#this bridge is a few hundred meters from were I grew up

[five-rivers]

Three Twilights

Can be considered a loose sequel to Deep Sea Diver (same vibes).

Warnings: Soft body horror, Danny totally ignoring objectively horrifying things

.

.

.

“I was thinking,” started Maddie over breakfast, “we could start observations of that island that came into view last week, the blue one.”

Danny shook his head. “You’ll have to use the Speeder, then,” he said. “I’ve got an errand to run.”

There was a pause as both of Danny’s parents looked at him, confused. He didn’t blame them. Danny rarely went out as a human anymore, and certainly not for anything like errands. Looking like he was still fourteen after all this time made doing anything even remotely official difficult.

But this wasn’t a human errand. “Yeah,” said Danny. “In the Ghost Zone. I’ve got to go to Three Twilights.”

“Where?” asked Jack.

“It’s, um, a city,” said Danny. “Well, three cities, I suppose, depending on how you want to group them. One Realm. On the shores of the Celestial Sea. I’m sure I’ve put it in your files.” Probably a direct copy from his files from before he came clean to them, but still. He stirred his cereal counterclockwise, letting his ice powers chill the milk.

“Yes,” said Maddie, “but there are a lot of places in there. I’m not sure we’ve had a chance to properly look at them all, much less memorize them.”

“Okay, yeah,” said Danny. “I guess that makes sense.”

“What kind of errand are you running, Danno?”

“I’m picking something up for a friend. A book,” he clarified. “They lent it to someone there, but they need it back.”

“A book,” said Maddie. “For the Library of Tongues?”

“No, they’ve got a contract service for overdue loans.”

“Contract service?” asked Jack.

“Yeah. Moonlighting bounty hunters mostly.”

“For a library?”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” said Danny, shrugging. “They’re really serious about their work.”

“If it isn’t for them, who is it for?” asked Maddie. “The princess? Wulf?” Wulf had actually been over a few times, and his parents had… Well, saying they got along would be an overstatement, they didn’t really have anything in common beyond ripping portals in the fabric of the universe, but everyone had been civil. “The boy at the school?”

“No,” said Danny. “Wulf would just get it himself.”

“Who, then?” pressed Maddie.

Danny put a spoonful of cereal in his mouth, delaying. Maddie hadn’t eaten anything since Danny had mentioned the errand. The errand was, in fact, for Clockwork. Danny was always more than happy to do anything for Clockwork. The older ghost had saved him too many times for him to be otherwise. But Jack and Maddie were wary of Clockwork. Danny didn’t get it, but talking about it hadn’t been productive so far.

He didn’t want to lie to his parents. Not ever again.

“It’s for Clockwork,” he said.

Ah, yes, there were those suspicious looks. The ones Danny could have interpreted even without being able to almost literally taste emotions.

“I see,” said Maddie.

“Anyway,” said Danny, quickly, “if I haven’t shown you Three Twilights yet, it’s really cool. I don’t want to take the full rig, but maybe the little ectocam would be okay? The one that I can clip on.”

“Why not the normal camera with an ectofilter?” asked Jack. “That has more features, and it’s easier for us to get data from.”

“Three Twilights. It’s dark there,” said Danny. “It might work in Civila, but not so much in Naŭtika and Astronomia, and I sort of want to go down to the beach and see if I can find any star pearls, and that’s really dark, so if you want to see anything properly, it’ll have to be the sonar setup, which I’m not doing, the noises that thing makes are offensive, or the ectocam.”

“And the Fenton Phones?” asked Maddie.

“Sure,” said Danny. “But I always bring those.”

“Yes,” said Maddie, after a moment. “You do.”

“Great. It’s settled, then.”

.

Most of the journey to Three Twilights could be made by air. Or, rather, what passed for air in the Infinite Realms. But when the rocky edge of an island came into view, Danny touched down. Further in was a blue wood, and Danny walked under its inviting branches.

