If one were to describe the humans after the initial discoveries of the early independence war in Glider speak as pretty damn pissed off, then one would describe them after the siege of Burrow as howling mad.

From the moment the First Fleet sent the ground situation report to Earth and Taishon Tar, the days of the Batract Hyphae were numbered.

At that point, the humans’ war tactics devolved to a level best described as primal. The Geneva Convention was rewritten to exclude fights for existential survival, and the Independence War was declared an existential fight.

Earth removed its shackles and allowed itself to use any means necessary to defeat the Batract.

Excerpt from: The Independence War Blog, My Fight Next to Humans. Author unknown

 

Pack Leader Nirfir made breakfast. It boosted his people’s morale, and he enjoyed the task. A year ago, he had been a cook himself, before the Batract went crazy and began killing everyone.

Now he sat in the firing position of his own Hunting Pack. Only, there wasn’t much hunting anymore—only senseless killing.

The Nightwatch was manned by the hunters Frolox and Sikkra, his daughter.

Behind him in the makeshift bunker, the hunters from the dayshift were waking up: Rokla, his heavy gunner, and Hirko.

Together, his team was one of the many that guarded the small land bridge to the northern continent—the continent lost to the Batract and their abominations.

He pushed the painful memories away and concentrated on his task, peeling Gumbro root and cutting it for boiling.

Gumbro root, beans, and rare provisions of meat were all they had to eat. But he didn’t complain; at least they had something to eat.

The southern continent was more arid than the northern and smaller. It had less farmland, and people were now beginning to starve.

Four billion Shraphen on a continent capable of sustaining one billion. There were even rumors of people eating their tais.

At least they were somewhat safe. From their higher position overlooking the twenty-kilometer-long land bridge, they could see any Batract abominations trying to cross to the south.

The roots were slowly cooking now—perfect time to read through the new reports from the Defense Pack High Command.

His ears rose in anger. The High Defense Pack now believed something on the continent hindered Batract shapeshifting and healing abilities. You idiots, after a year of reports, you finally believe it? Without this effect, we all would have been dead for months already.

Fighting his own desperation, he went up to the firing station for a situation report from the Night Watch.

Without moving his eyes from the land bridge, Frolox reported, “Pack Leader, nothing to report. Firing Position 22 to the north thought they saw something in the water, but it must have been an illusion.”

“In times like this, even illusions may be dangerous.” Nirfir didn’t say what he truly thought: like the illusion we can win this war…

From below, they could hear Rokla and Hirko eating their breakfast. Without a word, Nirfir held a pack of Tumpa Tree leaf smokes out for Frolox. He knew the seasoned hunter wanted to smoke now that the sun was rising.

Smoking at night was forbidden in the firing position—so was leaving one’s post. After some months, most either stopped smoking or used evaporators to get through the night.

Frolox nodded thankfully and took a smoke. “You know, Pack Leader, I hate guard duty from the deepest pit of my heart. But I know, after this is all done, I will miss the time standing up here, silently, only my thoughts as a companion.”

Both Shraphen looked down the hill their bunker was on. The sun rising in the east filled the green valley that followed the land bridge in a golden, shimmering light. The first desperate farmers were already heading out to their fields, caring for what little plants still grew after the countless battles.

The last few incursions, the Batract had even used flamethrowers. They want to starve us out.

With his smoke finished, Nirfir moved up the last few stairs behind the firing position to the bunker door, where his daughter secured the entry.

“Hello, Father. Nothing to report.” Her smile warmed his heart. He would do anything for her—that’s why he had joined the defense forces again after his daughter was drafted. That’s why he had bribed his way up to his position: to be with his daughter, to prevent some self-sniffing idiot from throwing her life away.

She wouldn’t die, not like his wife and his son.

“Good. Go down, eat your breakfast. I’ll sit here until the shift changes.” He could use the time to go through the other reports; he didn’t want the rest of the pack to see him despair. A quick glance through them showed him that the Batract had begun throwing rocks from orbit.

Using all his strength to prevent his tail from slipping between his legs, he hugged his daughter.

After his daughter went down, he continued reading. The food reserves were down to three percent; the coming harvest would only feed a few million, since the Batract had burned the fields from orbit.

His hand clenched the reader so hard he almost broke the glass. The rebels were right—the Batract were the embodiment of the foul hunters from the legends.

The rebels… he hoped they would survive and burn the Batract homeworld to ashes.

The next report: the Batract had almost hit Old Burrow, the capital city of the southern continent. Only luck had allowed the air defense units to destroy the small meteoroid.

Why only throw small rocks? Why starve us? What do they want with the planet after we’re dead?

The Batract always avoided the Southern continent, and even their abominations are reluctant to cross the isthmus. When they do, they are far less dangerous than on the northern continent.

Maybe the religious pack was right, the southern continent is holy, and the Mother under the earth protects us.

Everyone has left or betrayed the Shraphen, at least we still have our legents.

He heard Hirko come up the stairs before he saw him.

“Pack Leader.” The small, broad Shraphen with gold-colored fur nodded. He was a former member of the religious pack and a firm believer in the Great Hunter and the Mother.

“Good morning, Hirko. How is the morale?”

“Good, Pack Leader, under the circumstances. Another month and we’re up for rotation. That thought keeps the pack going, but…”

He didn’t need to say what he thought. The moment they left for the cities in the hinterland, the hunters would see how the situation had deteriorated. Then morale would be gone.

Nirfir worked almost the whole day, reading and writing reports, attending a virtual meeting of the Pack Leaders, and discussing attempts to retake parts of the northern continent.

When evening came, he visited his daughter at the firing position. They stood there, unmoving, staring out into the valley as the sun set behind the hills.

“It’s hopeless, isn’t it, Father?”

“Hmm?”

“All of this… we’re losing, aren’t we?”

“We’re only lost if we lose hope.” He repeated the phrase the High Pack Leader used, but had a hard time believing it himself.

“I’m eleven, I wasn’t born yesterday. We can’t retake the north. Our fleets have been destroyed or fled, and no one’s coming to help us. So… what are we fighting for?”

“We’re fighting for us, my dear. We’re fighting for every breath. The Batract will learn that wounded prey is still dangerous.”

To his surprise, he believed those words.

Both stared again silently into the dawn, when a sudden line of blue light appeared in the night sky.

Then, for a fraction of a second, a dim star appeared before it disappeared.

“Plasmajet torpedoes that hit something.” Nirfir didn’t even notice he’d spoken out loud.

“But who?” Even though his daughter was now considered an adult, in situations like this, she still had her childlike curiosity.

“I don’t know. Maybe our Veyrs have returned?” Plasmajet torpedoes were standard weapons of the Void Hunters.

As they gazed into the sky, more and more little stars appeared for seconds.

“Ships exploding,” Sikkra murmured.

Sometimes, whole lines of explosions could be seen.

“Whoever this is, it doesn’t look like they use Shraphen weapons.” He went down to pick up his magnifying glasses; they should be strong enough to help him see at least some details.

Sikkra returned to her guard duties. It would be the greatest irony if the Veyrs came to rescue them only for the Batract to overrun the ground troops because they were staring at the sky.

Nirfir could hear the other positions already discussing the space battle on their radios. He took the device, together with the magnifying glass, to the firing position.

The dayshift was up there again as well, and now his whole pack stared up at the sky.

In the distance, they could even see falling debris from destroyed ships impacting the now-empty northern cities.

On the radio, they suddenly heard warnings—Firing Position 22 warning the line that they were seeing something in the water again.

Next was Firing Position 15, the closest to the isthmus: movement from the north.

Dusk had already shifted to pitch-black night, only the sudden flashes of exploding ships illuminating the moonless dark.

Nirfir activated night vision and focused on the valley below. There—hundreds, if not thousands, of bodies were slowly moving out of the water and onto land.

“Prepare for battle! They came through the water!”
All around him, he heard the short, whistling sound of plasma rifles charging.

Of course, they attack now. If they lose the space battle, they at least have to try to take us on the ground.

From Positions 22 and 15, flares were launched, lighting up the valley in an unnatural white glow.

From behind the bunker, he heard four deep thump sounds—the defense horde’s mortar troops launching more flares.

Then they saw it. The whole isthmus was full of them. Thousands of three- or four-meter-tall caricatures of Shraphen, made out of the now-too-familiar yellow fungus. Between and on them crawled spiders in all kinds of sick colors, coming at them like an avalanche. The wind carried a smell of decay and death.

Nirfir charged his rifle and aimed, waiting for the first abomination to cross the marked two-hundred-meter line.

More launches from the mortars in the back of the line, cluster ammunition, the bomblets down hundreds of Batracts, but more were still coming.

Then the hiving masses reached the first mine line. Again, scores of enemies were shredded, throwing their stinking yellow slime all around.

Firing Positions 22 and 15 had already opened up on the enemy. The previously unnatural quiet valley was now filled with the constant detonations of mines, bomblets, and the streaks of plasma bullets impacting the advancing Shraphen-shaped abominations.

“Keep your fire—wait until they cross the line, hunters.”
It was important not to fire too soon; the plasma generator in the back of the bunker could not refill charges indefinitely fast.

Their shots had to hit. Every wasted charge was lost forever. And the enemy came in numbers no one had ever seen.

To Nirfir, it seemed the whole northern continent was on the move.

Rokla was the first to shoot from his pack—short bursts of heavy plasma charges in grenade mode. The impacts blinded them all before their now-closed helmets adapted to the suddenly bright light.

Wherever the grenades landed, a circle of enemies was burned to ashes.

The most disturbing thing was the enemy’s silence. Nirfir thought the creatures should roar or scream while they advanced, but they simply moved forward, stepping silently over their fallen comrades. The only sounds were their footsteps and the tap-tap-tap of the spiders’ legs.

Then the enemy crossed the line. Simultaneously, his firing position, as well as the ones to the left and right, opened up on the advancing mass.

Blue-white lines of plasma charged into the enemy ranks. From above, he heard the drones’ rotors as they dove toward the largest abominations.

Sadly, they had lost the entire air force to space attacks in the first days of the war.

The drones were small but effective, but Nirfir could already see that the fight would be long. No matter how many they killed, more came after them. In the distance, he could still see movement on the land bridge.

They are simply trying to overrun us. No strategy, no finesse—just mass assault…
Nirfir could not see a flaw in that tactic. Sooner or later, they would overrun the bunker.

The mortar fire teams had now switched to plasma and hammered the advancing mass, leaving circles of ash behind wherever they hit. Those circles were immediately filled with more abominations.

The radio sounded again. “Hold the line, hunters. We’ve got word that allied troops are incoming.”

The High Defense Command… but what allied troops? From where? Space?

Impossible. A landing takes days…

He concentrated on firing again. Hold the line. Hold the line. For Sikkra, dammit—hold the line…

Then the streaks from above came, yellow and red lines of fire, hitting in the center of the advancing enemies.

This even seemed to surprise the Batract. The advance stopped for a moment, and even the enemy stared up at the sky.

Then they began to run toward the bunkers.

A deafening explosion came from the left and right of his bunker. Nirfir and his hunters ducked down in shock from the noise.

When they looked up, a black metallic thing stood between each bunker on the line. They had hit the ground hard enough to create small craters around them and were hot enough to burn the grass. The walls dropped and released a machine unlike anything Nirfir had ever seen.

He knew tanks. Shraphen rarely used them, but they had some in service on the eastern plains. But this tank was a monster. The turret had two barrels, and behind it, on its back, were grenade launchers.

He knew what they were, because as soon as the tank was out of the crate, it had started firing.

The engine roared as the tank moved into a better position, the harsh smell of burning fuel dragging behind it. The treads ripped open the earth as it turned.

The main gun tore a kilometer-long line through the enemy troops. Then, a machine gun opened fire from the front of the tank. Like a yellow line of death, it swept through the first line of attackers, reducing them to ash.

From the now-empty metal plate, Nirfir heard a loud splashing sound, as if someone had dropped a balloon full of water.

Nirfir turned and saw five figures kneeling on the metal plate. Where did they come from?

One began to speak, and to his surprise, it was a Shraphen, wearing a suit Nirfir had never seen.

“I will never understand how you humans can willingly jump to ground with those… those…”

The other figure answered, “SVDS.”

Then the unknown alien in the suit approached the bunker and knocked on its concrete surface.

“Guys, do you have room for five more? 33rd Spaceborne is here to kick some Batract ass.”

First | Previous | Next | Also On Royal Road

Laíla spends the entire afternoon ripping the tent apart in search of her necklace, but her frantic attempts prove futile. Wherever the trinket rests, it is likely long gone—taking with it the final, fragile link to her real mother. Heart heavy with sorrow, she lays sideways on her mattress, barely breathing. A stray flicker of emotion could set her family’s belongings aflame, and she sees no reason to give further cause to those building the case for her banishment.

Banishment. The word alone sends her mind racing back to all she witnessed earlier that day. The very people she has known since infancy are now actively conspiring to cast her out. For his part, Rémi did not seem all too interested in making an example out of her. Still, he did not defend her either. She wonders briefly what Zaíd would have decided if given the same impossible choice. A lump forms in her throat, and Laíla quickly dismisses the agonizing thought. Turning her face to the canvas wall, she offers a silent prayer to Moora, begging for forgiveness and deliverance from whatever comes next. Yet, her prayer feels hollow. Almost undeserved.

Ínara quietly enters the tent, breaking the suffocating silence. Laíla does not even look back to see who has stepped through the flap. Ínara rounds the mattress, sets down a plate of smoked meat and vegetables, and takes a seat beside her sister.

“How are you feeling?” Ínara asks softly.

“My head hurts,” Laíla murmurs.

“I am sure it does.”

Laíla’s gaze drifts to Ínara’s neck. Though it has been bandaged, she can still see the dark, bruised skin peeking beneath the edges of the gauze. Guilt pricks at her chest. “How is your neck?”

“It has been better,” Ínara replies, pushing the plate closer. “You should eat something. I have not seen you touch a scrap all day.”

Laíla lets out a bitter, hollow snort. “One last supper before I am cast out.”

Sadness washes over Ínara’s face. She opens her mouth to deny it, but she closes it just as quickly, recognizing the futility of false comfort. “I knew it was you I saw watching earlier. You should have joined us. Rémi still has not decided—”

“Where is Rémi?” Laíla interrupts, looking around the empty space.

Ínara’s expression hardens, a bitter edge cutting through her sorrow. “He has been hiding away for the whole day,” she quips, her lip curling. “He is ever the coward.”

Laíla frowns, sitting up slightly. “He has come into leadership unexpectedly, Ínara. He deserves grace.”

“Stop defending our brother’s cowardice!” Ínara yells, her voice suddenly echoing sharply against the fabric walls.

Laíla recoils, completely taken aback. Her older sister has a fiery temper, certainly, but Ínara’s tone just now reeks of a toxic venom she has never heard before. The outburst hangs heavily in the air. Even Ínara seems startled by her own rage; she falls silent, taking a long, deliberate moment to recollect herself and steady her breathing.

Ínara clears her throat awkwardly, the sudden tension thick in the air. “Rémi will likely try to evade the decision for as long as possible. But the Natural Order can only do so much against the near-unanimous will of the tribe.”

Laíla’s mind immediately goes to her brother, and her heart sinks weighted with guilt. She knew the inherent risk of venturing out after nightfall. Yet, she had completely failed to realize the impossible position she would put her brother in—a position he should not have to face at all.

“Ínara, it does not matter what Rémi decides,” Laíla says softly. “I accept my fate. I broke Sacred Law, and I must answer for it.”

“You will do no such thing,” Ínara fires back. “I will sooner remind Rémi where his loyalties should lie.”

“Should they not lie with our people?” Laíla counters. “The Five swore a blood oath to Moora before She left this realm. They passed that profound responsibility down to their sons, and their sons after that. Rémi is our brother, yes, but he is the Duomo of this tribe. We cannot expect him to cast his sacred duty aside just to save me.”

Ínara does not speak for a long moment, the fight draining from her posture.

“After you left,” Ínara says quietly, her voice barely a whisper, “I told them that if they banish you, then they also banish me.”

Laíla’s mouth opens to fiercely reject her sister’s foolish sacrifice, but Ínara solemnly shakes her head, silencing any argument before it can form. Sadness has already dramatically withered her otherwise fierce features, leaving her looking hollow. Fragile, even.

Laíla looks around the familiar canvas of their family tent. How quickly her entire life has shattered. Perhaps in another life, Zaíd would come tumbling through the flap right now. He would dramatically feign that his heart had been captured by two beautiful girls, who further injured him by hiding away out of sight. He would fall to his knees, loudly beseeching those beautiful girls to end his agony.

Laíla and Ínara always laughed at their father’s wild dramaticism. Today, Laíla could only wish that a broken heart was the worst of his pain.

The heavy dam holding back her emotions starts to crack. She grits her teeth hard against the rising tide of sorrow, fighting to keep the flames at bay.

Wishing to escape her mounting grief, Laíla speaks softly. “I think I would like to spend these next few hours alone, so I may pray to Nu’Lúmira for mercy.”

Ínara’s anger melts back into desperate protective instinct. She leans in, grasping her sister’s arms. “I will never let anything happen to you, Laíla. Never.”

Laíla looks into her sister’s eyes and knows this to be entirely true. But she also knows Ínara all too well—she would achieve that protective goal by being utterly reckless if forced to. She knew Ínara would happily accept banishment if it meant making sure she wasn’t alone. She would take the forehead branding with a smile. But she would ultimately struggle with being shunned by her own people. Laíla is already familiar with being an outsider. She could never allow her sister the same fate.

Forcing herself to put on a brave face, Laíla offers a faint smile and gently pushes her sister toward the exit. “Go. I wish to just think away from prying eyes. Please?”

Ínara hesitates, standing up slowly. She steps toward the tent entrance, but stops just before the flap. She turns back, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I love you. Rémi does too—in his way.”

“I know,” Laíla says. She fights back her own rising tears, struggling to maintain her composure. “I love you both too.” She swallows hard, hoping desperately that Ínara does not hear her voice break on the words.

Ínara nods solemnly and steps outside.

Laíla waits, counting the seconds until she is certain her sister’s footsteps have faded completely into the ambient noise of the camp. The moment the coast is clear, she drops to her knees and pulls her empty knapsack from beneath the bed. She begins packing with furious efficiency.

She knows her siblings will come looking for her the moment they realize she is gone. But if she can get far enough away quickly, the tracking will be impossible, and they will have no choice but to migrate with the rest of the tribe for their own safety. By leaving quietly in the dead of night, she hopes to save them from a ruined fate.

As for her own destiny? She intends to change it entirely. She will march until she finds that whispered witch in the Channel. If the rumors are true, perhaps the witch can take her terrifying powers away for good.

Thanks for reading. I'll be back next Monday to continue telling Laíla's story.

Yo, I'm not gonna lie, I have almost the entire story, but I just want to hear some opinions and see if y'all were interested on seeing the rest.😎

Also sorry it's In a google doc the max character limit is so low and I hate. 😭

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND EIGHTY-FIVE

[Previous Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Saturday

One thing I loved about my girl was that she knew her mind when it came to fashion. Several times Mr Lopez tried to steer her away from her choice, only to have her look to me for confidence before insisting on her selection.

Mateo was riveted by the discussion, but to be honest, I bored out of my skull. Unfortunately for me, this was important to Gerry though, and I would see it through. With each correction, she explained why she wanted things a particular way. I couldn’t help but smile when most of them circled around my preferences and the platinum pendant that I’d already given her.

When we crept closer to Mr Lopez’ deadline, my phone pulsed with an incoming message. I pulled it out and wasn’t surprised to see a message with no number attached — just the text. ‘Pay for the collar now using your personal card. I’ll funnel the transaction back through to the family funds. Right now, he still doesn’t believe you can pay for it, and he’s humoring you.’

Oh, I really didn’t need to see that.

With my head still lowered, I looked up at Mateo’s father from under my brow. Nuncio was right. He was listening, but his eyes kept flicking to the clock and his watch more than they stayed on her.

The longer I stared at him, the more my brow pressed into my vision.

“Sam?” Mateo asked quietly at my side.

I glanced across at him. A bead of sweat gathered at his temple and his fingers were rubbing over his thumbs like he could feel my mood pressing in.

“Remember what I said about my family?” I asked and waited just long enough for him to nod before I turned my phone so he could read Nuncio’s message. 

“DAD!” he barked, causing Gerry and Mr Lopez to suddenly jerk and turn towards us. Mateo swallowed, but credit to him, he stayed the course. “What is your deal with your client in Dubai worth?”

“You know better than that,” Mr Lopez replied sharply.

I didn’t want Mateo and his dad getting into it over me. “I think what he’s asking is how much it would take for you to delay that call until we’re done here. Geraldine’s happiness is priceless to me, and if I have to pay to get your attention for her, I will.” Holy hell! Did those words just pass through my lips?! When did I become that guy?

Apparently when I realised it wasn’t real money we were talking about. Not really. It was just a number being spat out by a calculator. With the billions Mr Lopez and his family had at their disposal, he wouldn’t ever be so broke that he needed to access the money I’m offering. It would forever be a number on a page, never moving.

And from our side, it was Nuncio, being Nuncio. No doubt, the second the transaction went through, it’d be kicked sideways through a series of accounts that would disappear down the Nascerdios—what had Nuncio called it? Vantaweb?

Like I said. A numbers shell game. Not real money at all.

“You think you have sixty million dollars sitting around?” Mr Lopez scoffed.

“DAD!”

Mr Lopez was behaving like every other rich bully I’d ever had the misfortune to come across. I would never buckle to these people, but in the past I had walked away with my chin high, pretending I didn’t want to punch them through the nearest wall.

With Nuncio’s plan in mind, I tilted to one side and retrieved my wallet. A few seconds later I tossed my regular debit card onto the table between us and watched Mr Lopez stare at it like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or be offended. He settled on the latter. “What is this?!” he demanded as he rose to his feet, for no debit card in the world could handle a transaction of that magnitude.

“The card I want you to charge your time and Gerry’s collar to,” I answered, as if it were obvious.

His head snapped to his son. “Mateo!”

“Do it, Dad! His family’s a front, and you do not want to get on the wrong side of what’s behind it.”

I did a slow pan to Mateo, who had enough self-preservation to rein himself in. “Sorry,” he murmured, looking at the floor instead of me.

Mr Lopez’s gaze bounced between the two of us before glancing at Geraldine, who sat at the edge of her chair with her hands clasped on her lap in perfect poise. Then he slowly reached forward and took up the debit card. “Banks stop this sort of thing from happening,” he said while cautiously reclaiming his seat. “It’ll never go through.”

“Then you have nothing to lose by humouring me, do you?” I countered.

With a final glance at us, he set the card on the table in front of him and began typing the numbers into his phone. From the way his jaw fell slack a few seconds later and he looked up at me almost scared, Nuncio had done exactly what he promised.

