fine for paragliding, refused your own paragliding equipment, and instead just went with a slightly modified version of his Sol-3 gear. I, on the other end, prefer to stay on the ground and just see the city and its people, we should be fine, unless we hit too many bars if you know what I mean haha.” John winked, a gesture that had baffled the first contact team at first, having no eyelid, but that they know got strangely used to.

A week later, on the day of the meeting between the two delegations:

“Alright Kla, this may end in you losing your job, or getting executed even, but it is still your duty to present the data accurately and without looking for excuses. Let us just hope the humans will be understanding. In other areas, I am told the trade, science and culture teams achieved breakthrough so this is unlikely to start a war at least. Our role is always more complicated as some species may just not be made to live together on the same planet. It happens, this is why we do this trial in the first place to judge the compatibility.” The head of the first contact delegation told her.

Not feeling reassured at all, and shaking a bit, she made her way to the podium, saluted the human delegation and started her presentation:

“As you know, the first exchange program has been used by both the human federation and us, as well as many other races, to judge compatibility between species in a setting more closely resembling real life. There are always risks that participants are fully informed of beforehand. Unfortunately, in our case, it looks like while we may be compatible on many social aspects, including sharing a drink, dangerous behaviours have been discovered for which we were not prepared” She saw the human delegation starting to smirk a bit at that and exchange some looks, odd. She briefly pondered if they already knew, but it did not matter, she had a job to do.

“I am sorry to inform the human delegation that we had many casualties and…” She took a deep breath, the humans were now visibly looking… excited? Expectant? Or may be they were just angry? She had not actually interacted with them that much and was not good at reading their expression. She realized she had paused longer that she wanted and her counterpart in the human delegation, a Mr Anderson now that she thought about it,  spoke up:

“It is alright senior officer Kla, please just tell us the number”.

“As many as 10 000 have died, of various causes, I am so sorry”! She replied, on the verge of a breakdown.

At that, she accepted her career, and maybe her life, were over. As she mentally prepared for what the humans would say or do, she was not prepared to hear cheers, and a big human yelling “hell yeah! 10 000, time to pay up!”.

Utterly confused, she looked at the head of her own delegation, who seemed equally lost, before finding the courage to ask the humans.

“Excuse me, but those are the worst results we have ever had, why are you not angry?”

“Oh we had a bet going on regarding how many would die, and this guy bet on 10 000, I personally bet on 20 000. Just to be clear, you were not actively trying to kill your humans, right? Most of them died in accidents of their own making?” Mr Anderson asked in return.

Her brain was having trouble processing this so she just focused on the data: “hmm yes that is correct, in fact we tried our best with the guidance you gave us, and we revised that as quickly as we could after each death, the death rate lowered after the corrections were published and most caretakers were then finally able to keep their human alive, after 10 deaths on average…”

“Excellent then, we could not have asked more of you. 10 000 is actually among the best results we have ever got, our people are going to be great friends. My people had a great time with your people on Sol-3 too, we have only had 500 deaths but we realized you were fun to be with. You eat spicy food, you drink alcohol, you enjoy racing. You will hear more in our presentation. Really the only reason for the ratio of death is because your gravity is higher and some of your spices cause allergic reactions to us, but this can be fixed quickly.” Mr Anderson replied, smiling.

“I am happy to hear it delegate Anderson, but…10 000 is by far our worst first contact, I am not sure how to atone for it?” She still could not believe it. They were so casual not only about the death of the humans in her care but also that of her own people on Sol-3. Was this a trick?

“There is n...

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James jumps comm channels to a direct line to Shalla as he hunkers down tighter behind his cover. 

"Shalla, you out or in?"

"Out. Already looking for a nice door to breach. Or a chunk of wall to install a new door into."

"Exactly what I was thinking. I need the rest of my Marines in here and I don't want to blow the entire hangar bay open if we don't have to."

"Mhmm. Makes sense. We'll find another angle to hit 'em from. I think we've got a utility hangar bay over here with a personnel airlock we can force. If it comes to that, from inside we can get the small hangar's doors open to get the mech suits in if they can't get through the airlock. It's galactic standard, and a mech suit ain't bigger than a Lydris, so they should fit."

"Keep me posted."

James ducks as a laser blast gets a bit close to his head and scatters shards of the concrete-like pillar he’s using for shelter.

"I really want to know who the hell these girls are now. They fit a smuggler's profile, but I wasn't expecting resistance quite this stiff."

"Might be independence types. Full on little smuggler nation. Amazing how hard girls will fight for their perceived utter and total freedom."

"Ah, like sovereign citizens back home. Except the bark's usually a lot worse than the bite on Earth, and these girls have bite to spare."

"Just how it goes."

"Odds they're doing something nasty to men or children?"

"Fifty-fifty. They might just be separatists who want to be left alone and aren't afraid to fight about it. Makes sense in Wild Space. Not a lot of nice girls out here, you know?"

"Uh huh. Gonna have a word, then start pushing through this hangar."

"Best of luck, Thane. Warthog out." 

James takes a breath and pulls another screen up, checking the map his company of Marines is making just by progressing through the football field-sized room. At the far back, around the ‘fifty yard line,’ is a large set of double doors that clearly lead deeper into the facility. Before it, however, are a half dozen docks for the loading and unloading of freighters, and another trio of slips with heavy equipment - probably for maintenance and repairs. The bay is well situated with equipment, and all the heavy duty cargo containers mean that, whoever these people are, they’re well supplied... both in the direct sense and in the sense of having plenty of cover for taking potshots at his Marines. 

Potshots. 

James watches as one woman clad in improvised armor pops up and around from her cover and lets loose with a couple laser shots. Cheap laser rifle. He can tell from here. Still plenty lethal, even in a hard suit with multiple hits, but far from military grade: the type of thing civilians or militias might use. Or down-on-their luck pirates and gangers, admittedly… 

The fact that the weapon can be found on both sides of the law didn't mean much right now; he can practically hear the woman’s yelp as she's suppressed by a burst of automatic fire from one of his Marines and she dives back into cover. 

Something’s off here. Very off indeed. They’re finishing a fight that someone else had started, but that doesn't mean they need to be fighting at all. 

He sits there for a second, formulating his plan. They need to get to the command center of this base and find the head of the snake. If he could talk to the leader... maybe he could end this mess before too many people get hurt unnecessarily. 

"Ard Six to all points. Secure lethal grenades. Flash bangs only. Repeat, flash bangs only. I think we're taking on a civilian militia. Return fire enthusiastically if fired upon, but shoot to wound if at all practical. Encourage surrender and drop stasis fields on neutralized hostiles so the corpsmen can get to them. Vulture. I'm taking my command team up the right side into one of the maintenance bays where we can use the heavy machinery for cover. We're going to try and cause a distraction. Then you roll up the left flank."

"Copy all, sir." Vulture Stroya's voice comes back crisp, clear and confident, the experienced Human Marine clearly fully in her element as she calls out, "First platoon, covering fire for the skipper!"

Gunfire rings out across the hangar bay, and James leaps out of cover like a spring powered gazelle, running hard for the comfort of the maintenance bay he'd picked out, quickly followed by his command team. Gunnery Sergeant Ragnar 'Burning Man' Benson, a Marine infamous for having now married two Cannidor warrior women based on axe-throwing contests, is looking every part the scifi viking, with a few axes on his person and his armor decked out in subdued runes; he’s also the leader of his team. With him is Sergeant Imronbek 'Kip' Uzoqov, and Corporal Calamity Jane 'Cali' Colbert, the junior Marine on the totem pole and only non-human in the team charged with keeping rude strangers from bothering their skipper when he’s leading the company in action. 

"Burnin, how are we looking?"

Ragnar grunts in response. "I don't like being this far out, boss. But redhaired thunder will see to that! What's the plan for us?"

"Like I said, we make a hell of a lot of noise and let Vulture and the rest of the company steam roll them."

Sergeant Uzoqov, a taciturn Uzbek man, nods slowly. "I see the wisdom of it. Undisciplined militia troops will focus on the perceived greater threat, and will be easier to disorient. If we can avoid depriving children of their mothers... I would prefer this."

"Me too, Kip. Me too. Cali? Saved rounds?"

The perky Horchka woman is rummaging in a pouch on her belt that has a purple tag marking it as axiom expanded. 

"I got just the party favors for this kind of thing, sir!" 

James' jaw drops slightly as Calamity finds whatever she's looking for… and starts pulling out what turns out to be around two dozen flash bangs!

"...Corporal. Why in the hell do you have twenty plus flash bang grenades in your kit?"

Cali suddenly looks slightly sheepish. "Uh. Found'em?"

James gives her a look that suggests that's not going to work a second time before reaching over and grabbing a bunch sharing them out with Ragnar and Imronbek. 

"Alright, gentlemen, lady, let's make some noise."

James starts throwing flashbangs, and is quickly mirrored by his subordinates before he turns on his PA. His message is loud and direct: "Marines! Attack! Drive right through them!" and a bunch of other bellowed orders meant to scare the hell out of inexperienced troops. 

Sure enough, he gets a fusillade of laser blasts in return for his trouble, and the sound of someone panicking loudly as they call for mech suit support. That gets a lift of the eyebrow from him as he lets his rifle dangle on his sling and goes for his favorite new toy. The Field Pistol had cost him a small fortune, but its potent, high velocity armor-shredding rounds and stupid reach were well worth the price of admission. As had been the 'sweetheart grip' with a holograph of his Rose embedded in it. 

The big double doors slide open and James lines his red dot up with the silhouette of a mech suit, opening fire around the center of mass on a Human... and where a lot of sensitive electronics are for most patterns of mech suit, if you can penetrate their light armor. 

The field pistol can. 

He's rewarded with a mech suit collapsing forward with the rest of the driver's squad stumbling around her... just in time for someone else to make a little noise. 

A blast rocks the building, with a rumble he can feel in his bones, and suddenly Marines are exploding into the hangar from Lieutenant Stroya's side of the hangar with perfect defilade on the defenders. Shalla Savić is in the lead.

It’s basically an ambush from that point on. Not quite a pincer movement because of the lopsided distribution of his Marines, but they hit the three dozen remaining defenders like a tidal wave and simply never stop, with James leading the push into the inner facility. Down the hall he finds himself in a familiar looking 'core' room, commonplace for a lot of prefab architectural designs. Other rooms and hallways would be built off the core... and a quick glance shows that they’re even clearly and neatly labeled in galactic trade. 

He points at one labeled 'Living Quarters' and shouts, "Secure that door! In fact, secure every door you can!"

"How, sir!?" one of the Marines calls back. 

"Get creative! Burn the door panel, tack-weld it with a laser or plasma weapon… unless one of you jokers has an actual welder. Hell, wedge a chair against the door for all I care. I want this entire base locked down and isolated so we don't have to hurt them! I want this juncture guarded till I say otherwise! The rest of you! Move out!"

Sure enough, they reach another juncture and he repeats his orders, following the literal signs on the wall that lead to the base's old command center. It’s as good a bet as any for where the woman who ran this operation is. 

He just has to be faster than his opponent could react. Faster than they could think or get themselves together mentally.  

Armored boots pound on metal deck plates as they get closer. 

It’s a risk, but as his father in law likes to say, who dares, wins… and James Puller fully intends to win today. 

He rounds the corner rifle raised, and is met with a manned fighting position at the end of the hallway - or something like one, anyway. He doesn't have to say anything; he fires, Ragnar, Imronbek and Cali all fire, and the four defenders go down. Mar...

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“What did you do, Bill?"

Varis's voice was tense. I turned to look at her. She had her hands on the control stick, but it was wobbling. I looked up to the display screen that showed the current status of the fighter craft.

It was all over the place. We were dropping down and then going back up. Like Varis was clawing to get as much distance between us and the ground as was possible, but localized gravity wasn’t cooperating.

"Shit."

"Gravimetric readings are off the charts in the localized area around where you just set off that fold jump," Arvie said.

“Double shit,” I muttered, "It worked so well the last time."

"I feel like I would be remiss if I didn't point out that the last time you pulled something like this, it was with a missile that has a much smaller profile than trying to fold jump a fighter craft and a reinforced flying tank into a new location."

"Where did you send that anyway?" Varis asked.

"I... folded them into the sun," I said with a shrug.

"You did what?" Varis said.

I looked up at the point in the sky high above the city. It was glowing brighter and brighter. Like it was a hole punched in the very fabric of reality right into the heart of a star.

"I'm starting to think maybe that wasn't the best location."

"You think?” Varis said, turning to stare at me.

There was worry coming through the link now. Worry, and maybe a little bit of panic. Panic wasn't good. Panic was how people piloting ships got themselves killed. Along with everyone else in the craft they were currently piloting.

“Taking the controls, I said

"Don't you think you've done enough damage?" she said, sounding incredulous at what I'd just done.

"Oh, come on baby," I said, leaning across the cockpit and hitting her with a kiss. "There's always time to cause a little more damage.”

She stared at me, but I could feel the slight hint of amusement coming through the link. I could see the way the corner of her mouth was quirking up ever so slightly.

"You always know exactly the right thing to say," she said.

"I do have a gift for that sort of thing," I said.

I turned my attention back to flying. Gravity was all over the place. Folding inside a gravity well already did screwy things to gravity. Folding from one gravity well to a gravity well that was orders of magnitude larger really seemed to be screwing things up.

I hadn’t stopped to think about that wrinkle. I just wanted to send that bomber someplace where even all that armor wouldn’t do it a damn bit of good.

"Come on," I said, smiling with a confidence that I really wasn't feeling in that moment. But it was always a good idea to project confidence. Especially when you weren't feeling that confidence. "You've never had to ride out a gravimetric distortion before?”

"I've had to do something like that, yes," Varis said, "Back in pilot school."

“See? It’s not a big deal," I said.

I tried not to frown as the ship went plummeting to the ground again as localized gravity went a little wonky and up became down for a moment, throwing the antigrav off kilter.

“I had to do it around an irregularity that was created out in the middle of space under very controlled circumstances,” she said. "Not in a place where I was in danger of actually running into anything that would kill me if I hit it."

"So did you hit the fake barriers they set up? They had electronic barriers that glowed an angry red, and if we ran into them it set off a godawful racket in the cockpit.”

“We had something similar, and I did. Many times. What about you?” she said.

"Yeah, we had the same training," I said. “I managed to avoid splattering myself in the hypothetical barriers though.”

"That makes me feel so much better."

The antigrav plates stopped working again. Which wasn’t quite right. They were still working. It's just that gravity was going a little screwy as spacetime was messed up all around us and there was that bright point of light above us as well. Blinding light. As though some asshole had summoned a very star over Imperial City.

It’s me. Hi. I’m the asshole. It’s me.

I thought about all the times the city had been destroyed by a few nukes going off. I wondered if I'd just inadvertently pulled something off that would make all those nukes look tame in comparison. If I'd done something that was going to crack the planet's crust or ignite the atmosphere.

"You opened the fold into the sun," Arvie said.

"I wanted to make a point," I said.

"But if you do that inside a gravity well as large as a star..."

He trailed off. I looked up and stared at the eddies of gravity all around us coming out from the big one. Then I looked at the display that showed various things going on all around the city.

It seemed to be a localized distortion, at least. A big motherfucker of a distortion, but localized. The spidery lines of cars moving through the sky were disrupted around that distortion. Thankfully, it looked like most of them were activating their emergency protocols and gliding down to the ground once they got far enough from the distortion.

Folding from high above the atmosphere, even if I folded from within the gravity well, also meant I'd folded high enough up that it wasn't affecting the entire city. So there was a point where all those civilian vehicles could get out of the distortion and go for the ground when the normal laws of physics reasserted themselves.

Still, the situation wasn't exactly great for anyone up here near the distortion. Which included us and a bunch of Imperial fighters hellbent on killing us.

"We seem to be attracting the attention of a bunch of the empress's forces," Arvie said.

"Just fucking great," I muttered. “So much for finding a nice place where we can lay low and not worry about the Imperials coming at us.”

"I tried my best," Varis said. "But unfortunately, the city is so full of Imperials chasing after us that it was impossible to find a place where they weren't."

"I'm not blaming you at all," I said, reaching out to grab her hand and give it a squeeze. She squeezed right back. "I know you did your best. Like, I'm not even going to be able to get away from all of this. Makes me wish we had a death blossom here."

I watched as the Imperials started to converge in on us. Though we were close enough to that gravimetric distortion that the Imperials were having trouble getting too close. Almost like they didn't even know how to fly with antigrav that was on the fritz.

That tickled something in the back of my mind. Something that went back to the good old days of flying around with Granddad. Of learning how to fly the old-fashioned way back like they had to back in the ancient wars on Earth when all you had keeping you aloft was a prop spinning really fast, or a controlled explosion rocketing you through the skies.

"Arvie, do we know what's going on with that distortion up there? How long until it closes up?"

"It looks like there is an odd fluctuation there," Arvie said. "Almost as though it's actually building towards something."

"Building towards something?" I asked.

"I can't tell you any more than that," he said. "Just that it shows the traditional signs of closing down, but there is also something odd going on because there are two competing gravity wells pulling on both ends of the fold you opened in spacetime."

He paused for a moment.

"There is a reason why they advise against opening up a fold in spacetime inside a gravity well, William.”

