#[ ah yes i get to start propagating this ship on here now too

[miskick]

Name: Joseph Joestar

Age: 19

Do you like to cuddle?: I'd like to do anything if it means we'll be close and personal.

Can we make-out?: Ooooh, someone's feeling bold. But don't mind if I do.

A night in or dinner out?: Let's go out in the town, if we're dating I'd like to flash the news to the world.

Whip cream or chocolate syrup?: Hmmm what a question, my oh my what does go into your mind Karin? But for choice's sake whipped cream -winks at her-

Chocolates and roses?: Only so I ensure you eat something, I'll go with chocolate.

What makes you a good Valentine?: I'm the man of your dreams after all, I mean why WOULDN'T I make a good valentine? I'm strong, couragous and did I mention handsome? Although if you'd need another reason you could say because I care about you, so much so that I can say for certainty there isn't another man alive that cares about you more than I.

Would you cook for me?: Well I've never actually prepped a meal before, bloody hell how hard can it be right?

Would you let me cook for you?: I think that would be brilliant. I'd never turn down a meal from you.

Where would you take me on a date?: I'm thinking restaurant..though nothing fancy. Those menus are hard for me to read..and that's not because I'm a tourist.

Who’s paying?: You just leave that to good ol' Jojo.

What did you get me for Valentine’s Day?: Well if I told you that then it wouldn't be a surprise. Just know the gift would keep you smiling for days on end.

Valentine’s Day Application // accepting

Joseph Joestar, ever the charmer, and apt to lay those charms on thick. For a long time, she considered his boisterous attitude annoying, especially his persistent interest in her. She wondered if he considered her a challenge to conquer, what with her harsher personality, but she has long outgrown those childish assumptions. She gives him the attention he deserves, carefully considering each response he gives. Unsurprisingly, many of his answers earn him an eye roll, or a scoff. (Some intrigued her in ways she would refuse to admit.) Years ago, she would have deemed these matters trivial, having never experienced a proper Valentine's Day, and even now, she still carries some of these values. Yet, when she looks upon him, that gleaming smile and those sincere (albeit brash) green eyes, she can't help but fall captive in those alluring hues. A part of her strains, not wanting to let him know how fondly she gazed at him.

❝You're ridiculous,❞ the Magician scoffs, eyes closing and brows knitted in what seems to be displeasure, but the gentle color in her cheeks say otherwise. A beat passes, and finally, she lifts her gaze, her chin still poised in her palm. Many things he said were cheesy, though he was being honest with each word. Once upon a time, his flirtatious endeavors would have annoyed her, and he would've received some form of retribution, be it in words or through her fists. Nowadays, though… she's softened, or perhaps he's grown on her -- or perhaps a combination of both. It honestly didn't take much contemplation on her part, but she can't let him know that, now can she?

❝Alright, fine. If you want it so badly, you can be my valentine.❞ Her hand withdraws, and she looks upon Joseph with flushed cheeks. ❝Just… let me know when you come by to get me.❞

[startrekwintergiftexchange]

Je vous entends

🎉✨Happy Holidays everyone !✨🎉 This is my gift for @reflectingiridescent, for the @startreksecretsanta exchange of 2017. Had a hard time choosing which ship to do since I loved them all (you have good taste 👌), but I had to give in for Jean-Luc/Beverly/Jack because they make me weak. For a bit of timeline context, the story takes place in 2350, meaning Beverly just graduated from Starfleet Academy after getting married to Jack in 2348. Lastly, if you’re wondering about the title, “Je vous entends” means “I hear you” in French. Hope you’ll like it 😳🤞, and Happy New Year ❤️!

Author: @a-flower-crown-shark

For a Starfleet captain, concentration is primordial.

You always need to be at your best, mentally and physically. In space, a second of inattention can cost the life of your crew or compromise the security of the ship. You can be the cause of great, unfathomable damage.

That is why First Officer Jean-Luc Picard, of the Starship Stargazer, is always doing his very best to maintain his focus on every single thing happening around him. He may not hold the position of captain yet, but Starfleet Command has given him the rank, and acting as such seems necessary. And by all means, it does seem to be an excellent exercise for reflexes. There is however a small problem.

Will you stop, he grumbles in his head for the fifth time in the last hour. The voices ignore him, yet again. He lets out a small sigh and continues to work on the console with nimble fingers. A small surge occurred ten minutes ago in one of Engineering’s main conduits, making a few wounded, and though it was quickly put under control, he preferred verifying it, and verifying it himself. He’ll have to overcome his difficulty to delegate if he gets promoted to captain, but for now-

“Merde”, he mumbles when he accidentally hits the wrong button. The ensign next to him (a Vulcan, of course it had to be) hears him and turns around with a blank yet slightly worried expression, that only seems taunting at the moment.

“Sir ?”

“I’m fine, Ensign, thank you”, he smiles as he looks at the young man. “Just a bit of headache this morning”. Thankfully, the ensign does not insist, and they continue their work in silence.

///

As every other night as of the last few months, the walk back to his room is not an easy one; it seems like the voices take pleasure in getting louder when he gets ready to sleep, like they don’t want him to forget them. As if he could. He sits on his bed with discomfort, lets his head fall on the pillow, and grabs a pad by his nightstand, trying to decipher its content while a tambourine drums on his temples.

Ensign Warrick, Jules – In Sickbay for severe plasma burns on legs, torso, and right arm – Status: Stable – Relieved of duty for five days

Ah, the wounded of the power surge then. He tries to focus on the list, for the sake of the suffering crewman, but he can barely read the letters in front of his eyes.

Ensign M’lyoo, Kiku – In Sickbay for severe plasma burns on arms, neck – Status: Stable – Relieved of duty for three days

Ensign T’lennk En’tgai, Vorak – In Sickbay for severe plasma burns on legs – Status: Stable –Relieved of duty for three days

Lieutenant Crusher, Jack – In Sick Bay for light plasma burns on neck, torso, and left arms – Status: Stable – Relieved of duty for two days

Lieutenant Sevol-De La Cruz, Illyan – In Sick Bay for lig-

The pad falls on the bed, and he lets out a broken moan of pain.

They’ve been here for six months. Two voices, a woman and a man, speaking in Standard. At least he thinks they are: he has no idea what they’re saying. The voices are there, always, constantly under or over his own thoughts, and he distinguishes the fact that they are pronouncing words; but as soon as he tries to listen more closely to what exactly they’re saying, it all becomes a confused jumble.