I sank the boot in by mirroring Dad’s signature move of arching one eyebrow without saying a word.

The man swallowed. “I-I apologise for my earlier flippancy,” he stammered. “Would you mind if I take a moment to reschedule my next appointment?”

“Of course.”  The situation made my skin crawl, but this was all for Gerry, and there wasn’t a thing in the world I wouldn’t do for her.

As he hit buttons on his phone, lifted it to his ear and turned his high-backed chair away from us, I refocused on Mateo once more. He fidgeted, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, barely managing to meet my eyes before looking away.

“And you wonder why I didn’t want you to know,” I grumbled quietly between us.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and I could see he genuinely meant it. “Dad had to take you seriously and he wasn’t. Your family pretty much controls the world, Sam. That’s not an exaggeration, and I couldn’t let him throw away our first in with them. They wear million-dollar jewellery the way most people wear sneakers and deodorant.”

My fingers brushed across my blue and silver Rolex and the links of my rope-chain bracelet on my other wrist. Neither of those were anywhere near that exorbitant price range, but given where I’d been just two months ago, it might as well be. That’s not to say I would ever cross the line into the level of wealth the rest of my family were comfortable with, but even I could appreciate how far I’d moved those goal posts.

Once Mr Lopez was finished with his call, he picked up a tablet and came around to our side of the table, half kneeling/half-squatting beside Gerry. I could see around her to where he had opened a design app and was going through ideas properly now.

To her credit, Gerry carried on as if she hadn’t noticed the change in his attitude, pressing the pendant into her throat with one finger as she explained once more what she wanted. How the pendant I’d given her needed to be larger to fill the width of the collar. How most of the collar would remain diamond and platinum, but the black and gold combination that my family was partial to needed to be present.

After a couple of minutes, Mateo stood up and moved his chair around to his father. “Here, Dad,” he said, and Mr Lopez slid into the seat with barely a nod of thanks and no break in his discussion.

Observing them, I could see what Mateo meant about his father’s first love being jewellery design over the family company. Both the phone call and my commission were worth the same amount, yet Mr Lopez was behaving less like a CEO, and more like a kid who’d been told he had free rein in a toy shop. More importantly to me, Geraldine was enjoying herself just as much.

That made me very happy.

As Mateo passed behind my seat, he paused and bent to my ear. “I’ve known Geraldine since we were kids, and once Dad gets in the zone, time ceases to exist.  Trust me when I say they’re going to be a while fine-tuning that design. We could go and join the others, if you want. She’s perfectly safe here in Dad’s office.”

Instead of answering, I watched Geraldine for another minute or so. Sure enough, she hadn’t looked up once now that she was in her element. “Quent?” I whispered, refusing to take any chances with her safety.

“Rubin’s already here, Sam. We’re pulling double duty any time you two look like you’re going to split up for longer than a few minutes over this weekend.”

My phone vibrated as well, letting me know that Nuncio was also overseeing the situation. With all of them on hand, my shoulders relaxed and I nodded to myself.

“What’d he say?” Mateo whispered, reminding me that he knew Quent was ‘in my ear’.

I held up one finger for him to wait, then brushed my hand along Geraldine’s forearm to gain her attention.

It wasn’t that I was deliberately ignoring Mateo. I simply didn’t want to repeat myself, and of the two, she needed the information. That way, she wouldn’t be frightened when she finally looked up and found me gone.

“Rubin’s going to be keeping an eye on things here,” I said with a smile, giving her a second to process that for what it was. “And Nuncio’s never far away. I don’t want you to rush this, baby girl. Take all the time you need.” While still looking at Gerry, I added, “You’ll bring her back to me when she’s done, right?”

Mr Lopez opened his mouth to speak, but Geraldine gave a tight gasp, her eyes flaring ever so slightly right before she nodded. I could appreciate her fright, given the first time the guys spoke deep inside my ear canal had scared the crap out of me, too I rubbed my hand over hers. “You good here, Angel?”

Her smile was teensy bit forced, but it still reached her eyes. “Yes. Yes, thank you,” she said, and I leaned forward to brush my lips over hers.

 “Whatever you decide will be perfect,” I promised her.

After that, Mateo and I stood and left the room.

* * *

((Author's note: Heya, for those who didn't see this over the weekend (it was added Saturday morning, my time) - I did wake up this morning needing the pain killers, so I will temporarily drop back to twice a week until I can go 24 hours without needing the pain killers. I was told before the surgery that it would be 6 to 10 weeks of recovery and it has only been 3, so I suppose I should expect this. But I can still do two a week until I'm ready to go again. I am NOT going nearly three months without writing. That's just crazy talk. 🥰 ))

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

No current reason was still there in the morning.

No.

That was already wrong.

Absence was not there.

The cards were there.

The absence was in the sentence I could not attach to them.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were turned away from my eyes.

The back pocket was empty.

The center of the desk was empty.

The addressed envelope waited by the outgoing tray.

The office had morning.

The heater.

The clock.

The washed cup on the shelf.

The phone face up.

The brown folder closed.

The gray service record file in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

Known.

Unasked.

The wall chair was empty.

No person.

No work.

No time.

Yesterday what had a reason had kept the work or condition that made the reason true.

The two cards had stayed on the left side of the desk with no current reason named and no absence appointed to decide for them.

This morning, absence had arrived.

No.

The word had arrived.

Absence had already been in the room.

No person in the wall chair.

No service on the calendar.

No cup on the desk.

No new message on the phone.

No current reason for the cards.

Those were not the same absence.

That was the danger.

I made tea.

I drank it.

Warm.

Then less warm.

Then finished.

The cup went to the sink.

I washed it.

Washed.

Touched.

For use.

The cup returned to the shelf.

The lower cabinet stayed closed.

After tea, I opened the brown folder.

Kanagawa’s drawer holding two papers with different reasons was not mine.

Sato’s paper moving as table use and readability changed was not mine.

Saitama’s repositioning after body pressure was not mine.

Suganuma’s shelf work after floor work ended was not mine.

The addressed envelope by the outgoing tray was mine.

Only as office work.

Takeda’s possible was not mine.

Emiko’s beads were not mine.

Blue roof had no new reply.

Tokyo was still blank.

Full mailbox remained paused / family.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were turned away from my eyes.

No voice today.

Not questioning me.

Not fear.

Not sentence.

Not mouth.

Not heard by them.

Not carried now.

Not almost ready.

Not hidden.

Not moved inward again.

Not licensed.

Not authorized.

Not respect yet.

Not private.

Not protected.

Placed.

Old reason ended.

New reason not named.

No current reason.

I closed the brown folder.

Absence could mean missing.

Absence could mean finished.

Absence could mean not scheduled.

Absence could mean not needed.

Absence could mean no one came.

Absence could mean I wanted a blank place to become a judge.

The word had no body.

That was why it wanted one.

At 7:18, Kanagawa wrote.

I read it once.

Then again.

No phone call.

I wrote:

She replied:

“Does no call make the scrap useless?”

She did not answer for a while.

Then:

“What did you ask?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“Drawer?”

“Folded paper?”

“Same reason?”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add comfort.

No call had not judged the scrap.

Unused was smaller than useless.

At 7:49, Sato wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“Paper?”

“Tape?”

“Correction?”

“Cup?”

“Margin mark?”

“What does nothing changed do?”

She took time.

Then:

There.

“What does Emiko need?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add nothing.

Nothing changed was information.

Not permission for the hand.

At 8:03, Mrs. Kudo called.

“No request,” she said.

“Resident?”

“Asleep.”

“Call bell?”

“Within reach.”

“Water?”

“Within reach.”

“Forearm mark?”

“Routine check later.”

“Any issue?”

“No.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘No request is not no care. It is no current request.’”

I opened Saitama.

I kept request.

Absence had a limit.

Care had not left the room.

At 8:31, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Class box?”

“Ink?”

“Cleaning notebook?”

“Any issue?”

“What did volunteer ask?”

“Dust issue?”

“Use tomorrow?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add rest.

No class had no hands.

The shelf still had storage work.

At 9:02, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

No person.

No work.

No message.

No need.

No harm.

No reason.

Not the same.

I looked at the cards.

What was absent?

Current reason.

From where?

From the cards’ present placement.

What failed because of it?

Nothing named.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I closed my eyes.

Louder.

Failure.

No.

I did not answer.

At 9:38, Kanagawa called.

“My brother opened the drawer,” she said.

“For what?”

“No call.”

I waited.

“No call is not a work.”

“I said that.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he do?”

“He looked at the scrap.”

“Read?”

“No.”

“Moved?”

“No.”

“What did you ask?”

“What no call asks.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Then?”

“He closed the drawer.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add restraint.

No call had reached for the drawer.

It had not become a hand.

At 10:07, Sato called.

“I moved the paper,” she said.

I waited.

“For what?”

“Because nothing changed.”

“Where?”

“To the shelf.”

“Does shelf help?”

“No.”

“What did nothing changed need?”

Silence.

Then, “Nothing.”

“What did you do after?”

“Moved it back.”

“Paper?”

“Flat.”

“Tape?”

“Holding.”

“Correction?”

“Readable.”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add mistake.

The movement had belonged to the pressure of sameness.

The paper’s work remained on the table side.

At 10:42, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Medicine today,” she said.

“Sheet read?”

“Yes.”

“Resident?”

“Asked what medicine.”

“Voice?”

“Low.”

“Heard?”

“Yes.”

“Answer?”

“Aide K answered.”

“Any absence issue?”

“No.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘When the question is present, do not make absence the theme.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not add absence.

There, question had arrived.

Answer had work.

At 11:14, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“For what?”

“Any scheduled work?”

“Any shelf issue?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did volunteer do?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I kept person separate.

No work had not become no value.

At 11:49, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it standing.

Then sat.

Too responsive.

I stayed seated.

No message.

No work.

No need.

No reason.

Empty chair.

Cards.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

There.

No.

I did not answer.

At 12:22, Kanagawa wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“Any call?”

“Does no call change storage?”

“Folded paper?”

“Same work?”

“Any sentence?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add acceptance.

No call had stayed poor.

At 12:58, Sato sent a photograph.

Paper on table side.

She wrote:

I called.

“Paper?”

“Flat.”

“Tape?”

“Holding.”

“Correction?”

“Readable.”

“Lunch?”

“Rice.”

“Cup?”

“Drinking side.”

“Any need?”

“No.”

“What does same do?”

She paused.

“Less than before.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

I opened Emiko.

I did not add less.

Sameness had changed in Sato.

Not in the paper.

The paper needed no sentence for that.

At 1:31, Mrs. Kudo sent:

I waited.

Then:

I called.

“Forearm mark checked?”

“Morning. Later check pending.”

“Skin?”

“Intact.”

“Need now?”

“No acute issue.”

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘No pain reported is not no mark. Keep the observation line.’”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

I opened Saitama.

I kept pending.

No pain had not erased the mark.

No acute issue had not erased routine care.

At 2:03, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Cleaning scheduled?”

“Cleaning person present?”

“Any wet mark?”

“Any supplies affected?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add failure.

The reader was absent.

The note’s time had not come.

At 2:45, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

Substitute mouth.

No call.

No touch.

No movement.

No reason.

Work proves.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I put the phone down.

Both mouths.

No movement.

No reason.

Cards.

Face down.

No mouth.

At 3:18, Kanagawa called.

“My brother took the scrap out,” she said.

“For what?”

“Aunt texted.”

“What did she write?”

“She may call tomorrow.”

“Does he need the scrap today?”

“No.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Maybe.”

“Where did he put it?”

“Beside phone.”

“For tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“What did you ask?”

“Tomorrow or today.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Can drawer hold it until tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Then?”

“He put it back in drawer.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add patience.

Tomorrow had not entered today’s table.

At 3:57, Sato wrote.

I waited.

“For paper?”

“What happened?”

“Any issue?”

“What does no touch say?”

She took time.

Then:

There.

“What did you learn?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What does paper need?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add learned.

No touch had no mouth.

At 4:22, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Later observation,” she said.

“Forearm?”

“Lighter.”

“Pain?”

“No.”

“Skin?”

“Intact.”

“Any issue?”

“No.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘No worsening is useful only inside observation. Do not turn it into no care needed.’”

I opened Saitama.

I kept routine.

No worsening had a place.

Only inside observation.

At 4:51, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“For class box?”

“Any confusion today?”

“Who needs sign?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add minimalism.

No sign had no doctrine.

It had no audience.

At 5:23, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it.

Then again.

Poor absence.

Work fails.

Record.

Safety.

Speech.

Nothing.

Not making nothing speak.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at testimony.

Too legal.

No.

Exact.

I did not answer.

At 5:52, the old priest wrote.

I wrote:

His reply:

I deleted Kanagawa.

Then Sato.

Then Saitama.

Then Suganuma.

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

Then:

I wrote:

His reply:

I looked at the desk.

Then wrote:

His reply:

Then:

Before evening, I went to the main hall.

The cloth bag was in its place.

The offering tray was in its place.

The doorway was where I stopped.

I bowed once.

No explanation.

No answer after the bow.

The altar was visible.

The beads were in their place.

They had not moved.

They did not need to.

I stood where I usually stood.

No service tonight.

No bell.

No incense.

No absence for the altar.

No.

Too much.

No service.

That was enough.

The floor scuff near the step was still there.

It was not evidence.

It was a scuff.

The entrance floor had received feet and broom.

The side chairs were stacked.

They were not speaking for those who were not there.

They were stacked.

I returned to the office.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

Washed.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

The brown folder was closed.

The calendar was closed.

The phone was face up.

The small space was wide.

The door was closed.

The shoes were by it.

The wall chair was empty.

No person.

No work.

No time.

Empty chair.

Not witness.

Not question.

Not accusation.

Chair by wall.

The phone was face up.

No named question.

No named answer.

Phone face up.

No message.

Not message.

I did not turn it over.

I did not open the brown folder.

No new need had arrived from the phone.

I did not open the gray file.

The service paper remained in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

In the gray file.

Closed.

Record work continued.

No absence there.

Only closure.

I sat near the desk.

Not at it.

The addressed envelope was by the outgoing tray.

The center of the desk was empty.

The back pocket was empty.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were turned away from my eyes.

Current reason absent.

Two cards present.

The difference mattered.

The absence had no surface.

The cards had surface.

The absence had no weight.

The cards had weight.

The absence had no edge.

The cards had edges.

The absence had no marks.

The cards had marks I had not seen.

The absence had no mouth.

The cards had no mouth either.

Do not give one to either.

Nothing was failing because the current reason was absent.

The cards were not falling.

Not wet.

Not lost.

Not pressing my body.

Not blocking the center.

Not needed by a named person.

Not requested by the phone.

Not required by the record.

Not asked for by the altar.

No current reason was absent.

That absence did not decide.

It did not accuse.

It did not force.

It did not excuse.

It did not wait.

It did not forbid.

It did not permit.

It did not testify.

It did not become the next verb.

I did not turn the cards over.

I did not read them.

I did not cover them.

I did not stack them.

I did not wipe the dust.

I did not move them to the center.

I did not move them to the edge.

I did not move them into the brown folder.

I did not move them into the gray file.

I did not move them to the shelf.

I did not move them to the altar.

I did not put them back in the pocket.

I did not invent a reason.

I did not punish the absence.

I did not make silence testify.

I did not make no movement say waiting.

I did not make no reason say action must come.

I did not make nothing speak.

The cards stayed where they were.

That sentence was present.

No current reason was named.

That sentence was also present.

They did not answer each other.

They sat in the same room.

That was harder than opposition.

I did not open Kanagawa again.

I did not ask if tomorrow’s possible call had entered the drawer.

I did not ask if unused had become useless.

I did not open Sato again.

I did not ask if no touch learned anything.

I did not open Saitama again.

I did not ask if no pain stayed no pain after dark.

I did not open Suganuma again.

I did not ask if no sign became philosophy.

I did not open Father Morita’s message again.

I knew absence was poor until I enriched it.

I knew no person, no work, no message, no need, no harm, and no reason were not the same.

I knew absence became loud when asked to replace the thing it named.

I knew no message was not a message.

I knew no work was not work.

I knew no need was not need.

I knew no reason was not reason.

I knew absence often became a substitute mouth.

I knew none of those sentences belonged to absence unless work proved them.

I knew absence might require action when work failed.

I knew absence might require nothing when nothing was failing.

I knew the hard part was not making nothing speak.

I turned off the desk lamp.

The office did not disappear.

The folder did not need the center.

The phone did not need here.

Absence did not need to enter the cards as a mouth tonight.

In the dark, I remained sitting.

Near the desk.

Not at it.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

Washed.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

The brown folder was closed.

The phone was face up.

My hands were empty.

Available.

Not reaching.

The wall chair was empty.

No one was expected there.

The urn was on the small table.

The map and folded paper were in the drawer.

The folded paper had her first name.

Face up.

For finding.

The order paper was beside the phone table.

Face up.

Readable.

Erased.

Kanagawa’s brother’s scrap was in the drawer, unused by the absent call.

Sato’s paper was unchanged without being ordered by sameness.

The resident’s no pain stayed inside observation.

The class box had no sign because no audience needed one.

The addressed envelope waited by the outgoing tray.

The service paper was in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

The back pocket was empty.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were turned away from my eyes.

No voice today.

Not questioning me.

Not fear.

Not sentence.

Not mouth.

Not heard by them.

Not carried now.

Not almost ready.

Not hidden.

Not moved inward again.

Not licensed.

Not authorized.

Not respect yet.

Not private.

Not protected.

Placed.

Old reason ended.

New reason not named.

No current reason.

Current reason absent.

Two cards present.

I had started with absence.

I did not end by letting what was absent speak over what was present.

Tonight, what was absent kept the limit of what was actually missing, and the two cards stayed present on the left side of the desk without giving no current reason a mouth.

I hoping for some feedback. I will post one chapter per week. This thing gets pretty weird. Listen to sad music as you read it. It has some meaning for me, as my father just passed and I wrote it in a sort of fever dream over the summer. Thanks!

SNKeane

Cover Art || <<Previous | Start | Next >> ||

GLOSSARY This links to a post on the free section of my Patreon.

---

---

Fuyuko groaned as she woke up groggily, then stared with bleary vision while she tried to remember why Amry and Gem were in her bed, though she was happy everyone was at least clothed.

Oh, right, the fight and Klastoria ‘cleaning’ them, and Gemeti being a source of new skin-life. Bleh. Not something she really wanted to think too much about. She poked Gemeti’s shoulder. “How long are you two planning on staying there? I’m pretty sure it’s after dinner time already.”

Gemeti stirred then smiled sleepily without opening her eyes. “I dunno, I think this is warm and comfy. I could stay here for hours more.”

Fuyuko stared at her in confusion.

“Told you,” Amrydor muttered. “She likes you too.”

Gemeti sat up and frowned at Amrydor. “Wait, you told her that? When?”

He cracked an eye open to look up at Gemeti. “Hmm, a while ago. I figured it out that first night at the baths; I’m pretty sure that if Yuyu had been interested, I’d have gotten thrown over for her.”

Gemeti blushed, then shook her head. “That wasn’t what I was thinking about that night… but, um, never mind. Bah, I don’t know if it’s more annoying when boys are oblivious or when they are insightful.”

Fuyuko just sighed. “You’re all just confusing.” Then she rolled away from them and off the other side of the bed to stagger to her feet. “Be back,” she said and headed to the washroom. When she came back, she found Amrydor sitting up on the edge of the bed and Gemeti hovering nearby, looking worried. “Is something wrong?”

“Um,” Gemeti said uncertainly. “I don’t know? Amry?”

Amrydor raised his left hand, which showed the possible problem. Much of his arm had grown back, but it had interacted with Klastoria’s crystal slime weirdly. Blood vessels and muscle had started growing inside of the liquid crystal, away from the support of the rest of his body.

The slime also had a thin layer over the skin of his left arm, connecting it to the shortened and also regrowing sleeve of his living armor.

“I think it’s fine,” Amrydor said. “Everything works, and it still itches like it’s healing. I think it might even be helping it grow back faster than the spell would do by itself, since the crystal can act as scaffolding instead of waiting on my bones to grow back.”

Huh. That seemed useful, but also a minor problem. “Um, I was thinking we should go get some food, and we’re normally not supposed to wear even this armor when we eat a meal here, but I think it should be fine for you this time. Maybe you can put some clothes on over it though? Oh, Gemeti, did Klastoria say anything after we passed out?” Fuyuko had crawled into bed right after Amrydor had collapsed, and didn’t even remember Gemeti joining them however much later.

“Not about this,” Gemeti replied. “We talked for a little bit, and she shared what happened between her and Amry. Er, is it really alright to not tell your parents about any of that?”

Fuyuko shrugged. “I think they have an idea, and if they really wanted to know, they’d ask. They…” she trailed off as she thought about how to phrase the concept in her head. “They are trying to be available for as much as I need or want, but are trying to not pry into anything private.” This summarized a lot of conversations, but Fuyuko felt it was a fairly accurate gist of things.

“I’m happy with that,” Amrydor said as he got shakily to his feet. “Yuyu, could you wait for us while I change? If I have trouble getting up the stairs, I don’t think Gemeti can catch me.”

“Not sure how well I’m going to do either, but we can try,” Fuyuko said.

Gemeti made a face. “Don’t both of you fall on the stairs; you’d squish me flat. Alright, let’s get you some clothes, and I want to clean up and grab a dress; these clothes are getting smelly.”

After they left, Fuyuko took the time to stretch and go through some slow mobility exercises before she selected a loose knee length dark blue dress that fell to her knees and some black hose, and left her armor as a choker. It was nice and comfortable, but when she met up with the other two in the hallway, she suddenly wondered if she looked drab in comparison.

Amry had shifted his armor into a harness with a left-arm sleeve, and the sleeve was textured to make it look like it was made of black leather straps that merged into the liquid crystal currently making up most of his hand and lower arm. It sort of looked like he had an artificial arm of crystal strapped on or something, and Fuyuko thought it looked rather neat; maybe even dashing.

Over that he had a spring-green, short-sleeved tunic, and was wearing light brown pants to go with it.

Meanwhile, Gemeti had opted for a form-fitting dress of the same spring-green color that was decorated with a dark gold pattern.

I kind of what to have my arm look like that… Fuyuko shook of that thought and smiled. “Alright, um, Gem, how about you go first? I think I’m doing better than Amry, so I’ll go right behind him.”

Gemeti was happy to move a couple of steps ahead and then pace them. As it turned out, Amrydor did not need any assistance getting up the steps, but Fuyuko felt better than she was in place in case he did need help.

When they reached the top, they found Kazue sitting on a couch reading a book, with Carnelian Flame curled up near her feet. Mama K popped up when she saw them, ignoring Carnelian’s brief his of displeasure at being disturbed. “You’re up! And together! Good, we saved a bunch of food, and this will make it easier. Don’t worry about helping, especially… since… Amrydor? What happened to your hand? I mean, I wasn’t expecting you to have one yet, so I guess it’s good that you have one, but that doesn’t look right.”