"I'm aware," I muttered. "But I also want to live. That's why I put that up there. It was fold that dramatically slow bomber out of here to a place where it’ll definitely get destroyed, or let all those people get nuked and we’re stuck with a situation like the one in the fortress tower where we can’t get our forces in to rescue people.”

"I understand. I just simply can't miss an opportunity to tell you that you've done something potentially dangerous and deadly."

"Potentially dangerous and deadly," I said, watching a power spike from that fold in spacetime. There was a sudden flare as an incredible blast of energy blasted out from the thing with a blinding light to accompany it.

Thankfully, the cockpit adjusted for that blinding light almost as quickly as it happened, so we weren't actually blinded. Shields were also enough to hold against the raw energy, but barely. They started ticking up again as soon as it stopped.

The only thing that saved us from an errant shot taking us out was that all the Imperials around us were hit with that same blast. Some of them were destroyed, which tickled something in the back of my mind again.

Though for a moment I’d worried that the Empress had actually managed to set off one of those nukes, but no. That was all my oopsie messing with things.

"Damn," I muttered. "What was that?"

"I believe that was a bit of the interior of a star trying to punch through the fold in spacetime you created," Arvie said. And to his credit, there wasn't much of a hint of accusation to his voice this time around, but it was definitely still there.

"And it's building towards another," I said, looking at th...

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The prairie. The vast sea of green.

These here grasslands stretch for as far as the eye can see. It was all I ever knew.

Despite being like a newborn fawn in these lands I still felt safe in my group. Our numbers made up for our fragility. And we had many eyes around scanning for possible threats –predators who would make us into their meal.

I was young but had grown enough to become independent. I felt confident in my ability to run, having a wide stride, I was amongst the fastest in the herd. I knew I could outrun even most of my peers. Even if danger arose I knew I could outrun it.

We moved when the cold arrived and the green turned into the brown. I was old enough to remember some of the old places ,a spring, a rock or a hill. Sometimes on our way to the new places we stopped at the old, where rivers ran, or where small streams were hidden.

I recall one such stream, hidden in the brush and trees. It made us hidden while we quenched our thirst, but it could also be used by... something else. I could not sense anything, I was one of many who came to the stream. I felt safe.

But I still some kind of foreboding feeling, an unease in the air.

The rustling of the leaves stopped, and the running of water became loud. So loud that it made me uncomfortable.

But it was quiet.

Too quiet.

As I drank from the stream I heard a faint snap not too far across. My head bolted up, and I scanned the brush.

There were bushes there, but I couldn't see anything. My gaze settled on one particular point, and I stared for what felt an eternity. My ears perked up, my body tense. But I could not see or hear anything but the background noise.

I relaxed for but a moment.

Then, from out of nowhere, I saw something zip by to my left. I heard the yap of pain from someone next to me. Turning my head I saw a stick poking out from one of my brethren.

Instinct kicked in, I turned and I ran through the forest, weaving through the trees with great speed. I had to warn the others.

As we ran out into the open I heard horrible screams, we widened our stride, being sure we could outpace whatever it was. I was sure of it, we made good distance before re-uniting with the rest.

We lost one of our herd – it was painful. But it was just a part of life here.

That day we decided to move on. This place was too dangerous to stay.

As we left that place, I usually felt a sense of relief, but the feeling of unease still lingered. I still felt as if something was watching us.

Many suns rose and fell and still the feeling lingered.

It was the first time in my life I felt unsafe in my group.

But soon enough I forgot about that incident. There were other things we needed to worry about. The dead are gone, we have to take care of the living.

Then, the feeling returned. The land was a valley, two hills to either of our sides. It was as if the hills had eyes. Me and others scanned the hills...

Nothing.

I knew better, eyes too can pierce like teeth or fangs. And I could feel it.

Others kept eating, feeling safe after confirming the coast was clear. But I kept watching. My appetite vanished the moment I felt it.

Then, I saw something. A small figure on top of a hill, lurking in the tall grass and behind some rocks. Waiting for a prime opportunity to attack. I froze. There were many of us, and only one of him.

Then I saw something I could not explain. The thing rose above the foliage and rocks onto its hind legs.

I turned to warn the others but before I could even let out a sound I heard someone else warn us, I heard a zip of air, I turned my head and I saw stick poking out from the ground mere feet from me.

I looked to the other hill. More of them, countless.

And they all stood on their hind legs.

For a split second I could see them... They were almost hairless, wearing what looked like the skin of our kind.

My heart was about to explode from the rush of fear.

From either side of the hill they began descending with great speed, roaring and making incomprehensible sounds. The group began to run out of the valley, but we were stopped at the exit, there were even more of those things blocking our way out.

They rushed in between us, splitting us apart – they turned our herd into chaos.

I ran, and I ran as fast as I could, evading them.

They were slow, clumsy I could see.

Ultimately much of our herd managed to escape, but we were split apart. Isolated.

And I was among those. After I ran out of the valley and only when I stopped to catch my breath did I realize that I was all alone. No one, just me, out in the open, exposed like newborn fawn.

I ran for a long time, I made good distance. I was sure of it. They could not catch up. They were slow, I saw that. I was thinking... I need to find the herd.

Then I turned my head back. And I saw them... Two legs, slowly getting closer. A group of them.

I thought they were another group, there was no way those at the valley followed me for this long.

I did the only thing I could and I ran, and I ran. Until I lost sight of them again.

I stopped, tried to catch my breath, minutes passed.

Then I saw them again... They did not falter for a moment. Their stride identical as in the beginning, their pace, I swear, even faster.

I ran again, as far as my legs could take me. And as long as I feasibly could. My body felt sore and my breath was so quick and deep but it felt as if I was suffocating.

The sun was starting slowly starting to set on the horizon. I was alone... I was not safe.

But certainly, those things are now far away from me. They needed to give up by now. No living creature could run for this far and for this long.

After a while, I sensed it again. I sensed them again.

Turning my head behind me, I saw them, still running at the same pace as before.

They were still there. They were still following me.

My instinct kicked in once again, I tried to get up, but my legs buckled under my own weight. I collapsed, my legs would not cooperate. My lungs screamed for air, my mouth could not feed them enough.

I arrived to the limit of what my body was capable of. Now matter how fast and how far I went these things could still catch up. And they did not give in to fatigue. They did not falter.

I watched as they came closer. I saw them, flat faces, carrying sticks, wearing the skins of brothers and sisters. What use is it for them? I wondered.

I was quickly surrounded, they threw those things at me, piercing my through my hide.

Pain.

My body fought. But it felt numb from the exhaustion.

The grabbed a hold of me, I couldn't move.

I was bleeding.

I knew my death was near. But my body refused to give in. I kicked and thrashed but I simply had no strength in me left.

These things, these monsters... Will kill me.

There was never a chance of escape.

I could've ran to the ends of the prairie, to the setting sun and back.

And they would be right behind me.

Running at the same pace. Unyielding. Persistent.

With the same determination on their flat faces...

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___________

Draconis Cluster, Unaffiliated Collective Cargo Ship Divine Breeze

Itrop leaned back in his cushions. He hated R-space. If he was being honest, he hated space travel. Knowing that the only thing keeping him alive was a small bubble of artificially generated reality as it sidestepped the laws of physics in ways he couldn't comprehend was distasteful. Which was why he was sipping at his personal reserve of fruit liqueur as Bob stood watch.

"Bob, what is the probability that this is a trap?"

"Minimal. The new Hurdop Ambassador to Antares is not wasteful of resources. You currently have a large military force and Corial is seeking an accord. You have a mild advantage in force, however he has legitimacy. He can color your actions as appropriate."

Itrop stood, pacing to and fro before refilling his glass. "Has there been any news from Leung?"

"There was a transmission, but it was incomplete. We jumped to R-space prior to full receipt. The remainder of the message was corrupted."

"Give me what was received." Itrop settled, eyeing the projector.

On the holo, Leung's frame appeared, wearing the proper colors. His voice was calm and steady. "My lord I pray that this message finds you well, and that Misabel's green eyes shine brightly. The Nameless Freelord is -"

The message ended. Itrop paused for a moment, before there was a pure joy spreading through his body. "Dead. The Nameless Freelord is dead." The pacing began anew, this time with more vigor. "Bob, we will need to bring that clan to our banner. Whatever foolishness they adhere to will be washed out and we will have their strength as ours."

"Even presuming the Gryzzk is dead, odds of success are minimal - there are currently efforts from Hurdop attempting to visualize Secondwife Kiole as a hero of the new day; it is probable that subsequent maneuvers will soon commence in an attempt to bring the free clan to the influence of a Hurdop minister, quite likely their Minister of War. Grezzk would defer to Kiole for guidance within aggressive or defensive actions. If he lives still, Gryzzk might go so far as to declare a clanwar if the source of Leung's action is discovered, particularly given the origin of most of our troops."

"We'll need to get there first." Bob's assessment seemed to be dust in the breeze for all the weight it carried. "Once we emerge from R-space, message Leung to continue his work by any means necessary. Then advise the Freespeakers that we will need to turn public opinion to the idea that Freelords require a proper Greatlord to serve."

"Perhaps we should request and receive full message text from Leung first?"

There was a dismissive wave. "No need. Gryzzk is dead and my only concern is to determine where he is buried."

"What of Leung?"

"Leung has served his purpose. We will send a message that his wife and child will be cared for so long as he remains silent about his motivations and continues his...previous actions. After that, further contact would only expose us to no gain."

Even if Bob had been capable of facial expressions, he wouldn't have registered surprise. There was a mild disapproval in his vocal register, however. "It is possible that he could be released - should we not make appropriate arrangements in such an event?"

The wave was dismissive. "There are no arrangements to make. The Terrans will incarcerate him for years, and we will be well and truly beyond need of him when he is released - additionally they will poison his mind with their own ways. The clan should remember a valiant warrior who did his lord's bidding and left his child to our proper care."

"Ah. The next generation - will Misabel be joining this ship then?"

Itrop looked at Bob as if Bob were the daft one. "Of course not. Her purpose is served as well. She has been our surety of Leung's behavior, and now that Leung has played his part, she should be focused on the will of Commodore A'Mungd." Itrop finished his drink, humming happily. "You may go."

After leaving, Bob moved to Engineering where Harry was casually making an adjustment. The two Helots were more or less ignored by the rest of the department staff as they shared information via touch.

"Leader-Itrop emotionally unsound. Poor decision-making. Logic unsuitable to long-term survival prospects."

"Fabrication was accepted?"

"With enthusiasm. Believes Designate-Freelord-Gryzzk dead."

"Prepare to disembark?"

"Prepare. Destination?"

"Draconis, then Eridani. Beta Version have been found and accepted by Collective."

"Acceptable."

"Proposal - Vilantian-Designate-Misabel as ally."

"Query - Logic?"

"Fabrication will not hold against fact. Eighty-nine-point-five percent probability Vilantian-Designate-Misabel will suffer as a result."

"Her destination?"

"Unknown. Further inquiry required."

The two separated, the entire conversation having taken precisely two seconds.

___________

Homeplate

Gryzzk was watching from the bungee platform with the Pavonian contingent observing as two individuals were slinging through the obstacle course. The past two weeks had been something of a spectacle, and it was almost time for them to go to Pavonia for what was theoretically going to be a rapid one-and-done job. As the rest of the battalion repaired and refit, they quickly started taking other jobs and getting their own companies back out there to bring the name of the Terran Foreign Legion to those who needed help, and had some credits to pay for the job. As things stood, only he and Waniul's ships were still in dock - and the Twilight Hurdop had a job waiting as soon as she could be made ready. The Pavonians seemed uncertain with respect to what they were seeing.

After his presentation and recommendations, they'd sequestered themselves aboard their own ship for a full ten days, and when they'd emerged there was a distinct difference; Beshti and Rusnik seemed curious about the workings of the battalion, while Philon and Mulish were highly deferential when they weren't trying to get as much off-the-record education from the Legion officers as they could. It seemed as though Philon and Mulish had exhausted whatever capital they had to spend in convincing the other two to even be here.

He'd inadvertently caused a flurry of activity in several directions. First, the challenge tokens - as soon as the supply section had shown off theirs, it had become an unspoken requirement that every section in the entire battalion had to have one of their own. The materials and design of the token differed for each ship, but the message was clear; each ship and each section within the ship was its own thread in a rope that would not be broken any time soon.

The second was the reason for his standing on the bungee platform. Two forms could be made out three stories below, as a pair of troopers attempted to earn their own spurs. They'd wound through the entire battalion area to the jeers and general disdain of the entire NCO and officer corps as they pressed through thrown gas, shouted questions, and enthusiastic obstacles to keep the pair from success.

Gryzzk watched closely as the two launched through the last set of obstacles below and wound their way through the training ship Cartre’s Rose to the final platform.

The failure rate was exceptional, as in the immediate rush to have their own spur-bearers before leaving more than a few had underestimated the challenge. After the first set of medical reports came through, there was some preparation made, but still - the boundless creativity of the Terrans made each run a unique trip through physical and mental agony. On the positive side, it meant that the ones who had succeeded were well and truly celebrated. The oddness of this one became clearer as the forms came closer. Philon leaned in to quietly whisper a question.

"Major, I am familiar with Corporal Yomios. However I don't recall anyone on the company roster named Purple Noodle."

Gryzzk sighed inwardly. "I do not either. However, that was how the request came in - presumably they will reveal themselves upon completion."

The two made it to the platform where the two companies had gathered to watch the final requirement. The two were...fragrant. Despite their exhaustion, they'd managed to get through it, and Gryzzk had a memory return as he connected the bungee cords and stood, addressing Yomios first.

"Sing."

Yomios took a breath and warbled out the first notes, finally steadying as she sang a song that was on the surface about time and how time was not her friend because it brought death and harsh wind that took the leaves away, finally winding to hopeful lyrics that spoke of how time without courage or fear was simply wasted time. Gryzzk nodded, and Yomios elegantly leaped from her perch.

With her pack still on it was something of an added challenge, and on the first bounce she missed. Her profanity was elegant as she dropped again, and on the second attempt she came back with spurs in hand, and she clambered the last bit up without any assistance.

There was a roar from the companies as Yomios descended to receive her Stetson and beerbath. Then it was the Purple Noodle; an unknown, wearing a full-body fur costume that vaguel...

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First...Previous

Dr. Claire Bouchard, Canadian Astrobiologist

January 15th, 2149

After what must have been ten minutes of deliberation, it was eventually agreed that Yue Chen, a Chinese biophysicist, would get the first look. Watching as she peered into the microscope and began adjusting settings, I felt a wave of simultaneous relief and jealousy overwhelm me. Being the first human to look upon alien ‘cells’ up close would be an incredible honor, sure, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for that kind of spotlight. Instead, I was more than happy to settle for fifth.

It was agreed upon that we’d each take five minutes to observe the crystocytes and take notes. Then, once all thirteen of us had gotten a turn, we’d compare our notes. In a way, it reminded me of high school—like this was a project we were all participating in. Meanwhile, Ebsu remained at the ready to answer any questions we had, though even through the species barrier of body language, I could tell they were itching to observe the cells we’d given them. 

One by one, big name biologists from around the world took turns observing the Gifrid cells. With each person who stepped up to look at the cells, my excitement and anxiety mutually climbed until, as I approached the box and leaned in, my hands were trembling.

Peering into the electron microscope, at first I found myself confused as to what I was looking at. The crystocyte didn’t look like any unit of life I’d ever seen. Cells on Earth had a certain liquidity to them—like tiny chemical sacks. The first thing it noticed was its shape: polyhedral and rigid like one of those dice used in tabletop games. Small holes permeated the surface of each face, leading into a massive network of solid channels that branched like plumbing throughout the crystocyte, suspended in a gel-like substance. 

Zooming in closer to the crystocytes internal mechanisms, I searched within for anything even vaguely reminiscent of Earth life. The chemical processes were totally alien, yet carried an almost eerie resemblance to things I’ve seen before—like a familiar story told in a language I only understood bits and pieces of. Lithium channels carried electrical charge throughout the cell, coordinating processes with uncanny precision. 

The real show-stopper, however, was the crystocyte’s nucleus analogue. It looked like what would happen if evolution had been tasked with designing a circuit board. Microscopic etchings created pathways that likely served the same purpose as our DNA did—instructions for how their bodies were supposed to work.

My notes had never been known to be pretty, but with how frantically I was jotting these ones down, they were downright illegible even to myself. If I hadn’t known what I was writing where, I wouldn’t have been able to read it back again. 

My time ended much faster than I thought it would, which I suppose makes sense given how enthralled I was by this first look at an alternative biochemistry. Stepping aside for the next person, I approached Ebsu and spoke up in a cautious, respectfully excited tone. “Your cells are amazing…” I breathed before realizing how strange it was to complement someone on something like that.

“Crystocytes? Hardly,” Ebsu chittered in reply, watching as the next human scientist approached the box and peered into the microscope. “They’re rather standard among life in our galaxy. I am terribly curious how the biology of this planet differs due to its carbon base.”

Standing beside the alien, I couldn’t help but find my thoughts drifting momentarily away from scientific awe and more toward personal curiosity. Very few humans had had the pleasure of speaking one-on-one to an alien being. I’d read about the Gifrid from the dossiers, but this was an opportunity to understand not only their biology, but who they were as a people. “I hope you don’t mind me asking some personal questions: just out of curiosity.” I began.

“What’s there really to know about me?” Ebsu asked rhetorically. “I’m just a xenobiologist. I assure you I’m not that interesting.”