The atmosphere started sunny, summery. The leaves and needles of the trees were the color of a clear blue sky. But as he got deeper, the leaves were touched with sunset colors: golds, reds, oranges, purples, and pinks. They fell to the ground, crunching beneath Danny’s feet. The sunset grew longer, deeper. The leaves on the trees grew sparser, revealing patches of sky.

By the time only bare branches framed the sky, it was a dusky, dim, purple. A few lonely stars twinkled in the sky.

He passed out of the forest. The city of Civila rose above him. Windows glowed in the near dark like eyes.

Danny had changed, too. His aura had dimmed. The whites of his suit were now dark gray, and patterns swirled on its surface like camouflage, like wind-twisted clouds, like nebulae.

Shadows bled around the corners of the city buildings like ink in water. Will-o-the-wisps bobbed, casting pools of illumination in lieu of streetlamps. Ghosts walked up and down the streets, or floated only a few meters up.

The buildings glittered. Everything was dark, vibrant, colors. A sharp, sweet scent filled the air, something dark and rich beneath it.

The canals in the center of the street were filled with flashing fish. Or perhaps serpents. Or perhaps worms. Between how fast they moved and the dimness of the light, it was difficult to tell.

Danny could feel his irises contracting, shrinking down to needle-thin rings. His teeth were sharp. He matched the other ghosts around him. This was how the Civila liked it, how things were in this part of Three Twilights.

Everything in order. Everything peaceful. Everything civil.

Danny walked through the market square, and bought some charcoal-colored cherry pastries from a vendor who looked like someone’s nightmare demon with a chip of ghost ice.

Much to his parents’ protests. They didn’t care for him eating ghost food.

There were seven bridges to Naŭtika, which was built half underwater and half on boats that floated both on the water and in the air. As the dark waters of the inlet lapped at his feet, Danny felt the changes ripple across his skin. To a human, he would look pure black, except for the faintest glimmer of rim lighting and the stars of his eyes. He and the other ghosts moved silently, cutting through the waters like shadows.

To Danny’s ghostly senses, the place was alive with emotion and force, energy loud and crackling against his senses.

“We’re solely on the ectocam, now,” said Maddie. “You were right about that.”

“Mhm,” said Danny, half distracted by a whispered sea-shanty backed by a choir of not-voices and not-sound that wove together with the mastery of a hundred years of practice.

He glided up a rope net, and began to navigate the ropes to the taller ships. The very tallest, the ones that scraped the ever-darkening sky and blotted out uneven sections of stars, moored the glass-like ships that floated above. He’d need to reach them, to get to Astronomia.

“What’s that?” asked Maddie, breaking his concentration on his path.

“What’s what?” asked Danny, whisper soft, drawing some looks. He turned, slowly, on the spot, planks barely creaking under his steps. A gentle wind ruffled his hair.

“There,” said Maddie. “By the ghost that’s registering red.”

It had taken Danny a long time to learn what color on the ectocam’s artificial sensor signified what, but he had, if only to reduce the guessing when they played this game.

“Star pearls,” said Danny, eyeing the ropes of stone that glimmered brighter than his eyes currently did. They were one of the only reliable forms of light, out on the Celestial Sea, although they were valued for other things, too.

“They’re putting out a massive amount of energy,” said Maddie.

“You mentioned them before,” said Jack. “You wanted to look for some?”

“On the shore,” said Danny. “Out past Astronomia.” He wanted to find his own, rather than buy them.

Partially because they were expensive. He didn’t really want to think about how much unmelting ice he’d have to conjure up to equal one of them. They were usually bartered in exchange for… more significant things.

The ghost by the pearls beckoned him closer, clearly hoping to make a sale. Danny shook his head, broadcasting regret and admiration for his wares. Speech might be faster but, under these circumstances, it would not be polite.

When Danny left, the social rules of Three Twilights would only leave the faintest impression on his mind. But, for now, they were a heavy, but not uncomfortable weight. One he could shrug off if necessary, but which was currently useful.

“What are they?” asked Maddie, as Danny turned away.