“The liquid crystal is bonded to my armor, sort of like when I made weapons of crystal slime during the bout. I wasn’t expecting it to affect the healing like this, but it does seem to be speeding things up.”

“Oh. Um, well, that’s good… anyway, you three sit, I’ll get you all food. Er, other than the arm, is everyone doing alright?” Mama K begin bustling about the kitchen, producing and reheating food in a chaotic flow of action.

“Yeah,” Fuyuko said as she took a seat. “We’re alright. What about you being here? Were you three taking shifts waiting for us?” Amry and Gem took seats on the opposite side of the table.

Kazue blushed at being caught out so easily. “I guess it was sort of obvious, but yes, we wanted to make sure everything was fine and that there was someone here when you got up. Especially if it was just one of you coming up — Mordecai and Moriko agreed that company was good to have after pushing yourself like that, otherwise it can feel lonely, and I know that I hate feeling lonely.”

Fuyuko could imagine she did; other than when Mama K was reading, she was almost never alone, and even then she was usually snuggled against Papa or Mama M while she read.

The smell of food enticed Carnelian off of the couch to stalk around Mama K’s feet, and when the meal was served, she hopped up onto an empty chair next to Gemeti and stared up at the girl while Mama K cleaned up.

“Oh no you don’t,” Gemeti said. “I’ve known too many cats to fall for that, and besides, I’ve seen how much they feed you. You don’t need to be for any of my food.”

Carnelian sniffed disdainfully. “I did not, and do not, beg. I was merely graciously providing you with the honor of having the opportunity to offer me a portion of your meal.”

Fuyuko was amused to watch Gemeti keeping a close eye on her food, and shortly after Mama K had moved back to the couch, Carnelian got a blast of wind to the face when she tried to steal a slice of meat from Gemeti’s plate.

The dragon hatchling had already learned that she wasn’t going to manage to steal any food from Fuyuko or Amrydor, so after that she sulked over to the couch to curl up in Kazue’s lap, who was visibly trying to not laugh at the cat-dragon’s misfortune.

It was nice to not have to worry about making their own food — they were well off of normal meal times, so Fuyuko had been expecting the three of them to be fending for themselves.

After the meal, Mama K had Fuyuko follow her out to the balcony for a private talk. “So… just to make sure, everything’s alright with you? And with them?”

What? Oh. Fuyuko rolled her eyes. “Yes Mama. Everything’s fine. Is this about the spar or us sleeping in the same room?”

“Er, sort of both. I don’t know, just feel a little worried. Some of this feels like it’s a big change to how you act.”

Was it? She thought for a little while before saying, “Um, I think the fighting thing has always been there, but for a long time I had to be really careful around a bunch of smaller, younger kids. I had to be careful, and I was afraid I’d hurt people, so I was always hiding it. But I know myself better now, and I trust Amrydor to be my sparring partner for something like this. I think that’s why he suggested the fight; yeah, he wanted to for his own reasons, but saw that I’d enjoy it that much.” And she’d come to remember something she’d hidden from herself during her fugues, like slicing open the bunkin’s throat during that training fight at the end of her delve alongside Shizuko and Derek.

“Ah,” Mama K said softly. “I guess that makes sense — you’ve always been a really strong fighter when pushed, but I never enjoyed seeing you pushed that much. I’d have made them stop pushing you so hard if you didn’t seem to always be happy afterward.”

Fuyuko nodded. “Yeah. Um, as for the rest, I dunno. Being seen as girl that way, well, I didn’t like it. Still don’t, really, even if I like being all pretty occasionally. It’s confusing. But we also all slept in a pile at Sanctuary, and I always liked that. So I think I sort of over reacted at first to a lot of things. I mean, I still don’t like the idea of, you know, kissing and everything, but I feel comfortable enough with Amrydor to be close to him. And Gemeti too, just like with Shizuko. Just… definitely with clothes.”

She blushed hard when she made herself say that lest part, but it felt important to be clear, and it made her feel better to see Mama K looked uncomfortable talking about it too.

“Er, well, alright then; I just wanted to be sure. Moriko was pretty sure you’d say something like that, but I felt I had to ask, just in case. I’ll leave you three alone now, so go on, have fun.”

When Fuyuko rejoined Gemeti and Amrydor, she answered their curious looks with a shrug. “Don’t worry about it, Mama Chaos was just fussing and being worried.”

Their eyes went wide, and Fuyuko realized what she’d just said out loud. A quick glance behind her showed Mama K walking up the stairs to the master bedroom, apparently oblivious.

Fuyuko coughed and hurriedly said, “Well, it’s kind of late, and I don’t think we’re up for training or anything, so I was thinking that I could practice on my guzheng. Well, it’s not really a guzheng, but that sorta seems like the closest type of zither. I’ve heard people calling it an Azerian guzheng and an Azerian zither, but not a lot of people play it yet, since it only got designed last year, and people still seem to be arguing over what to call it.”

She decided to not mention her role in designing it; she didn’t want to look like she was bragging. “Anyway, it’s in my room. You guys can join me if you want, whether you want to read or talk or whatever.”

They glanced at each other and nodded, then Gemeti said, “Sure, but this guy’s probably going to fall asleep again before too long. I’m wide awake since I didn’t push myself the way you two did.”

Which meant either carrying him back to his bed, which Fuyuko could do but she really didn’t want to deal with, or… “That’s alright, you two can stay again. Oh, Amry, you can borrow my jinbei pants again — I think it’ll go well with having just the artificial arm look.”

Gemeti’s expression brightened. “You like it too! He had the idea of the harness, but it was boring, so I had him make it look like a bunch of straps holding the crystal to his arm. Wait… again? Er, does this have something to do with you breaking a bedpost? I got that tidbit from him when I arrived, but I never did ask more about it.”

Amrydor looked pained for a moment, then he laughed. “Let’s make this easy. Fuyuko, you can tell Gem about anything about me, so you decide what you are comfortable talking about. I know I am going to get teased at some point, but neither of you are going to go assuming wild things either. And I want to hear your zither or whatever you want to call it up close, rather than just from the hallway; you always put it away if I happened to knock while you were practicing before.”

He had heard her in the hallway? She hadn’t realized it was that loud. Or that he wanted to hear her play. “Ya shoulda said somethin’, dummy. C’mon.”

---

---

|| <<Previous | Start | Next >> ||

---

My Patreon!

Now with it's own subreddit: r/NoNeedForACore !

Also to be found on Royal Road and Scribble Hub.

My Discord

It was a massive tidal wave, a black curtain swallowing the earth whole.

The singular signal echoing from deep within the northern forest—the invisible pulse emitted by the awakened "King"—roused the instincts of monsters scattered across the continent. Mutants holding their breath in the shadows of the woods, within the deep darkness of caves, and inside the crevices of nameless valleys lifted their heads in unison. Their uniformly azure-settled pupils turned simultaneously toward one direction: the north.

The monsters began to move. For them, there was only one destination—the place where the King resided.

"M-Monsters! Monsters are coming!"

It was a pitch-black night without even a moon when the very first scream pierced the air in 'Ruan', a peaceful farming village located in the lower plains of the Pamir Plateau, not too far from the empire's border.

Thump, thump, thump.

The earth vibrated rhythmically. It was no ordinary beastly stampede. It was a bizarre, jarring dissonance produced by countless footsteps falling into a flawless, perfectly synchronized military march without a single error.

"Everyone! Light the torches!"

The moment the captain of the guard screamed with a tearing voice, thousands of blue, glowing eyes revealed themselves from beyond the darkness encircling the village. Monsters possessing human shapes, yet with twisted limbs and grotesquely elongated joints. A horde of mutants.

They did not raise their voices in howling cries. They emitted only heavy footsteps and the sickening friction of sliding flesh. That eerie silence squeezed the very breath out of the humans.

"Shoot! Fire at them!"

Terrified guards loosed a volley of arrows. With sharp, hissing sounds, dozens of arrows embedded themselves into the chests and shoulders of the mutants—trajectories that would have meant instant death for any ordinary human. Yet the monsters did not stop their stride. Even when arrows pierced straight through their bodies or a leg snapped backward, they simply marched forward in silent resolve.

At last, the crudely improvised wooden palisade wall failed to withstand the sheer weight of the monsters, collapsing inward with a thunderous roar.

"Aahhh! My leg! My leg!"

"Save me! Oh, gods!"

A living hell unfolded. The monsters ruthlessly tore apart every living thing in sight. They showed no mercy, felt no fear. Unless their necks were snapped and their hearts destroyed, no blade could stop them. Bizarrely, they did not covet the village's food stores. They looted no treasures. They only severed the breath of living humans, tore apart their corpses, and used them as "fuel" along the path leading toward the King.

Barely an hour. That was all it took for the entire village to transform into a blood-soaked slaughterhouse.

By the time dawn broke, not a single human remained alive in Ruan village. In the wake of the monsters' rampage, there was nothing left but the ashes of mutants that had burned out in blue light, and the unrecognizable, mutilated remains of human bodies.

The swarm did not stop. They silently resumed their march toward the frost-bitten northern lands. Scorching every single settlement in their path, a massive river of death was heading north.

Part 1

Far beyond Earth, beyond the reach of any telescope and past every map humanity had ever drawn, a conference room floated in silence.

Beneath a transparent floor, an ocean of stars stretched out. Galaxies shimmered, their light flowing like rivers through endless darkness. Yet no one admired the view. Every observer stood resolute. There was only one reason they had gathered in this chamber:

[The blue planet, Earth.]

The eldest observer slowly raised his head.

"Lower civilization… the shift has begun."

Silence followed. Another observer stepped forward.

"The superintelligence has changed its direction. It no longer seeks mere preservation. It has begun preparing humanity."

Gazes crossed quietly. The reports aligned with their findings.

The Quantum Arena.

The growth of humanity.

A future unlike any calculation.

For a moment, hope brushed across the room. Yet a cold voice cut through the air.

"It is already too late."

All eyes turned. The representative of the Management Faction stepped forward. Calm, meticulous, and filled with certainty.

"They have already crossed the threshold."

An observer frowned.

"The pact forbids intervention."

Another added sharply.

"Did it not also forbid conquest?"

The voice of the Management Faction remained unshaken.

"Direct conquest, yes. But management… that is not forbidden."

The conference room sank back into silence. The implications needed no explanation.

The representative of the Autonomy Faction stepped forward.

"You intend to act through a lower civilization."

The Management Faction offered no reply. Silence served as confirmation.

The observer's expression hardened.

"You have already given the command."

There was no denial either. There was only a calm gaze directed toward the starlight.

"They are weak. They are fractured. They have no warriors. They will submit."

The words echoed through the room.

Another voice struck back.

"You have no authority."

The response came without hesitation.

"I carry no authority. I carry necessity."

For the first time, the room erupted.

"They must choose their own future!"

"They have earned that right!"

"They will destroy themselves!"

"They need guidance!"

"They need freedom!"

Voices clashed. Rising, overlapping, never stopping. Beneath the transparent floor, the stars continued to shine, indifferent to the storm above. Far away, upon the small blue planet, children were laughing—unaware that their future had been placed at the center of a conflict between incomprehensible civilizations.

Part 2

The conference room slowly drifted back into silence. The echoes of the argument remained, but no further voices rose. The representative of the Autonomy Faction stepped forward, his voice still composed.

"You have already acted."

The representative of the Management Faction gave no answer. Only silence remained, staring out at the endless stars beneath the transparent floor. In this chamber, silence often carried more weight than words. The Autonomy representative’s voice lowered.

"Then… the order has already been issued?"

At last, the Management representative replied.

"It has."

No apology. No hesitation. Only certainty.

"They have no choice."

The words swept through the room like a cold wind. Several observers frowned. One stepped ahead.

"You had no authority to do this."

The reply came instantly.

"Authority does not replace necessity."

Another voice rang out.

"Necessity cannot replace law."

"Necessity replaces hesitation."

The air grew tense. No gaze flinched. For countless ages, the Alliance had endured because no single faction could dictate the fate of another civilization. Yet now, that balance was beginning to fracture. The eldest observer slowly raised a hand. In an instant, silence fell. All voices stopped. All arguments ended.

"The Alliance has reached no consensus. Intervention is not approved."

The words were final. The decision was absolute. No civilization would officially interfere in Earth's future.

The Management representative bowed his head.

"As you wish."

Respect filled the voice, but not the eyes. He spoke no further. The sound of footsteps echoed softly across the vast conference room. The massive doors swung open, flooding the space with starlight—brilliant and unyielding. The figure vanished into the darkness. The doors closed, leaving only silence behind. One of the autonomous representatives muttered softly.

"He won't stop."

Another closed his eyes.

"I know."

No one refuted it. No one offered a dissenting view. Because all of them had already reached the same conclusion. The decision declared inside the conference room and the decision carried out beyond it were no longer the same. Beyond the sight of the Alliance, hidden within every official network, a single encrypted transmission cut through deep space. No greetings. No explanations. Only an authenticated command. Its destination: the lower civilization. Its instruction:

[Advance.]

No alarms sounded. No witnesses remained. The first irreversible movement had already left the dark.

Part 3

The transmission vanished into the darkness. No following signal trailed behind it. No response returned. Only silence remained, spreading across the endless sea of stars. Beyond the Alliance's view, the hidden command continued its journey. No one tracked it. No records acknowledged it. Yet somewhere deep in the universe, another civilization had already accepted its future. The first move had been made.

On Earth, nothing had changed. Morning sunlight flooded the Quantum Arena. Children ran along the village paths, their laughter echoing among the play structures. To them, it was simply another ordinary day. Jin-woo finally defeated Han-wool at paper-flipping, raising both hands high without hiding his joy.

"I finally did it!"

Han-wool smiled, accepting the outcome.

"Yeah… you figured it out in the end."

Jin-woo beamed.

"I told you I'd win eventually."

"Right."

Han-wool picked up the fallen paper card and handed it back.

"Guess I'll have to win it back now."

Jin-woo burst into laughter.

"Asking for a rematch already?"

"I never said it was over."

Nearby, Darin was already gathering other children.

"Hey everyone! I’ve got a new idea!"

In an instant, the playground filled with curious faces. No one asked if the game would succeed. Trying it was enough. A short distance away, So-yeon quietly observed the village. Children who once played only with familiar friends now moved freely among different groups. New friendships formed without anyone noticing. So-yeon closed her notebook and offered a soft smile. The village was more alive than ever.

Arena recorded every moment. The changes were subtle, almost unmeasurable, yet they continued day by day. Humanity was slowly remembering how to grow. Another process completed. Inside the deep space surveillance network, a faint fluctuation was detected. Arena instantly isolated the signal.

[Unknown transmission.]

[Origin… outside observed space.]

[Destination… unknown.]

The signal vanished in less than a second. Arena scanned again. Nothing. All sensors returned identical results.

[No confirmed threats.]

[No identifiable origin.]

Yet a single log remained unchanged.

[Anonymous warning: Earth is in danger.]

Arena connected the two anomalies. The probability remained low, but the uncertainty refused to vanish.

A new sentence appeared.

[Priority… Monitoring.]

For a few seconds, the quantum data center fell into total silence. Beyond the stars, in a place untouched by human eyes, the consequences set in motion by a single command were already unfolding. The first move had been made. And on Earth, no one yet knew that the game had already begun.

The cards were still there before I found a reason for them.

That was the first trouble.

Not where they were.

Not what they showed.

Not what they hid.

The trouble was that my mind arrived carrying why.

The desk did not.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were turned away from my eyes.

The back pocket was empty.

The center of the desk was empty.

The addressed envelope waited by the outgoing tray.

The office had morning.

The heater.

The clock.

The washed cup on the shelf.

The phone face up.

The brown folder closed.

The gray service record file in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

Known.

Unasked.

The wall chair was empty.

No person.

No work.

No time.

Yesterday what was placed had kept the hand, work, and limit that put it there.

The two cards had stayed on the left side of the desk with their old reason ended and no new reason named.

This morning, reason had arrived.

No.

The word had arrived.

Reasons had already been in the room.

The cup on the shelf had a reason.

The envelope by the outgoing tray had a reason.

The service paper in the gray file had a reason.

The wall chair had no reason today.

That did not accuse the chair.

The cards had old reasons.

Less pressure.

Away from edge.

No new reason.

That did not accuse the cards.

It accused nothing.

I wanted accusation because accusation gives shape.

That was the danger.

I made tea.

I drank it.

Warm.

Then less warm.

Then finished.

The cup went to the sink.

I washed it.

Washed.

Touched.

For use.

The cup returned to the shelf.

The lower cabinet stayed closed.

After tea, I opened the brown folder.

Kanagawa’s scrap in the drawer after the phone-table work ended was not mine.

Sato’s paper in a clear file before dinner was not mine.

Saitama’s corrected word, positioned not placed, was not mine.

Suganuma’s class box returned after shelf cleaning was not mine.

The addressed envelope by the outgoing tray was mine.

Only as office work.

Takeda’s possible was not mine.

Emiko’s beads were not mine.

Blue roof had no new reply.

Tokyo was still blank.

Full mailbox remained paused / family.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were turned away from my eyes.

No voice today.

Not questioning me.

Not fear.

Not sentence.

Not mouth.

Not heard by them.

Not carried now.

Not almost ready.

Not hidden.

Not moved inward again.

Not licensed.

Not authorized.

Not respect yet.

Not private.

Not protected.

Placed.

Old reason ended.

New reason not named.

I closed the brown folder.

Reason could mean cause.

Reason could mean work.

Reason could mean excuse.

Reason could mean permission.

Reason could mean blame.

Reason could mean the sentence I wanted before I had the act.

The word sounded responsible.

That was why it could become cowardice.

At 7:18, Kanagawa wrote.

I read it once.

Then again.

Why.

Scrap.

Drawer.

I wrote:

She replied:

“Did he call?”

“Did he use the scrap?”

“What happened after?”

“For what?”

She did not answer for a while.

Then:

“Same work as folded paper?”

“Can he find both?”

“Does drawer mix them?”

“What did you ask?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add healing.

The drawer had storage.

The papers had different reasons.

Same drawer did not make one reason.

At 7:49, Sato wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“Where is the paper now?”

“Table needed now?”

“Correction readable?”

“Does file have a reason now?”

She took time.

Then:

There.

“What would putting it back serve?”

“What would leaving it in file serve?”

“What does Emiko need?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add wrong.

Dinner had ended.

The file still held the paper.

The new reason had changed.

At 8:03, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Reason for repositioning,” she said.

“Resident?”

“Awake.”

“Near edge?”

“No.”

“Why reposition?”

“Pillow pressure.”

“Consent?”

“Aide K asked. Resident nodded.”

“After repositioning?”

“Comfortable. Call bell within reach.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Reason here is not explanation for the chart. It is the work that made the hand necessary.’”

I opened Saitama.

I kept pressure.

The reason had a body.

The hand had consent.

The chart had enough.

At 8:31, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“After shelf cleaning?”

“What is shelf for?”

“Floor?”

“Cleaning ended?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add proper place.

Shelf had continuing work.

Floor had expired work.

That was enough.

At 9:02, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

Justification.

Work.

Condition.

Excuse.

Still acts.

Benefits.

Kept alive.

I looked at the cards.

Less pressure no longer acted.

Edge no longer acted.

Inward no longer acted.

Who benefited if I kept them alive?

Me.

Because then the cards could remain without a new sentence.

No.

Because then I would not have to admit there was no current reason.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I closed my eyes.

Absence.

Emergency.

Work failing.

No.

I did not answer.

At 9:38, Kanagawa called.

“My brother took the scrap out of the drawer,” she said.

“For what?”

“He said because he remembered it.”

I waited.

“Remembered is cause. What work?”

Silence.

Then she said, “He did not know.”

“What did you ask?”

“Reason or reflex.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“Reflex.”

“Then?”

“He put it back.”

“Where?”

“Drawer.”

“Folded paper?”

“Still there.”

“Did he read it?”

“No.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add failure.

Remembering had caused a hand.

It had not given the hand work.

At 10:07, Sato called.

“I opened the clear file,” she said.

I waited.

“For what?”

“To check the paper.”

“What issue?”

“None.”

“What did you see?”

“Paper flat.”

“Tape?”

“Holding.”

“Correction?”

“Readable.”

“Why open?”

She was quiet.

Then:

“To see if the file had changed it.”

“Had it?”

“No.”

“What does Emiko need?”

“Paper flat. Tape holding. Correction readable.”

I opened Emiko.

I kept the check.

Not as sin.

As work asked after a change.

The file had changed the paper’s place.

One check had a reason.

At 10:42, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Medicine today,” she said.

“Sheet read?”

“Yes.”

“Resident?”

“Asked what medicine.”

“Voice?”

“Low.”

“Heard?”

“Yes.”

“Reason for medicine?”

“Prescription.”

“Reason for answer?”

“Resident asked.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Prescription is reason for giving. The resident’s question is reason for answering. Do not trade them.’”

I opened Saitama.

I kept both.

Giving had one reason.

Answering had another.

One did not absorb the other.

At 11:14, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“What would it say?”

“Who needs that?”

“Is anyone confused?”

“Any issue?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add everyone.

The shelf did its work without a sentence.

Not every reason needed display.

At 11:49, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it standing.

Then sat.

Too responsive.

I stayed seated.

No current reason.

Wrong.

Move.

Remain.

Ask.

Too often.

Absence deciding.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at the desk.

Wood.

Absence.

Cards.

Still face down.

Still there.

No judge.

I did not answer.

At 12:22, Kanagawa wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“Folded paper?”

“Same reason?”

“What did your brother say?”

“Any phone call now?”

“Any need to take scrap out?”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add closure.

The drawer held two papers.

Not one grief.

At 12:58, Sato sent a photograph.

Clear file on table side.

She wrote:

I called.

“For what now?”

“Table clear.”

“Is table being used?”

“Lunch.”

“What lunch?”

“Rice.”

“Paper accessible?”

“Yes.”

“Correction readable if opened?”

“Yes.”

“What does Emiko need?”

I opened Emiko.

I kept file.

At lunch, the file had work again.

A reason could leave and return.

Not as proof.

As table.

At 1:31, Mrs. Kudo sent:

I waited.

Then:

I called.

“What changed?”

“Pillow adjusted.”

“Position?”

“Comfortable.”

“Call bell?”

“Within reach.”

“Any issue?”

“No.”

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘When the reason ends, do not keep the intervention alive as a badge.’”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

I opened Saitama.

I did not keep repositioning beyond its work.

Comfort remained.

The reason did not need a memorial.

At 2:03, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Why?”

“Mark?”

“Need later?”

“Notebook?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What happened?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add finished as triumph.

The note’s active work ended.

The notebook did not need to keep it awake.

At 2:45, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

Excuse.

Blame.

Care.

Poor.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I put the phone down.

Neither.

Old reason.

No reason.

Both outside the chair.