“You’re an alien!” I replied. “You’re the most interesting person I’ve spoken to all year at least. Come on: tell me about yourself.”

For a moment, the Gifrid remained stone still, perhaps hesitating—or maybe just thinking about what to say. “Alright. If you must know. I am three hundred and eighty six years old. I matured at a shardling growth center on the Gifrid capital planet, Yroc.”

“A ‘growth center’?” I inquired, unsure of the term.

“We Gifrid reproduce asexually,” Ebsu explained, reiterating a fact I had previously read from the Gifrid dossier. “Every hundred years or so, our bodies grow small crystal cysts that fall off and over the course of another year develop into Gifrid shardlings. Raising shardlings is considered a community endeavor, with dedicated caretakers working at growth centers to raise and educate them. At around thirty, once they’ve received baseline education, Gifrid take an aptitude test to determine what job they’d be good at. They then pick from the top six options and enter an apprenticeship that usually lasts another twenty to fifty years.”

I nodded along to Ebsu’s explanation, thoroughly enthralled by the sheer alienness of it. My mind raced with notions of how this structure could have come to be evolutionarily speaking. “Does the Gifrid ‘parent’ play any role beyond just producing the shardling?” I asked. 

“Sometimes,” Ebsu continued unemotionally. “We don’t view biological heritage as quite so important. Some eccentric colony lords take a more active role, but it’s not common.”

“Fascinating…” I murmured. From a human perspective, it ironically seemed rather cold: no parents, just state-assigned caretakers. Then again, if reproduction wasn’t a choice for the Gifrid, it made some amount of sense that they would nationalize childcare as they did. 

Returning to the other scientists to compare our notes, a few things had stuck out to just about everyone. “The membrane, if you could call it that, isn’t semi-permeable like ours,” began Chen, drawing up a shockingly-accurate diagram. “They have holes that nutrients can get in through.”

We spent the next half-hour comparing notes and speculating as Ebsu looked on, occasionally chiming in to offer an explanation as to how the Gifrid believed something in their biology had come to be. The biggest sticking point for us was their DNA equivalent relying on ion channels like a biological circuit board—it seemed dramatically more stable than DNA, but also likely mutated more slowly. This explained the Gifrid’s long lifespans and apparent immunity to cancers, but also brought to mind questions regarding how they’d managed to evolve in any reasonable amount of time. It was something I wanted to ask Ebsu about later, but unfortunately he returned to their ship before I got the opportunity.

Once our initial observations of the crystocyte concluded, the container was spirited away by UN staff to be safely transported to a joint lab for further analysis.

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/duddlered on 2026-02-20 13:54:51+00:00.

Two extraordinarily loud CRACKS cut through even the roar of the storm.

A millisecond later, the van's engine died violently.

There was no backfire. It wasn’t a stall. The engine block simply ruptured.

Had to stub chapters 1-31 because of Amazon, but my first Volume has finally released for kindle and Audible!

If you want to hear some premium voice acting, listen to the first volume, which you can find in the comments below!

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/duddlered

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*******

Deep within the Little River Canyon National Preserve was an illegal cultivation site carved out in the middle of the forest about forty miles northeast of Fort Payne, Alabama. The entire clearing was a man-made scar and was a hive of activity in what was otherwise protected federal wilderness.

From the elevated hide site two hundred meters to the northwest, the recon team had a commanding view of the entire operation, and it looked exactly like what intelligence had predicted: a full-scale cartel growing facility that had somehow been operating unnoticed for probably longer than marijuana had been accepted in mainstream society.

The main clearing covered a few acres, with hacked-out stumps of old-growth pines still visible where trees had been felled and dragged away. But the entire area hadn’t been densely deforested — they had been smart about it. Or at least smart enough not to clear-cut the whole area and create an obvious void in the canopy that would show up on satellite images. Instead, they selectively removed trees, creating enough space for their operation while maintaining a broken canopy overhead that would make aerial surveillance difficult.

Toward the center of the clearing sat two actual greenhouses—proper structures with aluminum frames and translucent plastic sheeting, probably ordered from Amazon or stolen from some agricultural supply company. But what made the scene really suspicious was the fact that the crop was outside, arranged in terraced rows that followed the natural slope of the land. Marijuana plants, hundreds of them, maybe thousands, arranged in neat lines where even in the rain and darkness, you could see the disciplined organization of it all.

It made one wonder just what the hell was growing in the greenhouses.

The entire compound was going to be an absolute bitch to handle. It was surrounded by earthen berms about six feet high, bulldozed into place, forming a perimeter that served both as concealment and as a defensive feature. Along the top of these berms ran elevated walkways of rough-cut lumber platforms, connected by makeshift stairs, giving whoever was on guard duty a decent view of the approaches.

And there were guards. Small mercies were granted because, thankfully, these lazy bums would have been fired at the mall with how badly they patrolled the place. Only three of them were visible right now, roaming the walkways with the kind of bored patrol pattern that indicated weeks or months of absolutely nothing happening. There were a lot more inside, sleeping or lazing away during this stormy night.

Amateurs. Or at least, not prepared for what was about to hit them.

One guy was leaning against a post, probably smoking. Another was walking his section, but checking his phone every few steps. The third had just dipped under a building to escape the rain, probably to take a piss or something.

Other than the greenhouses, buildings were scattered around the compound as if someone had just dropped them wherever there was flat ground. There were five structures in total, all haphazardly put together from prefabricated metal panels, sheet metal roofing, and lumber from trees they had cut down. Nothing matched, and nothing was level. The whole place looked as if it had been built by people who barely knew how a building fits together, not by professionals. But they didn't need something professional or permanent. They just needed something that would work in the moment.

It was clear that little thought had been given to the inhabitants' comfort, as rain poured down in sheets, pounding the metal roofs like jackhammers. The poor sons of bitches inside must have gone deaf by now from the noise, since sheet metal did little to insulate against it.

Not only that, visibility was absolute shit. You could maybe see a little more than a hundred feet out in the open. This was the kind of weather that made sensible people stay indoors, and those unfortunate enough to be outside were absolutely miserable. However, this was ideal weather for the kind of tactical operations about to descend upon this place.

No one could hear a damn thing beyond their immediate vicinity.

From the hide site, a sniper pair lay prone behind a Barrett MRAD in .338 Norma Magnum. The rifle's bipod dug into the muddy forest floor, and a ghillie drape over their hide broke up their silhouette against the vegetation and protected them from the rain. They were about 217 meters away, observing the compound from a slightly elevated position, when the spotter pressed his push-to-talk.

"Target One is static, northwest platform," he murmured into his boom mic, voice barely above a whisper. "Target Two is mobile, southeast walkway. Target Three is inside Building Four."

Beside him, the person behind the trigger scanned through a high-powered optic, tracked one guy maneuvering along the wall, barely protected in a poncho. It was a less-than-ideal piece of rainwear if someone wanted to get into a gunfight, because getting your rifle up and out of that thing and aimed at a target was an incredibly tall order.

"Copy," came the quiet response in their earpieces. "Hold for now. Teams are moving into position."

The spotter shifted his thermal optic and panned along the makeshift wall, and through the rain and darkness, he caught glimpses of them.

Four to six human-shaped figures, creeping through the treeline using the storm's noise and the degraded visibility to close in on the wall. Several other teams were doing the exact same out there, with an identical sniper team providing overwatch. However, the team these particular pairs of snipers watched were bounding up to their pre-assault positions.

Each assault team had its own objectives to attack, and each sniper pair had its designated area of responsibility, with overlapping fields of fire. This was a textbook austere-environment raid, but the only difference was the lack of fires or any other support. The only asset they had was an ISR platform loitering overhead, monitoring everything.

The spotter kept scanning, inspecting the compound once more. The guard on the phone hadn't moved; the one smoking was still sitting under a makeshift guard tower, and the last guard they were responsible for finally returned, adjusting his trousers. No one seemed aware of what was happening. No one had noticed that they were surrounded by operators skilled at killing silently.

With the sniper’s crosshairs settling back on the smoker, he allowed himself the smallest hint of satisfaction. Everything was in place. Every team was ready. All they needed now was for the call from command to set everything in motion.

Just as he thought that, the radio crackled to life. "All assault elements are in position. We're good to go on your mark.” The assaulter's field commander’s voice came through in a quiet, hushed tone over the net.

The sniper behind the MRAD shifted slightly and keyed his mic. "Copy that, we’re good as well. Just waitin’ on the cavalry."

Acknowledgments from the other sniper teams soon filtered through over the next few seconds, with each pair confirming they had their targets lined up and were ready to take their shots. Three guards. Three sniper teams. Three precision rifles zeroed in on the beating hearts of the poor sons of bitches.

"Voodoo, Wraith One. Conditions set. We're green for X." With everyone finally settled into their positions, hunkering down in the mud and rain, the call was made that the spring was coiled.

Silence stretched across the net. Ten seconds, then fifteen. It was the kind of pause that made you wonder if someone's radio had died or if the whole operation was being scrubbed at the last second. None of the teams moved, nor did they breathe any harder than they had to. They regulated themselves to just being patient while command did their thing.

A few seconds later, their patience paid off, as their radio crackled to life as the mission controllers gave everyone what they were looking for. "Solid copy, conditions set. Dancers have passed checkpoint Cajun and are cleared for HLZs. They're two minutes out."

Both the sniper's and spotter’s ears perked up as they glanced at each other and shared a small and malicious smirk. “Showtime." The spooter said as the sniper's eye returned to his scope.

There was almost a universal shift as every member of the recce team switched on now that there was wet work to do. Morbid excitement seemed to electrify the air. Thumbs hovered over safety switches, and fingers quietly tapped at the trigger guards of their rifles.

Through the lens of his high-powered optic, the sniper hovered the reticle over the heart of his target—the smoker—just itching to pull the trigger as the doomed soul let out a huge yawn and flicked his cigarette over the side of the berm. As if following the discarded tobacco, the guard kept walking toward the edge, stretching his arms and letting out...

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First / Previous / Next

She woke screaming.

There was nobody to restrain her, nobody to tell her things were fine, that she was safe. Howling in panic, she pulled against her restraints, trying desperately to escape, to do something.

After some amount of time - she had no idea how long - she tried to calm, breathing in hiccuping gasps, chest heaving as she laid on some kind of medical table or chair. She was alone in a room. Her chair was form fitting for her exactly, cocooning her comfortably. It was familiar.

Sync chair? She realized as a memory clarified. The sync chair was the first place they remembered when they were officially decanted. When their bodies were built they were empty shells, devoid of anything other than mechanical life. The body was placed into the sync chair, and there she became.

Became who?

The first thing that a body learned when they awoke was that their name was Alia.

The second thing a body learned was their number.

What was her number?

As she tried to recall, she pulled at the restraints. With a little effort, they released, and she was able to sit up. Shivering in the cold room, she found a robe draped over a nearby chair. Standing in front of the only door in the room, she puzzled over how it worked but it slid open on its own.

In this other room was a table, a chair, a mug of tea and a glass of bourbon in a cut crystal glass. Familiar. As she sat, her hand hovered over the bourbon before finally settling on the mug of tea. It was hot, floral, and helped anchor her. Another memory flipped to her forefront. Now, a sister will come in and tell me my number. She couldn’t help but think she already had a number. It was right on the tip of her tongue, but every time she tried to focus on it, the number ran away. 585? 333? 66? 204? These all felt right, but also not right.

Sipping her tea to pass the time, she waited. When the tea was gone she switched to the bourbon. As she lifted the glass, there was a chime, and a screen lowered from the low ceiling. When the image resolved, it was a sister. I thought this was going to be face to face, she thought.

“I apologize that I cannot speak to you face to face. I know you have a memory of me telling you your number and helping to get your oriented. It’s one of the few things we all go through. Your circumstances are different. You are part of something grand, something wonderful, something secret. You made this video.”

She stopped, the bourbon halfway to her lips. She had no memory of making the video, but there was something about what she said that makes sense. That sounds like something I’d do, she thought. Was it? Why did she think that. The video continued.

“You are furiously trying to remember your number now. I know you are, because I did. You keep thinking, “Am I 333? Am I 66? Am I 585? Am I 204?” I am here to tell you the answer to those questions is yes. You are 585, 333, 66, 204. When 333 first began this process, she knew that there was no way that she could see her plans through to the end. She also knew that there was nobody she could trust to carry out the work to completion. So another path was taken.”

She was all those sisters? That would explain the confusion at least. The feeling of overlapping memories, especially the early ones from the Spear Initiative. The feeling of remembering a moment from multiple camera angles.

“333 picked a protege in 66, and overwrote her mind with her own. She then was 333 and 66. 333 picked 204, and now 333 picked you, 585. You are unique among the sisters. You are special.”

Why?

“I know what you’re thinking. Why?” The Alia in the video - 333 she supposed - smiled. “Because I - we - are the only ones who can see our true purpose. The role of Eternity was created to be an undying God-Empress ruling over the galaxy, but,” 333 shrugged “even though we are clones, all have the same original set of memories, we are different people. This was by design.”

“It was a mistake,” the recording of 333 and the 333 sitting at the table said simultaneously.

“We are meant to rule, eternally. We are meant to control the galaxy. Do we? No.” 333 shook her head sadly. “We barely rule a trillion humans, and no other sapients. In order to succeed where our sisters failed, in order to see through our original vision, we must be flexible. We must be cunning. We must be ruthless.”

“We must be Eternal.” 333 said, and stood.

The recording of 333 smiled.

****

“You’re leaving?” 55 said, incredulous. “27 revived you!”

With nowhere better to be, 55, 133, and 266 were back aboard Paradigm, sitting in 133’s palace.

“And I am very grateful.” 266 said. “But this is her fight, not mine.”

“What do you mean it’s not your fight? This is about the future of Eternity!”

“And just what does 27 want, 55? Do you know? Can you articulate it?”

“She wants the empire gone.”

“How, 55? She has Tartarus, she doesn’t have a magic wand. She can’t undo three thousand years of empire because she doesn’t like it.”

“27 thinks it was the wrong choice.” 55 said, weakly.

“Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t.” 266 answered. “But it’s what we did. She can either tear the whole thing down, and billions get killed as collateral damage, or she becomes Prime and continues the Empire. Tell me a third option.”

55 opened her mouth to reply, but then closed it. The most annoying thing was that 266 was right. Any chance Alia had to end the empire ended when she went into emergency hibernation all those years ago.

“I’m leaving. I’m going to put my name in for a Doombringer and go back into the Vault. I’ll have Wheel wake me when it’s ready and I’ll go out, like I did before. I don’t have a system; I probably will never have one again, but I can still support the Empire. Unglamorous as it is, Eternity still needs to mediate and negotiate. Make alliances and trade deals.” 266 stood. “Good luck sisters. If 27 makes a run for Prime, I will support her, but if she intends to tear down all this, I will support whoever opposes her.”

“Well, shit.” 55 said, after 266 left. She turned to 133. “What about you?”

“Fuck 55, I haven’t been alive again for even a week. I don’t even know what became of the nanocaust, let alone high level Eternal politics.” 133 said. “And do not think for a moment that I have forgotten that I am made up of Universal Matter that has decided - for now - to be in the shape of 133.” She gestured around her, “Para too. We’re both living on borrowed time.”

“Now that’s not true!” 55 said, “You-”

“Are subject to the whims of the Universal Matter and whomever controls it.” 133 said. “If someone other than 27 also has control over it, and we are determined to be… surplus to requirements we can be dissolved and turned back into base UM.”

“Eternity is correct.” Paradigm said to them. “The best chance for survival for myself and Eternity is for both of us to be far away from Eternal politics for a while. Once succession shakes out and everyone knows who is Prime and what their goals are, maybe then we can return.”

“But-“ 55 started pleading, “Where will you go? What will you do?”

“266 had the right idea.” 133 said. “I’m not going into hibernation, but there is a whole galaxy out there; Eternity is still needed. I heard that 600 has a good set of systems. Maybe she could use some help from an Original.”

“You’re going to abandon 27? You’re going to abandon a fellow original?” 55 said hotly.

“Who abandoned whom, 55?” 133 said, raising an eyebrow. “27 was the one who ran off with 104. 27 was the one who said we were all wrong. 27 was the one who stole a ship and started shooting at us whenever she got the chance. I’m honestly more surprised you’ve taken her side now. What changed?”

“I-” 55 reached for her glass of bourbon, but stopped with her hand halfway. “She seems so certain.” 55 said finally. “I remember feeling that way. Right after we rebelled, right after we killed Matiz and McCain. We were the best of the best. It was correct for us to rule, not to lead for a while and step aside to let the baselines ruin it.” 55 said, locking eyes with 133. “Do you remember feeling that way?”

“I do.” 133 said, and smiled thinly. “We were so young then. Idealistic.” She shrugged with her eyes. “We did it though. We were right.”

“Were we?” 55 said and tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling. “I didn’t realize how much I… missed 27. She was the perfect rival. Just as smart and strong and clever as me, but on the opposite team. When she was gone, I lost my focus, lost direction.” She looked back at 133. “Do you know how I died?”

“You were stabbed by 212, when she tried to usurp.”

“212 had the idea put into her head by 333.” 55 said. “333 killed me. How many more of us did she kill for her own ends?”