“They happen when big enough things fall into stars,” said Danny. “They’re all the memories of what they used to be… and the imagination of what they could become, when the star dies. Well, that’s what they’re supposed to be. I don’t think anyone really knows for sure.”

“And you can just… find these? Lying around?”

“Not… not really,” said Danny, slowly drifting towards a crow’s nest. “It’s like that one national park. That one where you can collect diamonds? You never really find anything good, but you can look.”

“I see,” said Maddie. “So, you don’t expect to find one?”

“Yes and no,” said Danny. “If I don’t expect to find one, I probably won’t. Unless the sea is feeling ironic, which it usually is, apparently. I mean, it’s an ocean and the stars. And prophecy is, like, ninety percent irony, but mostly for an outside observer. Which honestly makes sense, I think. An observer, not an Observant. Those are different things.”

The kind of silence on the other side of the line was the one that emerged when Danny used too much ghost logic.

“Anyway,” he continued as he scaled the crow’s nest and started traversing the glass ropes and chains to the all-but-invisible glass ships, “no, I don’t really expect to.”

The path to Astronomia was a staircase carved from moonstone harvested in October, when the moon was full and orange-red. It burned Danny’s eyes to look at and feet to walk upon. Like many ghosts who fixated on things like astronomy, he adapted quickly and thoroughly to the spiritual dark.

This darkest twilight was built of delicate bubbles, whorls, and arches of glass, any of which could cradle a ghost, all of which could be phased through with impunity. There were no true roads here, but certain places were easier to travel through. Addresses were carved in the glass in glimmering, holographic sigils made from glass-caught starlight that humans would never be able to read, but Danny could understand with a glance. It was not silent in Astronomia, the high wind sung through the glass like the immense instrument it was, playing ethereal and eternal music that mirrored heaven.

As always, Danny was enraptured. Perhaps the stars here were not true stars, only their memory and imagination (or simulacra made from stripped ghost cores, he remembered with a shudder), but he felt so close here.

“Danny? Are you still with us?”

Danny started to reply, but realized he had forgotten, once again, that he had no mouth here.

A phantabulist played a story for a group of not-quite-children, characters made of carefully constructed light chasing each other about with vigour. Danny stopped for a while to watch the story, a parable about spiders and fish. They were common here, storytellers who plied their craft this way. The stories could be pressed into glass prisms and orbs that served as books and viewed even in other environs of the Ghost Zone.

He moved on, passing through a glass bubble full of ghosts that snatched at and stroked him as he passed by, leaving stars and dark clouds to swirl across his skin. His suit had long since smoothed over and sunk in. His skin was a thin surface, a membrane holding in liquid night. He was like smoke, like vapour, thin and easily overlooked.

The places he passed were homes, places of business, warehouses, and hotels, organized without any apparent reason. A phantabularium glowed like a struck match, snatches of story visible inside its walls. He walked by.

Eventually, he reached the palace at the city center.

The ghost who lived there was old. Older, perhaps, than Pandora. She filled the vessels of her palace in placid pools connected by crystalized threads and looping tubes. Seven round-bottom flasks, radiating outward, like the spheres of heaven. The music here was almost deafening.

This was Urania, Muse of Astronomy. Astronomia was her city, and subordinate to her will before all else.

Danny resisted the urge to kneel. He was not here as a supplicant, and they both knew it.

The lowest pool bubbled, and slowly a glass prism, a dodecahedron, floated to the top. Danny took it with careful hands and left Urania’s direct presence as quickly as possible.

Being near her was always difficult. She was the Muse of Astronomy, and she felt he did not indulge his second Obsession as much as was proper.

Indeed, she thought it should be his first.

(The starlight inside him pulsed. He was never sure how much influence Urania could exert on him when he visited Three Twilights, never sure how much the relationship between his passions shifted when he was here. He loved it here too much to stay away forever.)

Astronomia did not end all at once. Instead, as one walked farther from the palace, the delicate, clear glass was replaced by black sand. When Danny had feet again, and could feel the grains beneath them, he knew he was no longer in Astronomia, but on the Shores of Night. The Isles of the Moon were faintly visible in the distance, sea-spray framing them in silvery halos.