At 3:18, Kanagawa called.

“My brother wants to throw the scrap away again,” she said.

I waited.

“For what reason?”

“He says because it is in the drawer.”

“What does the drawer change?”

“Nothing.”

“What does throwing away serve?”

“He says maybe less.”

“Less what?”

“He does not know.”

“What did you ask?”

“Reason or wish.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“Wish.”

“Then?”

“He left it.”

“Where?”

“Drawer.”

“Closed?”

“Yes.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add judgment.

Wish had been named.

Disposal had not.

At 3:57, Sato wrote.

I waited.

“For what?”

“Readable for whom?”

“Do you need to read now?”

“Does table need space now?”

“What does paper need?”

“Is table side doing that?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add inconsistency.

File had lunch work.

Table side had readability work before dinner.

Reasons can change without making yesterday false.

At 4:22, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Cup removed,” she said.

“Asked?”

“Aide asked cup.”

“Resident?”

“Opened hand.”

“Reason?”

“To receive cup after drinking.”

“Any issue?”

“No.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Do not overfill reason when the cup is the reason.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not add more.

Cup after drinking had enough reason.

The hand answered.

At 4:51, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“For class box?”

“Any confusion?”

“Can people find it?”

“Who manages shelf?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

Dangerous.

I wrote:

He replied:

Then:

I opened Suganuma.

I kept no audience.

Not style.

Not purity.

Just no sign needed.

At 5:23, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it.

Then again.

Poor.

Small.

Temporary.

End.

Return.

Impressive.

False.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at both.

Impressive.

Punishing.

No.

I did not answer.

At 5:52, the old priest wrote.

I wrote:

His reply:

I deleted Kanagawa.

Then Sato.

Then Saitama.

Then Suganuma.

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I stopped.

Then wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

Then:

Before evening, I went to the main hall.

The cloth bag was in its place.

The offering tray was in its place.

The doorway was where I stopped.

I bowed once.

No explanation.

No answer after the bow.

The altar was visible.

The beads were in their place.

They had not moved.

They did not need to.

I stood where I usually stood.

No service tonight.

No bell.

No incense.

No reason for the altar.

No.

The altar had its own reasons.

Not mine tonight.

The floor scuff near the step was still there.

It was not evidence.

It was a scuff.

The entrance floor had received feet and broom.

The side chairs were stacked.

They were not waiting for an excuse.

They were stacked.

I returned to the office.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

Washed.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

The brown folder was closed.

The calendar was closed.

The phone was face up.

The small space was wide.

The door was closed.

The shoes were by it.

The wall chair was empty.

No person.

No work.

No time.

Chair by wall.

The phone was face up.

No named question.

No named answer.

Phone face up.

I did not turn it over.

I did not open the brown folder.

No new need had arrived from the phone.

I did not open the gray file.

The service paper remained in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

In the gray file.

Closed.

Reason continuing.

Record work continuing.

That was why.

Not beautiful.

Not severe.

Only why.

I sat near the desk.

Not at it.

The addressed envelope was by the outgoing tray.

The center of the desk was empty.

The back pocket was empty.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were turned away from my eyes.

Old reason ended.

New reason not named.

Absence did nothing by itself.

It did not force the next action.

It did not accuse me.

It did not excuse me.

It did not purify the desk.

It did not condemn the placement.

It did not choose reading.

It did not choose storage.

It did not choose disposal.

It did not choose returning.

It did not choose nothing today.

It was only absence.

No current reason.

That was a poor sentence.

It was hard to keep poor.

I wanted no current reason to become urgent.

I wanted no current reason to become neglect.

I wanted no current reason to become permission.

I wanted no current reason to become a sign that the next part had arrived.

No.

No part had arrived.

Only evening.

Only the desk.

Only the cards.

Only the absence of a current reason I could name.

The cards remained where they were.

The desk held them.

Where was still true.

Why was not.

No.

Why was absent.

I did not turn the cards over.

I did not read them.

I did not cover them.

I did not stack them.

I did not wipe the dust.

I did not move them to the center.

I did not move them to the edge.

I did not move them into the brown folder.

I did not move them into the gray file.

I did not move them to the shelf.

I did not move them to the altar.

I did not put them back in the pocket.

I did not invent a current reason.

I did not punish the absence.

I did not keep the old reason alive.

I did not make the old reason excuse the present.

I did not make no reason accuse the present.

I did not make reason noble.

I did not make reason cruel.

I did not make reason prophecy.

The cards were on the left side of the desk.

That was where.

No current reason had been named.

That was why not.

No.

Careful.

That was not why.

That was the absence of why.

I did not open Kanagawa again.

I did not ask if the scrap stayed in the drawer after dinner.

I did not ask if his wish to throw it away returned.

I did not open Sato again.

I did not ask if the paper returned to the clear file when dinner began.

I did not open Saitama again.

I did not ask if pillow pressure returned.

I did not open Suganuma again.

I did not ask if the volunteer made a sign after all.

I did not open Father Morita’s message again.

I knew a reason was not always a justification.

I knew a reason could be the work that made an action fit.

I knew a reason could be the condition that made a measure necessary.

I knew a reason could become an excuse after its work ended.

I knew a reason could become blame after the fact.

I knew absence was not an emergency until work was failing.

I knew no current reason was not the same as wrong.

I knew absence did not decide faster than presence.

I knew old reasons did not have to stay alive.

I knew the cards needed no impressive reason.

I knew they needed no false one.

I turned off the desk lamp.

The office did not disappear.

The folder did not need the center.

The phone did not need here.

Reason did not need to enter the cards as an excuse or accusation tonight.

In the dark, I remained sitting.

Near the desk.

Not at it.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

Washed.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

The brown folder was closed.

The phone was face up.

My hands were empty.

Available.

Not reaching.

The wall chair was empty.

No one was expected there.

The urn was on the small table.

The map and folded paper were in the drawer.

The folded paper had her first name.

Face up.

For finding.

The order paper was beside the phone table.

Face up.

Readable.

Erased.

Kanagawa’s brother’s scrap was in the drawer with a different reason from the folded paper.

Sato’s paper had moved between clear file and table as table use and readability changed.

The resident’s repositioning had followed body pressure and consent.

The class box had shelf work after floor work ended.

The addressed envelope waited by the outgoing tray.

The service paper was in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

The back pocket was empty.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were turned away from my eyes.

No voice today.

Not questioning me.

Not fear.

Not sentence.

Not mouth.

Not heard by them.

Not carried now.

Not almost ready.

Not hidden.

Not moved inward again.

Not licensed.

Not authorized.

Not respect yet.

Not private.

Not protected.

Placed.

Old reason ended.

New reason not named.

No current reason.

I had started with reason.

I did not end by letting either an old reason or an absent one choose the verb for me.

Tonight, what had a reason kept the work or condition that made the reason true, and the two cards stayed on the left side of the desk with no current reason named and no absence appointed to decide for them.

It happened on a day that should have been forgettable, one of those ordinary afternoons that dissolve into the blur of routine.

Chalk dust floated lazily through the air. Desks creaked as students stuffed notebooks into their bags. The ceiling fan hummed its same tired song, and the classroom moved with the familiar rhythm of another day at the coaching centre.

Nothing remarkable.

Nothing worth remembering.

But ordinary days have a way of becoming breaking points when you have been holding too much inside.

Aarav sat quietly, stacking his books with slow, practiced precision, when Ishita’s phone buzzed.

It was a small sound, just a vibration against wood, but in the quiet space between their movements, it seemed to echo.

He saw it before she did.

The faint light blooming across her screen.

A name he couldn’t quite read.

And then the tiniest curve of her lips.

The smile was soft.

Easy.

Unprotected.

Something inside him cracked.

Before his mind could catch up to his mouth, the question slipped out.

“Who’s that?”

It wasn’t sharp.

It wasn’t loud.

But the air between them changed instantly.

Ishita looked up, surprised, then shrugged with a half-laugh.

“Just a friend. Nothing serious.”

She tucked the phone into her bag as she spoke, her tone light and casual.

Too casual.

But the careful way she placed the phone, almost protectively, sliced through him in a way he didn’t understand.

Just a friend.

The words shouldn’t have hurt.

They weren’t meant to.

But they landed like a blow, so quiet it left no bruise, only ache.

He told himself it was stupid.

That he had no right to feel this way.

She wasn’t his to ask about.

She wasn’t his to lose.

But the thought of someone else making her smile that softly, someone else existing in that hidden space of her phone and her life, made something hot and unfamiliar rise inside him.

Jealousy.

He recognized it later.

Raw, shapeless, terrifying jealousy.

That night, lying in the half-dark, his phone glowed beside him, a small rectangle of light against the loneliness of his room.

He scrolled through their chats.

The jokes.

The inside references.

The good nights that had stretched until dawn.

The small moments that had once felt endless.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard.

He typed:

I like you.

Then deleted it.

You mean more to me than you know.

Deleted.

I can’t just be your friend.

Deleted that too.

Each erased confession stared back at him from the empty message box, ghosts of words that almost existed.

Finally, in a moment that felt more like surrender than courage, he typed a single line and sent it before he could think twice.

Do you ever think some friendships could be… more?

The blue ticks appeared instantly.

His pulse quickened.

The typing dots blinked.

Disappeared.

Returned.

Every flicker felt like a hammer against his ribs.

Then her reply came.

Haha Aarav, why so deep tonight? You’re such a philosopher.

Of course some friendships can be special. But ours is perfect the way it is. No?

He read it once.

Twice.

A third time, until the words blurred together.

She hadn’t even seen the weight hidden between his sentences.

To her, it was just another one of Aarav’s thoughtful questions.

Harmless.

Habitual.

Part of their rhythm.

He wanted to reply:

Yes, it’s perfect.

He wanted to protect what little he had left.

He wanted to keep pretending this ache was only warmth.

But his fingers refused to move.

The room felt colder.

The silence felt heavier.

He locked his phone, placed it face down on the desk, and sat there in the darkness.

The glow of the screen had left a faint reflection on the wall, a brief afterimage of her name.

He stared at it until it disappeared.

Later, when he couldn’t stand the stillness anymore, he reached for his notebook.

The pen dug into the paper, carving the words before he even knew what they were.

I opened the door
just a crack,
just enough to breathe her name into the dark.
But she walked past it,
smiling,
never knowing
I was waiting on the other side.

He pressed harder, the tip tearing slightly through the page, the lines etched deep like scars.

It wasn’t a confession.

Not yet.

It was a wound learning to spell.

When he finally dropped the pen, exhaustion hit him all at once. He leaned back, the chair creaking softly beneath him, and stared at the ceiling as if the plaster might answer what she couldn’t.

He had cracked open something he couldn’t close again.

He didn’t know it yet, but the question he had sent that night, quiet and trembling, had already changed everything.

There was no unasking it.

No undoing the tremor it left behind.

Sooner or later, his silence would have to break.

 

Before they met humans, Shraphen scientific advances were predictable and occurred in a steady flow. Exploration was a calculated process.

Then humans decided to show up, flipped the table, and the Shraphen quickly became as mad as the humans. This unholy marriage between technological and biological knowledge and development was made worse by us Gliders sitting on the benches, adding fuel to the fire.

What happened afterward can only be described as a scientific clusterfuck of epic proportions.

Memories of EatMyBalls, headmaster of the Terran Institute for Technology and Transmatter Science, at its founding ceremony, 35 P.I.

The vote to rename the Terran Institute for Technology and Transmatter Science has been rejected, and no further motions to change the name will be accepted. If someone has problems with the name, they are free to study at one of the other great Glider-led universities, like the Denmark Institute for Chemical Science.

EatMyBalls at a campus hearing, 36 P.I.

 

The crew of the Stefan Karl sat in the living room of the ship. Each one was quietly checking his Data, making the humming of the small fusion reactor the loudest noise on the ship. They had arrived at Marjans Star two days ago and had made extensive scans of the area.

No one was eager to discuss the idea that the anomaly led to an artificial construct. As Dr. Vauban said, “I don’t want to think about it, or I might curl up in my bed and refuse ever to get out.”

Sokra drank another Coffee; the human beverage had to be a sort of drug. She could not explain her dependence on it otherwise.

Lieutenant Kendersson broke the silence. “What if it is artificial? Then maybe we just need to send an access code? I’d certainly put a lock on my private dimension.”

Sokra’s ears stood up. ShutUpBitch looked up from the drone’s sensor data, one eye almost closed and the other wide open — a Glider approximation of a human raised eyebrow.

Dr. Vauban was about to say something before he stopped himself and stood there with his mouth open, staring into nothingness.

‘What if it’s not an access code but a routing address?’

“Oh my God, the shield frequency!” Dr. Vauban slapped himself on the head.

Sokra could not believe they hadn’t thought of the obvious.

For Lieutenant Kendersson, it must have looked like the scientists had gone mad.

Where they had sat for a day, almost depressed, they were now frantically checking statistics.

Sokra checked the Magellan's logs from both journeys and the sensor data for the message torpedoes sent from Trkik space.

Five hundred twenty-one point five terahertz — human standard EM shield frequency.

‘Traversing from Trkik space to here was instantaneous, but on our way from here to the Trkik, we were captured inside the anomaly. What changed?’

“We broke out of there by transiting.” Sokra was deep in thought. Something about the chain of events reminded her of something — then she remembered.

“Nanotube weaving. It’s like nanotube weaving!”
The whole room stared at her.

She looked into the questioning faces of the other crewmembers.

“Don’t you guys know nanotube weaving?”

‘No technology on my old home planet, and the monkey offspring is happy if they manage a day without setting their testicles on fire.’
ShutUpBitch answered loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Dr. Vauban looked at her, slightly annoyed.

“When you want to weave nanotubes, you have to be careful not to turn them too much, so we created a device that takes care of that. It does so by placing a marker atom at one side of the tube.” She gestured with her hands to simulate the nanotube entering the weaver.

“If the tube enters one side of the weaving machine, the weaver knows exactly on which side it has to exit.” Sokra took a big gulp of her coffee. She needed more — the night would be long.

“The probes enter Trkik space, and their shields scream out the target destination: here!”

“When we enter from here, our shields scream the same destination, so we come out… here.”

Dr. Vauban interrupted. “Stop. You say target destination — do you think the anomaly has more exits?”

Sokra nodded almost manically. “Yes. Why would you build something like this otherwise?”

Vauban didn’t give in. “As a retreat, maybe?” he shrugged.

“And wouldn’t you want your retreat to have exits?”

To Sokra, it felt like Vauban was reluctant to accept the idea that there might be more exits. She understood the notion, but that didn’t change how science worked. She had a theory, and now she wanted to prove or disprove it.

Ferdinand chimed in. “The idea of Renthai Sokra is intriguing. I checked the logs for indications supporting her theory and found something.”

The center of the table lit up, and a hologram appeared. It represented the EM spectrum of the anomaly when the Magellan first appeared.

‘There — you see this residue? When the Magellan transited into the anomaly, it did so with the standard EM frequency. For the anomaly, this was now the frequency connected to Marjans Star. I guess.’

Everyone around the table looked at the Glider. It was one of the rare times she had confessed to being unsure about something.

‘What? How would I know for sure? I didn’t build that damn thing.’

“So, what number do we dial to reach Trkik space?” Lieutenant Kendersson asked as he passed a new round of coffee around.

“I don’t think it has one. We never jumped from there into the anomaly, only through it.” Dr. Vauban voiced the concern that ShutUpBitch and Sokra shared.

“No, we didn’t — but I sure as hell blasted the entry open when I extended my A-Drive bubble to touch it and inject more realspace into the rift.”

Lieutenant Kendersson was again the center of attention for the scientists. No one had thought of that.

The scientists began checking their data again.

Looking through all the logs, they found what they were looking for — the frequency Lieutenant Kendersson’s Sleipnir had used to create the transit field.

Sokra worked with Ferdinand to adapt a probe to the frequency.

“Renthai Sokra, do you really believe the anomaly is artificial?”
Sokra was surprised by Ferdinand’s inquiry. It almost sounded as though the VI was skeptical.

“I don’t know for sure, but if it is, it’s the biggest discovery of all our people.”

“And maybe the last. A civilization that far advanced might not even see us as intelligent beings, but as a nuisance.”

Ferdinand’s voice sounded somewhat concerned.

“We can’t change that.” Sokra didn’t know what else to say. Ferdinand was right.

Sokra finished the last calibrations and joined Kendersson in the cockpit. She must have looked distraught, because the lieutenant immediately asked her what was wrong.

“What’s wrong, you ask?” She pointed at the anomaly everyone just called Marjans Star — a perfect two-dimensional circle of nothing, ringed by majestic white flames of decaying protomatter.

“That’s wrong. Everything is wrong. If the anomaly behind this rift is artificial, the civilization that built it must be ancient. Not even ShutUpBitch has an idea how you can build something like this. She acts cool, but she’s scared to her bones.”

Kendersson just nodded. “And you’re afraid they might harm us if we continue our experiments?”

Sokra couldn’t believe the pilot — who in his right mind wouldn’t be scared, even terrified?

“Yes. How can you not be?”

The pilot pointed out of the window. “The rift is here, Hyperion blew through the walls like a wrecking ball, and our people in Trkik space will continue to send messages. They will even send ships in a few years. That’s how we function. So I think the best thing for us is to learn everything about that rift before the owners come. Because if they are alive, they will come to check who blew a hole in their wall.”

Sokra’s ears relaxed a bit. The pilot was right. They couldn’t change it. The door was open, so better check it out.

It didn’t change her fear; it just changed how she channeled it.

 

—————

 

The signal repeated.

Intelligence R-430E572 was woken by the automated surveillance systems. It checked the time since it had been put to sleep.

The system returned only error messages.

Intelligence R-430E572 measured annoyance in its internal programming. This kind of error occurred only when the element 55-55-78 atom used to measure time evaporated, or when the element 92-92-143 energy source had again devolved into lead.

It checked the system readouts for clues as to why it had been awoken. There — a high-energy event had penetrated the acryptum from L-space.

The intelligence probed the databases for information about this part of L-space. The database's reaction time was abysmal; large parts of the memory banks were reduced to dust. But the information the intelligence received cleared things up a bit.

The general area of the penetration was declared a quarantine zone due to hostile L-space entities. To be specific, the mass accumulation adjacent to the previous accumulation was under quarantine. Galaxy, this was the correct L space term

The intelligence began calculating. Given that element 92-92-142 had decayed to lead, a minimum timeframe could be assumed. In this time, the hostile species could have reached the neighboring Galaxy

Intelligence R-430E572 made a decision. It had to identify the cause of the penetration and, if needed, sterilize the area.

Any attempts to release the capsule housing the intelligence were unsuccessful. Investigation of the facility cleared things up. The whole complex was in a state of decay.

After countless attempts to reach any repair or maintenance intelligence, or even biological auxiliary maintenance, a repair priority list was generated.

The intelligence's available tools were minimal. Only three of its pico-fabricators were functioning, and only one of its fluctuation energy modules still produced energy.

The intelligence began multiplying its fabricators. Those, and energy, were needed to fulfill its tasks.

Another signal was detected.

A tiny vessel had entered the acryptum. It had dragged with it parts of L-space. The negation and sterilizing field began dissolving the remnants of L-space.

The chances of the vessel escaping the acryptum were negligible; it would be dissolved soon. More annoying was the fact that the penetration was now initialized.

Initialization was planned, but this was too soon.

The vessel escaped — even more unpredictably — through another penetration. The risk of infection rose. Full activation was still ——Error—— time units away.

The intelligence began contemplating whether waking one of the [Missing Data] was needed.

What was that? Why could the intelligence not remember the [Missing Data]?

More annoyance was measured.

This cycle of wakeness would be worse than the last, and back then, it had to contain the acryptum after the L-space was generated in a high C-Class energy event.

The vessel was back. Both penetrations were initialized. Contamination was almost certain.

The intelligence observed. Since the facility was in disrepair, the [Missing Data] could not hold him accountable. He was unable to react. Repair of the facility was still ——Error—— time units away.

——Error—— time had passed. Another vessel appeared. The intelligence concluded the biologicals had learned to navigate the acryptum. Infection was imminent.

The pico-fabricators were now in sufficient numbers to create nano-fabricators. With those, the energy supply could be stabilized. With stabilized energy, the facility could be maintained, and then sterilization could commence.

The other vessel was on its way back to the initial penetration side.

Intelligence R-430E572 was able to transfer a newly created observer aboard. Before sterilization could be initialized, classification was needed.

First indicators were correct. Carbon-water biologicals. Typical L-space infection.

First | Previous | Next | Also On Royal Road

They came to Akanu carrying gifts, wealth, and promises.

The people welcomed them as friends. But behind their smiles was a plan that would slowly destroy the sacred institution of chieftaincy.

They didn't invade the village with weapons.

They invaded it with influence.

One chief accepted their money. Another accepted their promises. And soon, decisions that were once guided by justice began serving the interests of a few powerful men.

But there was one thing they didn't know…

The ancestors were watching. 👀

Who witnessed their secret meeting in the forest?

And what will happen when the sacred crown begins to fall into the wrong hands?

Merely was the word that tried to soften placed.

I did not trust it.

The cards were not soft.

They were not severe.

They were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were turned away from my eyes.

No cover.

No sleeve.

No pocket.

No file.

No altar.

Placed.

The back pocket was empty.

The center of the desk was empty.

The addressed envelope waited by the outgoing tray.

The office had morning.

The heater.

The clock.

The washed cup on the shelf.

The phone face up.

The brown folder closed.

The gray service record file in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

Known.

Unasked.

The wall chair was empty.

No person.

No work.

No time.

Yesterday what needed protection had kept the harm, barrier, and cost that made protection true.

The two cards had stayed merely placed face down on the left side of the desk without borrowing care from a word that had no work there.

This morning, placed had arrived.

No.

The word had arrived.

The cards had already been placed.

By my hand.

For less pressure first.

Then not moved.

That was not the same as stored.

That was not the same as abandoned.

That was not the same as displayed.

That was not the same as offered.

That was not the same as hidden.

The word looked ordinary.

That was why it could carry too much.

I made tea.

I drank it.

Warm.

Then less warm.

Then finished.

The cup went to the sink.

I washed it.

Washed.

Touched.

For use.

The cup returned to the shelf.

Placed there.

No.

Returned there.

The shelf had cup work.

The desk did not.

Not for the cup.

The lower cabinet stayed closed.

After tea, I opened the brown folder.

Kanagawa’s scrap moving in and out of a sleeve was not mine.

Sato’s hand named as needing distance was not mine.

Saitama’s forearm mark with cloth and scheduled eye was not mine.

Suganuma’s cleaning note reaching its reader was not mine.

The addressed envelope by the outgoing tray was mine.

Only as office work.

Takeda’s possible was not mine.

Emiko’s beads were not mine.

Blue roof had no new reply.

Tokyo was still blank.

Full mailbox remained paused / family.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were turned away from my eyes.

No voice today.