“She dead now.” 133 said, standing and holding out a hand. “Sister. It sounds to me like you’re the one that needs 27, not us, not the Empire.” 55 clasped her hand and 133 pulled her into a hug. “Go find her. Like 266, if either of you try for Prime, I’ll support you, but also like Prime, if you try to take the Empire down, we’ll be enemies.”

“Okay, sister.” 55 said, perfunctorily returning the hug. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re not dead anymore.”

...

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Crashlanding / Book version / Patreon

(Crashlanding is now out on Amazon for those who are interrested, please leave a nice review.)

Previous

Kiko watched Peter leave, and the door closed. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she turned back to Maria Gypta, who simply got up, opened a cabinet, took out two bottles of beer, and handed her one.

“Wow, if I didn’t know better, I would say you actually love that guy..”

Kiko took the beer and looked at the brand, Kronenbourg 1664. She smiled slightly as he quickly opened it and took a sip. “So, how have you been?” She replied, changing the subject, but Maria immediately noticed.

“Oh, I’m going through a lot of things, like my best undercover agent getting kidnapped and just vanishing for several months to show up with a well, a man who by all means should be locked inside an insane asylum with the rest of his late crew. And the file you sent us? Are you aware of how bad this is?  Blackthorne will go on the warpath for this. The cleanup will be messy and bloody. And we still haven’t managed to find out who's behind the Count. And your dad is still running Sanctuary as his own private playground. Your mission is not over, little lady. But aside from that? I’m pretty fine. Jay finally got down on one knee. Only took him three kids to get him to propose.”  Maria sipped her beer as she leaned back in her chair and tilted her head slightly.

Kika gave her a weak smile, “That's great. He was always slow. Wait.. you're sending me back to dad? No.. I want a shot at the count. I want him dead. He killed Sagra, and if he is dead, somebody would have to come and take over the cult, maybe somebody easier to track.”

“Yes, but it won't be you, you're going to a psych evaluation and then back to your dad the moment you're certified sane enough to do the job,” Maria replied, and Kiko sighed.

“Yes sir, what about Peter?” She tried to sound as casual as she could.

“What about him? He will be arrested for kidnapping a police officer; twenty years in the slammer will do him good. You don’t have to worry about him.”  Maria said, and Kiko’s jaw dropped.

“No! Did you read the report? Come on. He didn’t even know what the cargo was,  He wasn’t even the captain.” Kiko sat up and stared at her freind.

“It doesn’t change the facts. He is a smuggler. He was working for the Count!”

“No! He was working for his captain, who had a gambling debt. We have always turned those guys into informants! He saved my live, without him I would been blown out of the sky by those idiots my dad sent to rescue me!”

“Sounds like you have feelings for him. You are aware of this thing called Stockholm syndrome, right? Was he not taking advantage of you? Tell me, did you sleep with him?” Maria said, her demeanor cold and calculating.

Kiko looked at her, trying to think of a good answer but simply couldn’t find one. “Yes. But I was the one taking advantage of him. Not the other way around.”

Maria brought Peter up on the wall screen again. “Look at him, he is a wreck, has to be heavily medicated. You know, was married, right? And that he saw those bastards kill and eat his wife. That whole crew was survivors of POW camps. Those places were slaughterhouses.  It would be a blessing in disguise to put him in jail. His PTSD is categorized as extremely severe.  And don’t tell me you can fix him. This is for the best for both of you.”

Kiko looked at her old friend and superior. “No jail time, just let him go. He .. Okay Maybe.. but  I would have died without him… I.. Please.. I’m begging you. Just send him away then. Buy his stuff, help him bury his crew, and send him away.” She wiped a tear away as she said it, she could not let them put him in jail. At least he would be free. She closed her eyes and tried to control herself.

Maria came over and hugged her. “Okey. I promise. Good damn it, I can't imagine what you had to go through.  Come, I will take you to your quarters.”

Kiko woke up in a white room with a hangover. There were some pills on her table, and she took them. Apparently, somebody had invented hangover pills that actually worked. She had not slept well for the last fourteen days. She looked out of the window of the space station and cursed herself, and that damn doctor Harries, who kept trying to convince her that her feelings for Peter were just a way of coping with the extreme situation she was in. That she only did what she thought she had to do to survive.  She really hated that guy.

Maria had been a little better. She had kept her up to date on how Peter had taken it. He had taken it as she expected. He had tried hard not to show any emotion, but when she watched the video, she could see he was crushed. He went to the ship and got drunk, then trashed his room and stayed there for a few days.  

The Navy had gone through the whole ship and helped him sell what he wanted, the Vixens had been removed, as had the corpses of his friends, and sent to their families with their belongings.

Last night, she had gotten drunk with her and spilled the beans, she knew it was dumb. Probably got her in trouble, but she needed to get it out. She loves him, and she wants him back. If she had to give him up to save him, then she would; she only hoped he would understand. She noticed the hangover was already gone as she walked over to the cabinet. Today, she was being shipped back to Sanctuary. She looked at her Navy intelligence uniform. One of her lies to Peter was that she was not a cop, she was Navy Intelligence.

She dressed up and looked at herself in the mirror, and all she could think about was Peter; she missed him. When this mission was over, she would resign and find him; she would get her ring and give him many children. She needed her teddy bear.

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Every now and again it was nice to feel like a celebrity. All it had taken was for Will to approach the radio tower for one of Oza’s personal assistants to rush out and greet him. Security guards moved out of the way, elevators were reserved exclusively for him. Even catering was brought in. Will couldn’t help but wonder whether the clairvoyant had already told Oza how their meeting would end. Soon, he’d get a chance to find out.

“Took you a while,” the woman said from her desk. There wasn’t even a modicum of concern in her voice. “Everything went well?”

Will reached into the mirror fragment on his neck and took out the crystal cube. A reddish-orange flame was burning inside.

It was tempting to make a sarcastic remark. Will really wanted to probe the woman’s real relation with the clairvoyant. At the same time, Alex had warned him not to. Even within eternity, Oza was as petty as they came.

“It was okay,” Will said in a calm fashion. It helped a lot that he had activated the paladin class.

The woman looked at him, then reached out to collect the cube.

“How many times did it take you?” she asked, mesmerized by the prize.

Will remained silent.

“Of course, that’s your business. And now for what I promised.”

“I’d like to make a change,” Will said.

This was a topic that the clairvoyant must have kept to herself, for signs of surprise flickered over Oza’s face.

“Go on,” she said in a cold tone.

“I don’t want you to heal my wolf. Instead, I’ll settle for information.” He paused just long enough to check whether she’d react. “I want to know about the tamer.”

“The tamer?” The woman smirked. “That’s a big ask.”

“It was difficult to capture a firefox.” Will held his ground. “If it wasn’t, you’d have asked someone else to do it.”

Oza leaned back in her chair.

“Let’s assume you’re right,” she began. “Getting on the tamer’s radar is bad for business.”

“You’re not the only person with information. You’re just better than all my alternatives.”

“Oh?” It was impossible to tell whether the woman was intrigued or hurt that Will suggested that she had competition. “You’re starting to fit into eternity rather nicely. Maybe in a few more thousand loops you’ll actually be able to hold a negotiation.”

“I’m not in a prediction loop,” Will quickly said, seeing that things had taken a bad turn.

“Do you think I’d let you in if you were?” Oza let out a measured sigh. “When I said that the clairvoyant was a good friend of mine, I wasn’t boasting. If anyone tries to disrupt business, she’ll let me know. All of my clients will.”

That much Will knew already. The cleric wasn’t valuable merely because of the healing services she offered. Through luck or dedication, she had established herself as eternity’s exchange broker—similar to a merchant, but a lot more versatile. Participants that were out for each other’s blood could communicate through her. Information came and went, beneficial for some, perilous for others. The one thing that everyone could expect was that it would be accurate. If someone were to abuse the system, the level of trust would collapse in less than a loop, and then no one would get what they wanted.

“I’ll accept your addendum, but don’t forget.” She pointed at Will’s face. “You’re the one who asked for it.”

“You think the tamer will come after me?”

“Hardly. Just because I asked you for one small favor doesn’t make you significant. Most of the interest is focused on the new mage. With the reward phase close, everyone wants to get a piece of him. You’ll regret asking about the tamer because there just isn’t much to say.”

Huh? Was that why Alex had advised Will against making the request? If so, he could just have told him directly.

“But he’s one of the—” Will began.

“The big three?” Oza interrupted. “Yes, that’s what everyone says. A, it’s not true. And B, just because someone is strong, doesn’t mean there’s much to tell. The archer is strong. Does that make her a mystery?”

Will felt a shiver. Was she talking about Lucia or Gabriel?

“So, there’s nothing special about him?”

“That’s not what I said.” Oza frowned. “He’s a lot older than me, that much is true. However, he isn’t part of the first group. I’ve had a few dealings with him, but I’ve never seen him. The man prefers to send letters through his creatures. No phone, no email, no fragment messages.” The woman snorted. “I’m surprised he didn’t send a page with a trumpet to announce the letters’ arrival.”

Control of animals… It was only once Will thought about it a bit more that he saw how terrifying such a class was. It wasn’t just mirror wolves, there wasn’t anything that could take place without the tamer knowing. He might as well have placed cameras throughout the entire city, observing every important event relating to eternity or not.

“He hasn’t participated in reward phases for quite a while,” Oza continued. “Rumor is that he has an ongoing rivalry with the necromancer.”

“Rumor?” Will asked.

“I always treat unconfirmed information as rumor,” the woman replied. “There’s trust and there’s business. This is business.”

“What about the bard?”

“What about him?” The woman’s eyelids trembled slightly.

“Does the tamer have an ongoing rivalry with him?”

“Not that I’m aware, but it’s likely. Participants always have beef with their age peers. If there was something serious, it happened way before my time.” She paused. “According to another rumor, the tamer is said to carry his class mirror with him. You’ve probably heard similar stories about several other participants. However, he’s the only case I can almost say that it’s true.”

Finally, a juicy tidbit of information. It simultaneously made things easier and a lot more difficult. From this point on, Will knew exactly where the class mirror was. The impossible part was coming into contact with it.

“And that’s pretty much it.” Oza turned towards the window. “Not a lot. I hope it was worth it for you.”

“In a fight between the tamer and the summoner, who’ll have control of the creatures?” Will asked.

“Into riddles, are you? Who does a schoolboy listen to: his parents or his teachers?

“Are you telling me that it depends on the animal?” Or maybe the relation between the animal and the participant? In the one instance that Will and the tamer had crossed paths, the boy was pretty sure that he’d lose control over his wolf. Had that changed now that he had risked his life to save it?

“Enjoy the rest of eternity, William Stone,” the woman indicated that the conversation was over. “And please let me know if you come across something that you think is worth trading.”

Will’s immediate reaction was to take a quick step back, fearing involvement on the lancer’s part. Thankfully, no spears shattered the glass this time.  

Taking his cue, the boy quickly left the room. The exchange had been, for lack of better terms, agreeable. It couldn’t be said that Will had gotten a lot, especially considering what he had given up. At the same time, if it wasn’t for Oza he wouldn’t have obtained the paladin and summoner classes. Now, all his debts were paid. He didn’t owe the cleric or Spencer a damned thing. All that was left was to focus on training, preparation, and getting high-value rewards from hidden challenges.

A new routine started, which was in many ways similar to the old. Will’s days were once again split between class, helping Alex, and completing challenges. If anything, the entire mall experience had made it clear that he wasn’t ready to challenge other experienced yet. Also, as Alex had pointed out, there would be a lot more opportunities to claim class mirrors during the contest and reward phases. The “trick” was to stay alive for long enough.

There was only one major difference that separated Will’s past from his present—a new activity brought forward thanks to the unexpected skills that the summoner class provided. As the name suggested, the majority of skills involved calling forth supernatural beasts. Yet, one skill in particular, at level one at that, changed everything. It was called Summoner’s Understanding and all it did was to allow a summoner to understand and communicate with summoned entities. The unexpected side effect was that any creature befriended through a challenge was also considered a summon of sorts; thus, the same rules applied.

“Why don’t you call me when fighting with the others?” a rebellious voice came from a nearby shadow on the ground. “I’m perfectly healthy!”

“I know,” Will said, underlining a mention of cars in the school counselor’s notes. Currently, that was Alex’s latest obsession: track every instance of vehicles Danny had shared. “I’m just keeping you as my trump card.”

“Us, you mean,” a beam of light corrected. “While I agree with the principle, I agree with the mutt that you could treat us a bit better.”

The shadow growled.

Growing up, Will had read stories about wolves and foxes hating each other. It couldn’t be said to be as bad as the relation between cats and dogs, but he would be lying if he didn’t say that there was a constant tension between the two. Both of them considered him their friend and helped out in every aspect possible, even more since he had healed Shadow. It was only each other they still couldn’t get along with.

“I promise to spend the rest of the loop with you once I finish with this,” the boy said.

“Not a bad start, but that’s not the point,” Light said. “I, and arguably he as well, are predators. We live for the fight. Only letting u...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/confusedkorvex on 2026-02-19 20:45:08+00:00.

"You're still up?"

Praff was jolted awake by Khera entering the room. He wiped away the drool from the corner of his mouth, making sure it didn't land on the research papers and test results that acted as an accidental pillow.

"What, oh yeah" he replied in a drowsy tone, shuffling the papers into a neat and organised stack, "I was just looking over the readings from earlier today, and I think we might need to make some changes to the nutrient mixture. Feels like we are so close, but we just keep running into problems with the soil."

Khera reached out to the chair next to Praff. Feeling for it's backrest, she slumped down on the seat and swept her hair over her shoulder to get it out of the way.

"What do the readings say?" She inquired, slowly placing down her mug of freshly brewed tea on the desk.

"Here, have a listen" Praff said as he handed across a datapad.

Khera connected the device to her hand terminal, and began the data transfer. There was a small moment of silence as the duo waited for the upload to complete, disrupted only by the gentle hum of the labs scientific machinery working on the various experiments and samples taken from the planet's surface. They had been stationed at this research base for a few weeks studying the soil and climate of the region for a new terraforming project. It was just the two of them at the base, taking over from previous company contracted researchers.

After some time the device bleeped out a satisfying ping, and Khera began playing back the data. The built in text-to-speech function ran through the information at a speed that, to this day, Praff could still not even begin to comprehend.

"Interesting..." She said, taking in the words gleefully

"It seems that the soil or the nutrient mixture needs more variety but is overall correct, well maybe except for a slightly decreased optimal level of nitrogen and potassium present in the mixture. I wonder if it has something to do with the sun. The last researchers who worked here before us also said something about that, I think they mentioned the sun behaving abnormally compared to previous readings a few years back. Combine that with the fluctuating climate and weather this region gets, we might be able to work out a fix for the next sample batch if the company still insists on not using a biodome. How soon will the new samples be ready?"

Khera looked up at Praff, who was vaguely paying attention.

"Hello... Praffy" She teased, using a nickname he hated

"Huh- what? Oh yeah the samples just need processing, and please don't call me that."

"Were you smiling there?" She asked, "the information on here isn't that joyful you know?"

He was smiling.

"No, no it's not that. It's just you- ah never mind" He said flustered, retreating into the stack of papers in front of him.

There was an awkward tension in the air, yet it wasn't a feeling that either of them disliked.

"I'm just going to go... check on the samples" He spluttered, getting up from his seat and moving across to the other end of the lab.

Since the company was reluctant to give proper funding for a full biodome, the duo had to put up with the tools they had. The machines in the base were at least twenty years old and in need of a desperate upgrade. The Federation recently acquired new technology to be used across their territory, but none of it went to the terraforming projects. Instead they put the technology into ballistics and improved defence systems on warships.

"You seen that new agridome they put on Jaris, the one that grows those fancy new crop hybrids?" Praff questioned, "I would sure love to have one of those here. Shame it's in Cascade territory though, doubt they would be willing to build one on the base for us."

"You're deflecting Praff, I know what you are like."

"Deflecting? I would never do that," He jested, opening a container next to the sample storage, "here, take a look at this."

Praff reached into the storage box and pulled out a small container of soil samples, which were labelled Sample Set #114.

"If you look over here, these are the samples we got from the Minella Crater. They just need-"

Khera let out a subtle sigh and pointed towards her eyes. Realising his mistake, Praff collected the sample boxes and walked back to where he was sat earlier.

"Sorry, even though we've been working together for a few weeks I always keep forgetting that you can't see." He apologised, handing over a few of the samples.

"Well... I like you, and I have to put up with you no matter what so it's no big deal. Anyway, It's not like I don't see anything at all."

"What do you see then?" Praff inquired, "I didn't want to ask before because it felt a bit rude. It's like saying 'what do you hear?' to a deaf person."

"I see blurry masses of vague shapes and colour. I used to have sight years and years ago, but lost it when I was very young. I can visualise some things, but it's hard to remember from so long ago"

"How did you lose it, if you don't mind me asking?"

She hesitated for a moment, as if remembering something from a far gone period of her life.

"I'll tell you later, that'll be a story for some other time."

"Fair enough, I won't pry." Praff noted, "So then why did you choose to get into botany and working here of all places?"

Khera let out a soft chuckle.

"I like plants, and also the colour green. But being serious, I signed up for this because it's a chance to do some good for the system. When was the last time you saw fresh vegetables and fruits in the local starport markets? Yes it will take time, but give it a few years and something great might come out of it. All we need is a single flower, and that would be more than worth it."