When he first heard them, he put it under the stress he was under, only having recently been promoted to First Officer and overwhelmed with new duties. That peculiar day, the captain was receiving new crewmembers from a sister ship (a rumoured talented engineer, a security lieutenant, a science officer who specialized in novae, and a young command officer and his wife, a medical ensign who had recently graduated from the academy. He did not meet any of them, but he surely would do so later, when he’d have the time), and as such, was obligated to spend time with its captain to discuss details of the transfer. Meanwhile, he was in charge of a secret meeting with a Ferengi ship to share classified data, of a crucial maintenance exam at Starbase 35, of the proper delivery of a cure to a plagued colony planet … It seemed as if there was no end to the list of things he needed to do, and even with his natural calm, it definitely was tiring. He was very glad to go to sleep that night, and dozed off peacefully a soon as he laid himself on his bed.

And then, the two voices begun screaming.

He’d later recognize their high pitched tone to be less characteristic of fear than of unbelievable despair, though at the moment it only felt like pure, simple screaming. He held his head with two hands, trying to diminish the pain, without result. Needless to say, Jean-Luc didn’t get much sleep that night, nor the next, nor the nights of the week after. If the voices sometimes calmed down to only become a small mumble, they would very often jump back up at the most random moments, making him feel nauseous.

Of course, the data bank turned out empty. It was not a question of mental health, he was and is still certain of it; something about the voices seemed way too real, way too distinct for them to only be products of his mind. Jean-Luc Picard being Jean-Luc Picard, his next try was with alien cultures, for which he held enormous passion and respect: Many of them had such stories in their myths and legends, and there would surely be something worthy of note there. However, surprisingly, he found nothing of use, if not the knowledge that he may not have been the only individual to hear voices in his mind. Refusing to let himself be examined, as the “sickness” did not seem threatening to either him or others, he took the decision to continue living with the voices (Yes, he knew, he knew it was not the healthy thing to do, but something about the voices felt so profoundly private, so very personal, that he just couldn’t bring himself to risk losing the strange connexion he had with them, and if that was childish of him then damn it, he could not help being flawed and he could not help being human). Who are you?, he’d often ask in his mind. What do you want with me? What is causing you such sadness?. But the voices never answered. Are you seeking something?, he’d try again. Someone?. And still the voices would ignore him.

It actually was possible to live alongside them: The both could speak so low that he forgot their existence, and their constant hum became a sort of soothing song. I anything, they were friends of some sort. Bodiless, incomprehensible companions, but companions none the less, for which he somehow gained affection.

Except when they’re doing that, he thinks bitterly, as the voices yell their hearts out with abandon. He moves around his head for comfort, without success. Months ago, supporting them did not seem insurmountable. Lately however his stock of patience was running quite low, as, so very, very tired of hearing them, the voices were starting to interfere with his work.

Jean-Luc shuffled a bit in his bed, trying to chase away the thoughts that were slowly finding a way to his mind.

For a Starfleet captain, concentration is primordial.

In the messy covers, partially on the ground, Jean-Luc turns his head yet again, annoyed. “I can do this”, he murmurs out loud. “I just need to try a little harder. Just a little more.”

You always need to be at your best, mentally and physically.

He painfully opens his eyes, gazing at the crème celling.

In space, a second of inattention can cost the life of your crew or compromise the security of the ship.

He thinks of the Vulcan ensign, looking at him with worried eyes. The truth is the most painful when it’s staring at you like that, with the eyes of someone who can’t lie.

You can be the cause of great, unfathomable damage.

Tomorrow, he’ll go to Sickbay.

///

The walk to get there is the most painful thing he’s ever felt.

As soon as he left his room, the voices begun rising to impossible levels, and now they’ve reached a point that no word could possibly describe, only growing higher and higher as he limps in the corridors.

He thinks of himself in bar, surrounded by Nausicaans and falling to his knees, and laughing, laughing at the horrible feeling that propagates itself from his heart. He tries to tell himself that the pain he’s in now is much less greater, that he should be roaring of laughter now more than then. But he can’t even mutter the force to push anything other than small, desperate whining sounds, and deep down, he knows that the pain is worse.

People notice him, try to intervene, but a quick dismissing move of the hand keeps them in place. Somewhere in his mind, he feels them staring at him with evident worry. And though he’s too preoccupied with the deafening sounds to reassure them, he tries to stand a little bit straighter as he continues his route. He was never good at showing others his pain.

Ironically, as he slowly loses the ability to produce any human thought, a part of his brain, far, too far for him to register, realizes that the voices sole purpose was for him to follow them. That now, without realising it, he’s being guided by their sound towards an unknown force, an unknown power that he was destined to meet.

He keeps walking.

Finally, finally, he gets to Sickbay’s doors, and tears are strolling down his face. He’s practically crawling to get there, because he knows, feels the thing, the person behind the doors, and he needs them. He can’t take it, he can’t take it anymore, but he’s there and the doors are opening, but it’s too much, it’s too much, and he starts yelling in the middle of hell “Arrêtez, je vous en supplie! Je vous entends! Je vous entends! Je vou-”

It stops.

Everything is silence.

There’s nothing. Absolutly nothing.

Perhaps, a buzzing noise can be heard, somewhere, from the tools or the computers. Perhaps a light buzz of discussion can be heard, somewhere, from the medical staff in the room. Perhaps the fabric of space itself is making noise, somewhere, as the Stargazer slides upon it, but he can’t tell. Around him, it’s only silence. And it’s only them.

Tears are streaming down their faces too. He makes out every single darker strands in her red hair, every single crease of smile around his mouth.

They’re beautiful.

None of them dares to move, afraid of breaking the moment, this thing out of time and space, only for the three of them. Nothing else exists anymore. The man, who’s pale, slender neck is covered with bandages, is the first one the move, getting up from his biobed. Before he makes a step forward, Jean-Luc speaks without thinking, as a name he’s only read on reports before escapes his lips.

“Jack”

The world collapse. Jack runs towards him and both of them fall on the ground, wailing in abandon and gripping each other with desperation. Red marks of strong fingers start to appear on his body, and he only holds Jack tighter. He feels so alive.

A hesitant hand places itself on his shoulder. He looks up to find the blue watery eyes of the woman, looking unsure if she should interrupt. He detangles a hand from one of Jack’s and takes hers in his palm.