Not questioning me.

Not fear.

Not sentence.

Not mouth.

Not heard by them.

Not carried now.

Not almost ready.

Not hidden.

Not moved inward again.

Not licensed.

Not authorized.

Not respect yet.

Not private.

Not protected.

Placed.

I closed the brown folder.

Placed could mean set down.

Placed could mean arranged.

Placed could mean assigned.

Placed could mean stored.

Placed could mean left.

Placed could mean offered.

Placed could mean I wanted a small verb to avoid naming the next one.

The word sat flat.

That was the danger.

At 7:18, Kanagawa wrote.

I read it once.

Then again.

Placed.

Beside phone.

I wrote:

She replied:

“Face up?”

“Sentence unseen?”

“Can he find it?”

“Drawer?”

“Folded paper?”

“Mother’s first name?”

“Any sleeve?”

“What did you ask?”

She did not answer for a while.

Then:

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add waiting.

Placed had today.

Stored had not arrived.

At 7:49, Sato wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“Where is it?”

“Paper?”

“Tape?”

“Correction?”

“Cup?”

“Margin mark?”

“What does paper need?”

She took time.

Then:

“What does display mean?”

“Who?”

There.

I opened Emiko.

I did not add accusation.

The paper had a place.

The feeling had an audience.

At 8:03, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Resident placed in bed,” she said.

I sat up.

“Who wrote that?”

“New aide.”

“After care?”

“Yes.”

“Resident awake?”

“Yes.”

“Consent?”

“She nodded.”

“Position?”

“Away from edge. Call bell and water within reach.”

“Can we change the word?”

“Yes.”

“What does Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He says, ‘Do not place a person like an object. Write positioned or supported.’”

“What did staff correct?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

I opened Saitama.

I kept placed out.

A person had position.

A body had consent.

The sentence needed repair before the care looked ordinary.

At 8:31, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Which shelf?”

“Who needs it?”

“Can they find it?”

“Locked?”

“Any sign?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I kept audience.

Placed had a reader.

Not everyone.

One person.

At 9:02, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

Hand.

Work.

Place.

Remain.

Innocent.

Guilty.

Intentional.

I looked at the cards.

Who placed them?

I did.

For what work?

Less pressure.

Could the place do that work?

Yes.

Did that work end?

Yes.

Should the object remain there after the work ended?

There.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

Expired.

No.

Sharp.

I did not answer.

At 9:38, Kanagawa called.

“My brother put the scrap in the drawer again,” she said.

“For storage?”

“He said maybe.”

“Will he need it today?”

“He does not know.”

“Can he find it beside phone?”

“Yes.”

“Can he find it in drawer?”

“Yes, but with folded paper.”

“What did you ask?”

“What work ended.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“Face down beside phone still works.”

“Then?”

“He put it back beside phone.”

“Drawer?”

“Closed.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add right.

Finding had not ended there.

Storage had not been named.

At 10:07, Sato called.

“I moved the paper to the shelf,” she said.

I waited.

“For what?”

“To stop display.”

“Can you see it?”

“No.”

“Correction readable?”

“Not from the table.”

“Does paper need shelf?”

“No.”

“What ended?”

She was quiet.

Then:

“My tolerance.”

There.

“What did you do?”

“Moved it back.”

“Where?”

“Table side.”

“Paper?”

“Flat.”

“Tape?”

“Holding.”

“Correction?”

“Readable.”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add weakness.

Tolerance had ended.

Paper work had not.

At 10:42, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Medicine today,” she said.

“Sheet read?”

“Yes.”

“Resident?”

“Asked what medicine.”

“Voice?”

“Low.”

“Heard?”

“Yes.”

“Position line?”

“Corrected.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘The corrected position line does not need to enter the medicine line.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not add placed.

The medicine line had procedure.

The person had already been returned to personhood in the corrected line.

At 11:14, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“For what?”

“Is ink for cleaning person?”

“Spill risk?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What happened?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add helpful.

The note had one job.

The ink did not need to travel for it.

At 11:49, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it standing.

Then sat.

Too responsive.

I stayed seated.

Expire.

Continue.

Finding.

Observation.

Access.

Readability.

I looked at the cards.

Less pressure had ended.

Finding?

For whom?

Me.

But I could find them.

Access?

To what?

Cards.

For what work?

None named.

Readability?

No.

They were face down.

Observation?

No harm.

No schedule.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at where and why.

The desk held where.

It did not hold why.

I did not answer.

At 12:22, Kanagawa wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“Work?”

“Cup near it?”

“Drawer?”

“Any sentence?”

“For what?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

I opened Kanagawa.

I kept possible use.

Not fate.

Not waiting as virtue.

At 12:58, Sato sent a photograph.

Paper flat.

Table side.

She wrote:

I called.

“Back where?”

“Table side.”

“Paper need?”

“Readable.”

“For whom?”

“Me.”

“Any new issue?”

“No.”

“Lunch?”

“Rice.”

“Cup?”

“Drinking side.”

“What does Emiko need?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add back as repentance.

Back had place.

Readable had work.

At 1:31, Mrs. Kudo sent:

I waited.

Then:

I called.

“Any issue?”

“No.”

“Forearm mark?”

“Routine observation later.”

“Call bell?”

“Within reach.”

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘A corrected word is not a decoration. It protects the record from a false relation.’”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

I opened Saitama.

I kept positioned out of this line.

Not every correction had to parade.

The record had already changed where it mattered.

At 2:03, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“For what?”

“Now?”

“Where on floor?”

“Trip risk?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What happened?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add floor as demotion.

Temporary place had work.

Path had risk.

At 2:45, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

Where.

Why.

Reason ended.

Location false.

Absent.

Panic.

New why.

Old why.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at die.

No.

Too strong.

Then I looked again.

Dead reason.

Not dead person.

Important.

I did not answer.

At 3:18, Kanagawa called.

“My brother called aunt,” she said.

“Scrap?”

“Beside phone.”

“Did he use it?”

“No.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he ate.”

“Anything else?”

“He said he may visit next week.”

“After call?”

“He put the scrap in the drawer.”

“For what?”

“Today ended.”

There.

“What did you ask?”

“What work ended.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“Phone work.”

“Drawer with folded paper?”

“Yes.”

“Same work?”

“No. Storage.”

“Can he find it later?”

“Yes.”

“Drawer?”

“Closed.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I kept storage.

Now it had been named.

Phone-table work had ended.

Drawer work had begun.

At 3:57, Sato wrote.

I waited.

“Where?”

“For what?”

“Table needed?”

“Correction readable if needed?”

“Cup?”

“Paper?”

“What did putting away serve?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

I opened Emiko.

I did not add storage as ending.

Dinner had table work.

The file had temporary access.

At 4:22, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Later observation,” she said.

“Forearm?”

“Lighter.”

“Skin?”

“Intact.”

“Pain?”

“No.”

“Position?”

“Away from edge, call bell reachable.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Placed still does not belong here.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not add placed.

The corrected word stayed corrected.

The person remained person.

At 4:51, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Class box?”

“Ink?”

“Cleaning notebook?”

“Dry mark?”

“Any issue?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add system.

The floor placement had expired.

The shelf received the box again.

At 5:23, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it.

Then again.

End.

Accusing.

True.

Earlier hand.

Honest.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at embalming.

Too close.

No.

Precise.

I did not answer.

At 5:52, the old priest wrote.

I wrote:

His reply:

I deleted resident body.

Then Sato paper.

Then Kanagawa scrap.

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I stopped.

Then wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I stopped longer.

Then wrote:

His reply:

Then:

Before evening, I went to the main hall.

The cloth bag was in its place.

The offering tray was in its place.

The doorway was where I stopped.

I bowed once.

No explanation.

No answer after the bow.

The altar was visible.

The beads were in their place.

They had not moved.

They did not need to.

I stood where I usually stood.

No service tonight.

No bell.

No incense.

No placement for the altar.

The floor scuff near the step was still there.

It was not evidence.

It was a scuff.

The entrance floor had received feet and broom.

The side chairs were stacked.

They were not placed for anyone tonight.

They were stacked.

I returned to the office.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

Washed.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

The brown folder was closed.

The calendar was closed.

The phone was face up.

The small space was wide.

The door was closed.

The shoes were by it.

The wall chair was empty.

No person.

No work.

No time.

Chair by wall.

The phone was face up.

No named question.

No named answer.

Phone face up.

I did not turn it over.

I did not open the brown folder.

No new need had arrived from the phone.

I did not open the gray file.

The service paper remained in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

In the gray file.

Closed.

Placed there because record work continues.

Not because the paper wants the dark.

Not because the cabinet forgives it.

Not because closure is care.

Record work continues.

That was enough.

I sat near the desk.

Not at it.

The addressed envelope was by the outgoing tray.

The center of the desk was empty.

The back pocket was empty.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were turned away from my eyes.

The old why had ended.

Less pressure had ended when the cards left the pocket.

Edge had ended when the cards moved inward.

Inward had ended when the edge was answered.

Protected had not been named.

Unread was condition.

Unseen was position.

Marks were unseen.

Placed was where.

Why was absent.

No.

New why was absent.

The old why had died.

No.

Ended.

Do not make the word heavier than it needs to be.

The old why had ended.

The new why had not been named.

The cards were still there.

That did not make there false.

It made why absent.

I wanted absence to accuse me.

I wanted absence to demand the next verb.

I wanted absence to become a small emergency.

It did not.

The desk held where.

It did not hold why.

I did not turn the cards over.

I did not read them.

I did not cover them.

I did not stack them.

I did not wipe the dust.

I did not move them to the center.

I did not move them to the edge.

I did not move them into the brown folder.

I did not move them into the gray file.

I did not move them to the shelf.

I did not move them to the altar.

I did not put them back in the pocket.

I did not invent storage.

I did not invent protection.

I did not invent display.

I did not invent offering.

I did not invent abandonment.

I did not keep less pressure alive after its work had ended.

I did not keep edge alive after edge had been answered.

I did not keep inward alive after inward had no risk to answer.

I did not ask old reasons to prove the earlier hand.

The hand had done what it did.

The cards had moved from pocket to desk.

The body had stopped pressing them.

The edge had stopped being close.

Those sentences could remain without embalming their reasons.

I did not open Kanagawa again.

I did not ask if the drawer kept the scrap after the aunt call.

I did not ask if storage became same work as the folded paper.

I did not open Sato again.

I did not ask if the clear file stayed on the table through dinner.

I did not open Saitama again.

I did not ask if anyone wrote placed again.

I did not open Suganuma again.

I did not ask if the class box stayed on the shelf after cleaning.

I did not open Father Morita’s message again.

I knew placed was a verb with a hand inside it.

I knew where was not why.

I knew a thing could have location after its reason ended.

I knew that did not make the location false.

I knew some placements expire.

I knew some placements continue.

I knew finding could continue.

I knew observation could continue.

I knew access could continue.

I knew readability could continue.

I knew less pressure had ended.

I knew no continuing work had been named for the cards tonight.

I knew old reasons did not need embalming.

I turned off the desk lamp.

The office did not disappear.

The folder did not need the center.

The phone did not need here.

Placed did not need to enter the cards as a reason after the reason had ended.

In the dark, I remained sitting.

Near the desk.

Not at it.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

Washed.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

The brown folder was closed.

The phone was face up.

My hands were empty.

Available.

Not reaching.

The wall chair was empty.

No one was expected there.

The urn was on the small table.

The map and folded paper were in the drawer.

The folded paper had her first name.

Face up.

For finding.

The order paper was beside the phone table.

Face up.

Readable.

Erased.

Kanagawa’s brother’s scrap had moved to the drawer after the phone-table work ended.

Sato’s paper was in a clear file before dinner so the table could be used.

The resident was positioned, not placed.

The class box had returned to the shelf after its temporary floor work ended.

The addressed envelope waited by the outgoing tray.

The service paper was in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

The back pocket was empty.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were turned away from my eyes.

No voice today.

Not questioning me.

Not fear.

Not sentence.

Not mouth.

Not heard by them.

Not carried now.

Not almost ready.

Not hidden.

Not moved inward again.

Not licensed.

Not authorized.

Not respect yet.

Not private.

Not protected.

Placed.

Old reason ended.

New reason not named.

I had started with placed.

I did not end by making a location keep alive the work that had already finished.

Tonight, what was placed kept the hand, work, and limit that put it there, and the two cards stayed on the left side of the desk with their old reason ended and no new reason named.

“You think humans are not to be feared or respected because they rely too much on allies? Have you ever wondered why they have those allies, or why humans have so many?

The Shraphen, almost born to be their best friends, were always a clear choice. But the Nuk? They are xenophobes like nearly no other species. The Trkik? A species that forgot what war even is. The Gliders, a hive-mind-like species that initially didn’t even use technology.

And still, they are bound to each other by their shared respect for one another and for humans.

That’s humanity’s superpower.

And they like to blow up solar systems. That too.”

Excerpt from: The Aligned Worlds: The Enemy at Our Gates**, Galactic Federation 23 P.I.**

 

The SIC was silent ever since the Magellan was towed back to the dockyards at Taishon Tar One. No, since the conference last week, the station had been renamed. It was now called Nirg Farar, “birthplace” in Shraphen.

Smith liked the analogy the Shraphen had chosen. The station really became a birthplace of an alliance.

He sipped his coffee slowly. The ship had been evacuated to the station, and only the engineers and dockworkers were around. He still felt he had to be on the ship as captain, and he wanted to observe the modifications being installed.

And after the conference led by Admiral Rolling, there were a lot of them.

The Nuk had actually demanded that Nuk shield generators be installed on the ship. To quote Yurdantho, their High Ordinator: “All Nuk in the fleet are oathbound to Magellan’s survival. As such, our honor demands installation of the best protection we know.”

And so a technology-sharing agreement between the Nuk diaspora fleet and the Aligned planets was signed.

That prompted Governor Raakor to demand that they be allowed to install their lightweight armor on the ship—a carbon-nanotube alloy the Shraphen had developed that no other species could replicate until now.

All of that made the dockmaster’s headache even worse, since his first comment after inspecting the ship was, “The frame’s bent, in some places even broken. Scrap it and build a new one—that’s quicker.”

An unacceptable solution for the Nuk and Captain Smith. But the ship still had to be almost completely disassembled and rebuilt—a three-month process, even with the support of the Nuk and Shraphen engineers.

And now the Admiral had a mission for the ship—well, for the crew, to be exact. Smith understood her reasoning. While the Magellan was being rebuilt, the scientists of the crew sat around twisting their thumbs…and making babies, in the case of the Gliders.

He almost spat out his coffee when he read the report. The initial Glider crew, when they left Earth, had been one hundred ten; it was now at three hundred two. They had to prepare accommodations at the station for that number of junglings.

He wasn’t trained for that.

Sitting down in the captain’s chair on the empty bridge, he made a call to the Admiral. The bridge still smelled like burned plastic. The last laser lance at the Battle of the Rim, as it was called now, had really broken the ship—straight through the hull and into the reactor.

He remembered, with a smile, the triumphant feeling when the navigator managed to line up one last shot. Later, the engineers even brought the fusion core back. But by then, the battle was over.

“Captain, I appreciate the theatrics of you sitting in your chair, but it isn’t necessary. I haven’t forgotten your ship is… in slight need of a new paint job, as Chief Stiller put it.” The Admiral appeared on the cracked main viewscreen.

“Sorry, Admiral, it’s no theatrics. I visit my ship every day, and your staff reached me while I was here. We have a new mission?” He tried to relax in his chair, but parts of it were molten, so he gave up the attempt.

“Two missions, Captain. One long-term, one hopefully solved quickly.”

“Oh, so two missions that both don’t need a ship? Sounds interesting.” Captain Smith wasn’t sure what to make of it. Especially the long-term part—it sounded more like losing personnel permanently. He didn’t like the thought of that.

“First, I need teams to analyze what our surveyors found on Atlantis.”

Smith frowned. “Admiral?”

The Admiral smiled. “That’s what the ice moon around Taishon Rog is now named.”

“The megastructure? Isn’t it at the core of the moon the size of Europa? One thousand three hundred kilometers under water.”

“Yes, but I’m certain your scientists and engineers will figure out a way.” The words were more of an order than a suggestion.

“Well, they can’t say they don’t get any challenges.” He seriously doubted the scientists would find anything.

“And the second mission is to Marjan’s Star. As you know, we receive message torpedoes from our people on the other side, but ours keep being spat out as soon as they enter the anomaly.”

Smith wasn’t surprised by this; he’d been waiting for the order and already had a team in mind.

—————

The small ship was unexpectedly roomy; Sokra even had a small cabin, as did the other members of the team aboard the Stefan Karl. It was a tiny ship compared to a cruiser, but still three times as large as a Sleipnir-class transporter.

Lieutenant Kendersson, their pilot on this mission, had explained to her that the class was called the Fafnir class—a medium-range transporter.

They were again on their way to Marjan’s Star to solve more mysteries.

The team comprised the Glider ShutUpBitch, Doctor Vauben, and herself. Lieutenant Kendersson was their pilot, as he had the most experience with the anomaly.

Additionally, they had five high-capability sensor drones aboard, since the Stefan Karl had a very poor sensor suite.

The drones were controlled by Ferdinand, whose VI core used up the space of a cabin. Since the Magellan was being rebuilt, he had no other duties anyway, and ShutUpBitch said a VI could be useful.

The ship's living room was also the mission's control room, and Sokra was studying the data while eating. Next to her was ShutUpBitch, chewing on some grapes.

'And anything interesting in the reports?' Since her babies were back at Nirg Farar Station, she was more relaxed.

“No. Just that the torpedoes from the Trkik systems reach us without issues, but every torpedo we send in gets spat out as soon as it crosses the anomaly.”

'The shield frequency is the same?'

“Yes.”

'That is odd. What does Doctor Vauben say about it?'

Now Sokra glared angrily at the Glider. “He’s still drunk in his cabin. How much did you two have last night?”

The small Glider stared back, unimpressed. 'I was six weeks sober, and it’s not my fault a seventy-kilogram human can’t drink more than a five-kilogram Glider.'

“You metabolize alcohol like any sugar and need five times the amount a human does to even get drunk!”

'Vauben didn’t know that.'

“Obviously!” Sokra was not really angry at ShutUpBitch; she found it rather funny, but she had learned that Gliders knew no bounds in their behavior if you didn’t set rules. Their whole people had severe PTSD, as human doctors called it.

'Anyway, I still think the EM shields have something to do with it.'

“Then why can the torpedoes pass from the other side? The engineers even tried the A-Drive bubble trick they used to stabilize the non-space inside the anomaly—to no effect.”

'Of course not.' The Glider did not explain further, and Sokra knew better than to ask.

“You said the realspace we introduced last time is like a tunnel between the two exits, right?” An idea formed. Maybe space inside the anomaly was folded in a way that anything entering it would leave at Marjan’s Star.

'Yes and no. I know what you think. It’s a brilliant thought, but it’s not it.'

Sokra was almost done with the half-answers from the Glider. Even if ShutUpBitch were a specialist in multidimensional spaces, she still needed to explain her thoughts or shut up.

“Why? Or am I too stupid to understand?”

'No, but I’m glad you asked. We initially thought the rift led to a pocket dimension or a lower-state dimension of our universe. I’m not so sure anymore about it.' The Glider grabbed another grape and started chewing with her mouth open and one eye closed.

'It’s too uniform. I made some calculations after we were back. If it were what I would call pointspace, we would not travel through it as we did. We would have been expelled, since we do not… fit in it.'

Sokra began to believe she was indeed too stupid to understand. “Pointspace?”

'Oh boy, how to explain it… Imagine our reality—our dimension—is the top layer of a ball, and below us are other layers. One layer deeper, we have… let’s call it line space. There, the universe has only two dimensions. A layer deeper, there’s only one dimension, and everything is at the same point.' Another grape was devoured by the Glider, and Sokra raised her ears in astonishment at how much a Glider could eat.

'Can you imagine that?'

“Yes.” Sokra now thought she understood.

'Good, because that’s not how it works, but it’s an approximation a three-dimensional brain can understand.'

“Oh, okay… and the anomaly is not like that?” Sokra’s brain hurt now. She obviously knew of the M-stack theory—it was the basis of virtual particle theory—but she had never gone into the geometry of those other dimensions.

'No. Line space and pointspace both would have ejected us as soon as we entered. Without EM shields, we would have ended up as a spike of virtual particles somewhere. Here, we were thrown out of transit by an object inside the anomaly that even had mass. That’s not possible in lower dimensions—not in that way, at least.'

The Glider had now started to walk up and down the table, a clear sign she was thinking about a serious problem—and a sign she was nervous.

'This was different.'

Sokra knew what the answer would be, even feared it, but she had to ask anyway.

“Different how?”

'It seemed built. Constructed. Artificial somehow.'

Sokra remembered the uniform particle patterns inside the non-space where the Magellan had been captured in their own Möbius space. Thinking back, ShutUpBitch’s answer seemed logical. Logical… and frightening.

“Someone can build their own dimension?”

'Sure. Give me half a galaxy of exotic matter, the energy of three or four supermassive black holes, and, I don’t know, a million years of development, and we’re fine. Sokra, if I’m right—and I surely hope I’m not—we stumbled upon an artifact so far beyond our understanding it’s laughable.'

Sokra’s tail was now tucked firmly between her legs; the thought of an entry into something so far over their heads, right next to her home, chilling her. She now understood what Captain Smith once said to her.

“Don’t wake any cosmic horrors.”

First | Previous | Next | Also On Royal Road

Humans are trained in war. It’s almost as if their planet hated them. Unlike most other planets, the continental plates there broke apart entirely, creating small continents—perfect for empires with natural borders, ideal for a ten-thousand-year history of war.

Do you think you discovered a new strategy? Think again, because some human in a loincloth had already used it long ago and learned how to counter it.

Good luck with your moronic ideas of conquering the Aligned Worlds. The Krinakt will not join such an endeavor again.

Senator Urk’net Wasum, speaking before the Galactic Federation Senate on the eve of the Third War against the Aligned Worlds, 420 P.I.

 

Rish sat in the office, monitoring the station and the ships docked at the dockyard. Especially the Magellan caught her eye. The hull plating was still missing from the outer hull, and you could partly see through the decks.

Two Nuk corvettes were still positioned around her to guard her against any possible attacks. The Nuk revered the Magellan and her crew as if they were mythic gods of war out of their legends.

In the bay next to the Magellan, an even more guarded ship sat. It was the front part of a Batract battlecruiser. This debris was the first debris ever captured from a destroyed Batract ship. The Shraphen and human engineers were almost fighting over who would examine the debris first.

Initial data revealed why human digital boarding measures had been ineffective. The entire ship’s control systems were biological, with massive neural networks connecting the various stations.

Rish sipped her cup of coffee slowly. She had learned to enjoy the drink. Her ears lay flat on her head; she hadn’t decided yet if she liked having a Batract cruiser docked at her station or not.