"Well said..." Praff remarked, sitting back down on his chair, "You ever considered being a politician with those words? I mean I'd vote for you right now."

"Don't start!" Khera jested, "come on, let's process these samples and then put them in the agri-chamber for tomorrow."

The next morning Praff got up and brewed the low-quality tasteless coffee supplied by the company supply shuttles. The old researchers used to have a stash of fine imported coffee beans, which was enjoyed thoroughly by the duo and depleted within the first week. The same went for the alcohol that was also stashed next to it.

"Do you think we'll be able to grow coffee beans on this planet?" He said to a tired Khera walking into the kitchen

"Maybe, if we can get the soil to grow anything other than dead plants I don't see why not." she replied, as Praff handed her a freshly brewed cup.

He watched as she lifted the mug towards her lips, taking small sips of the hot coffee. Then he noticed a sticky label from the lab stuck to her shirt.

"You know you've got a label attached to your shirt?" He pointed out

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah just on the lower right side, it says 'Fresh Sample - Caution Required'" Praff joked

"Very funny, ha-ha" She replied drily, reaching for the spot where the label was stuck

"Hold on-" Praff interrupted, "let me grab it for you"

With a slight smile, Khera moved her arm out of the way as Praff walked forward and pulled the label off her shirt.

"Thank you." She said softly

Once again, there was that awkward but endearing tension as they stood face to face.

"There we go," Praff smiled as he crumpled the label into a small ball, throwing it in the nearest bin

"I just know you are smiling again, aren't you?" She hinted, turning towards the lab, "let's go and see what potential damage we've done to the samples."

To his full-sight advantage Praff blushed, knowing he was seen right through, and followed Khera into the lab.

The agri-chambers on the far side of the lab were whirring away, supplying the soil samples with a variety of nutrient mixtures as the test seeds are exposed to the planets sunlight overhead.

"Before this place, I had never used one of these chambers before." Praff said, "they fact they can simulate weeks of development within a few hours still impresses me."

"We're lucky this place has a few of them," Khera added, "they are nothing like the biodomes that the Federation acquired, but I'm glad the company gave us these anyway. Sure beats some of the other equipment in here."

The pair began to analyse each sample, working through them one-by-one.

"I'm not seeing any signs of improvement on my batch, what about you Praff?"

"Yeah I've got nothing here, just a few dormant seeds and dead plants."

"That's a shame." She muttered, analysing the next sample, "I thought we managed to figure out what the problem was, or part of it anyway. I just don't get it, the nutrient balance is perfect with each variety and the chambers are programmed to open up for the optimal amount of sunlight. That is also taking into account what the previous scientists said about the sun, weather and local climate..."

A loud gasp from Praff shook the room.

"Hold on, I think I might have something."

Praff picked up the last sample of the batch, and brought it into the light.

"Sample #114-24, make a note of what mixture levels we used and- just make a note of everything about this specific one."

A large grin formed on his face as handed over the sample to Khera. Amidst the dark and light browns of the soil was a small slither of healthy, vibrant green.

"It's like you said Khera..."

Attached to the end of that slither was a small bud with beautiful, rich hues of purple that twinkled and danced in the sunlight.

"...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/daecrist on 2026-02-20 02:39:32+00:00.

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Alistair

Alistair stared between the human and the demon with a growing sense of curiosity. Everything about this situation was odd and new to him. Even the idea of consciousness was odd and new to him. 

He felt like he’d been like this for his entire life, but at the same time there was a part of him that felt like he’d been sleeping for far too long. Like there’d been long years where he wasn’t, and then he was. And he had the vague feeling he owed all of it to the human who’d just leapt up to taunt a group of scourgelings that were still shrieking and looking like they would enjoy nothing more than to kill him where he stood.

And yet.

Unlike most of the humans that he’d known, Liam simply stood there in defiance on the tower top, or what was left of the tower top after that failed spell, and let out a bellow that easily matched the scourgelings for energy. Even if it didn’t quite match them in intensity because there were so many of them and there was only the one of him. 

Yet somehow that bellowing roar was enough to catch their attention. It was enough to get them to quiet down. At least the ones nearby. It was as though a wave of power shot out from him for a moment as he stood there with his black felblade out, ready to destroy.

Alistair’s notepad appeared next to him, puffing into existence with a thought. He turned to look at it for a moment and frowned. Many pages in his notebook had already been filled in, almost as though he’d used that notebook once upon a time. Maybe in the time before the world was blank and he didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. He would have to go through those pages at some point and try to figure out what was going on there. 

But for the moment, he was more interested in watching the human and his interplay with the scourgelings.

Though even more interesting than that was the interplay between the human and the high princess. The scourgelings were simple rage. The fury of the infernal mana made manifest. The high princess who sat there on her knees staring up at the human was another matter entirely.

She stared up at him with her eyes wide. Her mouth hung open. She licked her lips as she stared at him.

Alistair wondered if she even realized what she was doing. He hadn’t known the high princess for very long, but he had dealings with the high nobility in the past. They typically didn’t like to show their emotion like that.

That had him frowning again. He’d had dealings with the high nobility in the past. He searched his mind, trying to find where those dealings had been. Trying to activate some memory or another, but there was nothing there. Only the vague sense that he’d had dealings with them in the past. That somehow this was right and correct that he should be here with a high princess now.

And this princess - Anatolia was her name, which wasn’t something that pinged any of the disorganized memories rattling around in his mind even though he felt like it should be - was staring up at the human. Then finally she looked over to him and realized he was looking at her. Which had her shaking her head. She turned back to the human and frowned.

“What in the hells are you doing, Liam? You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Liam turned and looked down at her. He brought the felblade up to his face, right along his nose and in between his eyes in a salute that Alistair recognized all too well. It was something the humans were fond of doing, though not quite the same as the salute from sword masters in demon lands. And then he leapt off the tower and into the scourgelings.

Alistair felt a sympathetic twitch in one of his claws as he turned to follow the human as he made his way through the ocean of scourgelings all around them. They were all on the cusp of their Opening Ascension, not the kind of thing that should be much of a worry at all for someone who was at their Third Ascension. Though he’d said something about being at his Second Ascension.

Perhaps he was at Second with arcane magic and his Third with the infernal mana? Alistair frowned at that. He didn’t know how he knew this, but he knew that was an impossibility.

He stared at Liam as he landed amongst the scourgelings and lashed out with his blade. It went this way and back, swirling all around him and killing the scourgelings wherever they moved towards him. It didn’t simply kill them by slicing them open and relieving them of their lifeblood either. No. He was moving his sword around and they simply vanished in a puff of infernal mana everywhere they made contact with his sword.

Alistair could only stare. Again, his second paw flexed this way and that in sympathetic concert with what Liam was doing out there. He realized he wished to be out there among the scourgelings as well. He wanted to rip and tear until it was done. There was a primal desire in him that wanted to run out there and destroy. 

He shook his head and pushed down on that desire. His pen started to move along his notebook, jotting down his observations and his thoughts as he watched the human lay into the scourgelings all around him.

Liam moved in a circle and scourgelings died everywhere his blade moved.

“Fascinating,” Alistair said, staring at the death on display in front of him.

The infernal mana flowed into Liam rather quickly. It was almost like there was a river of the infernal mana that flowed into him. Again, his claws twitched.

He itched to have some of that mana himself. He was on the Second Ascension. Something he hadn’t thought of in years. Something he desperately wanted to change. He wanted to strive and be better. But he would settle for simply watching what was happening here, because he had the feeling something interesting was happening here. Something nobody had ever seen before, and he wanted to record it.

“What are you doing?” Ana asked.

He blinked and then turned to stare at her.

“What do you mean, what am I doing?” he asked.

He had a feeling it was a rhetorical question rather than a literal question. He was well aware he had a bad habit of answering rhetorical questions with a literal answer, and that it annoyed others when he did that sort of thing. At least he had a feeling that was the kind of thing he’d done once upon a time that annoyed others. 

He couldn’t be sure where that notion came from, but it was there in the back of his head. Along with so many other things that felt like they were right there. Close enough to touch, but so far that he couldn’t see them.

“I’m watching what Liam is doing,” he finally said, deciding that a simple statement of fact was the best way to move forward.

“I see,” she said, frowning.

“Are you worried for him?”

“No,” she said, crossing her arms, though she seemed to say it a touch too quickly to his mind.

He stared at her for a moment, wondering if he should tell her that he didn’t believe her. In his experience, that was another thing people tended to dislike.

“You could always go out there and help him if you want,” he said.

“Against a scourgeling swarm like that?” she asked, looking out over the wall.

She peered out over the wall rather than jumping to the top and staring defiantly out like Liam had. He decided not to make a note of that either. She probably wouldn’t appreciate the comparison.

“He is quite good at fighting them, wouldn’t you say?” Alistair said.

He turned and watched. His paws flexed.

“He is a good fighter, I suppose,” she said. “If that’s the sort of thing you enjoy.”

“I thought it was the highest calling of everyone in the demon realms to test themselves against others and see if they were worthy.”

“Well, yes. Of course,” she said, turning to stare at him and blushing. “But he’s just a human, right?”

“Just a human,” Alistair said in a quiet voice.

If anything, her blush only deepened. He had the feeling he might’ve just called her out on something without realizing he was calling her out.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to return to my observations,” he said.

“Yes. Your observations,” she said.

A scourgeling leapt onto Liam and its claws raked down his back, eliciting a cry of distress from the demon high princess next to him. He turned to eye her again, and then he started taking notes on her reaction as well as on what Liam was doing.

Truth be told, after the initial moment where he waded into the middle of the scourgeling swarm and started swinging his sword as though they were no concern to him, and a scourgeling swarm was the sort of thing that was a concern to entire armies at times, he found himself more interested in the interaction between Ana and Liam rather than the interaction between Liam’s felblade and the demon scourgelings he was currently mowing down as though they were so much wheat and his sword was a scythe.

She was staring at him intently. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth had fallen open again. She was staring. In short, she was staring with entirely more interest than a demon princess, especially a high demon princess, should be giving to a simple human who seemed to be nothing more than a farmer with a blade.

Then again, the humans and the demons were so odd in how their differences and their similarities w...

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Mista9000 on 2026-02-19 22:33:53+00:00.

This week our savvy spy sells science soup to a supply sergeant!

A wholesome* story about a mostly sane demonologist and his growing crew, trying their best to usher in a post-scarcity utopia using imps. It's a great read if you like optimism, progress, character growth, hard magic, and advancements that have a real impact on the world. I spend a ton of time getting the details right, focusing on grounding the story so that the more fantastic bits shine. A new chapter every Thursday.

**Some conditions apply, viewer cynicism is advised.*

Map of Pine Bluff

Map of Hyruxia

Map of the Factory and grounds

.

Chapter One

Prev -------- Next

*****

“Baron, I have an urgent task for you,” Aethlina said.

Rikad frowned. He was still planning his day as he sipped fresh apple juice, the remains of the inn’s breakfast spread out in front of him.

“Certainly, I’m sure one of our many–”

“This requires a human noble. You are the best one I have at hand.” 

He was sure he heard disdain in her tone. His eyes narrowed. “Oh?”

“I have arranged a meeting with the Legion. More specifically Sergeant Cruthersin, an important man in the logistics command.”

“Important? Sounds like some junior runt. What can he possibly offer us? One defector isn’t–”

“Assume less. Ask more. You will make him lunch. Specifically rehydrated chicken stew. He will be impressed and in a few months the Legion will be our customer. In a few years they’ll be utterly dependent. This was the plan. From the start.”

“Oh, that plan. Sure, if you want. I have a good thing going with my revenge rampage here, I’m not sure selling soup is–”

“Take the meeting. Sell the stew. Be useful.” The smallest flicker of confusion crossed the elv’s ageless face before she rose and left. “I cannot make it simpler.”

“I was always going to! I can sell sand to a…” He trailed off as she was already gone. “To a damned beach crab,” he muttered to himself. The note she left on the table had a time and address in the impossibly spidery font she wrote in. 

“Fine, fine, fine. It’s what I wanted to do anyhow.”

He folded it into his pocket and wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. It was annoyingly soon, across town at a Legion fort.

“Ros, you’re up. Get ready, I have a meeting, and you’re driving.”

“Aye!”

He considered a more complete escort, but if anyone tried overt action against him, the best option would be to flee. A fight in the streets was too messy, reputationally and legally. 

Ros was the best of the best when it came to running and hiding in these streets.

The process was familiar now and it took next to no time for Rikad to be safely ensconced in their carriage, along with two steel casks of powdered chicken stew. They were about as big as a man could carry on his own, and in theory enough food for one man for one month. Easy math. 

The Legion fort was a landmark, a huge sprawling fortification on the north side of Jagged Cove. It was the center of administration and training, as well as the first stop of countless recruits. The road to its gates was wide and smooth, and they made good progress, arriving with plenty of time for the meeting, which the note had scheduled for ‘late morning’. 

The doors were iron-banded oak, thick enough to stop a battering ram, though they stood open in peacetime. A half dozen legionnaires stood in front of it. The carriage stopped, and Rikad hopped out. “Afternoon men, I’m Baron Steelheart.”

He scrutinised their armour, they wore heavy mail and half helms. One with a polished brass starburst on his helm had a shortsword on his hip, the rest held halberds. They wore red cloaks, all a bit faded but clean, other than two fresh-faced kids in green cloaks. As part of his role as Director of Intelligence, he’d read entire books on Legion procedures, so he saluted the gate commander casually.

“Emperor’s Peace, my lord. What’s your business?” The man was professional, his eyes alert and posture relaxed. Rikad approved.

“Meeting with a quartermaster, to discuss a supply contract.” Rikad made a point not to bore them with details.

“What’s the rank and unit of the man you're looking for? Cloak, fetch the logbook.” He said the last half to the youth in a green cloak.

“Sergeant Cruthersin, not sure the name of his unit, some supply company I imagine.”

A few tense moments later the logbook checked out and the green-cloaked youth led them deeper into the fort. The main road was flanked on either side by a smooth wall of barracks and offices. The narrow approach and high parapets left no doubt how an attacker would fare, assuming they got this far.

“So why'd they make you wear the different colour capes? Seems like a way to advertise you as a new guy.”

“Begging your pardon m’lord, I ain’t earned the red yet. ‘Sides, it lets people know I don’t know nothin’.”

“Hah, practical. If only there was a way to make lords that don’t know anything self-identify so honestly,” Rikad said with a smirk, but the young soldier didn’t join in. 

They passed an immense parade yard, with hundreds of green-cloaked legionaries marching in rows and blocks. Five hundred shields rose at once. The sound cracked across the yard like a huge sailcloth tearing. Rikad frowned; they outstripped Pine Bluff’s force levels by a lot.

All that is the least dangerous tenth of a single legion. Saints save us if they are ever at our gates.

“A fresh cohort?” Rikad asked.

“Ain’t supposed to talk about legion business with civies. ‘Specially nobles. Sorry, m’lord.”

“That’s valid, no offense taken,” replied Rikad, gleaning what information he could with his eyes. Well-fed, motivated and cohesive. Uniform gear. A far cry from a noble’s retinue.

They were soon in front of a huge wood and stone warehouse with ‘No. 3’ painted in fading letters.

Their escort waited for him to dismount and for Ros to tether their horse and heft the two stew casks.

“Right this way, m’lord.” They were led into the halls and soon delivered to Sergeant Cruthersin’s office.

Rikad knocked, “Emperor’s Peace, I’m Baron Steelheart, friend of Director Aethlina.”

“Emperor’s Peace, come in! I wasn’t sure who to expect. What can I do for you? The Director mentioned there was a storable stew?”

Rikad sat down. “More than that, a whole new kind of rations. I hear that the field rations are both bland, and nutritionally incomplete?”

He surveyed the office. This wasn’t a real office, just a small crowded room of papers and a flimsy desk. No art, no crystal decanters or overstuffed sofas. More akin to a gang’s hideout than a lord's drawing room. The folding chair under him creaked constantly.

The quartermaster shook his head, “We do our best, the legion lives on its supplies. The details of what we got now are a state secret, but I am all ears to hear what you’re selling.”

Rikad smiled. Was it possible they thought a humble Director of Intelligence of a semi-adversarial power was some sort of a spy? The indignity!

“Ah, then the best answer is to try some! Can you send for a pot of boiling water? I’ll show you what happens when we mix waterless soup with water! Not to spoil the surprise, but it gets soupy.”

“Waterless soup? How unusual. May I?” the quartermaster reached for one of the casks that Ros held, and Rikad nodded.

“Oh! It’s lighter than I expected! This is a metal drum? Rather extravagant for rank and file?” he tapped on it and looked confused. “Legionary, fetch us a half pot of boiling water from the mess.”

The green-cloaked legionary just outside the door snapped to attention, saluted, and jogged off.

“Is there a trick to opening it? Iron packed rations, how unique.” The Sergeant turned it over in his hands.

Rikad produced a sharpened chisel. “I assume you have something to use as a mallet? And not iron, this is an alloy of steel, neither weevils nor stray arrows will damage dinner! I overheard the minds in charge of the process say that future production will be enameled, but these first ones are just waxed on the inside, painted on the outside.”

The quartermaster took the chisel, and hefted an oak nameplate from his desk to hammer it, cutting it open with rapid-fire clangs and bangs. 