He felt human here. His breath moved in his lungs, and his skin rose in goosebumps, the sleeves of his t-shirt fluttering in the wind. The sea and the sky were the same, and twice as beautiful for it.

“Sorry for going silent on you there,” said Danny. “I keep forgetting I don’t have a mouth there.”

“How do you forget that?” asked Jack.

“I don’t know.” Danny shrugged, even though he knew Jack couldn’t see him. “Do you think the ectocam might be able to spot buried star pearls?”

[beskarberry]

Star-crossed

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 11

(The Mandalorian x f!reader) (+18)

"His heartbeat picked up to a wicked cantor, echoing in his helmet like a storm of leathery wings. Whispering demons crawled up his brainstem and dragged beloved memories down from his skull and into the light of judgement. Memories of you."

<-Previous Next->

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 9.k oh no

Content warnings: Major angst, nightmares, premonitions, auditory hallucinations, unsavory parental figures, paranoia, domestic disputes, child endangerment, violence. No smut in this one, the only thing getting fucked in this chapter are our feelings.

A/N: This one hurt to write, there were definitely some tears shed while putting this together this so fair warning do not expect this one to end well. :(

High above the metal decking of the engine room, you were elbow deep in an exhaust port, clearing away the slag to replace one of the durasteel plates that had started to warp from the excess heat. You were singing, as you always did when you worked; a vulgar, brassy shanty that was almost louder than the reciprocating scraper in your hands. You spat and wiped a wayward chunk of grease from your mouth, the taste of it oily and burnt. No matter how many times you’d been taught the lesson of ‘keep your mouth closed’ you couldn’t help it. Whenever you worked, you sang.

Raucous as a mudhorn in heat and louder than a full grown krayt, your songs were a favorite of your unit, and the chief of engineering would often come stand a while and listen; though the moment he was caught eavesdropping he would scold you for not working harder. Tough love is what he called it. He was yelling at you now from far below at the base of the hyperdrive engine, and you pushed your goggles up your grime-smeared face to see him.

Bilgerat! Get’cher ass down ‘ere, posthaste!

Yessir!

Now you were standing in front of the chief, though there was another man standing there too. Tall, thin and pale with eyes like a dead fish and a tight, steelset jaw. You didn’t recognize him, but he looked important, his lapel shining with the badge of a high-ranking officer.

You there, girl, sing.

Sir?

Don’t argue with me, child, I heard you from three decks over. Sing.

Being watched made you nervous, but you did as you were ordered. You sang something, maybe everything, either way the stranger watched you, no, judged you, his eyes never leaving your face. The dead-eyed man furrowed his brow and stroked his chin thoughtfully, but you had already stopped watching him, caught in your song, powerless against the siren song that was your own voice.

It always felt so good to let loose, your voice could set your soul free, and yet it also felt like it was pulling something in. Something greater than yourself, flowing through you, connecting you to every living thing that ever was or ever will be. Your boots were firmly stuck aboard the starship called the Wyvern’s Tongue, but your songs carried your heart to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, to worlds beyond your durasteel home.

~

The humming is what woke Din up, though he hadn’t slept much through the night anyway, too suspicious of the artifact he had found aboard his ship. Fully armored, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall of the borrowed quarters he had stood guard over his tiny clan, dozing in and out of restless sleep.

He lifted his helmeted head to zero in on the noise you were making. It was one he was familiar with, you often hummed in your sleep, it was something he loved about you. The warm, wavering sound coming from the floor where you had made a nest of quilts for yourself was comforting, but tonight something about it seemed off.

He watched you sleep, noticing the way that your fingers twitched and your legs kicked behind you slightly. It wasn’t like you to be so energetic, so distressed. Clutched to your chest the foundling purred softly, but you didn’t seem to hear him. Your hums turned to whimpers, making the Mandalorian’s blood run cold.

She’s having a nightmare.

She’s perfect. I’ll take her.