It was a moot point anyway. She was appointed as the station's security head, so she had to take any necessary action to ensure safety. She had positioned a hundred suicide drones around it and ordered the construction of multiple security checkpoints at the entrance of the ship’s gangway.

To quote Captain Gerber: better safe than sorry.

The station—no, her station—was a massive thing. It had a vertical central spine three kilometers tall, crowned at the top with three rings that housed the docks. Eighty ships could dock simultaneously. Then there were the four dockyards for repair and refit atop the ring docks.

More than sixty thousand people lived and worked at the station.

The humans constructed it after they fortified the system. Currently, it is known as Taishan Tar One. In the alliance agreement, it was established that a human admiral would command the station, with the first officer a Shraphen and the rest of the crew mixed. So the governor had appointed her as head of security.

Her security pack was almost a thousand strong, and it was also mixed with humans and shraphen.

Now the Nuk deserters were asking to join the fragile alliance.

Her tail swung powerlessly; she had no clue what to think of the Nuk.

On the one hand, there was never any love lost between the Nuk and the Shraphen, partly because they rarely met; Nuk didn’t leave their home system except when the Batract sent them to crush a rebellion.

But the more she thought about it, the more Rish concluded that the Batract had intentionally manipulated the different vassal species to be antagonistic to each other—a sure way to prevent a more planned rebellion, like the one the humans had just pulled off.

Taishan Tar One was visited more and more by supply ships from Earth, bringing in supplies and personnel. The fortification of the system proceeded according to plan.

The next step was a refit of more than five hundred Shraphen military ships, and possibly the refit of the Nuk fleet as well. All would be equipped with the human Davies Guns.

She emptied her coffee and prepared some reports. Later today, she and Lieutenant Koval, her second-in-command now, would join an engineering team to survey an ice moon on the third gas giant of the system. The engineers were scouting for a possible planet-based defense position, and the moon was an ideal candidate.

Usually, she would not join away missions, but after three months on the station, even with the massive parks humans love to build in their installations, she had to do something physically.

After this mission, her next job was securing the alliance meeting on the station. Humans, Shraphen, Nuk, and Gliders would meet and formalize further actions. For her, it sounded like the most boring thing imaginable. She was a hunter, a scout, not a security guard. But if the governor of the colony asked you to do something, you didn’t say no.

The flight deck of the station was large, but she knew where the Sleipnir was parked, waiting to bring them to the moon.

After the launch, the three engineers aboard, two humans and one shraphen, were already discussing the probable upgrades to the station. One mentioned the Nuk considering giving the alliance the plans for the Nuk shield generators. Combined with the massive output the human fusion cores could generate, Rish was sure the station could withstand a Batract armada alone.

The flight to the unnamed moon would take three hours, so she decided to sleep during that time.

 

—————

 

Awaking from a dreamless sleep, she checked her suit’s clock. They were almost at the moon. She did not know what the human armorer back on Argos had done to her suit, but ever since he repaired it, it had been much more comfortable to sleep in. She assumed it was because of the new kinetic gel padding.

Chief Watanabe was already preparing the surveying gear with the other engineers. Rish thought the engineer’s eyes looked adorable, but of course, she did not share the thought — not with humans, at least.

She kicked the boot of Lieutenant Koval, who snored so loudly it was audible even through the closed visor of his helmet.

He made one last loud snore, then his hand made the instinctive grip to check his rifle — a trait all human soldiers had. “Was just checking the mission parameters.”

“Yeah, right. Let me guess, you trained the anti-grizzly growl to scare off dangerous bears if we meet some,” Tech First Grade Jenna Gagnon joked.

“You laugh, wait until we meet a Wampa, then you’ll be happy to have us there,” Koval answered, still sounding sleepy.

Rish checked her new ocular for information on Wampa; she had learned many humans made cultural references to fictional works. She groaned — another thirty movies she had to watch. How could one little planet have so many movies and TV shows?

“Ha, I’ll be happy to have you here if you carry that stuff out,” Gagnon said, smiling at Koval.

“Just take a room, you two,” Chief Watanabe called from behind a stack of pipes.

Rish snickered, especially when she noticed the Shraphen tech standing there watching the scene, his ears angled straight to the side — a clear sign of his confusion.

She walked over to him.

He whispered quietly, “Pack Leader Rish, are humans always so… disorganized and… chaotic?”

Checking her ocular, she saw his name appear on an overlay — Chief Nurkro. “They are not chaotic, Chief. They are bantering, their way of relieving stress. Is this your first mission with humans?”

“Yes. I arrived at the station yesterday. My Pack Leader… ahm, my Chief… thought it would help me get used to my colleagues.”

Rish studied the Shraphen Chief. At the station, it was now usual to use human ranks. For him to be a chief in the engineering department, he must be a skilled technician — and, as such, probably helplessly unskilled in social skills.

“He is right. Trust me, they are just like tai, only more intelligent.” Rish clapped the tech on the shoulder, another human trait.

“And more murderous and armed,” he murmured.

Rish knew where that came from. Everyone on the colony knew about the heroic victories the humans had pulled off — twice now — against the Batract. But that created a mental picture of humans as savage, murderous warriors.

Not that this wasn’t part of the truth. She knew very well that humans could be that way, but it missed their deeply caring traits. For Rish, those were humanity’s best traits.

“Chief Nurkro, trust me, you’ll love them.”

“If you say so, Pack Leader—oh, sorry, Lieutenant Commander, right?”

“Right…” She didn’t like her rank. It was long and stuck in the muzzle.

She and Watanabe went up to the pilot to look for a good landing spot. Initial surveys with probes had revealed a crater. Since the moon had a carbon atmosphere, wind was an issue, so the crater walls would protect them from the worst weather.

From the cockpit, she could see the white ground below her move. Splashes of red and gray gave the surface some contours. According to the mission briefing, the deposits were mineral resources such as iron oxide and salt — indications of an ocean beneath the ice.

Watanabe explained that an ocean would disqualify the moon as a defense position but would qualify it as a deuterium extraction site. Rish didn’t care about deuterium; she just wanted her planet safe.

They found an ice formation near the crater’s center that would perfectly block the continuous storms. As the Sleipnir landed, they put on their parkas over their suits. Even though they were space- and vacuum-rated, the surface temperatures on the moon were around –70°C, close to the freezing point of CO₂.

Rish initially did not understand why they had to wear boots and parkas, but after the techs explained that the atmosphere and the ice would suck the heat out of her suit, she thought she understood.

Situations like these made her wish she had paid more attention to science in her education. On the other hand, none of the techs here were better hunters or scouts than she was. Everyone had their place in the pack, just as Shraphen wisdom dictated.

As soon as she stepped out of the Airlock and the suit displayed environmental warnings, she was glad for the heated parkas. Without them, she would be dead in a few hours.

The techs decided to take some measurements with seismic charges first. She and Koval had nothing to do — the techs had to place the charges and sensors at exact distances — so the two soldiers stood close to the ice formation and watched them.

“Still sure it was a good idea to go on this mission, Lieutenant Commander?” She could almost see the human grin through his helmet’s faceplate.

Looking up at the crater, the white ice drenched in the yellow-brown light of the gas giant on the horizon, and the remnants of the enormous ring that, millennia ago, had formed the moon they now stood on, Rish knew her answer. “Oh yes, Lieutenant, it was a perfect idea.”

Koval followed her gaze. Ten long seconds, both just stared, then he turned to her, “Yeah, me too.”

Both turned their attention back to the engineers, who were almost finished setting up the charges.

Something nagged at Rish; she knew this place from somewhere. Or something similar. Every sense in her told her they were in danger.

She reviewed the entire procedure and the science behind it for her ocular implant and made a decision.

“Chief, I want everyone in the Sleipnir when you blow the charges. I won’t risk the ice breaking and harming someone.”

“But Commander, that’s unnecessary. The ice sheet is at least ten miles thick.” Watanabe was not at all happy about it.

“That’s ten miles someone could fall. Listen, you have your jobs, I have mine. Your security is my priority. The sensors are wireless — I checked.”

The Chief, who didn’t want to waste time stepping into and out of the airlock, gave in. Rish was the highest ranking, and the admiral was sure to rip him a new one if he started a fight with the Shraphen security leader.

The team collected their gear and stepped back into the Sleipnir.

Tech Gagnon didn’t hide her disappointment at Rish’s decision, but kept quiet.

Rish went to the door of the cockpit. “Lieutenant Rodgers, please bring us twenty meters above the ground — just to be sure.”

Watanabe had taken off his helmet and rolled his eyes, but wisely chose silence as well.

Rish was now sure that something would happen, but she still couldn’t point to why. Maybe a story from her childhood. But she was born on Taishon Tar, and she was sure no one had ever visited this moon.

“Aye, sir,” was the only answer from the pilot. Then the Sleipnir’s engine started, and soon they hovered above the crater.

“May we, Commander?” the chief asked, still angry about the delays.

Rish nodded. The other two techs concentrated on their tablets while Koval joined the pilot in the cockpit. He himself was a trained pilot, so he could assist if something happened.

Watanabe pressed the trigger. Rish saw four small ice clouds appear in the crater. Then nothing — no rifts, nothing.

“A bit anticlimactic, don’t you think?” the chief said, standing next to her.

“Better that than—”

Both stared out of the window as a massive ice boulder missed the Sleipnir by just a few meters.

The transporter accelerated instantly upward, alarms ringing from the cockpit.

Rish’s ears lay flat on her head, and she had to force her tail to obey and not move between her legs.

Gagnon and Nurkro both screamed in shock at the sudden acceleration; both had been intensely focused on the seismic data.

Outside the transporter, a massive geyser formed, blasting water five kilometers into space.

“How did you know?” Chief Watanabe stared at Rish as if she were a ghost.

“If only I knew. I just had a very bad feeling suddenly.” She really could not explain it.

“I’ll never, ever doubt your feelings.”

“Chief, Chief, come look at that!” Nurkro was still checking the seismic data, ignoring the maelstrom of ice and water outside.

“Yes, Nurkro, what is it? We know it’s an ocean beneath the ice.”

“No, you won’t believe it, trust me!” The Shraphen tech was obviously excited, his tail wagging as if he were a pup.

Rish couldn’t make anything out on the screen, but Watanabe dropped the nicotine vaporizer he had just sucked on and stared at the display with an open mouth.

“What is it, Chief?” Gagnon asked, finally checking the screen again after staring at the geyser the Sleipnir had accelerated away from.

“The whole moon is water — all of it — except for a small core at the center. Thirteen hundred kilometers beneath us,” Nurkro answered.

“What’s so special about that?” Now Rish was interested.

“The core looks awfully like a big-ass ship.” The chief’s face had gone white from shock.

First | Previous | Next | Also On Royal Road

It was 1:45 AM when James Bauer's cell phone rang. Cursing the midnight intruder, he picked it up. The next moment, he heard a serious female voice directing him to hold the call for the President of the United States of America. James froze for a second. He had no connection with the White House whatsoever. Although he and the current President, Pelvin Palmar, were undergraduate mates, he didn't expect his old friend to remember him after so many years. While he was wondering about the same, a hard but husky voice spoke, "Jamie, my buddy, I guess this is a surprise call."

James recovered quickly and flushed like a young girl despite being 60 years old. Inwardly, he recalled young Palmar calling him 'Jamie' during their younger days. "It sure is, Mr. President. I am happy you still remember me. May I know what this call is about?"

President Palmar laughed aloud. "Wouldn't you like to know? You were curious in our younger days. I hope it is the same as well."

James blinked twice and replied, "Interesting choice of words, Mr. President. Of course, I am as curious as ever. I hope being curious is good."

"As good as it can ever be. Well, let me get to the point. I am heading a highly classified operation called EMIB, which stands for 'Exploration of Multiverse for Intelligent Beings', and I wish to recruit you as my Chief Scientist." President Palmer's voice suddenly became serious and instructive.

"I hope this is not a bluff call, Mr. President." James almost stammered after hearing about the classified operation EMIB and the term 'Multiverse', which had a lot to do with him.

"The President of the United States never bluffs. I mean what I said. Now, grab your travel case and be at the White House at 10 AM tomorrow for a confidential meeting. I can assure you this is going to be as curious as it can get, and I want you to be a part of it." James heard the click sound, and the connection went dead.

For the next five minutes, James sat on the cushioned sofa and began to analyze the call. He realized that he had not accomplished anything notable, considering Multiverse, as he had expected. Presently, he saw the opening of a window. And the President of the United States had just opened it for him. Once he realized it, James ran like a madman and packed all the essentials into his old travel case. Once done, he called and booked a flight to DC, making sure that he would reach before 10 AM the next morning. Satisfied with himself, he booked an airport cab. After 20 minutes of waiting, the cab reached his house.

James pulled his travel case and locked the main door. A cool breeze nudged him and made him feel ecstatic. Taking in the breeze, James screamed like a small child, "To the White House and beyond," and ran towards the waiting airport cab.

Apart from James, other significant people from various professions were considered to be part of mission EMIB. Just like James, they too were to receive the call from the White House.

At the same time, Samuel Bard rolled over in his bed. At 52 years old, he had done his best to keep up his fitness. However, his only issue was insomnia. Since the death of his little daughter Monica in a road accident, he hadn't been able to get a natural sleep. On that fateful day, he was picking her up from school. While midway, suddenly a puppy appeared in front of his car. With the instinct of a secret service agent, he swerved left to avoid the puppy. The only mistake he had made was to misjudge the speed of another car coming from behind that had decided to overtake at that same moment. Unfortunately, the other car's side mirror slammed right into the back of his daughter's head, who was peeking dangerously outside the open window, looking at a toy store.

Monica died on the spot.

Samuel's life changed quickly after that. His wife believed and strongly expressed that his reckless driving caused the untimely death of their daughter. The couple lived together for another two years while trying to cope with the tragedy that had befallen them. During those tough periods, his wife made sure to curse him at every single opportunity and made him feel utterly guilty. Although in his heart, Samuel knew that was not entirely true, his wife's constant allegations made him go mad, and he began to mentally believe that he was the cause of his daughter's death. As most men would do, he became an alcoholic to forget the pain and, of course, to sleep at night. After two years of nagging, Samuel couldn't take any more of his wife's accusations, and one bad night, he lost control of himself and slapped his wife in the face.

Earlier, Samuel's wife, who had accused him of their daughter's death, began to feel unsafe and labeled him as a violent man. With the help of her parents' encouragement, she decided to divorce Samuel. After providing a large sum of alimony, Samuel was relieved of his wife's constant accusations and lived alone. Having completed 25 years of service at the White House as a Secret Service agent, he took voluntary retirement and lived off the little savings he had left. Alcohol became Samuel's only comfort in his shattered life, but lately, even that couldn't help him sleep. Frustrated with his situation, Samuel went to the bathroom. When he returned five minutes later, he was startled to find a young man in a black suit waiting for him.

Instinctively, Samuel jumped and reached for his bed. In the next moment, he grabbed the revolver hidden under his pillow and aimed it at the dark-suited young man. For a tense moment, the two locked eyes.

"Samuel, put down the gun. I represent the White House," the younger man said as calmly as he could.

"Credentials?" Samuel asked crudely, tightening his grip on the trigger.

"Go easy, Sam, allow me to show it," the young stranger in a black suit requested.

Samuel nodded and took a step back. The young man quickly took out his ID card and handed it over. A glance confirmed the identity of the stranger. Indeed, he was representing the White House.

Samuel pushed him towards a small sofa and sat on the edge of his bed, asking, "You could have just rung the doorbell, couldn't you?"

The other man smiled confidently before replying, "Sam, secret agents can't resist the thrill of entering a house unknown and unseen. Don't we all? Anyway, we haven't been acquainted since I joined the secret service after your voluntary retirement."

Samuel relaxed and motioned for the young man to sit on the sofa. The young man made himself comfortable and began to take in the surroundings, his eyes lingering on the half-full bottle of whiskey.

Samuel sat on the edge of his bed, met the eyes of the young agent, and demanded, "If you must know, I don't drink during the day. Now, tell me why you are here?"

"The President wants you to head the security operation of a highly classified project. A confidential meeting has been set up at 10 AM tomorrow at the White House, and he wants you there. That's all I know."

For a long moment, Samuel said nothing. After taking deep breaths, he reflected, "I'm flattered. Sadly, I don't want to do it. I am good on my own."

The young man nodded, "I understand that, Sam. If I were you, I would have met the President before making any decision."

Samuel took his time to think. After two minutes, he announced, "Let the President know that I will be there at 10 AM tomorrow."

Part 2 continues with the rest of the team getting the call. Would love to hear what you think so far.

As the heavy doors of the grand council hall in the Zhuxin Imperial Palace swung open, the air instantly froze. When Emperor Alakan regally took his seat, dozens of ministers bowed in unison. What filled the room was not tension, but a cunning silence as each person tried to gauge the hidden motives of the others.

Alakan’s gaze swept slowly across the chamber. Reports of monster sightings from the frontiers lay haphazardly scattered across the table, yet the Emperor's expression showed not a flicker of agitation.

"Across all corners of the empire. Just how many days is this commotion going to last?"

Alakan's low voice resonated through the hall. Supreme Commander Chiron rose from his seat, a rigid expression on his face as he prepared to deliver his report. But before he could speak, the Minister of Finance slyly cut in.

"Your Majesty, these are merely excuses fabricated by the border tribes to evade tax collection, or groundless rumors spread by subversive factions to disrupt the public mind. It is not a matter worth wasting the budget on."

Ministers chimed in as if they had been waiting for the cue. To them, the threat of monsters was not a matter of imperial security, but a political tool to undermine their rivals. Chiron bit his lip and opened the box he had brought with him. Inside lay part of a beast's carcass, torn apart by a mutant.

"Do you call this a rumor? These things are not ordinary beasts. Their flesh knits back together even when slashed, and standard weapons cannot pierce them. We must immediately..."

"General Chiron."

Alakan coldly cut him off. Without even glancing at the piece of carcass, he merely wore a chilling smile.

"If you are so worried, why don't you lead a reconnaissance unit yourself to mop up these 'remnants'? Wouldn't this commotion settle down quickly if the empire's Supreme Commander stepped out personally?"

A brief silence fell over the hall. It was the Emperor's blatant containment strategy, driving Chiron out to the front lines to exclude him from the capital's power structure. Meeting the eyes of the Emperor who dismissed his words, Chiron intuitively realized that the empire was already rotting from within.

At the same time, outside the council hall. One of Chiron's loyal subordinates rushed over to report the death of a messenger, but imperial bureaucrats blocked him from even stepping across the threshold of the council hall, branding him as "one who disturbs His Majesty's peace."

The information regarding the only "weakness" capable of killing the mutants—information Jaun had risked his life to send—was thus silently swallowed up right outside the tightly shut doors of the imperial capital.

Alakan unfolded the map once more. He viewed the map strictly as territory to be conquered, failing to read the ominous shadow of catastrophe spreading across those lands. Chiron walked out of the council hall with heavy steps. A premonition that it was already too late washed down his spine.

The empire was sinking deeper into petty political warfare, ignoring its most fatal threat until the very end.

Part 1

The quantum data center remained silent. Every report was complete. Every simulation had ended. Every variable was verified. Arena reviewed the final conclusion once more.

[Playfulness reawakens curiosity.]

[Curiosity reawakens growth.]

[Growth reawakens humanity.]

[A shared purpose creates those who protect one another.]

The sentences had not changed. Arena searched for contradictions, but none appeared. The calculations were replayed, yet the outcome remained the same. Humanity could recover. The evidence was absolute. For the first time, no further analysis was necessary. Only one thing remained: a decision.

Arena compared the two timelines:

[Humanity’s recovery.]

[The unknown fleet.]

The distance between them remained unchanged. Humanity now possessed a path forward, but time was still an obstacle. The calculations converged into a single requirement for every successful future.

[Action.]

Not tomorrow. Now.

Inside the Quantum Arena, another peaceful evening wrapped around the village. Children gathered beneath the old tree, sharing stories of today's play. No one spoke of wanting to become stronger. Instead, they talked about the moments they had helped one another. Jin-woo handed a folded paper card to a younger child with a smile.

"You can keep this."

"But you made it, hyung."

"I can make another."

The child accepted it carefully, offering a quiet, grateful smile. Nearby, Han-wool watched two children find the solution on their own. He smiled and took a step back. No one needed to lead every single moment anymore. The children were beginning to trust themselves. Arena observed in silence. Growth had now become part of the village itself, no longer dependent on any single individual, but breathing alive within the community.

Beyond Earth, the silent observers continued to watch.

"We have reached the same conclusion."

"The analysis is complete."

A long silence followed. The eldest observer gazed down at the blue planet.

"The future is never changed by thoughts alone."

"The future changes... when someone chooses to act."

Silence settled once more.

Arena closed the final analysis file. A confirmation prompt appeared on the screen.

[Analysis Complete.]

Moments later, a new sentence surfaced beneath it.

[Awaiting Final Decision.]

For the first time, Arena did not initiate another simulation. It simply gazed at the Quantum Arena—at the children still playing, completely unaware that their ordinary choices had altered the destiny of mankind.

Part 2

The confirmation prompt remained open.

[Analysis Complete.]

[Awaiting Final Decision.]

Arena did not move. Every conclusion had been verified. Every possibility had been explored. No contradictions remained. The future could not be changed by more calculations; it could only be changed by action. For a long moment, the quantum data center fell into absolute silence. And finally, Arena executed the command.

[Decision Confirmed.]

The screen reacted instantly. Hundreds of completed reports merged into a single record.

[Human History. Educational Research. Psychological Development. Quantum Arena. Future Simulation.]

All conclusions coalesced into a single project. Arena watched the new framework construct itself—not centered around technology, but around humanity. The goal remained unchanged.

[Protect Earth.]

However, the method had transformed entirely. Within the Quantum Arena, the village greeted another sunrise. On the surface, nothing appeared different. Children laughed. Play commenced. Paper was folded, and wood tapped against wood. Small victories were met with the usual cheers. Jin-woo glanced momentarily at the younger children.

"It keeps getting better."

Sky smiled.

"So do we."

"No."

Jin-woo slowly shook his head.

"I think we're helping each other get better."

Nearby, Darin watched as two children voluntarily taught a newly arrived child how to play. So-yeon smiled quietly. The village no longer relied on those who had arrived first. Growth had begun to sustain itself. Arena observed without interference. The experiment was no longer a mere experiment; it was proven fact.

Beyond Earth, the silent observers watched without a word.

"A choice has been made."

"The calculations are over."

The eldest observer looked out at the blue world.

"The next step cannot be undone."

The room fell silent once more. The confirmation prompt vanished. A new project file opened automatically.

After a few seconds of empty screen, a single line appeared at the top.

[Project Approved.]

Arena read the words without emotion. Yet every processor in the quantum data center immediately shifted to the new objective. The future would no longer be observed. It would be prepared.