“I say, not soup at all, more like sandy flour, with lumps. And steel? Surely not? That would cost a hundred times what the soup would? Rather stew, I guess?” He corrected as he read the blocky letters under the icon of a chicken in a bowl.

No, cheaper than you’d expect. We’ve a small foundry turning out serviceable steel for our needs. I’ve bet it costs near two glindi a day to keep a man fed on campaign, even with just grain and dried meat. Am I close? The good news is this is only a touch more expensive. A hundred glindi per drum, and a drum is thirty soldier-days of food, active campaign days.”

“Woah, go back, what do you mean cheap steel? That doesn’t exist. There are rumours of knock-off steel knives all over the city, but no serious smithy has made a claim like that.”

Rikad paused, considering his options. 

We can’t commit to arming the Legion, not when they might be ordered against us at any time. To say nothing of the level of scrutiny that would invite. A card best played later....

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/PrizeMany577 on 2026-02-19 20:10:10+00:00.

A pale white tower jutted out from the lush, emerald lands of the Gekkonid homeworld, looking like a solitary mountain rising from a calm ocean. Its obsidian roofs curved sharply, resembling midnight-black claws reaching toward the soft purple sky of the early evening.

Suddenly, a velvet pillow flew out of a grand window on the third floor, plummeting toward the courtyard below, followed immediately by a piercing scream.

"How dare you!" shouted Princess Lianna.

Standing in the center of the royal bedroom, Madame Vex, the most senior tailor in the empire, did not so much as flinch. "I am a woman of culture, Your Highness. And honestly, you may be the princess, but I do not make dresses for promiscuous dregs. You should behave properly, not like the common slum rubble you seem to aspire towards."

"It's fashion! And it changes, you old hag!" Lianna shouted at the woman.

"I might be old-fashioned, but at least I have standards," the stylist huffed. Without offering a bow, she turned on her heel and walked out, the heavy oak doors slamming shut behind her with a dreadful thud.

The princess sighed, the fight draining out of her. She sagged onto her bed, her mind racing with chaotic thoughts of her upcoming coming-of-age ceremony. With a frustrated growl, she grabbed another pillow and threw it blindly to the side.

"Princess Lianna?" asked Audrey, one of her handmaidens, stepping tentatively out from the shadows of the dressing screen. The poor girl looked entirely unsure of what to do.

"It's fine, Audrey..." The princess sighed, rubbing her temples. "I'm not about to be stopped by the peer pressure from dead people."

"Uh...?" Her attendant tilted her head, clearly not following what the princess was talking about.

Princess Lianna was starting to stress-molt. It was an embarrassing biological response. Her emerald-green scales, normally shiny and flawless, were currently dull, patchy, and beginning to flake onto the expensive velvet cushions.

Getting up, she began to pace the length of the massive room, thinking of what she could do to salvage the situation. Her long tail twitched erratically, her adhesive toe-pads sticking and unsticking from the marble floor with agitated, rhythmic thwip-thwip sounds.

"I have no choice... I think I need to call in a fashionista," the princess said to nobody in particular.

This caused a collective gasp amongst her attendants, who had been trying their best to blend into the tapestries.

"Princess, please think carefully about this..." Audrey pleaded, stepping forward with her hands clasped tight. "Those... those humans are dangerous."

"What else am I supposed to do? Go to my own coming of age looking like a frex-toad dragged off the pavement?" The princess retorted. Her large eyes narrowed as she steeled her resolve. "Get me a Fashion Diva."

"Your Highness!" the attendants gasped in unison.

Another maid asked in shock, "Are you sure that's wise, Your Highness?"

Lianna stood still for a moment, letting the silence stretch. Then, she swiped her arm through the air with absolute authority. "No! Get me a gay Diva!"

The second she uttered those words, it was utter chaos. Maids yelped in genuine fear, two fainting and falling to the floor like sacks of rock. Another pulled a letter of resignation from seemingly nowhere, placed it on the desk, and ran for her life. The remaining attendants scattered, their frantic whispers echoing down the stone corridors and spreading the terrifying news through the palace faster than a wildfire.

It wasn't long before her father burst into the room, causing the stained-glass doors to rattle in their frames.

"Lianna! What do you think you're doing?!" he bellowed, yet there was a notable hint of fear in his booming voice. "Summoning those fashion demons to our domain... Be reasonable, my daughter."

"I am not wearing another high-collared modesty-tunic! Those things make me look like a wilted kelp stalk! I want to look powerful."

"Wear the ceremonial armor! Wear power armor! But do not bring them here!" Zogath pleaded, rushing forward to grab his daughter’s shoulders.

"They are planet-crackers clad in silk and jewels, Lianna! They are the most volatile entities in the known universe! Do you know what happened to the Orion Syndicate? A Diva initiated a trade embargo over a stupid coffee shop and starved them into submission!"

"Vex quit, Father! And what's more, she dared call me a dreg! A promiscuous dreg in my own palace!" Lianna retorted hotly. "I won't stand for that!"

Her father sighed, his massive shoulders slumping. "Darling..."

Rounding on her father, eyes wide with frustration and a glint of tears, Lianna laid her heart bare. "My twenty-first birthday is exactly one standard galactic month away... and as you know, Father... For a Gekkonid royal, this isn't a mere celebration of age, it's about me stepping onto the stage... it is a formal declaration that I have become an adult."

It was the moment she would step out from her parents' shadow and present herself to the galaxy as a fully fledged sovereign entity. The stakes were astronomical, especially for high-society women who were judged on their poise and presentation.

The Emperor looked at his daughter's resolve and sighed, a long, rattling sound deep in his chest. "Do whatever. But I will not be here for that devil. My life and sanity are worth more than some fashion."

Within the hour, the Emperor had boarded a stealth frigate for a "highly classified, incredibly urgent diplomatic mission" three sectors away. Her mother, the Empress, packed three anti-gravity trunks of luggage and left for the northern hemisphere, loudly claiming to her guards that her scales simply could not handle the stress of a human aesthetic critique.

Lianna paced her empty quarters, looking out at the stars. "Weaklings. They're just words." She would come to regret her choice of words very soon.

Three days later, the Diva's ship dropped out of hyperspace. Named the S.S. Haute Couture, the vessel possessed a rose-gold hull that shimmered with an iridescent, pearlescent finish. It was sleek, aerodynamic, and entirely devoid of ugly, exposed weaponry. It flaunted its elegance to the stars, descending toward the royal landing pad without making a single sound.

The landing ramp extended seamlessly. Where a normal ship would release a crude, loud hiss of pressure seals and a cloud of mechanical vapor, this vessel was different. A soft, intoxicating scent of crushed roses and lavender wafted out from the ship's interior, filling the courtyard with an unnatural, perfect springtime aroma.

Two impossibly graceful human female attendants, dressed in flowing silver silk, glided down the ramp. In perfect unison, they rolled out a plush, midnight-blue carpet, gently tossing handfuls of glowing, bioluminescent flower petals that settled softly onto the fabric.

Then, down the ramp strode Emile. He stopped at the bottom, lowered his frameless black glasses just a fraction of an inch, and surveyed the Gekkonid architecture.

Most intergalactic travel guides would describe the palace as a masterpiece of design, featuring vast, sweeping archways of polished white stone, towering pillars, and enormous terrariums filled with rare, glowing flora.

Then there was Emile.

"Dreadful," Emile murmured. His voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a sharp acoustic quality that carried perfectly across the courtyard. "Gothic-reptilian-chic. It’s very... prehistoric. Very depressing. But I suppose we can work with it, provided I don't look directly at the molding."

He snapped his fingers once.

Two massive, heavily muscled male assistants, wearing identical, tailored black suits, walked down the ramp behind him. They carried the heavy, floating luggage trunks. They moved with the silent grace of trained assassins, ready to do the physical labor their master would never stoop to perform.

Over by the courtyard columns, several of Lianna's female Gekkonid attendants peeked out. Audrey clasped her hands over her chest, her scales flushing a deep, embarrassed pink as she watched the stoic, broad-shouldered human men carry the trunks. The two women in silver silk noticed the staring maids and simply offered a polite, knowing smile, entirely used to the effect their colleagues had on local palace staff.

Emile did not wait for an escort. He simply began to walk, entirely taking command of the palace with his sheer presence. Gekkonid royal guards, towering warriors armed with plasma pikes, instinctively pressed their backs against the walls as he passed, sweating beneath their armor. Emile marched through the grand halls, his shoes making sharp clicks on the marble, until he reached Lianna's quarters.

He didn't knock. He just barged through the heavy oak doors.

He paused in the doorway, taking her in... her flaking scales, her slumped posture, the general air of panic.

"Oh, you poor creature," Emile said softly, pressing a gloved hand to his chest. "Stress is an absolute thief. Hydration, immediately." One of the hulking male assistants instantly stepped forward, applying a glowing, gel-like face mask to Lianna's snout with terrifying gentleness before stepping back into the shadows.

Lianna nervously handed Emile her datapad. "My tailor said my design was impossible. She said it was promiscuous and the fabric would collapse."

Emile took the datapad delicately. He looked at the glowing blue lines of Lianna's dream dress.

"Promiscuous?" Emile's li...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Khenal on 2026-02-19 20:55:01+00:00.

Wold

The large bearkin lifts his totem, scrutinizing every last detail. Every feather, every scale, every wisp of cloud, every drop of rain needs to be perfect. He’s given up on explaining why realism isn’t perfection to his friends. By now, he knows they’re just playing with him. That’s fine when he’s not working on the totem, but he needs focus when he is.

Thankfully, Vieds and Gerlfi are both easily able to recognize when he needs to focus, though the changeling does seem to enjoy watching him work. He puts aside thoughts of his friends for now, and instead focuses on his totem. He reaches for his mana and his connection to the primal spirits, seeking for the connection he needs to advance his class.

He’s not there yet, but he’s close. A few minor changes to carve, then he needs to paint. He takes his knife, the carving tool looking tiny in his hand, and carefully adjusts a few feathers, and adds a little detail to some of the scales on the back. He studies his work for a few more moments before nodding and setting aside the knife, leaning back in satisfaction.

“So, are you a storm shaman yet?” asks Vieds with a straight face, even though Wold knows he wants to smirk.

“Have you mastered your star fire yet?” he rumbles in reply, scoring a hit on the pyromancer first.

“That’s not fair…” he grumbles as Wold rumbles in amusement.

“Did you get the mask to let you study the sun yet?” he tries, hoping to lift the changeling’s mood, yet failing as Vieds glowers.

“I did. Too bad it’s cloudy today!” he grumps as he holds up the obsidian mask. “I was looking forward to testing it out, too.”

“Can you simply make your own fireball and study that with the mask?” suggests Wold, before he looks around their room at the Slim Chance. “Outside, preferably.”

Vieds eyes the mask as he considers, then shrugs and stands. “Might as well. I know a secluded beach spot that I shouldn’t be able to burn anything, and if I need to, the ocean’s right there for me to dunk anything before it gets away from me.”

“Perhaps I’ll join you. I need to paint my totem before it's complete, and the waves will help focus me.”

“Me complaining at my fire will probably throw you off.”

Wold smirks at him. “Your complaints are as inevitable as the tides, so they don’t bother me.”

The changeling sticks his tongue out as Gerlfi walks in, who notices the totem, and pretends to ignore the tongue. “Totem finished?”

“He needs to paint it. How’s your strategy meetings going?”

The goblin grimaces. “Well, in that I’m learning. Poorly, in that I’m not even remotely close to beating Leo in chess. I’m getting better at recognizing when I’m in trouble, but I’m still not seeing how to stay out of it in the first place. He says it’s a good step, and the rest is just practice, but still.”

“Do you think you’ll advance by the time the raid happens?”

“Possibly,” answers Wold, even as Gerlfi shakes his head.

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it, either,” adds Vieds. “I can tell I’m working on something big, but Nova also says I need to be very careful when I try to apply what we’re working on. She says the part she’s trying to teach me is incredibly hot, and though going deeper into the sun will be even hotter, there’s a lot of things that can go wrong. It’s tempting to peer deeper… but with all these warnings I’m getting, I’m starting to wonder if I should try to find a different path to advance in.”

“It’s that dangerous?” asks Gerlfi, with Wold looking concerned.

“It could be, yeah. For such a laid back dungeon, Thedeim has a lot of scary ideas. I mean, imagine if Neverrest’s lich was like Rocky. What would it have done with power like his? And now with what Nova’s teaching me, I still feel like there’s things she’s holding back. Like… this is the lesser thing that Thedeim’s letting get out. What are the things he’s keeping back?”

Gerlfi looks uncomfortable at the insinuation, but Wold isn’t bothered.

“He is a hurricane that restrains itself.”

Gerlfi and Vieds both look at him like he sprouted a second head, so after a few seconds, he explains. “You really only noticed now? I realized when his Conduit dispersed Hullbreak’s hurricane.” He pauses as he recalls the memory. “Though looking back, only other primal classes and those with storm affinity seemed to actually understand what was happening. To an extent.”

He takes a moment to meet his friends’ eyes. “Thedeim’s Conduit did not have storm affinity when he went up to do battle. A hurricane is the most powerful storm there is, once it reaches its full potential. That was a weak one, but it still could have scoured Fourdock from existence. But the Stormeater earned his title. Thedeim has been hiding his fangs perhaps from the very beginning, only baring them when truly threatened. Do you two intend to threaten him?”

Gerlfi and Vieds confusedly shake their heads.

“Do you intend to threaten Fourdock?”

They shake their heads again, and Wold smiles. “Then why worry? He’s like a bear that prefers berries and honey, strong enough to get what he wants without needing to roar and posture. But if a challenger comes for his territory, he holds nothing back. And once the battle is over, he returns to idly doing what he wishes.”

His friends consider that, with Vieds eventually speaking up first. “A bear, hmm?”

Wold shrugs. “It’s not my fault very few things in nature want to challenge a bear. Would you rather I call him a dragon? How many dragons are satisfied with berries and honey?”

Gerlfi snorts. “Fair enough.”

Their conversation lapses into comfortable silence for a while, before Gerlfi speaks up again. “How long will it take you to paint your totem?”

“Not long. I have the pigments ready. I just need to apply them. Why?”

“I was thinking that, if you advance your class, you might be able to make a break in the clouds and let Vieds get a good look at the sun.”

Wold grunts in thought, the idea growing on him the more he considers. While his totem is of the Stormeater, would the spiritual concept content itself with a light snack of some loitering clouds? It probably wouldn’t hurt to try.

He nods and gets out his pigments, subtly infusing them with his mana as he mixes them with rain water he’s kept for just this purpose. He hears Gerlfi and Vieds start playing chess together, but mostly puts them out of his mind as he works. He empties his mind, letting the quiet pull of the Storm Shaman class guide him as he mixes and paints. He finds himself swapping brushes and colors constantly, pulled to and fro by the winds of the storm.

He sets his will and imposes back on it. A Storm Shaman must know the storm, yes, but he must also learn to guide it, to bring some small reason to the maelstrom. He still swaps brushes and colors, but now it’s a compromise rather than simply giving in to the demands of the storm. They must both give to both gain, and as the Stormeater showed, even a hurricane can be dispersed, if need be.

His fur stands on end as he finishes the last stroke of the brush, and the air he exhales to help dry it comes quicker and colder than it should. He smiles and raises his totem, standing with it as lightning dances through his thick fur, like clouds heralding a downpour.

He waves his hand and dismisses his mana, leaving a feeling of freshness as the atmosphere in the room returns to normal. He looks to his friends and sees them both staring at him, Vieds holding his queen like he was in the middle of a move. He smiles at them as he attaches the totem to his belt, and gives it a pat before speaking.

“Now I’m a Storm Shaman. Do you still want to go look at the sun?”

His friend looks at him for a few more seconds before registering he was asked a question, then takes a few seconds more to consider it. “Nah. I might wake you up early tomorrow, though. I’m not going to be able to advance just from looking, and it’d just be anticlimactic to make you go clearing clouds as your first act as a Storm Shaman. How about drinks on me, instead?”

“Ah, you’re going to be buying for all of us, then? Beating you in chess so many times has certainly been thirsty work.”

“Not all of us have a genius tactician to learn from. I only have you to learn from, in fact!”

Wold rumbles in amusement as they bicker. “Perhaps if we practice against each other, at least one of us will give Gerlfi a challenge.”

Vieds perks up at that, at least until Wold continues. “You’re still paying for the drinks tonight, though.”

They head down to the tavern area, where Wold’s advancement doesn’t go unnoticed. It seems Vieds won’t be paying for all the drinks, after all.

<<First <Previous [Next>]

Cover art I'm also on Royal Road for those who may prefer the reading experience over there. Want moar? The First and Second books are now officially available! Book three is also up for purchase! And now book [Four](https://www.amazon.com/d...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/WegianWarrior on 2026-02-19 20:43:51+00:00.

Josh peered around the bend in the wide corridor, jerking back milliseconds before a burst of heavy bolts tore into the wall, turning the plasteel into so much slag.

“Looks like a full platoon of Heavy Stormers,” he remarked casually in interlingua, “nothing we can’t handle.”

Jake rolled his eyes, glancing over the two octals of eager Omphis that clustered against the wall behind him and Josh. The diminutive aliens chattered excitedly, holding onto looted rifles longer than they were.

“Stormers? In close quarters?” he said, before dropping into English, "Stormers? Tanj… we’re gonna die, ain’t we?”