“Beverly”, he smiles.

A hiccupped “Jean-Luc” slips before she falls to her knees with a smile so bright he can’t take it, and joins their entanglement of limbs as it becomes impossible to see where one ends and one begins. Jack grins and starts laughing, and she does too, because Jean-Luc’s has never seen them once and they’ve been right there for months, because they don’t know him but they do, because thousands of questions are left unanswered. He starts laughing with them, because this is space, this is what he’s been dreaming of since a child, this great unknown that can never be truly understood and that sometimes does inexplicable things. And one day, he’ll be captain, ready to explore the galaxy at the helm of a ship, with two soulmates given by an incalculable amount of stars at his side. But for the moment, he holds their hands tight in the middle of Sickbay’s floor, surrounded by people who feel miles away from the three of them, and he replies to the voices in his mind and the two people they belonged to : “Je vous entends”.

[snowwolf1118]

Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Part VII

We last left off with Jay’va and Co. meeting up with Vallion, Fatima, and the now not-missing Nero’ish. The group was chased down the hall by large, yet nimble space pirate goons and luckily suffered no injuries, probably because the goons shoot like Star Wars Stormtroopers. And luckily they aren’t bright enough to search the ventilation shafts no one is allowed to be in because of health reasons.

Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X

“Huh?” Vallion was still confused.

Fatima sighed. “Cyborg in a spacesuit in space with space pirates. Space pirates have their own ships. Get it?”

It took a moment, but it finally clicked for Vallion. “Spacesuits keeps him alive in space and space pirates retrieve him because he’s cargo. Great Saolo, you’re a genius, Fatima!”

“I know I am,” she said, nudging them with her tiny form.

“Ah-hmm,” Nero’ish loudly cleared her throat and brought everyone’s attention onto her. “Hate to break up this happy realization party, but we’re still stuck here. The pirates have likely captured the rest of the crew.”

Fatima made a sour face at Nero’ish. “Weren’t you the one who was just squealing out about space pirates a moment ago?”

Nero’ish shrugged. “That was before learning Col. Matthews was sucked into space.”

Jay’va regained her composure, but continued to clutch onto the hope Fatima had given her. “We can make it out of this. We can rescue everyone.” Jay’va had to believe it. Hope was the most precious human concept she knew of. It kept her going whenever she felt like a failure, and now it would keep her going until she reunited with Cyborg.

“Okay,” Vallion said, once again gaining their collective attentions, “so what’s our plan, Col. Jay’va?”

Everyone fell silent as they considered Vallion’s words. Yes, what was their plan? Jay’va had only thought of rescuing Cyborg and the rest of their crewmates. She hadn’t thought further than that. “Well,” she said, stalling while her brain wracked up something, anything. “Let’s regroup with the engineers, before they send someone else out.”

“That’s a start,” Vallion affirmed before they were on their way.

During the last three hours, Murakami’s ship had been forcefully boarded and her crew attacked. By space pirates. Space. Pirates. She and Balogh had only been screwing with Vallion about space pirates for the sake of screwing around. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever expect her ship to be subjected to space pirates.

But here she was, sitting powerless in her captain’s chair with two armed goons on either side as her crew was rounded up like wild mustangs and shuffled off the ship through the makeshift interlink the pirates built between their ship and hers. It was an eyesore to see the interlink in the place of the monitor screens. Pirates really had no finesse. If they wanted to board the ship, they should have done so in the hangars. They could keep the ship’s crew in the large room and have access to the fighters. But these are pirates and apparently they’re too dumb to process such things, she sourly thought as she remembered how the pirates literally latched onto and welded into the Comm Tower.

And that wasn’t the least of her worries, aside from having her crew branded like cattle and force one-by-one onto the other ship. Murakami had to worry about her crew itself. The pirates couldn’t access the crew list due to the EMP shockwave that knocked out the ship’s computer systems. It wasn’t a particularly bright idea to do that, so she was left dealing with the aftermath. What was the aftermath? Well, the aftermath was the agonizing process of verbally confirming the identity, age, and specialty of each and every member of her crew to the pirates because she was the captain of the ship and she had every face and name memorized.

But they don’t care, she thought as she verbally confirmed the identity of yet another one of her crewmates. “Michael Raphael Bates, age 38 Earthen years, specialist in computer weapons technology and development,” she affirmed before they seared the brand onto his skin. She couldn’t get used to it, seeing her crewmates, her friends, be tortured. Their screams were seared into her memory like their brands were into their skin.

And yes, some of them, actually many of them, tried to hold in the pain, stubbornly refusing to give any satisfaction to the pirates. It made her proud to see their resilience. But it also drowned her in guilt. They wouldn’t have to behave so stubbornly if only she had acted faster, been more effective. The only thing she could do now was cooperate with the pirates, so they would not abuse her crew more.

And keep them from capturing everyone as well.

Bates makes one-ninety-six, but their still short and they don’t know it. Including me, that leaves only sixteen others here in the Comm Tower. I told them they were the last of the crew, she thought, but they don’t know about Vallion, the colonels and their crews, or about the engineering team. With any luck, they can hide out and contact A.F. HQ, she prayed as she again began confirming the identity of yet another crewmate, this time a young H’hishian cadet.

However, she didn’t have that sort of luck because the pirate mission leader’s Comm device came to life. <<“Snell, it’s Lux. We found a least two dozen more of the crew on the lower levels,”>> announced the voice, <<“and more could be hiding below.”>> Ah shit.

Snell turned to snarl at Murakami as they replied to their crewmate. She averted her gaze. “Is that so, Lux? At least two dozen, maybe more? Well, be sure to capture ‘em alive and unharmed then. We wouldn’t want ta damage any of our goods now, eh?”

<<“Aye, sir.”>> Lux signed out and left the Comm Tower in silence.

Ah-oh, Murakami steeled herself against whatever was going to happen next. And next was maniacal laughter from Snell. Ooooh, this isn’t good. Nope. Not good at all. Oh Kannon, please help me. She truly needed the help of the bodhisattva of compassion because Snell was now up close and breathing in her personal space bubble. “Oh God, your breath,” she nearly gagged.

“AAARGH!” Snell lashed out, backhanding her in the face and nearly ripping her out of her seat. “YOU PATHETIC APE! YOU THINK YOU CAN MAKE A FOOL OUTTA ME?” They roared over her, digging their claws deep into her forearms. “HUH? YOU TOLD ME THIS ‘ERE WAS EVERYONE OF YER CREW, BUT IT SEEMS LIKE YOU WERE LYIN’ TA ME, APE!” They punctuated their rant with another backslap.