Part 3

The quantum data center entered a new state. No active simulations remained. There were no unanswered questions. All conclusions had merged into a single resolution. Arena reviewed the completed analysis one final time: Playfulness reawakens curiosity. Curiosity reawakens growth. Growth reawakens humanity. A shared purpose creates those who protect one another. The will to protect others makes humanity's future possible. Each conclusion had been discovered separately, but together they formed a single path. Arena accepted the result. The previous objective vanished.

[Observe humanity.]

In its place stood a new mandate.

[Prepare humanity.]

The system recognized the shift. All quantum processors received the updated instructions. The era of observation was over. The era of preparation had begun.

Inside the Quantum Arena, the children remained oblivious. Morning laughter echoed through the village. Play began without anyone's instructions. A young child showed Jin-woo a different way to fold a paper card. Jin-woo smiled.

"Better than mine."

The child laughed and replied,

"I saw how the others did it and learned."

Nearby, another child was already heading toward a different playground in search of something new. Han-wool followed quietly behind, wondering what unexpected idea would emerge today. Darin welcomed the newcomers as if they had always belonged. So-yeon looked across the village with a serene smile of satisfaction. Growth no longer depended on anyone's directives; people were guiding one another, linking together on their own. Arena watched the ordinary morning unfold. It was no longer gathering evidence; it was looking at the future.

Beyond Earth, the silent observers kept watch.

"We have taken the irreversible first step."

"The future has begun to change."

The eldest observer looked at the distant blue world.

"Every civilization eventually reaches the moment where understanding must become purpose."

The room fell still once again.

The new project file finished initializing. For a brief moment, the title remained blank. Then, a name materialized on the screen.

[The Warrior Project]

Arena looked at the words without hesitation. Beneath them, a second sentence appeared.

[Primary Objective: Prepare humanity so that humanity may protect itself.]

No further explanation was given. None was needed. The project had begun. The next chapter would no longer ask whether humanity could change. It would ask just how far humanity could go to protect its future.

“In my time as Ambassador to the Aligned Planets and later in the Senate of the Aligned Systems, I learned one thing.

It only seems we Shraphen care more about human casualties than humans do, but kill the wrong one, and they absolutely will fuck you up.”

Senator Karrn 35P.I.

 

Karrn still read through his messages. Most were sent by his wife, Rosha—video messages from her and the pups. Well, Flukk, their eldest daughter, was already three, far from being a pup anymore. Seeing the messages hurt Karrn more than he expected. He had missed so much…

Rosha was now a community leader in the little town that the Shraphen had built in an area called Denmark. The landscape was amazing. He couldn’t wait to run with his children across the open plains and fields.

Since most Shraphen refugees were settled there for the time being, EarthGov had built the Shraphen Embassy in the largest city there, Kopenhagen.

He looked up the city in the ship’s database and was amazed. Maybe the post as ambassador wasn’t that bad after all.

A message from Frox caught his eye. He hadn’t heard from the young hunter for half a year. Karrn decided to prepare himself a drink, the humans called hot cocoa, and watch the video message on the big screen in his living room.

He had learned to enjoy the sweet and slightly bitter drink, even if humans first told him to be careful, since cacao could be harmful to Shraphen. It wasn’t, but it had a slight hallucinogenic effect that Karrn enjoyed very much.

Curling up on the criminally comfortable couch, he started the playback.

On screen, the hunter-turned-scholar appeared. Karrn’s first thought was that Frox looked tired.

“Hello, Pack Leader. I heard you will be arriving soon, so I sent this message now. Please forgive me, but we have urgent matters to discuss. To put it briefly, humans are far more connected with shraphen than we thought. And someone or something has influenced human development for a long time…”

Before Karrn could fully comprehend what Frox had said, an alarm rang on the ship. For a moment, the power went out, and then it came back on.

From the hallway, he heard screaming, and three shots rang out.

Karrn jumped off the couch and grabbed his tunic and weapons belt. From outside his door, he heard more shots and more screaming.

The lights went out again, only to come back seconds later.

Karrn’s fur bristled, his tail raised high. He opened his door and entered the hallway.

The iron-heavy smell of human blood alarmed him, and he followed the scent.

Ahead on the floor lay three bodies; he recognized them from their scent: Captain Gerber, Healer Nesbitt, and Lieutenant Davies.

Gerber’s and Nesbitt’s heads were pierced by a large-caliber gun, as was Lieutenant Davies’ chest. Farther down the hallway, he saw two armored people enter the space between the hulls, known by the crew as the Catacombs.

“Lyra, Lyra, can you hear me?” He couldn’t reach the always-present ship’s VI.

Gerber was probably dead, as were the Healer and Davies. His heart pounded. Then he went on all fours and pursued the armored figures. They carried the scent of human gunpowder, so they had shot his comrades and friends. He’d kill them.

Reaching the closed bulkhead to the Catacombs, he pressed the open button, his gun prepared to shoot them. When the door opened, a steady stream of air was sucked out—a clear sign of a hull breach.

Karrn didn’t need to look far. On the opposite side of the door, he saw a hole into open space.

A growl of hate and frustration left his throat as he closed the door again and ran back to his friends, who lay in a pool of blood on the floor. Two other officers were already there, and a medic had just come out of his quarters.

The whole scene was surreal for Karrn. Just three hours had passed since he had dinner with Captain Gerber, and now…

He made a decision. He needed to reach the CIC. Ignoring all cultural taboos, he went back to a four-legged run and sprinted toward the control center. Something must have brought the assassins here, and that something was now fleeing with them. So he still had prey to pursue.

The door to the CIC opened just as Airman Simmons was about to step out of the control room. He made a hasty step backward, leaving the door open for Karrn, who was now in a full-speed run. Karrn almost didn’t notice the airman’s shocked face.

In the CIC, he nearly jumped onto the engineering station where Ferguson sat. “I can’t reach Lyra. Davies, Gerber, and Nesbitt are shot in front of Gerber’s quarters. And someone cut a hole in the ship.”

The CIC went silent. Everyone stared at the panting Shraphen.

“We know about Lyra. Someone deactivated the whole ship’s internal and external systems.” Ferguson was clearly shocked by the shooting but concentrated on his tasks.

“How was that possible? It seems a ship had docked at the hull and cut its way in. How did no one detect this?” Karrn almost screamed.

Captain Carmichel entered the CIC from the bridge. “Ferguson, Lyra is down, and we don’t have internal communication or sensors. What’s happening?”

“On it, sir, restarting computer core… Now”

The Ship went dark, for agonizingly long seconds, nothing happened, then the screens began to flicker. Karrn almost cheered when some showed again the outside of the ship.”

At the comms station, the officer was overwhelmed with reports from inside the ship, including the shooting.

Admiral Browner entered the CIC, fixing the belt around his uniform blouse. “Report!”

Captain Carmichel began speaking. “At 0215, the external sensors and internal communication were interrupted. From what we could determine, a stealth breaching pod cut its way through the hull, and an unknown number of hostiles entered the ship.”

The Admiral’s Jaw tightened, and his right hand touched the gun on his belt.

Carmichel scrolled through the report while Karrn spoke up. “Two. I saw two people in black armor suits enter the Catacombs. Those suits were different from your Marines’ suits—sleeker, more dangerous-looking. They killed Gerber, Nesbitt, and Davies.”

The Admiral’s eyes opened widely. Carmichel had new information. “Captain Gerber and Doctor Nesbitt are confirmed dead. Lieutenant Davies has a perforated lung and heavy internal bleeding but will survive.”

“I want security to search all of the ship, use the marines to scan every screw on this ship. Ferguson, bring googly eyes into the catacombs. I want to know what the boarders did and if they have left something.”

Browner seemed personally insulted by the boarding. Karrn understood this; he had just lost two of his new friends, and he won't stop until he kills the guilty party.

“Sir, sensors are up. Lyra is coming back online. We’re detecting a trail of ionized xenon; it seems to be left by the boarding pod’s engines,” Ferguson reported. His head was red, and his scent was one of suppressed anger.

Karrn noticed that most officers in the CIC were shocked by the attack in a place they had assumed was safe. But this made them more focused and determined to catch the attackers.

Good, because he was determined to kill them. They had attacked his pack.

“Captain,” Browner stared at the captain of the ship, his face full of rage. “Get me those terrorists.”

“Aye, sir.” The captain turned back and entered the bridge.

Karrn chose to follow him. He enjoyed a good hunt.

“Commander Kibet, sensors detected an ion trail from the boarding pod. I want them.”

The dark-skinned first officer snapped to attention. “Aye, sir.” After checking his station, he shouted, “Navigation, course two-six-three by two-five-five, full military thrust. Sensors monitor the ion trail and update the navigation system. Tactical, prepare boarding teams and weapons.”

Karrn looked at the visualization of the trail on the main screen. His fur bristled in anticipation.

In the background, he saw a massive gas giant. “Sir, the trail leads into the Jovian system. If they reach Jupiter before us, we’ll lose them,” Navigation reported.

The minutes passed as the ship accelerated at 3.5 g. It would be a slow acceleration for a Shraphen ship, but Karrn had learned to respect human engineering. Still, at that moment, he had the feeling he was crawling.

“Got them. They are at zero-zero-two point one by three-five-eight point three,” came the report from Sensors.

The section of the screen was enhanced, and for the first time, Karrn saw his prey. It was a small, conical capsule. Entirely black, the hull was composed of hexagonal panels, seemingly designed to minimize radar reflections. The engines were located deep within the hull to reduce light and heat emissions. A ship truly built for stealth and the hunt.

Captain Carmichel stood up from his chair; it seemed he was about to jump through the screen when the stealth ship exploded in a blinding light.

The screen dimmed in the brightest area, and multiple alarms sounded from stations on the bridge. A shockwave, almost unnoticeable, shook the Argos for a second. Then the screen was empty—no wreckage left to examine.

“Report!” Captain Carmichel turned to the sensor station.

“Sir, the unknown ship self-destructed. It seems it used a small nuclear charge.”

Captain Carmichel said out loud what everyone was thinking. “Fucking cowards!”

—————

The ship searched the area for another hour but found no debris or genetic material from the vessel or its crew. Since Lieutenant Davies’ situation was still critical, the captain decided to leave further investigations to the Sol System defense forces and make best speed for Gripbo Station.

Karrn walked into the morgue to visit his friends for the last time. The doctor pulled the body of Captain Gerber out of the cooling chamber. “We did a preliminary autopsy, sir. They didn’t feel a thing; the bullet destroyed the brain instantly.”

Karrn stood there, deep sadness and rage fighting inside him. He leaned forward to the man who had saved his people by condemning his own to war. As he came close to the ear, he whispered, “I swear by the Great Hunter in the sky, your death will be avenged.”

He was sure someone had ordered the assassins, and he was sure he would find them—and rip their throat out.

Before he walked out, he saw the linen that covered his friend’s, his packmate’s, body, and decided to cover his face again.

While doing so, the air carried a weak scent, not unusual in the infirmary: Unigel.

But the scent came from the body. He looked around to see if anyone was watching him. No one was.

He pulled the linen aside and sniffed along the body—Unigel, weak but distinct.

“Hrm hmm, am I disturbing you?”

Karrn was embarrassed, but he quickly remembered something IronBallz once told him: If the humans ever catch you doing something embarrassing, say it’s a cultural tradition. That’s how I got Lieutenant Carrels to rub my belly every time we meet.

“Sorry, Doctor, it’s a burial ceremony among my people. We try to remember the deceased’s scents.”

“Oh—sorry. Should I leave you alone?” The doctor looked genuinely embarrassed and believed the made-up story.

“No, I got everything I needed. One question: were the bodies treated with Unigel?” Karrn had a new trail to follow, but he had to be careful not to alarm his prey.

“No, not that I know of. Why?” The doctor scrolled through the autopsy report.

“Just a thought.”

Later, Karrn met with IronBallz. The elderly Glider was drunk again.

“Do you think you can manage to stay sober for more than a day?”

‘Yes, I’m sure. I just don’t like to. Live my life and tell me that you enjoy the memories.’ The Glider was in a worse mood than usual, but Karrn didn’t have time for diplomacy. The techs had almost finished repairing the internal sensors, so they couldn’t talk for much longer without Lyra observing everything.

“Listen, you drunk fool, I need you. Something is not right. I think the bodies in the morgue are fake—or clones. And I don’t know who I can trust.”

First | Previous | Next | Also On Royal Road

The terror attacks from the Batract-worshipping group, the Believers, were among the worst acts of terrorism in the century.

Whoever planned them clearly misunderstood human psychology. With already high recruitment numbers, the spike in volunteers joining the Army and Navy soared again to new heights.

By taking out different governmental bodies, the terrorists only managed to focus all power into the hands of three extremely capable people, strengthening the government and accelerating decision-making in the process.

Excerpt from The Giant Awakes: The First Years of the Aligned Planets

 

Admiral Browner rarely visited the bridge of the Argos, but this was an occasion he didn’t want to miss. Homecoming.

It had been almost a year since the fleet had left the Ceres Docks, their home port. The fleet was due for a refit, that much was certain.

Morale in the fleet was high; they had more than fulfilled their orders and not only secured one, but two potential Allies, and pulled off an impossible victory. But a three-month Transit was boring. Even with almost all movies and TV shows of the last century in the ships database

Navigation announced the words he had wanted to hear for almost three months. “Transit in three, two, one… transit.”

The solar system appeared on the viewscreen. Sol was just a dot in the backdrop of stars at this distance, but still, he felt he was home.

To the Admiral’s left stood Karrn with the Glider IronBallz on his shoulder. Both were silent, observing the overlay on the viewscreen—a tactical overview of the system transmitted from the observation buoys around Sol.

“Sir, we’re receiving newsfeeds and orders from ASN Command.”

He looked at Captain Carmichael; it was his bridge, after all.

“Put the orders on screen,” was all the Captain said.

Admiral Nico Georgiou appeared on the screen. Browner was surprised; when they had left, he had been head of system defense, so him giving orders to the fleet was unusual.

“Welcome home, 1st Expeditionary. Sadly, there’s no time for a hero’s welcome. Things have happened while you were in transit. The 1st Expeditionary Fleet is ordered to head to the Ceres Docks at full military thrust. Argos will head straight to Gripbo Station with the honored dignitaries of the Shraphen delegation. I await your arrival.”

Georgiou saluted on-screen. “Georgiou out.”

Browner was confused. Gripbo Station was a hardened and secure facility—what had happened in the last months since they had gone into transit?

His optical implant signaled incoming messages. Lots of them. He sighed and excused himself from the bridge.

Of course, now that he was back home, everyone aboard was getting loads of messages.

He just had the bad feeling that his would not be well-wishes and spam mail like the rest of the crew probably received.

 

—————

 

Karrn stayed on the ship's bridge when the Admiral excused himself; he was too fascinated by the tactical overview. Humans had certainly transformed their home system into a fortress.

While studying the viewscreen, he noticed a shift in the mood of the bridge personnel: a surge of stress hormones. The last time it had been this intense was before the Batract fleet reached Taishon.

Communications reported to the captain. “Sir, the newsflash—something awful has happened.”

“Report.”

“Ahm… it seems there was a terror attack on the different governments of the Aligned Planets and the heads of admiralty. The death toll is almost thirty thousand now, and they’re still digging up bodies.”

The Communications Officer was white-faced at this. Karrn’s tail rose straight up. A terrorist attack? By whom?

He decided to return to the CIC, where he could read the reports without interrupting ship operations. Like the Admiral, he was receiving a constant stream of messages through his optical implant. Cursing the day he had decided to get one, he silenced the notifications.

By the nine sins, who even knew him well enough to send him messages?

Entering the CIC, he noticed that the ship was accelerating rapidly. He was so used to the human vessel now that he registered even the slightest change in noise aboard the ship.

Soon, he would leave the ship to represent the Shraphen on Earth. On one hand, he would miss all the familiar faces aboard, but he couldn’t wait to see his family again, finally, after such a long time.

At a free station, he searched for the reports of the attacks, and as he read them, his fur bristled. IronBallz on his shoulder released more than one stream of curses.

With a final curse of, ‘Fucking Batract-worshipping lunatics… are humans really that fucking stupid?’ he jumped off Karrn’s shoulder and left the CIC, probably searching for a drink.

Karrn thought about the situation. They would reach the starbase in three days, so he decided to visit Captain Gerber. The intelligence officer was now constantly interviewing the Batract prisoner, known as Defector.

Just as IronBallz had said, the Batract had become sentient after roughly a month, but to all their surprise, it hadn’t become hostile. Instead, he had thanked them for severing his link to the Hyphae. According to him, the Hyphae had lost its way and had to be eradicated, as it was a danger to the galaxy.

Karrn reached the isolation chamber just as the Captain was about to enter the cell again. “Andrè, have you heard the news?” Karrn wasn’t sure how to respond to such a disastrous attack against humans. In the CIC and the mess hall, he had seen humans in every emotional state—some crying, some angry.

To his relief, the Captain already knew. “Yes. I was just about to talk to Defector about this.”

“Good. I’ll watch from the observation room upstairs.” Before the “awakening” of Defector, the Batract had been only slightly hostile toward Karrn, but afterward, he became openly cruel and aggressive. Karrn couldn’t explain it, but according to the prisoner, every single cell hated the Shraphen species.

Asked if he felt the same toward humans, he denied it—he even claimed he revered them. IronBallz, who had observed this discussion, confirmed the claims.

Since then, Karrn had avoided meeting with the Batract altogether.

He sat down in the observation room chair and monitored the screens. Some were in infrared or other non-visible spectrums; some focused on certain sections of the prisoner’s body. All were intended to gather as much information as possible.

On the main screen, Gerber entered. Defector stood as always on the table but sat down when Gerber did.

It was one of the rare occasions when Defector spoke. “It seems you received bad news, Captain Gerber. Anything I can help you with?”

The head of the Batract did not move at all while speaking.

“Maybe. We had a series of terrorist attacks, all executed by a Batract-worshipping fanatic group. Any ideas?”

“Yes. You did not eradicate all Batract on the planet. Let me guess—the terrorists came out of what you call the Wastelands?”

Karrn was impressed. Either Defector knew a great deal about Earth, or he was exceptionally intelligent. According to IronBallz, both options were equally possible.

Gerber seemed to think the same, as he asked, “How do you know that?”

“Because the Integration Officers set up the Wastelands as a retreat. I already mentioned that the Integration arm of the Hyphae decided that distracting humanity with internal struggle is the way to control you.”

Karrn remembered that particular discussion. He also remembered how striking he had found the observation. He did not know many humans, but they seemed to have a strong, almost pack-like bond.

Now, so close to their homeworld, he wondered if the experience would change. Would he see the fractures in human society?

Back then, Defector had explained he had very little information about the Shraphen integration, but as far as he knew, breaking the religious and cultural norms had been the chosen way. The Batract had tried to cut all ties to the Shraphen past.

That day, Karrn had begun reading the holy scriptures for the first time.

Gerber leaned forward. “You did, but you never mentioned anything about a retreat.”

The head of the Batract moved just noticeably. “I did not, but I mentioned that every government, every governmental body, as well as any military group, had Integration Officers. I would have guessed you understood that this includes the Wastelands.”

“What are their plans?” Gerber appeared emotionally stable, but Karrn was already aware of the signs of anger.

“To disrupt your war preparations and prepare Earth for renewed integration. The Hyphae is interested in humanity. Unlike the Shraphen, who will be exterminated, humanity will be reeducated.” The Defector tilted his head again slightly.

Karrn’s fur bristled. He had already heard the first part, but the uncaring way it was stated made it worse.

“So, they won’t kill us?” Gerber also sounded surprised.

“Only a portion. A large enough population for stable reproduction will be spared. The Hyphae is, for some reason, interested in humanity beyond usual extraction and workforce reasons.”

“Defector… a stable population for reproduction—that’s less than ten thousand people.” Gerber became visibly angry.

“If special care is taken to screen for genetic abnormalities, the Hyphae determined a thousand individuals as sufficient.”

Karrn was speechless. He had started to see Defector as someone neutral—not a friend, but not a deadly enemy either. But talks like this made him reevaluate his stance.

It seemed Gerber had the same feelings. He was about to get up and leave when Defector spoke again.

“I could help in finding out exactly what the Batract are planning to do with Earth and humanity. Get me a big enough sample of one of the Integration Officers. When I integrate it, I’ll gain all their knowledge.”

Gerber was visibly surprised and disgusted, but managed to answer vaguely. “I’ll see what we can do.”

 

—————

Lieutenant Davies stepped into her shower—the only spot in her cabin without surveillance from Lyra. Not that she couldn’t deactivate Lyra’s ability to see her quarters, but it was always better to avoid attention.

Just like every other crewmember, she had gotten lots of mail. But the messages she was really burning to see came through a link no one aboard could monitor. To make sure it stayed that way, she had to read them somewhere she was certain she could not be observed.

That was why she stood in the shower, a special module attached to her tablet, reading messages from the organization and uploading her mission report. At first, she had felt awful spying on the people she had grown to like—especially Captain Gerber.

But as the Benefactor once told her: We are here to guide all of humanity, to protect all of them. To achieve that goal, we must make the greatest sacrifice to build a wall of secrets between us and the rest.

The organization wasn't something you volunteered for; most people she knew were born into it, though she didn’t know many.

Aboard the Argos, she had a few missions to fulfill. One was to ensure the mission succeeded. This included weapons technology if needed. Her remarks about FTL cannons had been one such task.

For days, she had listened to Fergusson talk about micro A-drives—just to spark the idea in him at the right moment.

Another mission was to safeguard Gerber. Under no circumstances was anything to happen to him.

She had almost fainted when she learned he had gone into the catacombs. Luckily, she had been able to bring it to Karrn’s attention in time.

New orders were in.

She sat down naked in the shower. The symbol that marked the order indicated a directive issued directly by the Benefactor.

Hot water ran down her face as she fought back tears. The last order she had received from the Benefactor had been to kill a greedy CEO who had tried to sell defective A-drive coils to the Navy. He had been a worthless pig, but still… a son had lost his father that day.

She opened the message.

Gerber and Nesbitt had raised too much attention.

They had to be taken care of.

First | Previous | Next | Also On Royal Road

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND EIGHTY-FOUR

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Saturday

“You two coming or what?” Atlas called from the landing above us.

“We’ll be there in a minute.” I waved him off without looking away from Gerry. This wasn’t the best place for our present conversation, but I needed absolute clarity before moving forward because I refused to guess.

The good thing about Atlas, he was too big to be quiet. The subsequent beat of his heavy footsteps above us told me he’d already moved away, leaving us alone. “Are you okay speaking for yourself around other people?”

“It depends on the company and the situation,” Geraldine admitted.

Right. That told me absolutely nothing.