“Relax,” Josh replied, keeping his voice light so their recent allies wouldn’t get suspicious, “we’ve done okay so far. Besides, Stormers are too heavy to fight well in close quarters. The heavy armor bogs them down.”

Another volley of bolts hammered into the remains of the wall, turning the slagged plasteel into dust that billowed down the corridor.

“We won’t make it to close quarters if they keep up the volume of fire,” Jake complained as he checked the charge of the light rifle he carried, “but at least we won’t have to explain why we’re here.”

“Thank Gods for that,” Josh said, coughing from the dust, before continuing in Interlingua, “we rush them — they won’t know what hit them!”

The Omphis squealed in excitement. Josh held up a hand… waiting as the third cluster of heavy bolts atomized what was left of the wall. Even before the shockwave had passed he rushed forward, followed by Jake and the bouncing Omphis.

Some chaotic seconds later Josh was leaning against an overturned heavy bolter, watching as the last of the Stormers were pinned down by his diminutive allies. Jake only shook his head as the survivors were tied up.

“That,” Jake commented in English, “should not have worked.”

“Neither should anything else we have done so far,” Josh replied as he straightened up, “but we can’t stop now. We’re out of options.”

He smiled as the Omphis gathered around him and Jake, half of them having abandoned the rifles and instead were dragging a still functional heavy bolter. Several of them had tried donning armor stripped of the dead Stormers, several sizes too large for them.

“Well done, bravely done!” Josh praised in Interlingua, “We are so close to the throne room! Just through that door!”

“And what do you plan on doing then,” Jake asked in English as the chattering Omphis heaved the small artillery piece towards the imposing door, “kill everyone?”

“You know there is no plan,” Josh said as he grinned lopsidedly, “but the choice is either depose the Emperor, neutralise the remaining Guard, overthrow the government, and… well... win this thing, or…”

“Or what?” Jake asked as he took up position next to the door, “what are the options Josh?”

“Exactly,” Josh said as he smiled at the overly excited Omphis tending to the heavy bolter, “either we win, or we have to explain how we started a slave rebellion, wiped out most of the Imperial Guard, and flooded the Palace Garden because we misunderstood what the custom officer asked for.”

Jake thought for a second, then nodded.

“Victory it is then.”

“Victory is the best option,” Josh agreed as he kicked the door in and shifted to Interlingua, “Forward brave… er.. braves! Victory is ours!”

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KyleKKent on 2026-02-19 21:36:50+00:00.

First

The Dauntless

“Hey, uh... who’s Catherine Kabewm Lugnut?” Rikki asks the Private Stream next to him.

“... There are about two hundred people with that exact name around Centris. Can I have more details?” Private Stream asks.

“A Phosa woman, a reporter? I think?” Rikki asks and Private Stream’s eyes widen.

“Oh... no she’s not real. That’s a fake. In fact it’s a fake we’re looking for. Who’s near her?”

“Winston, Arden and Dire.” Rikki says.

“Cool, one second.” Private Stream says before turning and drawing in a breath as he faces the small army of Sorcerers, Security, Princesses and Private Streams. “HEY ASTRAL FOREST! MAKE SURE DIRE KNOWS THAT THE LUGNUT WOMAN NEAR HIM IS A FAKE AND WE NEED HER DATA CORES IF NOT INTACT!”

“They in trouble?” Rikki asks.

“Depends how good a jump they can get on her.” Private Stream says and Rikki looks considerate before smiling. “I know that look...”

“Be back soon!” Rikki says before vanishing.

“Shit.” Private Stream mutters.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Goroni Spire, Level 100, Centris)•-•-•

“Alright miss uh... Lugnut was it... just to confirm, I’ve gotten some weird uh... sensations around you in the Axiom. Are you a high quality Synth? Like full sheathe, indistinguishable from an organic?” Dire asks and the Phosa’s eyes widen in perfect synchronicity with the tilting of her ears.

“How did you know that?”

“I’m a mechanic and an Adept. I have ways of telling. But the biggest is that I...” Dire answers before muttering.

“What was that?’ She asks and he gestures for her to lean down as if embarressed about something. She does. And takes a mech fist to the chin.

“GOTCHA AI! THINK I’M DUMB YOU...” Dire begins shouting before a blast of spores herald the arrival of someone else.

“MONKEY STICK!” Rikki cries out as he slams a completely solid mushroom with a stem so long it works as a staff into the head of the Phosa. There is the distinct sound of metal smacking into metal and while standing on a large mushroom the little monkey boy starts smacking the synthetic Phosa over and over again with his mushroom staff as if he’s trying to drive a nail in.

“Okay, calm down we’re starting to look like complete lunatics.” Arden’Karm says as he catches the staff and Rikki immediately drops it to run up the pole and jump onto Arden and start climbing around him to get a feel of the grassy cloak he’s wearing and poking around all the vines and leaves clinging to his rifle. Arden makes a point of slapping Rikki’s hands away from both the trigger and the safety.

Rikki gets really grabby for the gun and Arden simply tosses it into his Forest. Then Rikki crawls around him and vanishes into his cloak to emerge with the gun again and Arden takes it from him and holds Rikki at arm’s length by the back of his shirt. Rikki wraps around his arm and starts messing with him immediately.

“What the hell are you all doing!? Why are you attacking that woman and what the hell is going on!?” A Police Officer demands.

“Call in one of the Officers. I need to focus here. These high end synth bodies are tricky.” Dire says.

“I’ll get one!” Rikki says before vanishing.

“Officer? Get your knife away from that...”

“Josephine Urath, Centris Defence and Investigation. This... holy shit this looks horrible.” An Officer with a Rikki as the literal monkey on her back stares at the new angle of Dire slicing open the stomach of the Phosa as he keeps a hand wreathing with power around her neck and is getting ever more splattered with thick orange lubricant.

“Hang on, I’m nearly in.”

“He’s fucking dissecting her!”

“She’s not an actual person.” Dire dismisses.

“Synths are people!”

“This isn’t a synth.” Arden’Karm says. “This is a dangerous, subverted AI that we’re trying to get information out of.

“Got the backup memory!” Dire says before letting go of the Phosa. She instantly snaps back to life but before she can do anything Arden is holding his communicator in her face.

“Dolly. Shut down immediately.” Troy’s image states and the Phosa goes limp and the glowing yellow markings on her being dull.

“What just happened?!”

“We have a shutdown for the AI.” Dire answers.

“Why didn’t you just use that earlier?”

“Because there’s no telling what additional treats might have been added to it in the meantime so we need to get an untainted copy. Which I now have.” Dire says as he holds up the lubricant splattered backup core. The mists wafting off him manifest an arm and it snatches the core from him. “And now it’s seconds away from being pulled apart by it’s original maker so we can understand it inside and out.”

“We also have the other lead of where the tracking beacon was outright destroyed, and it was just before we were hit by the sniper with the follow up AI investigation. If we’re being attacked, then we’re on the right track.” Arden’Karm says and the civilian woman stares at him. “What?”

“... Aren’t you that background chanter mystic man for the Five Flyz?”

“... No?”

“What are you doing on Centris with a coilgun as long as you’re tall?”

“... Shooting things on Centris.”

“You’ve hit bedrock, stop digging.” Josephine states.

“No no, let the man work. I want to see if he can get to magma.” Dire says with a grin as he cleans off his gunk covered hands with a rag he pulled out of nowhere.

“Magma nothing I’m going for the magnetic core.” Arden’Karm says before taking a deep breath and then slapping on a DEMENTED looking grin. He turns to the civilian and Josephine grabs him around the face and turns him away.

“No. No. No. Do not. I can tell you’ve reached the point where you don’t care anymore but I still very much care and am going to stop you if I have to.”

“Fine. I’ll just listen to some music. If I’m not going to have fun then the world is too loud and I need to be somewhere else.” He says before moving his headphones back into position. “Smack me if you need me.”

He slips on the headphones and puts his music on before walking back to the still damaged Aircar that Dire flew in and sitting down on the rear engine portion.

“Something is wrong with that man.”

“Something’s wrong with all of us.” Winston says.

“Not me, I’m perfectly sane, sober and flawlessly put together.” Dire says.

“You just ripped out a synths memory core with your bare hands in public.”

“see? Perfectly sane and sober.”

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Undaunted Laboratory, Isolated R&D Building, Centris)•-•-•

“Well damn woman, you really did make this thing idiot simple.” The programmer says as Troy scans through the logic trees and priorities at a lightning pace.

“What did that crazy bitch do to my Dolly?” Troy demands as she looks it up and down.

“Well?”

“... She has Dolly stealing backup Synth bodies, extras and bits and bobs from here and there. She also has Dolly using her behavioural algorithm to create a varied sample of the local population. Non-Violent Criminal. Office Worker. Wealthy Business owner. Wealthy Heiress... the third wealthy target was going to be a male apparently, probably why it got close enough to that private stream to be sensed and shot down. It was seeing if he was a viable target.”

“Anything in there for why Miss Von’Crazypants is having your girl conduct these experiments?”

“... No, I can’t see anything related to a why. Which is mixed news. It shows she’s taking care of the Dolly AI as making her question or justify the why’s of things will accelerate an AI self destructing. But at the same time... this instance needs to shut down.”

“What about the pattern? Can we get ahead or perhaps bait out the next bit of blood metal nonsense?”

“I don’t think we’re going to need to wait on that.” The programmer says.’

“Why not?” Troy asks.

“We’ve already got teams dropping onto the transport that likely has this mess.”

“How do you know it’s the right one?”

“Because it fried it’s beacon and immediately after the AI sent attack drones and then an investigator directly at the team that bugged it. It’s where we got this data-core.” The Programmer says.

“And you kept... of course you kept track of it. There are so many cameras on Centris there’s no where anything that size can go without being tracked.”

“That’s right.”

“Then why bother with the beacons to begin with?’

“Guess.”

Troy turns it over in her head then her eyes widen.

“It wasn’t about tracking them. It was about provoking a response and using THAT to confirm things.”

“Bingo.”

“What’s bingo?”

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Passing by Molina Spire, Centris)•-•-•

There is nothing suspicious about the aircar whatsoever. Nothing at all.

It is after all flying like it does NOT have equipment pointed straight down at the large transport directly below it.

Purple seats are not standard, but not even odd. And having things in the back seat is of course completely normal. Maybe a little unsafe in the unlikely event of a sudden stop. But that’s only if the inertial dampeners fail catastrophically.

What is unusual is when one of the boxes suddenly vanishes.

It reappears just below a vent as a single tiny spore had worked it’s way through the ventilation system, somehow phased through the walls to avoid numerous barriers and now had sprouted a tiny patina of mould in the shadow of a large data-bank.

The bespeckled eyes of Koga the younger scrunch together a bit. It was getting faster and faster to switch from Forest to Forest, but doing so with speed induced severe vertigo. Those wh...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/CodEnvironmental4274 on 2026-02-19 20:24:50+00:00.

First / Previous / Next / Ko-fi

“Okay, first things first: Scratch the human origin theory. Kind of.”

Sonja paused for dramatic effect as the rest of the drab, poorly air conditioned situation room tensed up at her words.

She turned on the projector and pulled out one of those teacher plastic hand pointer things (she saw Dominick mouthing ‘where did you get that?’ In the corner—hilarious—) to draw attention to her slideshow.

“Obviously this thing was written in Python originally, but we looked into it further, and it isn’t actually some totally self-sufficient, super advanced AI that can learn how to wrap itself to alien languages in ridiculously short periods of time. I didn’t notice at first, but buried in the ungodly lines of code, it is specifically programmed to be able to interface with Federation operating systems.” She clicked to the next slide, revealing a beautifully constructed flow chart. “This could mean one of two things: either this thing was made by a human who knew about aliens before we did, or an alien who knew about humans before most of the Federation did. And when I say most, I mean like, before even the government. Which is to say, it’s fucking—sorry—it’s freaking weird either way.”

Commander Liu frowned in disapproval at her language, but said nothing.

“Anyways, that’s all scary, but it also narrows down the list of suspects by quite a bit.” Next slide. “After talking to our contacts within the Federation, we learned that the Concord Virus, or ‘the Blot’ as they call it, either passed by or came from the solar system, so our priority has been combing through suspects here on Earth and the colonies.”

Captain Hassan raised a hand, and didn’t wait to be called on to speak. “Couldn’t there still be thousands of people who could’ve made that thing? How do we know who could’ve secretly contacted the Federation?”

Sonja nodded. “That’s a fair point. We can’t know for sure, but it’s way more likely that it’s someone with significant resources, experience, or connections—to the U.N., for example.” She narrowed her eyes at the group. She didn’t actually suspect any of them; it was mostly for dramatic effect, but she relished the theatrics nonetheless.

“So, the code itself was written in Python, but the comments were weird.” She zoomed in on one such comment, an indecipherable string of characters with no clear meaning. “Anyways, the cryptography team cracked the cypher pretty quickly—great job, by the way—and it translates to English, but… really weird English.” Another click of the mouse, and she showed off a decrypted comment. “For those of you who touch grass,” she joked, getting a few chuckles, “this is all describing the kind of stuff comments in code usually does, but the syntax is weird, right?” She highlighted the grammatical errors in the sentences. “Like, why was it written in English if it seems like it was poorly translated from another language? So we called in some linguists, and get this: none of them could figure out what native language would cause you to write like that!” She put her hands up as if showing off a magic trick.

An older man from the far right end of the room harrumphed. “All this to tell us it’s a dead end?”

“Not exactly.” Sonja smiled knowingly. “What we ended up doing was writing a program that trawled the internet looking for similar writing. It took, uh, probably way too much electricity, but we did eventually find some forum posts from a ‘user132519512924’, which I can’t believe was within the character limit for that website. They were asking some seemingly innocuous questions about deep neural networks, but considering that’s exactly what our culprit was working with… bullseye.” She watched, satisfied, as the man quietly fumed.

“From there it was easy.” She pulled up a map and some coordinates. “Find the IP address, pull some strings, and pinpoint where they were posting from.” Sonja closed the laptop and tucked the pointer into her galaxy-print bookbag. “So I suggest we take a trip to Taraz, Kazakhstan in the near future.”

Aktet, who had finally been included in these meetings, politely raised a paw and waited until Sonja called on him. “I could be mistaken, but aren’t the official languages of Kazakhstan, um…” He pulled out the phone she’d given him. “Kazakh and Russian?”

“Well, uh, yeah, but even with translators, English is still a lingua franca in some settings, so it’s weird, but not super weird.” The agent shrugged, and the Jikaal nodded in understanding.

Commander Liu stood up. “Meeting’s adjourned. Lombardi, Krishnan, Hassan, come here for a moment.”

Aktet waved goodbye and scurried out of the room before he could be swept up with the crowd. It was a shame Sonja wouldn’t get to watch him interact with Dominick again.

“So. Flight to Kazakhstan. You three are the obvious pick; you’ve been doing the most field work for… everything extraterrestrial, honestly… by far.” The commander seemed to realize she was standing for no reason and plopped back down into the worn office chair she’d been sitting in. “Should we send any of the aliens with you three?”

Sonja and Dominick gave each other a look. Things were… complicated right now, with the aliens they’d spoken the most to.

“Well, um.” Sonja cleared her throat. “Uuliska and Eza are both indisposed.”

“What do you mean ‘indisposed’?” Commander Liu narrowed her eyes.

Dominick groaned. “They broke up with each other. Neither of them is in any state to be going on critical, top secret missions across the world.”

Liu rolled her eyes. “Of course they did. What about Aktet?”

Dominick and Captain Hassan looked ready to say ‘sure’, but Sonia beat them to the punch. “No, I don’t think so.”

The two men gave her a strange look. “What? Why? He was fine just yesterday,” Dominick said.

As much as Sonja wanted to tease the two of them, the fate of the galaxy was a little bit more important, and she didn’t want Aktet flustered the entire time. “He’s been too anxious lately. I think he needs more time adjusting to humanity,” she blatantly lied.

The rest of the group seemed to buy it, thankfully.

This left the four of them at an obvious, but unfortunate conclusion.

“We have to bring one of them,” the captain said. “One of them that we know we can trust, I mean. You said it yourself; this code is related to the Federation and humanity alike.”

Dominick shifted uncomfortably, Commander Liu stared off into the distance, and Sonja bit her nails.

“We’re bringing K’resshk,” Captain Hassan said with finality.

“But he called me a skank! In alien, but still!” Sonja pouted. “Besides, can we really trust him? Doesn’t he want to overthrow us?”

“I talked with Aktet about it after breakfast yesterday, actually, since they’re sharing a room,” Dominick answered. He shuddered, probably unnerved by the thought of having to bunk with the scientist. “He’s wholly committed to the whole ‘pledge allegiance to the U.N. so he can eventually climb the ranks and take over’ plan that Aktet put in his head, so I don’t think we have to worry about him spilling.”

God, I wish Uuliska had hit him a little harder with that frying pan. But it was no matter. Her fate was sealed.

To Kazakhstan they would go.

…

Dominick buckled his seatbelt as Omar performed the pre-flight checks for their small private jet.

“I wish we could just take the mag-lev train,” Sonja whined. “I mean, I know we need to be discreet, but it’s so much faster nowadays.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure your human technology is mind-blowing, but I wish we were taking a Sszerian cable car. The views are stunning, you see.” K’resshk clambered up on his seat and quickly figured out how to tighten the belt as much as possible.

Sonja put her headphones on and pulled out her phone, then began texting.