“Fuck you,” she hissed before Hell broke loose.

The remaining members of her crew to roar to life, making one last stand against the pirates, trying to protect her. “LEAVE HER ALONE!” “YA BASSA, SHUT YE GEGGIE!” “PICK ON SOMEONE YER OWN SIZE, YA LEATHER-ASS!” “FIGHT ME, YA SORRY EXCUSE FOR A COOKILIAN!” “GET THE FUCK OFF ME, METALHEAD! LET ME AT ‘EM!!” She forced herself not to flinch as they were all beaten down by the pirate crew. She forced herself not to sob as she watched them all try to stand back up, still hissing and pissing at the pirates.

But she still kept her composure. Even with her crew still screaming epithets at Snell and with her eyes still watering from the backhand, Murakami kept her composure. “Mx. Snell, I need not make a fool of you when you do it so well yourself―” Another stinging backhand and another chorus of screams from her remaining crewmates. And then a sloppy punch to her face.

Crack.

Murakami felt warm blood gush down from her nose and stain her uniform. “Oh would you look at that. You got my uniform bloody,” she noted, receiving yet another round of abuse from Snell.

Snell was now fuming for sure. “YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?! HUH?! YOU MISERABLE SOFT-SKINNED MEATBAG?! WELL, IT ISN’T AND THE REST OF YOUR CREW WILL SOON LEARN THAT ISN’T. NOW, TELL ME, WHO ARE THE REMAINING FLESH-BAGS!!!!”

Murakami chuckled. “If you were smart, which we all already know you aren’t, then you’d already know by now.” This time, instead of a fist or backhand, Murakami was ripped out of her chair and slammed against the control panels. Again.

And again.

And again.

She hadn’t realized her fell unconscious until she heard the shrill voices of her crew screaming her name and the pirates cursing over whether she was deceased or not. My everything aches, she thought, groaning as she tried to pick herself up. Note to self, never do that again without wearing a safety helmet.

“Well, well, you’re alive,” Snell sneered, a great deal calmer than she expect them to be.

Murakami coughed. “And you’re still as ugly as ever,” she shot back.

“WHY YOU―!” Snell sent a cheap kick to her ribcage. She wasn’t a medical doctor, but she was more than sure a few ribs cracked. “I’LL TEACH YOU SOME RESPECT!!!”

Murakami didn’t know where she was or how long she had blacked out, but what she was certain of was the aching of her body felt suspiciously numb. What happened? she faintly thought as she took in her surroundings. This looks like a med bay. But it wasn’t the one from the Moana. “Ow. Fuck,” she hissed, gripping her chest and simultaneously discovering her right hand was chained to the bed, as was her right foot.

“Don’t move around too much,” a disembodied voice advised, “or you’ll just give yourself more unnecessary pain.”

Ignoring the advice, Murakami sat up and searched for the source of the voice. When she did find it, she was soon left staring slack-jawed. “You, you’re a...” she said to the propagator H’hish sitting across the room from her.

“I’m the surgeon of this vessel, Master Krellion,” he explained as he stood up from his desk and turned off the holo-screen. “But you should be resting now, Lt. Gen. Murakami,” he drawled with a chilling smile.

Murakami shivered. It hadn’t taken her two seconds to realize, wherever she was, it wasn’t on an A.F. regulated vessel and that this wasn’t a typical H’hish. He didn’t look like most H’hish. He looked more like Vallion: Large as the average carrier H’hish. More muscular with more prominent dorsal plating. Sharper teeth...

“Where am I?” she demanded, ignoring the Krellion’s warning. “Where is my crew? What happened to them? Explain ―” she gasped as pain suddenly shot through her and contorted her body. It felt like a thousand knives stabbing through her chest and then some. “What the―?”

 “Tsk, I told you to rest,” Krellion admonished her as he fidgeted with his holo-screen. “Now, lay back down and I’ll continue you pain medication. After that, we can have a civil conversation, no? I’ll even answer all of your questions.”

Murakami managed to glower at him through the pain. His condescendingness was ear-grating. “You can be an asshole in so many other ways, you know,” she hissed through her teeth as she lied back down, submitting to his will.

Krellion wiggled his ears, clearly enjoying his dominance over her. “I’m glad you understand, Lt. General,” he said as he pulled up his holo-screen. “Now, to answer your questions...

You are in the med bay of the Frek’jon, an old warship from the days of the Great Quvian Civil Wars. It is an impressive vessel and functions just as it had when first manufactured. Your crew is divided between the med bay and the holding cells.

“And don’t worry, your crew is safe. I already had those with minor injuries from your earlier skirmish treated and assigned to the holding cells with the rest of your crew. The fools hiding in the lower levels suffered more major injuries, so they are recovering in others rooms on the med bay level.

“What?” she uttered as he again fidgeted with his holo-screen and almost immediately, her pain transformed into a distant throb.

Krellion spared her a brief glance. “Well, I don’t suppose you know anything after Snell’s abuse. In the lower levels of your measly vessel, thirty-seven of members of your crew put up a last stand. It was impressive. They even managed to blow up a few of the Pollikons grunts. Yet it was all in vain.”

Murakami lied silent as she processed what she heard. She didn’t know what a Pollikon was, but she did know the name of every human and H’hish that had to be in the lower levels when this occurred. If what Krellion said was correct, then the pirates were still short one person. Who could it be? Who? Xavier? Eld? Who? With her mind racing, it was difficult to think. Take a deep breath, Noriko. Take a deep breath and slowly release it. She closed her eyes for a moment and calmed herself. When she opened them, she was almost serene. Almost. “Please elaborate. What did my crew exactly do?”

Krellion was silent for a moment as he contemplated answering her before having his “Ah-ha!” moment. “Instead of elaborating, why don’t I show you? I actually enjoyed watching this holo-feed.” As he spoke, he fidgeted with his holo-screen once again, but this time the holo-screen on display depicted the Comm Tower of the Voyager Moana.

Apprehensively, she watched as he projected the holo-screen across from her and pulled up a seat beside her. From their positions, they could watch the holo-feed he had mentioned. Reclining in his seat like a child watching a holo-film at the theatre for the first time, Krellion said, “Just sit back and watch.”