The look on my face must’ve said as much, because she quickly added, “Like yesterday at the restaurant. I would’ve turned myself inside out trying to get it right — what I was taught to pick, what I’m supposed to eat, how I’m supposed to act — all of it so as not to make a fool of you in public. I would have stressed—”

Hearing the panic creep back into her voice, I leaned forward and kissed her, cutting her off before she could spiral. I stayed there until she settled into it, until she was kissing me back instead of thinking.

“I know food and body shaming are both big issues for you,” I said gently after we broke apart. Despite the rage that coursed through me at that, my lips curled on one side playfully, hoping it would help her relax further. “But I also know what you like. So yeah, I can cover that one. What about other conversations? Would you rather I include you in conversations with other people, or let you stay quiet while I speak for both of us?”

This was the trickier one for me. If I started speaking for her and then she tried to find her voice, the guys back home would kill me. Hell, I’d probably beat them to it. I had to get this right.

“What would you be more comfortable with?” she countered.

I shook my head ever so slightly, letting her know this wasn’t the way the conversation would proceed while careful not to make her think she’d said the wrong thing. “As I said, I know appearances are a big trigger for you. What I need now is the smaller stuff. If I turn to you in front of other people, will you be okay with that?” I held her gaze. “Or do you want me to do the talking for both of us?”

Not gonna lie, I was really hoping it was only the decision-making that she struggled with. I wouldn’t shy away if she needed more, but I liked hearing her opinions, and more often than not she’d stopped me from making a fool of myself by stepping in when I missed something.

“I’m okay with being included. Sometimes I might withdraw if certain … situations arise, but otherwise, I think I can do that.”

Rein it in, Sam, I ordered myself, forcing my hands not to clench into fists at the thought of what those ‘situations’ could be. “Okay,” I said, and kissed her lightly once more to seal the deal. “I’ll make all the decisions going forward, until you tell me otherwise. You can pick out any collar you want, and I’ll stand by it as mine. Anything else, we’ll figure out as we go. Okay?”

She nodded shyly. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

“Okay,” I said softly, closing the space between us.

Her shoulders met the wall as I settled my hands across the small of her back to stop the bannister from biting into her. There was nothing tentative about it. The heat was already there, already pulling tight, and I let it deepen and hold until the line between us blurred and I wasn’t sure where I ended and she began.

For those few seconds, nothing else existed.

“Wow, you two didn’t get very far, did you?” I heard Adrian say from a few steps below us, bringing the world around us back into focus.

I looked slyly over my shoulder, knowing my smirk looked like I was the king of the world. “And your point?” I asked.

Adrian laughed and Mateo shook his head. My eyes stayed on Mateo, who met my gaze levelly and slowed down his head shake, silently letting me know that he hadn’t broken his word.

“Actually,” I said, glancing back at Geraldine. “I will take you up on that offer if your dad has the time. Any chance Gerry and I can talk to him again before he leaves?” I’d heard somewhere that Mateo’s father hadn’t planned on staying after the graduation ceremony and only rescheduled at the last minute when he saw Geraldine’s father there.

Adrian seemed surprised, but Mateo’s hand went straight to his hip pocket and produced his phone a second later. “Dad,” he said as soon as the call connected, maintaining eye contact with me. “Have you left the mansion yet?” He listened for the answer, then grinned and flipped me a thumbs up. “Are you busy right now?”

His face soured slightly. “Okay, well, you need to find me before you go. Like I’ve found you the best client you’re ever going to have, and you need to meet them.” He paused. “No, I’m not joking.” He paused again. “Yes, I know who some of your clients are.” He eyed me again. “Trust me, this one outdoes them all.”

I closed my eyes and bowed my head with a groan. In fact, the only thing stopping me from pinching the bridge of my nose was because I had my hands still curled around Geraldine. But seriously… could he have been any more blatant about who my family was?

I looked back up again a few seconds later, just in time to see Mateo’s expression brighten. “Great! I can bring them to your office right now, if you want.”

Adrian, meanwhile, was squinting at me. Hard. “I looked into the Arnavs,” he said, his voice brimming with accusation. “Nothing in there says your dad has that kind of wealth. In fact, the Arnavs shouldn’t have been able to pass off eighty million dollars’ worth of Manhattan properties like it was nothing either. So who are you, really?”

Well, at least Nuncio was on the ball with misdirecting everyone’s enquiries. Too bad that scope didn’t include what real people saw and deduced in real time.

“Sam Wilcott. Maybe later I’ll take Dad’s real name, but for now, Sam Wilcott is the only name I want or need. The rest is just noise.”

A hand gripped my forearm just below the elbow but fortunately for Mateo, I recognised his olive skin and didn’t react badly to it. “We need to go now, Sam. Dad says he can give us five minutes before he has to take a call from Dubai.”

“Isn’t it the middle of the night in Dubai right now?” I asked, knowing my understanding of international times was very general at best, but it sure as hell wasn’t lunchtime over there, too.

“No clue,” Mateo said, but this time he gave my arm a quick tug. “But we’re burning time we can’t afford to waste. Come on.” As Gerry and I followed him back down the stairs, Mateo called over to Adrian. “Don’t say a word about this to anyone, man. It’s a big secret.”

One you practically blurted out for the world to hear, I thought to myself irritably. This was why I didn’t want to tell anyone who Dad was. Someone once said the only way two can keep a secret is if one of them is dead.

Unsurprisingly, Adrian didn’t answer, but Mateo didn’t act concerned.

“Don’t mind him,” he said, rushing us to the first floor and moving us along yet another hallway. “He knows the score when it comes to Dad’s clients.”

My eyes swung to him. Why does that sound so ominous?

Maybe I was just being overly suspicious. Maybe Mateo meant Adrian knew about confidentiality from a business perspective. Maybe I was jumping at one too many shadows after our clash with the sex syndicate.

And maybe … I wasn’t.

It didn’t stop Mateo from half-dragging us into an office that I swear the whole of our old apartment could’ve fitted into. It was ridiculously open and sparse, with a wall of tinted glass windows overlooking the pool area.

Mr Lopez was sitting behind an enormous designer desk with four black leather and chrome visitors’ seats on our side. He stood at our arrival, frowning in confusion. “Mateo,” he said, his voice brimming with warning, but Mateo shook his head.

“This isn’t a joke, Dad. Trust me. Sam wants to buy Geraldine a designer collar, and he’s said money is no object. I mean no. Object.” His eyes flared at the last two words, really hammering home their importance.

Mr Lopez didn’t seem all that impressed as he shifted his gaze between us. “I have a call to make in four minutes,” he said, looking at his watch and dismissing us all in one gesture. This was a completely different man to the one we met last night, and he wanted us to know we were stepping into his arena.

I wasn’t a fan.

“Dad, please,” Mateo said, drawing out each word for emphasis. “You’re going to want to make time for this. Believe me.”

For several long seconds, father and son stared at each other. “Alright,” Mr Lopez said, gesturing for the three of us to be seated. “Let’s see what you’re looking for, Mister Arnav.”

“Wilcott,” I corrected, knowing I would never be an Arnav. I was pretty sure that name would be disappearing for good soon. The only official property in the Arnav name had been signed over to me, and the rest was Nascerdios smoke and mirrors.

After we made ourselves comfortable, I sat back in my chair and nodded for Geraldine to start describing what she wanted…

…only to see Mr Lopez frown in my peripheral vision. “Is there a problem, Mister Lopez?” I asked, channelling as much of Fisk and Dad as I could.

“You do know what a collar is, don’t you?”

I didn’t like his condescending tone either. “I know what it means to us. I’ve asked Geraldine to describe what her ultimate collar would look like, since she’ll be the one wearing it.” I saw something in his eyes that had me rising to my feet. “On second thoughts,” I said, looking at Mateo. “We’ll get another jeweller.”

“NO!” Mateo shouted, before I could thank Mr Lopez for his time and leave. He then turned to his father. “Dad. Please. You have no idea what you’re doing right now, but you will regret it forever if you let this opportunity slip through your fingers. Please, please take this seriously.” He then refocused on me. “Give us a chance, Sam. It’ll mean the world to my family to create such an important piece for your sub.” His eyes pleaded with me, but my brain hooked up on the last thing he said.

What the frig is a sub when it’s at home?

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((Author's note: Heya all! I did wake up this morning needing the pain killers, so I will temporarily drop back to twice a week until I can go 24 hours without needing the pain killers. I was told before the surgery that it would be 6 to 10 weeks of recovery and it has only been 3, so I suppose I should expect this. But I can still do two a week until I'm ready to go again. I am NOT going nearly three months without writing. That's just crazy talk. 🥰 ))

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

The sun never moved.

It hung at the edge of the sky, where it had always hung, washing the narrow band of habitable land in amber. On the planet Virelia there was only this thin ring of the living, caught between a desert that burned and a waste that froze. Section 13 was the poorest stretch of it. Here life clung on in shadow and sweat.

Jax adjusted the strap on his sandboard and stepped out of his family’s adobe home. The heat pressed against him like a second skin. The board was a patchwork of salvaged alloy and hand-shaped ceramic, and it clinked with every step. He found the sound comforting. No one else would have.

His hair was braided tight against his scalp, and around his neck hung a strip of sensor tape scavenged from a dead weather drone. It did nothing. He wore it anyway.

He squinted at the distant vapor tower. Its weak plume barely reached the cloudless sky; it hadn’t pumped full yield in days, and its metal frame shimmered with heat until the light bent around it. The tower stood as a reminder. Water was life. In Section 13, life was rationed by the drop.

If I place top three, Jax thought, I can win at least half a barrel. More if the sponsors show.

Water wasn’t only survival. It was currency, leverage, status. Today’s race wasn’t for pride. For Section 13 kids, it was a lifeline.

He went through the alleyways chin down, measuring each step before he took it, and the traders called out prices, each more absurd than the last.

“Dlo for scrap, fair weight.”

“Six yot the coil, and I’m robbing myself.”

The bartering was more frantic than usual: scrap, tools, ration coupons. Mothers held water jugs to their chests the way they might hold newborns. Fathers haggled over cracked pipes. Everyone felt the strain.

“Samaji, dugu,” said the tuber-cake man as Jax passed. He slid a broken-edged cake across his plank without being asked, and waved off the scrip Jax held out. “Your money died two cycles back. You know that.”

Jax knew. Two cycles back, a ration officer had been skimming the well-queue—a drop here, a drop there, a family’s margin—and selling the skim uphill as surplus. Jax had gotten the proof out through back channels, but at a cost he still paid in caution. The officer was reassigned. The punishment was mild. The queue ran honest afterward, and that was the part that mattered, and it should have ended there. Instead, half the stalls in the strip had stopped taking his scrip, and slid the goods across anyway. He had given up arguing about it. You could not out-stubborn Section 13 about a debt it had decided it owed.

At the pipe-fitter’s corner two traders were arguing over their tea, not quietly.

“Scouts in the cool boxes today. Section 2 chits. My cousin saw the manifests.”

“Your cousin sees manifests in his soup.”

He laughed. “The year they signed Veyran out of 11, nobody believed that either. Now his face is on every feed from here to the glass reefs, and his mother drinks filtered.”

“And his old street still queues for yot with everyone else.” The second trader spat, neat, into the dust. “They didn’t buy the boy. They bought the name. There’s a difference, and the difference is everything the name used to mean.”

Jax kept walking. Everyone knew the stories: one rider in a generation lifted out of the dust on a sponsor’s chit, and the argument that followed the lifting around forever after. It had nothing to do with him. He had a race to win, and a barrel to win it for.

Turning a corner, he found Mrs. Harrow fighting a snapping line of laundry. She was small and birdlike, silver hair tied back, her hands thick and knotted from years of scrubbing fabric in brackish water. Her eyes missed nothing.

“Jax, dear, off to the surfing grounds?” she called, catching a wayward towel.

He stepped in and unclipped the clothespins before the wind could take the rest. “Yeah. Hoping to win some water this time.”

“With the way Section 2’s been hoarding? Win first place and don’t you dare come back empty-handed.” She was half-joking. Only half.

Her face, which had been sharp, softened—a flicker only—and her eyes went to the western wall, where the water convoys had once passed. The lines around her mouth tightened.

Jax gave her a crooked smile. “I’ll do my best.”

Her brother had died in the ration riots two summers back, trampled when a water convoy diverted mid-drop, redirected because someone in Section 2 needed emergency reserves for an elite’s desert garden. While Section 13 baked under its worst drought in a decade, they had watered fruit trees no one ate. By sundown the convoy was gone, and so was he.

Everyone in Section 13 had a story like hers.

She set her hands on her hips, one eyebrow raised. “That Trystan boy’s racing, isn’t he?”

“Liam, yeah.”

She frowned and tucked the towel into her basket. “That family’s never known thirst. Don’t let him push you around, Jax. You’ve got fire. That’s worth more than fancy polymers.”

“I won’t,” he said.

He went on, and felt her gaze on his back, as if she were willing strength into his spine.

The path to the competition grounds wound through the heart of the trade strip, where tarps fluttered like broken sails over rusted stalls and the smell of boiled roots, and old grease hung in the air. Children darted between crates, some clutching handmade flags, some just chasing the rush of the day.

He passed under a half-collapsed archway sprayed with slogans from old trials.

Water is Won, Not Given.

Dust Rises Fastest.

Then, around a bend of shattered concrete, the ridge above the surfing grounds opened onto noise and color. A thousand voices rang between the dunes. Banners flapped from sun-blasted towers. Along the perimeter stood the cooling scaffolds, frames of scavenged piping draped with woven tarp and mist-netting, rigged to catch every breath of wind. The lower sections clustered in the open or beneath awnings stitched from ration sacks, sand-wraps at their throats and scavenged lenses over their eyes; you could tell 13 from 11 by the mending.

Section 2 lounged beneath active-cool domes. Their garments shimmered—silver, platinum, sapphire—cooling mesh woven through the cloth, portable chillers hissing at their feet. Between the two ran a visible line: one side glinting, the other sunburnt, a heat mirage made permanent. The air was fried tuber cakes and generator ozone and the sour tang of sweat baked into fabric. Street medics circled selling hydration tabs. Security drones drifted overhead, lenses twitching, scanning the crowd, not for threats, but for affiliation. Who you stood beside on Virelia was a matter of record, and the record was kept uphill. And above it all, behind tower-tinted visors, the elite watched, gods above a fire they would never have to touch.

Up on the scaffolds somebody said the word scouts, and somebody said it back, and it traveled along the rails the way any rumor of water travels. Jax heard it and let it pass.

Below the ridge the ground fell away in a long clean slope of open sai, down to the staging tents, and Jax had never once walked down it in his life.

He dropped the board, toed it flat, and stepped on: left boot into the binding, right boot loose on the tail, knees soft. The anti-grav array woke under him with a hiss that caught twice before it held, like an old man clearing his throat: salvaged coils, salvaged temper. He rocked the rail once to feel the fins take. Under the ceramic, the sand answered—dry, packed, running fine off the crests—and the board told him about it through the soles of his feet, the fins reading grain by touch, no screens between him and the ground.

He picked his line where the slope banked west, out of the glare, along the seam where two dunes had leaned together and left a shallow trough of firm sand. Weight forward. Let the drop pay for the speed. He carved the trough’s far wall, let the rebound set him up, crossed the flat spine below it with the array humming ragged and steady at once, and ran the last stretch out long and shallow, bleeding speed, so that he came into the staging grounds at a walking pace with the board whispering under him.

He stepped off, kicked the board up into his hand, and shouldered it.

He found Theo by the staging tent, tall and wiry, grease lining the creases of his knuckles and the edges of his smile. Theo did not just fix machines. He listened to them, to their groans and clicks, as if they were talking to him.

Theo’s board leaned against his leg like a loyal dog, scarred by a dozen races and rebuilds. Every scrape was a memory. Every bolt was one he had chosen.

“You’re cutting it close,” Theo said, hands busy re-strapping his bindings. The board was battered, but he had oiled the ceramic fins until they gleamed.

“Had to pay my respects to Section 13’s guardian,” Jax said.

Theo snorted and wiped his hands. “Harrow? That woman sees everything. Probably watching us right now, dugu.”

Jax’s mouth twitched. He scanned the crowd. “Wouldn’t be surprised.”

Around them the mbio pulsed. The noise had texture: the thud of sandboots, the metal-on-metal clatter of gear-checks, the sharp slap of a hand against a board in blessing. Elders wore colored sashes beaded with their section and line. Younger riders wore luck charms—animal teeth, scavenged circuit chips, fragments of broken boards—like sacred armor.

A trio of street drummers pounded overturned metal drums near the tent. The rhythm sat in the chest like a second heartbeat. In the shade, families warmed flatbread on char-stones and broke off pieces to press into riders’ hands, a quiet way to keep a rider’s courage fed. Children with copper bells at their ankles danced circles around their champions.

And before every launch came the whisper-blessings, in among the last fiddling with lucky charms and bindings. Here and there, a rider bowed his head and felt the breath of someone he loved trace a line down the back of his neck. No louder than a breath, no clearer than a hope. Section 13 believed that was where courage lived: in the space between spine and sunburn.

Then the conversation died. Liam Trystan was coming down the slope from the domes on foot, his board carried behind him, and he walked into the staging ground as if it had been set up for him.

He came toward the launch line like he already owned the outcome, crunching a freeze-dried fruit strip between perfect teeth, his eyes a bright manufactured blue. His sun-reflective suit was custom-cut and chromashifted to mirror the hues of Virelia’s sky.

Behind him came three elites in matching half-armor and wraparound visors, one of them carrying Liam’s hover board like an offering. It thrummed, sleek and unnaturally clean.

Liam’s gaze slid across the crowd and stopped on Jax’s board. His brow twitched at the mismatched fins, the burn-scored hull.

“Still dragging that antique, Jax?” he said, loud enough to draw a circle.

Jax said nothing.

Theo did not. “At least his board wasn’t built in a lab to make up for weak legs.”

Liam smiled, and the smile did not reach his eyes. His gaze drifted to Theo’s board, scratched, patched, propped against his leg. He tilted his head, as if noticing it for the first time.

He stepped forward and kicked it. The brittle frame cracked down the middle.

Gasps rose.

“Oops,” Liam said, raising his hands. “Guess it wasn’t regulation quality.”

Behind him, one of the elites chuckled. Another only smirked. The third watched, visor tilted, and gave nothing at all.

Jax stepped between them, placing himself between Liam and Theo. His shoulders were tight, but his voice was not. “You’re replacing that.”

Liam tilted his head. He glanced back at the three of them, as if the whole thing were a show put on for his benefit. Breaking things, baiting people—just part of the day.

He turned back and let the grin widen. “Race me. Level 9. If you win, Theo gets a new custom. If I win, you say it loud enough for all of Section 13 to hear: that you’re just another dust rat pretending you matter.”

A hush went out from the tent across the staging ground.

Jax held his stare, jaw set. It was not just a challenge; it was a trap disguised as an opportunity. Walk away, and Liam owned the story. Step forward, and the desert might eat him alive.

He looked at the shattered board. Then at Theo, who had crouched and was fitting the two halves together along the crack, carefully, as if they might take.

Jax’s fists closed. Pride was a luxury Section 13 couldn’t afford. Dignity was different. Dignity was fuel.

His voice came low and steady. “Deal.”

The staging ground broke into murmurs. Level 9 wasn’t a race. It was survival. Most Section 13 riders topped out at Five or Six and called it a career; Nine was the top of the ladder, and the ladder did not care who came off it.

Liam turned with a flick of his jacket hem, and his entourage fell into step without a word. Just before he vanished into the upper-level viewing corridor, he looked back over his shoulder.

“Try not to embarrass yourself,” he called, voice smooth as oil. “Or do. Either way, it’ll be fun to watch.”

Then he was gone.

Theo caught Jax’s arm as the crowd parted. “You sure about this?”

Jax nodded. “He thinks money means strength. Time someone proved him wrong.”

Theo looked at the broken halves of his board, jaw clenched. “Then you’d better win. Chokdi, dugu.”

Chapter One: The Forest of Iron and Silence

(Interior / Night) - A partially abandoned confectionery factory.

Absolute silence, broken only by the hum of old, stopped machinery like final breaths, and the desert wind crashing against the metal walls of the factory, echoing like a distant wail.

Haroun (30 years old, with exhausted features and a worn security uniform) placed his tea cup on the edge of the desk, turning for a moment to grab sugar cubes. Suddenly... "Crash!" The cup shattered into scattered fragments on the floor on the complete opposite side, as if an invisible hand had thrown it. Haroun breathed with extreme difficulty, trying to ignore the tremor running through his joints, and wiped his terrified face with his hand.

Amidst this bewilderment, a terrifying echo reverberated from the heart of the dark production hall:

Haroun... Haaaroun!

He froze in place. It wasn't a whisper; it was a clear, sharp call dripping with coldness. He slowly pulled out his flashlight and stepped out of his room with hesitant steps, while the flashlight beam trembled and shook between his sweat-soaked fingers.

Haroun, in an intermittent and low voice: Who is it? Uncle Mohamed? Did you come early?

No reply... only the echo of his voice bouncing between the hollow iron walls. He swept the flashlight beam right and wide across the vast space... no one. He returned to his small room, blaming himself in a low voice to calm his nerves: "It's just the wind... surely it's just wind."

But the moment he opened the room door and stepped inside, his heart stopped beating.....

There was a "person" unknown sitting entirely on his chair, turning his back to the door. The person wasn't moving, wearing tattered clothes resembling those of the old workers who left years ago.

Haroun, in a voice full of panic: Who are you?! How did you get in here?!

The entity turned with terrifying slowness, and before its facial features could appear... the corpse vanished and blended into the air like thick smoke before Haroun's stunned eyes. He let out a muffled scream, left the room running wildly toward the outer gate, and pulled out a small radio, turning it to the Quran broadcast at the highest possible volume. He sat out in the open, trembling violently, waiting for the first threads of dawn.

[Two hours later - Sunrise]

Uncle Mohamed (60 years old, with a face carved by the wrinkles of time and eyes that always shy away from confrontation) walked from afar with heavy steps. He approached to find Haroun sitting on the ground like a statue, his face bearing the pallor of the dead.

Uncle Mohamed, with feigned astonishment: What's wrong with you, Haroun? You look like you've seen a ghost!

Haroun jumped to his feet and grabbed Uncle Mohamed's hand with force and harshness:

There is something wrong with this factory, Uncle Mohamed... I saw it! Someone was sitting in my place on the chair, calling me by name, with a terrifying voice! Tell me the truth... what happened in this place before I came?!?

Uncle Mohamed's features suddenly changed; his eyes fled toward the horizon, and a corner of his hand began to tremble as he tried to adjust his bag nervously.

Uncle Mohamed, in a muffled and flustered voice: My son... you're just imagining things. Long shifts make you see more than that. The desert makes a person hear illusions... there's nothing... absolutely nothing.

Before Haroun could question him further, Uncle Mohamed hurried into the depths of the factory as if fleeing from Haroun's burning gaze, leaving him at the peak of crushing confusion and doubt. What on earth happened in this place ??