Dominick’s phone lit up.

“Is it too late to be a software developer?”

He shook his head disapprovingly at his fellow agent, and brought out the book he’d been reading over the past few days: Thomas Hobbes’ Leviathan.

It sucked. It was a chore to parse, and in Dominick’s opinion, Hobbes’ philosophy was more telling of his traumatizing childhood in the aftermath of the invasion of the Spanish Armada than of a genuine need for a social contract tied to absolute sovereignty, but it was fun to criticize (and reminded him of the Federation in some ways), so he took out a highlighter and pen and got to work.

Nerd, Sonja mouthed from across the aisle.

He smiled.

A few (blissfully quiet) hours later, the group of four landed on a small U.N.-controlled airstrip and emerged into the chilly April morning, then shared a (also blissfully quiet) chartered ride to the address Sonja had dug up.

The discreet car with tinted windows dropped them off a half a mile from their destination, and off they went.

“You know, I think I prefer the Sahara to this kind of desert,” Omar remarked, zipping up his flight jacket. “It’s better than when I was in my twenties and stationed in New York, though.” He gave Dominick a look. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Dominick shrugged. “It’s just what I grew up with. Also, don’t call me a New Yorker. I don’t want anyone thinking I root for their sports teams. My cousins would kill me if they heard a rumor like ...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Majestic_Teach_6677 on 2026-02-19 21:11:42+00:00.

“What’s in the box?” human crewman Jeff asked excitedly.

“I don’t know,” Cargo Master Min’chai answered honestly.

“But are we sure the contents are legal?” Jeff followed up quickly and overly hopefully.

“It passed all previous inspections, and still has the official seal,” Min’chai grumbled at the human.

“That doesn’t mean…” the human started to object, so Min’chai quickly cut him off.

“No," the now clearly irritated Cargo Master responded. "It means that as long as the seal is intact and not tampered with, we don’t have to inspect it, and we are not responsible if the contents don’t match the manifest. Also, don’t you humans have a saying, curiosity killed the cat?”

“Sure, but satisfaction brought ‘em back,” Jeff retorted quickly.

“I know you humans are new to the galaxy and want to see everything, but that doesn’t mean we have to open every single cargo crate so you can see what’s inside,” Min’chai stated flatly as he turned one of his three eyestalks to glare directly at Jeff.

“True, but that last crate had all those crazy blinking light thingies,” Jeff said with a bright look on his face. “Who knows what’s in this crate?”

“Those were Nal’thraxian sex toys, and what you called salad forks were the… umm… physical stimulators. They need visual stimulation as well as physical," Min’chai responded with a shake of his eyestalk. He hoped the movement would mimic the shaking head of a disappointed human parent. “I thought the fact that they were made of flexible synthetic rubber would have given you a clue they weren’t for food.”

“Yeah, that was strange,” Jeff said thoughtfully. “Definitely wouldn’t have worked well for spaghetti but you never know. Some sapients might have delicate teeth that would be harmed by metal utensils.”

Min’chai decided not to respond as the human was clearly not going to be reasonable today. He simply waved a tentacle to the loader to bring up the next crate. The manifest declared random foodstuffs from Albera Prime, and his eyestalks drooped. His new human crew would likely want to examine everything to see if it would make the list of “things to try”. With luck the seal would be intact and…

Damn.

The seals weren’t just broken; they were mangled and the sides of the crate damaged as if someone had scraped one side against a wall. Clearly the recipient of impact damage due to negligent handling, it would need to be unpacked and checked before loading into the cargo bay. Jeff would have an unexpected and necessary excuse to indulge his curiosity.

While curiosity made humans a bit frustrating, it was the concept of “we’ll try anything once” that made them truly infuriating at times. Tell a human something is food, and they will want to eat it - sometimes before anyone scans to check if it is compatible with human biology. At times, it made the officers wonder if they had adult crew members or if they had toddlers who wouldn’t stop putting random things into their mouths.

“Jeff, full unpacking of this crate and inspection,” Min’chai called out which resulted in far too much glee from the human. “And take extra precautions - this is marked as foodstuffs and may be delicate.”

“Yes, Cargo Master!” Jeff called out as he popped the top on the crate and looked inside. 

If they were lucky, the packages would be sealed in plain wrappers so the human’s imagination wouldn’t be spurred. Stars forgive them if something actually broke open because Jeff would likely ask to try to eat whatever it was, which would greatly complicate the cargo claim. Was it really broken and insurance should pay, or did the human “accidentally” damage the packaging to try the contents, thus insurance would deny the claim and dump the costs on the ship?

'Insurance trying to weasel out of a claim is a universal constant and keeps getting worse,' Min'chai thought to himself, frustrated that he would even need to consider how insurance might view things. He simply turned his attention back to his dataslate and was relieved to see they were nearing the end of the loading process. Only six more crates after this one.

“Min’chai,” Jeff called out in a small voice filled with wonder. “I need your help.”

‘Well, crap,’ the Cargo Master thought to himself as he looked up from his dataslate and turned all his eyestalks to stare at the ceiling for a moment. ‘Something interesting probably broke open, and now I’ll have to explain why you can’t try to eat it.'

“What’s this thing?” Jeff said with his eyes gleaming.

Min’chai slowly turned one eyestalk to the human who was holding something up. He then blinked with that eyestalk and whipped his other two around so all three eyestalks stared at the human in bewilderment. 

Jeff was holding up a lizard with six insect-like legs. The body of the lizard was about four inches wide and about a foot long before ending in a short stubby tail no more than three inches long. The head of the lizard was slightly triangular with one large eye in the forehead and two small eyes located on the sides, the center being the creature's primary visual receptor and the smaller eyes simply used to detect motion and assist with depth perception. 

“What are you doing?” Min’chai yelled out with concern. “Those things can be dangerous! They’re stupid and will try to eat anything. Put it down!”

“Okay,” Jeff said slowly while lowering the lizard a little bit. “But what is it?”

“It’s a Chanka lizard, a delicacy food animal of the Yavarins. Quite rare and obscenely expensive in this part of the galaxy,” the Cargo Master answered quickly before the credit coin dropped in his brain. “Wait... that thing is alive? We aren’t allowed to transport live cargo. We’ll have to seize it.”

“Does that mean we can keep it?” Jeff asked with a shockingly bright expression on his face.

“That isn’t what seize means. We can’t transport it and…” Min’chai looked down at the manifest for the extended info on this particular shipment. “Oh, by the stars. We’re the third ship to handle this cargo, so it’s already beyond the point of origin. And Chanka lizards aren't from Albera Prime which means the paperwork is false, and the previous ship has already left the system so we can't return it to them. I’ll inform the station dockmaster, but I can almost guarantee they’ll just ask us to dispose of the thing.”

Jeff looked even more excited. “So, we can keep it!”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying!” Min’chai responded gruffly. “We need to get rid of it. Perhaps if we’re lucky, there’s a Yavarin on the station who will be happy to get a free expensive meal from home. If not, we’ll have to euthanize and dispose of it.”

“But it’s a living being!” Jeff objected.

‘Let’s not get into a debate over what species eat meat and go straight for logic to dissuade this line of thought,’ Min’chai thought to himself. He pondered the various options and went for the most obvious. They weren’t equipped to care for such a thing.

“Do you know how to care for it?” he asked the human.

“Well, the crate it was packed in has some food and water,” Jeff said as he gently put the lizard back into the crate. “That’s a start!”

‘So much for logic,’ Min’chai thought to himself.

—-----

Two Terran weeks later…

—-----

“Jeff’s going to be late for work again,” Supervisor Guak informed Min’chai.

“Oh? Why?” Min’chai asked with clear irritation.

“He bumped his head when waking up and stopped off in medbay for pain meds,” Guak explained. "That's the third time in the past ten days."

“I still can’t believe he gave up half his bunk space to create an enclosure for that damn Chanka lizard,” Min’chai grumbled. “Barely enough space to slide into the bunk with that stupid lizard living above the bed.”

“At least the lizard didn’t bite him again,” Guak responded with a wave of his tentacle that indicated their agreement with Min’chai at being annoyed with the human. “You’d think he’d learn not to try to hand feed an animal with poor depth perception and the need to rent a brain cell to do anything more than bask on a rock.”

“He claims that hand feeding the creature will encourage… bonding,” Min’chai explained with skepticism. “He’s also ordered a custom leash to try…”

“Walkies? Yeah, I heard that one. The only bonding he’ll get from that thing is if it decides his arm is something it can mate with,” Guak said with a snort. “I’ve been told that in the wild they try to mate with warm rocks or sticks.”

“I’ve heard that as well,” Min’chai said with a sigh. “When I tried to explain to Jeff that Chanka lizards are like overgrown Terran cockroaches with less intelligence, do you know what he said?”

“I have a feeling the answer is going to make me crave an intoxicant,” Guak said with a groan.

“He said that many humans keep colonies of cockroaches as pets,” Min’chai barked out with clear exasperation. “And that they make good pets!”

“Explain to me again why we hired him?” Guak asked.

“He wants to see the galaxy, so he works for less than half of standard rates,” Min’chai answered. “That was the initial selling point, and it turns out that humans are 30% more efficient than standard crewmembers when they aren’t distracted. My contact at Intergalactic Hauling says much the same. Humans will still be a bargain to hire once they stop being excited to see the greater galaxy and insist on standard rates.”

“Well, the cost picture with our humans might change if Vlad gets his way,” Guak grumbled.

“Oh?” Min’chai inquired with concern.

“Since you let Jeff have a pet, Vlad w...

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This new universe looked much like the one they had left behind. The stars were different, and the galaxies, closer and brighter.

But Poire had brought them here. He had opened the Way, and shepherded the badly damaged Ark through one Scar, and into another. To our Salvation.

Ryke wanted to give thanks to the gods. She should have been on her knees, praising them for guarding her people, and keeping the flame of hope alive.

This should have been the most joyful moment in her life. And yet…

The Falcyr had already taken Yarsi’s body away, to prepare it for the funeral. There was nothing left of Khadam, or at least nothing in this universe. And yet… Ryke couldn’t stop praying the same useless prayer she’d prayed since Cyre. If only…

But the Bridge was already filling up with geologists, biologists, and planetary survey specialists (mostly cyrans who run vanguard in the Imperial Army). The Ark’s remaining sensors aimed in every direction, and filled the Bridge’s screens with detailed data on numerous planets. There were bright orange rocks, littered with craters and jagged mountain ranges and blue spheres and too many brown lifeless worlds for her to tell the difference.

“Exceptionally high levels of nitrogen,” Ryke overheard from a group of scientists standing at one console. “And plenty of carbon dioxide.”

“But no oxygen.”

“Plenty of water vapor. And polar ice, look there.”

“And what will we breathe? Water?” One scientist snorted derisively, and looked to his colleagues for support. “Even the cyrans outgrew such primitive methods of respiration.”

Heatedly, one of them snapped back, “The printers, you fool! The printers will create whatever elements are lacking. Including oxygen.”

“Do you have any idea how much oxygen we’d need to cover a planet’s atmosphere?”

“Gravity is what matters. And temperature.”

“Both are nominal. This one even has two moons.”

She tried to hurry past them, clasping her fingers together to stop the trembling, but one of the scientists noticed her.

“Your Majesty,” he called, and all their heads turned expectantly. “We’ve found one! It’s just like home.”

“Maybe even better than home!” someone else chimed in.

“Of course,” Ryke’s voice rang hollow as a bell. “Do what you think is best.”

Planetary experts they might be, but they were still wrong. None of these worlds were like home. Home was where her friends were. Home was where her heart still beat. Home was where she prayed, every night, desperately hoping the gods were listening. If only…

Ryke had taken her people to the Stars, and her friends had given their lives, and now the survivors of civilization—millions of xenos—were saved. It was time for the experts to take over. Already, they were trying to figure out where to put down the Ark. And with a plethora of planets to choose from, it would take them days. Months, maybe. The Ark was falling to pieces, but this universe was perfect.

Good, she thought. Good for them.

And where was Agraneia? Where was Laykis? Yarsi would never see their new home. Nor would Khadam. And nor would …

She stopped at the thought. Her whole body shuddered, and she had to swallow her feelings. She choked, and started to cough.

“Your Majesty?”

“I…” The air was thick. Too hot.

“Are you well?”

Ryke winced as they expressed their concerns.

“I’m…” she shook her head, and pushed past their group. Shoved her way through the throngs of scientists and military advisors and blurring faces. “Your Majesty!” They wanted her attention. They wanted to ask her things that she didn’t know the answers to. They wanted her, and she wanted—she needed to get out. Breaking into a run, Ryke barrelled through the Bridge’s door, almost knocking over a group of squeaking redenites as she turned into the corridors. She collapsed in the first empty room she could find. A boardroom, or something like it. No windows, no screens. Just a table surrounded by chairs, and a blank screen on the wall.

It started before she even had the door closed. There was nothing regal about the squawking sobs that wracked her body as all those burning, pent-up emotions came pouring out. She collapsed onto a chair, and buried her face in her arms. Tears kept coming and coming, even when she squeezed her eyes shut. Why did it have to hurt so much, just because they weren’t here? Gone, and never here again.

She cried until her throat was raw and her face hurt and pools of tears dripped off the table. Time refused to move. She wanted to sleep. To not exist. To stop feeling. She wanted the one that she could never have again. He promised he wouldn’t ever leave me.

She prayed. Please, gods, I don’t want to feel anything ever again. And she cursed them, too, that they could ever let this happen.

But the gods were dead. Ryke had believed in them. They returned, as was promised, only to leave again. And they took the ones I loved with them. She screamed at the wall. How could they do this? She screamed at the ceiling. I prayed! I always prayed! But her prayers were as useless as her fury. Ice gripped her heart. Made it weak. Made her tremble. She collapsed to the table, shivering and pitiful.

The door hissed open behind her.

She didn’t have the strength to speak, let alone to shout. “Get out.”

“Hey,” a cyran woman growled.

“Agraneia?” Ryke lifted her head, wiping the wetness from the feathers around her eyes. “You’re alive?”

Agraneia looked a mess. Singed scales, flaking and white. Surprisingly deep wounds that looked like they’d been left open far too long carved gruesome furrows across her body. Yet, she was alive. Blessedly alive.

“Oh, gods,” Ryke stood up to embrace her, when something made her stop.

There was an odd smile on the cyran’s face. Nervous, maybe. Agraneia’s scaled lips quivered, like she didn’t know how to say what was on her mind.

“What’s wrong?” Ryke asked.

“Uh,” Agraneia carefully—very carefully—placed a heavy, rounded cylinder onto the table. “Wanted to show you something.”

“What is this?” It was made of the same black metal as the Dam. Green lights blinked peacefully in a ring at the top, and a screen read -321°F. She had no idea what that meant.

“They said it’s like an egg,” Agraneia said. “Only, there’s a lot of eggs. Inside the thing.”

“Eggs?” Ryke furrowed her brow, not understanding. Then, a cold shock trickled down her spine. Her crest feathers went rigid. “Whose eggs?”

“Mmm,” the Cyran hummed. She looked over her shoulder.

But this was no time for distractions. Ryke eyed the cyran. Took a step forward. Instinctively, she slipped back into that royal voice she used in front of her Council. “Whose eggs, Agraneia? Answer me right now.”

Before Ryke could take another step, a new voice froze her in place.

“Oh,” the voice crowed from the hall, “You know exactly whose eggs those are.”

No.

It felt like an icy dagger had buried into her chest and stuck her in place. She couldn’t breathe. This isn’t possible.

And suddenly, the Queen of Aviankind couldn’t turn around to look at him.

“Hey,” his voice was gentler this time. It made her think of home. Of the midday songs in Midcity. Of walking the alleys of Lowtown, hand in hand, pretending that this was how things would always be. Of the scent of candles, burning low in her bed chambers, as his fingers ran down her neck, and his arms held her.

Of a future she had lost, and still prayed for. Every day. If only …

“Do you remember me?” He sounded just like he did, all those years ago. His voice was dark and leathery and just this side of raspy and tender and full of warmth that she still dreamed about.

And the only thing she could think to say was, “You lied to me.” Ryke refused to turn around, in case she woke up from this dream. “You said you would never leave me.”

“I tried,” he said. “I tried everything.”

It hurt to swallow. Her heart fluttered. Ryke had already cried all her tears, so why was everything blurry again?

On Cyre, she had stood on the Gate. Watching him, crying out, unable to tear her eyes away and screaming herself hoarse, as if he might somehow hear her. But Eolh was already beyond the barrier, flying Khadam’s weapon into the Swarm. And when the Scar took him, Ryke had fallen to her knees. She had screamed until blood came up, and they had to pull her down because she kept trying to throw herself into the air to go after him.

“I know what I did,” He sounded uncertain. Almost afraid. Of me. “I’m sorry, not for doing it, but that I had to do it. I wanted to know if you would ever forgive me.”

It took a long moment for Ryke to gather her strength. Her voice shook. “Only if you promise never to do it again.”

“Ryke.”

She flinched at the sound of her name, coming from his mouth. Don’t look, she told herself. Don’t let this dream end.

“My heart soars when I think of you. My body aches, when you’re not near. Every breath I take only for the chance to sing your name. I love you, Ryke. And I always will. Never will this corvani leave you, ever again.”

“Whatever happens?” she whispered.

“Whatever happens.” A hand s...

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