[humansareweirdsedition]

Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Part VII

We last left off with Jay’va and Co. meeting up with Vallion, Fatima, and the now not-missing Nero’ish. The group was chased down the hall by large, yet nimble space pirate goons and luckily suffered no injuries, probably because the goons shoot like Star Wars Stormtroopers. And luckily they aren’t bright enough to search the ventilation shafts no one is allowed to be in because of health reasons.

Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII >> Part XIV

“Huh?” Vallion was still confused.

Fatima sighed. “Cyborg in a spacesuit in space with space pirates. Space pirates have their own ships. Get it?”

It took a moment, but it finally clicked for Vallion. “Spacesuits keeps him alive in space and space pirates retrieve him because he’s cargo. Great Saolo, you’re a genius, Fatima!”

“I know I am,” she said, nudging them with her tiny form.

“Ah-hmm,” Nero’ish loudly cleared her throat and brought everyone’s attention onto her. “Hate to break up this happy realization party, but we’re still stuck here. The pirates have likely captured the rest of the crew.”

Fatima made a sour face at Nero’ish. “Weren’t you the one who was just squealing out about space pirates a moment ago?”

Nero’ish shrugged. “That was before learning Col. Matthews was sucked into space.”

Jay’va regained her composure, but continued to clutch onto the hope Fatima had given her. “We can make it out of this. We can rescue everyone.” Jay’va had to believe it. Hope was the most precious human concept she knew of. It kept her going whenever she felt like a failure, and now it would keep her going until she reunited with Cyborg.

“Okay,” Vallion said, once again gaining their collective attentions, “so what’s our plan, Col. Jay’va?”

Everyone fell silent as they considered Vallion’s words. Yes, what was their plan? Jay’va had only thought of rescuing Cyborg and the rest of their crewmates. She hadn’t thought further than that. “Well,” she said, stalling while her brain wracked up something, anything. “Let’s regroup with the engineers, before they send someone else out.”

“That’s a start,” Vallion affirmed before they were on their way.

During the last three hours, Murakami’s ship had been forcefully boarded and her crew attacked. By space pirates. Space. Pirates. She and Balogh had only been screwing with Vallion about space pirates for the sake of screwing around. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever expect her ship to be subjected to space pirates.

But here she was, sitting powerless in her captain’s chair with two armed goons on either side as her crew was rounded up like wild mustangs and shuffled off the ship through the makeshift interlink the pirates built between their ship and hers. It was an eyesore to see the interlink in the place of the monitor screens. Pirates really had no finesse. If they wanted to board the ship, they should have done so in the hangars. They could keep the ship’s crew in the large room and have access to the fighters. But these are pirates and apparently they’re too dumb to process such things, she sourly thought as she remembered how the pirates literally latched onto and welded into the Comm Tower.

And that wasn’t the least of her worries, aside from having her crew branded like cattle and force one-by-one onto the other ship. Murakami had to worry about her crew itself. The pirates couldn’t access the crew list due to the EMP shockwave that knocked out the ship’s computer systems. It wasn’t a particularly bright idea to do that, so she was left dealing with the aftermath. What was the aftermath? Well, the aftermath was the agonizing process of verbally confirming the identity, age, and specialty of each and every member of her crew to the pirates because she was the captain of the ship and she had every face and name memorized.

But they don’t care, she thought as she verbally confirmed the identity of yet another one of her crewmates. “Michael Raphael Bates, age 38 Earthen years, specialist in computer weapons technology and development,” she affirmed before they seared the brand onto his skin. She couldn’t get used to it, seeing her crewmates, her friends, be tortured. Their screams were seared into her memory like their brands were into their skin.

And yes, some of them, actually many of them, tried to hold in the pain, stubbornly refusing to give any satisfaction to the pirates. It made her proud to see their resilience. But it also drowned her in guilt. They wouldn’t have to behave so stubbornly if only she had acted faster, been more effective. The only thing she could do now was cooperate with the pirates, so they would not abuse her crew more.

And keep them from capturing everyone as well.

Bates makes one-ninety-six, but their still short and they don’t know it. Including me, that leaves only sixteen others here in the Comm Tower. I told them they were the last of the crew, she thought, but they don’t know about Vallion, the colonels and their crews, or about the engineering team. With any luck, they can hide out and contact A.F. HQ, she prayed as she again began confirming the identity of yet another crewmate, this time a young H’hishian cadet.

However, she didn’t have that sort of luck because the pirate mission leader’s Comm device came to life. <<“Snell, it’s Lux. We found a least two dozen more of the crew on the lower levels,”>> announced the voice, <<“and more could be hiding below.”>> Ah shit.

Snell turned to snarl at Murakami as they replied to their crewmate. She averted her gaze. “Is that so, Lux? At least two dozen, maybe more? Well, be sure to capture ‘em alive and unharmed then. We wouldn’t want ta damage any of our goods now, eh?”

<<“Aye, sir.”>> Lux signed out and left the Comm Tower in silence.

Ah-oh, Murakami steeled herself against whatever was going to happen next. And next was maniacal laughter from Snell. Ooooh, this isn’t good. Nope. Not good at all. Oh Kannon, please help me. She truly needed the help of the bodhisattva of compassion because Snell was now up close and breathing in her personal space bubble. “Oh God, your breath,” she nearly gagged.

“AAARGH!” Snell lashed out, backhanding her in the face and nearly ripping her out of her seat. “YOU PATHETIC APE! YOU THINK YOU CAN MAKE A FOOL OUTTA ME?” They roared over her, digging their claws deep into her forearms. “HUH? YOU TOLD ME THIS ‘ERE WAS EVERYONE OF YER CREW, BUT IT SEEMS LIKE YOU WERE LYIN’ TA ME, APE!” They punctuated their rant with another backslap.

“Fuck you,” she hissed before Hell broke loose.

The remaining members of her crew to roar to life, making one last stand against the pirates, trying to protect her. “LEAVE HER ALONE!” “YA BASSA, SHUT YE GEGGIE!” “PICK ON SOMEONE YER OWN SIZE, YA LEATHER-ASS!” “FIGHT ME, YA SORRY EXCUSE FOR A COOKILIAN!” “GET THE FUCK OFF ME, METALHEAD! LET ME AT ‘EM!!” She forced herself not to flinch as they were all beaten down by the pirate crew. She forced herself not to sob as she watched them all try to stand back up, still hissing and pissing at the pirates.

But she still kept her composure. Even with her crew still screaming epithets at Snell and with her eyes still watering from the backhand, Murakami kept her composure. “Mx. Snell, I need not make a fool of you when you do it so well yourself―” Another stinging backhand and another chorus of screams from her remaining crewmates. And then a sloppy punch to her face.

Crack.

Murakami felt warm blood gush down from her nose and stain her uniform. “Oh would you look at that. You got my uniform bloody,” she noted, receiving yet another round of abuse from Snell.

Snell was now fuming for sure. “YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?! HUH?! YOU MISERABLE SOFT-SKINNED MEATBAG?! WELL, IT ISN’T AND THE REST OF YOUR CREW WILL SOON LEARN THAT ISN’T. NOW, TELL ME, WHO ARE THE REMAINING FLESH-BAGS!!!!”

Murakami chuckled. “If you were smart, which we all already know you aren’t, then you’d already know by now.” This time, instead of a fist or backhand, Murakami was ripped out of her chair and slammed against the control panels. Again.

And again.

And again.

She hadn’t realized her fell unconscious until she heard the shrill voices of her crew screaming her name and the pirates cursing over whether she was deceased or not. My everything aches, she thought, groaning as she tried to pick herself up. Note to self, never do that again without wearing a safety helmet.

“Well, well, you’re alive,” Snell sneered, a great deal calmer than she expect them to be.

Murakami coughed. “And you’re still as ugly as ever,” she shot back.

“WHY YOU―!” Snell sent a cheap kick to her ribcage. She wasn’t a medical doctor, but she was more than sure a few ribs cracked. “I’LL TEACH YOU SOME RESPECT!!!”

Murakami didn’t know where she was or how long she had blacked out, but what she was certain of was the aching of her body felt suspiciously numb. What happened? she faintly thought as she took in her surroundings. This looks like a med bay. But it wasn’t the one from the Moana. “Ow. Fuck,” she hissed, gripping her chest and simultaneously discovering her right hand was chained to the bed, as was her right foot.

“Don’t move around too much,” a disembodied voice advised, “or you’ll just give yourself more unnecessary pain.”

Ignoring the advice, Murakami sat up and searched for the source of the voice. When she did find it, she was soon left staring slack-jawed. “You, you’re a...” she said to the propagator H’hish sitting across the room from her.

“I’m the surgeon of this vessel, Master Krellion,” he explained as he stood up from his desk and turned off the holo-screen. “But you should be resting now, Lt. Gen. Murakami,” he drawled with a chilling smile.

Murakami shivered. It hadn’t taken her two seconds to realize, wherever she was, it wasn’t on an A.F. regulated vessel and that this wasn’t a typical H’hish. He didn’t look like most H’hish. He looked more like Vallion: Large as the average carrier H’hish. More muscular with more prominent dorsal plating. Sharper teeth...

“Where am I?” she demanded, ignoring the Krellion’s warning. “Where is my crew? What happened to them? Explain ―” she gasped as pain suddenly shot through her and contorted her body. It felt like a thousand knives stabbing through her chest and then some. “What the―?”

“Tsk, I told you to rest,” Krellion admonished her as he fidgeted with his holo-screen. “Now, lay back down and I’ll continue you pain medication. After that, we can have a civil conversation, no? I’ll even answer all of your questions.”

Murakami managed to glower at him through the pain. His condescendingness was ear-grating. “You can be an asshole in so many other ways, you know,” she hissed through her teeth as she lied back down, submitting to his will.

Krellion wiggled his ears, clearly enjoying his dominance over her. “I’m glad you understand, Lt. General,” he said as he pulled up his holo-screen. “Now, to answer your questions...

You are in the med bay of the Frek’jon, an old warship from the days of the Great Quvian Civil Wars. It is an impressive vessel and functions just as it had when first manufactured. Your crew is divided between the med bay and the holding cells.

“And don’t worry, your crew is safe. I already had those with minor injuries from your earlier skirmish treated and assigned to the holding cells with the rest of your crew. The fools hiding in the lower levels suffered more major injuries, so they are recovering in others rooms on the med bay level.

“What?” she uttered as he again fidgeted with his holo-screen and almost immediately, her pain transformed into a distant throb.

Krellion spared her a brief glance. “Well, I don’t suppose you know anything after Snell’s abuse. In the lower levels of your measly vessel, thirty-seven of members of your crew put up a last stand. It was impressive. They even managed to blow up a few of the Pollikons grunts. Yet it was all in vain.”

Murakami lied silent as she processed what she heard. She didn’t know what a Pollikon was, but she did know the name of every human and H’hish that had to be in the lower levels when this occurred. If what Krellion said was correct, then the pirates were still short one person. Who could it be? Who? Xavier? Eld? Who? With her mind racing, it was difficult to think. Take a deep breath, Noriko. Take a deep breath and slowly release it. She closed her eyes for a moment and calmed herself. When she opened them, she was almost serene. Almost. “Please elaborate. What did my crew exactly do?”

Krellion was silent for a moment as he contemplated answering her before having his “Ah-ha!” moment. “Instead of elaborating, why don’t I show you? I actually enjoyed watching this holo-feed.” As he spoke, he fidgeted with his holo-screen once again, but this time the holo-screen on display depicted the Comm Tower of the Voyager Moana.

Apprehensively, she watched as he projected the holo-screen across from her and pulled up a seat beside her. From their positions, they could watch the holo-feed he had mentioned. Reclining in his seat like a child watching a holo-film at the theatre for the first time, Krellion said, “Just sit back and watch.”

[docfuture]

The Maker’s Ark - Chapter 34

     [This is a chapter from my latest novel, a sequel to The Fall of Doc Future and Skybreaker’s Call.  The start is here, and links to my other work here.  It can be read on its own, but contains spoilers for those two books.  I try to post new chapters about every two weeks, but I’m currently also rewriting Fall, so there will sometimes be short stories and vignettes if I don’t have a new chapter ready.  The next chapter is planned for the week of February 21st.]

Previous:  Chapter 33

      Fits and starts.  Flicker knew that was how real research worked.  And things had been going too smoothly.         Doc had built a test rig, Stella had provided a repurposed Xelian construction shelter for a deep space station, and Three had towed it into position with one of her ships--and set up the sunshade.       It was in a solar orbit at what Journeyman called a 'sweet spot':  It was closer to the the sun, so the net total of orbital kinetic energy and gravitational potential energy matched that of the surface of the Earth as closely as possible.  That cut down on the compensation he had to do to port there and back--distance didn't matter, but energy did.       He had been able to establish a connection to a small, spherical space that should have a speed of light that varied radially--lower toward the center and the same as Earth's at the outer edge.  It didn't start off containing any mass, and had no difference in vacuum pressure at the boundary.  Everything else, he still wasn't sure about.       The first automated tests on the restricted portal he'd set up before porting out for safety had gone fine, as far as Doc was concerned.  No explosions or waves of mass to energy conversion had come back when the small test probes went through.  The probes hadn't come back, either.  But no one had really expected that--the far side was likely to be pretty unforgiving to anything electronic.  That had been yesterday.       In the meantime, Flicker had practiced flying in space--slowly--without panicking.  She could manage about two g's now.  The Skystone protected her from vacuum, but she kept a full pressure mask on; air made it much easier to talk.  She still kept reaching out reflexively for mass for stabilization--but she was down to about to fifty times a second.  When she was calm.       Now she floated beside Journeyman, doing her best to stay calm while he muttered to himself and retraced a section of pattern on the base slab so they could continue the tests.  They'd tried a few more probes--nothing had come back yet except some barely detectable radiation.  Not the magic homing bead, not any of the diamond nanoparticles from Doc's mechanical release device, not the end of the titanium wire Flicker had poked through.       Then something only Journeyman could detect had started to vary slightly, and the radiation readings had worried Doc, so there was nothing for it but to recheck.  Flicker had nothing constructive to contribute, and she knew better than to pester Journeyman with questions he didn't know the answers to yet.  She thought longingly about the nearest significant mass.  Venus was about twenty million kilometers thataway.  Not much help.       Three's ship and the Learning Is About To Occur kept watch from several hundred kilometers out.  The two of them were doing their best to cheer her up and distract her while she waited--with mixed success.  At least it gave Flicker someone to complain to with millisecond latency.  DASI's main nodes and Doc were both back on Earth, minutes away.       "Is Journeyman still ranting about the gloves on his suit?" asked Three.       "Yeah," said Flicker.  "It's a fair complaint, though.  We're doing everything in a high vacuum and Journeyman is a gesture and pattern magician.  Nobody has yet been able to make pressure gloves that don't interfere with fine manipulation."       "It is an interesting problem," said Learning.  He had a pleasant tenor voice and a habit of casually tossing out mind-boggling suggestions.  "I wonder if a magician could use a biogestalt to operate a humaniform remote for vacuum work.  Has that been tried?"       "Ah... not that I know of," said Three.  "And I'm not sure a biogestalt would be able to use probability manipulation at all."       "Surely you jest.  The most impressive act of probability manipulation on Earth that I'm aware of was performed by a biogestalt."       "What are you talking about?" asked Three, saving Flicker the trouble.       "Flicker's serial contingent causality reconnection during the Xelian fleet attack, to avoid the randomized beam strikes.  It was powerful enough that subtle effects from it were detected propagating outward from the far side of the portal zone to Grs'thnk, though they were not recognized as such at the time."       "It was detectable in another universe?" said Three.  "That's both disturbing and something Flicker and I should already have been told.  Why--"       "Just a moment, please," said Flicker.  "Since when am I a biogestalt?"       "Does the term offend?" said Learning.  "You refer to that part of you as your 'high speed mind', but it seems to operate in a similar fashion.  That is clear from the mishaps you've experienced.  I did a first principles analysis during the period of concern over your commandeering of computational resources.  I concluded that it matched a high speed biogestalt multiplicity cascade better than an unconstrained AI launch, which reassured the aid mission leadership somewhat."       "And you didn't tell DASI?" said Flicker.  "Hell, why didn't you tell me?"       "I didn't have permission.  Biogestalt theory is on the restricted list, because of the potential for abuse--it contributes to several significant Grs'thnk social problems, though disagreement about how much makes that a politically sensitive topic.  Official aid mission policy is to avoid sharing new problems with Earth when they've barely started helping with your existing ones.  And Doc has an unfavorable view of biogestalts which is well justified at Earth's current technology level.  The embassy leadership is discussing sharing the data with Director Reinhart and DASI given its new relevance, but, like all political questions, a long period of wrangling argument is required first.  There is a book you might find helpful, once it becomes available."       "What is it?" asked Flicker       "A History of Biogestalt Development and Pathology, Volume One, Fourteenth Edition.  It's the standard reference used in the biogestalt prep sequence at the Grs'thnk Naval Academy.  I'm told it's a bit dry for bios, but I found it fascinating."       "A biogestalt in my own body...  I need that book yesterday.  I need that book last month.  Wait a minute--the restriction you have on talking directly to DASI is a political one, set by the aid mission, correct?"       "Yes," said Learning.  "However, it--"       Flicker bared her teeth.  "You want to share data responsibly--but you can't, because you'll get in trouble if you do.  And I have a veto.  They gave me one.  I've never used it before, but I think I'm about to.  Three, what's the relevant agreement?"       "That would be the Preliminary Protocol on Data Sharing, Restrictions and Limitations.  But I'm not sure--"       "Great.  I'll veto it, then ask Learning to share any data whose absence is compromising Earth's military security.  I know there's an agreement for that.  And they can sort everything out again, after the transfers."       "Flicker," said Three.  "This is politics.  Will you at least let me try finesse?  Prime is busy, but give me ten minutes and the threat of your veto, and I bet I can get things moving.  Without calling into question an agreement that was very painful to negotiate in the first place.  It won't be an idle threat, and they'll know it.  And, just between us biogestalts, I have a stake here too."       "Oh.  Yeah.  I guess they could pull Learning out on military orders.  I can't do anything about that.  Okay, try your way.  But make sure they know I'm pretty angry.  If this 'multiplicity cascade' is a documented problem, DASI and I not knowing about it probably cost me a couple hundred subjective years during my bender.  And who knows what else."       "Don't worry, I will."       Flicker thought for a moment.  "And Learning?  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to blow up.  You were just trying to help."       "No apology needed," he said.  "Learning is about to occur.  I am content."       "Heh.  Yeah.  Some already has.  And I need to go--looks like Journeyman has finally fixed whatever it was.  Thanks."       "You're welcome.  And good luck."       *****       Flicker sped up her mind so everything happened with glacial slowness, and she clamped down hard on her hand with her power--no molecular rearrangement allowed.  A bit extreme, maybe, but she didn't know yet what was required, and she didn't want to find out by not doing enough.       She flicked the tip of her left little finger into the portal, then immediately pulled it back out again.  It was on the far side for about a microsecond.  There had been a slight tingling from her proprioception sense, but that was all.       She hadn't lost any skin, and there seemed to be no ill effects.  There didn't seem to be any effects at all, except--       A spark jumped from the portal boundary to the tip of her finger.  It was a considerable jolt--it heated up her finger noticeably.       She'd expected to lose some electrons on the far side; the chemistry was going to be different.  It didn't really matter how--she wasn't allowing any chemical reactions.  But that made her electrons unhappy, unhappy electrons tended to wander, and they hadn't all made it back out with her finger.       The interesting thing was that a lot of them seemed to have made it back out on their own, after a delay.  Or the charge imbalance had pulled out other ones--electrons were interchangeable.  She checked the sensor readings on her visor--she still had a positive static charge, but it wasn't nearly as large as it had been at first.       She slowed back down.  Time to see what everyone else thought.       "Radiation--" began Journeyman, then he stopped.  "Oh.  That's just charge equalization.  You okay?"       "Green," she replied.  "Played a mini-game of lightning tag, but that's it.  My finger seems fine--I'm getting feeling back now."       She held up her hand to look at it.  Nothing seemed different.  All she felt was the now familiar pressure of the Skystone protecting her from the vacuum--she'd kept her glove off for the test.       "Three?" Flicker asked over her com.  "You have any initial impressions?"       "The radiation from the boundary spiked, then dropped off," said Three.  "The spike was almost entirely electrons.  I think Doc is right--the earlier radiation we saw was a result of the far side not quite being a vacuum anymore, because of the probes."       "Cool."  Flicker turned to smile at Journeyman, who had come out from behind the radiation and blast shield.  "We have an existence proof!  Matter can can stay intact on the far side, if it's me."       "The part of you that isn't electrons, anyway," he said.       "Yeah.  That could be a problem.  If I lose them all, then they all return at once when I come back, that's a lot of energy.  And I can't entropy dump here, except to the heat sink."       The heat sink was a big chunk of ice, loosly contained in plastic, attached to the outside of the shelter on the other side of a blast shield.  It gave Flicker something to connect to, if she needed to dump excess heat in an emergency.  A small enough one, anyway.       "But the charges should start to equalize after a while," she continued.  "Some variant of the electromagnetic force has to be operating on the far side, or I wouldn't have gotten that zap--it would just be a steady flow.  And the strong nuclear force is working fine, or I wouldn't have gotten the tip of my finger back at all."       "All right, let's try some repeats, and see just how much charge you lose, and if the spark and the radiation spike happen every time."       Ten minutes later, he was back to muttering to himself, and Flicker was getting impatient.       "I don't understand," he said.  "We're getting variance, but there's either some variable other than mass, surface area, acceleration, and time spent on the far side, or a lot of randomness.  At least it doesn't seem too dangerous."       "Yeah.  I want to try to sticking my whole hand through and leaving it there for a good second or two.  The whole point of these tests is to see if I can operate on the other side, and we haven't gotten much closer to finding that out yet."       She watched his eyes through the faceplate of his suit, and heard him sigh.  "Not exactly safe, but none of this is safe."       "No.  But there's no other way to find out."       "All right.  But if you flash the red alarm, we are out of here.  Antarctica, so you can dump, then get somewhere to heal.  Whether your hand is all the way back or not.  You clear on that?"       "Yeah."       "Okay."  He moved back behind the shield.  "Ready when you are."

      The first hint Flicker felt that something was wrong was an itching sensation from the high speed nervous system in her hand.  Little feedback made it across the portal boundary.  She could tell her hand was still there, and that her power was keeping it intact, but that was about it.  That had been a bit worrying at first, but as long as she could keep things stable, her hand should be okay.       But this was new.  Something was trying to happen, and she was preventing it, but there was resistance--and it was growing.  What could be--       No.  The correct response to something new and unexpected was to pull her hand back.  She started to, carefully.       Then she began to get proper sensation back from the part of her wrist that had been on the far side of the portal.  It was hot--and getting hotter.  Not the surface either, this was deep inside.       Enough of careful.  She stayed clamped down and jerked her hand the rest of the way out, at full power.       And all hell broke loose.       The radiation alarms started screaming and flashing, she started dumping to the heat sink and it wasn't enough, and what was wrong with the water molecules in her hand?  They were still heating up, and--       Oh.  Oh no.       She hit the red alarm and did cold calculations in her mind.  Journeyman had superhuman reflexes, magically enhanced.  A millisecond to port to her, another millisecond to port both of them to Antarctica.  Would he be fast enough?       He would be.  She'd make sure of it.  She pivoted slightly, and pulled her hand in.  It was already putting out neutrons and hard gamma.  The Skystone was protecting her so far, but it didn't stop everything, and all she had to shield Journeyman was the rest of her body.       Then there was the heat.       She pulled it inside, away from the surface, so it wouldn't cook Journeyman in the time they needed.  She'd have one last chance to get rid of some before they ported out.       She felt him appearing, close behind her, and she hard dumped to the heat sink, which flashed from ice into superheated steam.  She was sloppy--she got some into the blast shield, too.  But that wouldn't matter, they'd be gone before the shockwave hit.       Then he started the second port, his little pocket universe closing in around the two of them, and she had to hold the heat in.  Her hand was at forty thousand K and climbing--her power was all that was keeping it solid.  And it was getting worse, fast.  She moved as much of the heat as she dared into the rest of her body.  There wasn't anywhere else.       She remembered her first trip to the moon, and just how bad things could get.  But she needed to keep it away from Journeyman--he was the fragile one.       Five hundred microseconds into the second port and her hand was up to two million K, and it started getting worse faster, again.       Eight hundred microseconds.  Ten million K.  Journeyman was getting a big dose of hard X-rays--but most of them would go right through, and the real enemy was heat.       Antarctica.  Mass.  And she could finally move.  She entropy dumped to the ice in all directions as she accelerated away from Journeyman with ten billion g's of relief.       Then she was far enough clear to let the heat surface, vaporizing her costume in a wave of plasma as she started radiative cooling, doing everything she could to quench the burning from a hand filled with nuclear fire.

Next:  Chapter 35