But sir, she’s m’best bilgie. How’ll I-

Is that insubordination I hear, Chief Wellers?

N-no Cap’n Forescythe. She’s all yours.

Good. Come along, little sparrow, your talents are being wasted here.

You remember being so scared, looking to your chief for reassurance, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes. Though you’d lived aboard the Wyvern’s Tongue since she had left Corellia’s port you’d never actually met the captain. The starcruiser was well over a thousand meters long and home to hundreds of crewmates, putting bilgerats far below the captain’s sphere of influence. What did he want from you?

Each step you took in your dream you got taller, your strides lengthening as you grew from a gangly teenager to a young woman. You were at the bridge now, being sat in a stiff but comfortable chair. You were taught to relay orders, delegate operations, interpret incoming transmissions and their origins. It was a station high above your birthright, but you were never one to turn down a challenge, and you bullied your way to excellence; much to your captain’s pride.

Captain Forescythe was usually described as a cold, unforgiving man, but he treated you remarkably well for a boat-brat dug up from the scuppers, much to the disdain of his fellow officers. He told you that you were a natural talent, gifted by the Maker with a voice so strong, so beautiful, almost like he revered you for it. Much like the ship's namesake, the Wyvern’s captain lorded over you like treasure, jealousy guarding you like a priceless jewel.

The captain’s precious little pet.

Sing, my little Sparrow.

~

Unable to spectate any longer, Din crawled over to you, brushing an armored hand over your sweat-streaked face. “Mesh’la? Are you alright? Wake up cyare, you’re having a nightmare.”

Wake up.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Once where a beautiful, peaceful world had once been there was now only dust. The Death Star your ship was escorting had succeeded in her mission, and you had been graciously allowed to watch as the mechanical moon obliterated a billion lives as one would exterminate a nest of roaches. Around you your crew cheered, hooray for the Empire! Death to the Resistance! But you couldn’t hear them.

You heard screaming.

Clawing at your ears and squeezing your eyes closed did nothing to make it stop. As if millions of voices were funneling directly into your skull.

You ran. Ran through the labyrinthian hallways, ran as fast as you could to your quarters. Even your blankets would not protect you, the wailing only growing louder.

Murderers! Monsters! You killed us! Why? Why why why!

You ran from your tiny room, backpack slung over your shoulder, filled with what few things you owned. Ran all the way to the hangar. You’d worked on interceptors a thousand times before when your hands were still small, when you could weasel your way into the narrowest of spaces and prove yourself worthy of not getting jettisoned. Knife in hand you unlocked the security protocols easier than picking your teeth, and the hangar fell away beneath you.

Turning back one last time to glance at the artificial home you had known for so long you saw a figure standing there. Was it the captain? Had he come to stop you? Stop his precious Sparrow from flying away?

No. They were blue, flickering in and out of corporeality. Their face took up your entire mindscape now, their features ever changing, like you were looking at more than one face at a time. The eldritch being’s eyes bored through yours, shifting rapidly from those of a man to those of a child to those of an elder, a hundred lives all demanding to be seen at once. Their mouth did not move when it spoke.

“i̴͊̎t̴'s̸̉͋ ̵͋c̸͑ȏ̸̕m̸͐͛i̸̽͘n̷̾͂ǵ̵”

You sucked air like your lungs had never known oxygen, nearly launching the foundling into orbit as you bolted upright. Beskar burdened arms coiled around you the next second, and you stung your knuckles on his armor trying to fight him off in your panic.

“Ger’off’a me! It wasn’t my fault! I’m sorry! Please!”

“Cyare! Stop! You’re having a nightmare, it’s ok I’ve got you!” Battleborne muscles held you tight against a cold plate of steel while you thrashed until you were coherent. Husband. You let your body relax against your oathsworn and wept, deep, heaving sobs that tore your throat apart and crackled your ribs. Soft shushing noises came through Din’s modulator next to your ear, but the cold metal of his armor brought you little comfort.

“I-I’m s-s-sor-ry.” You stuttered into the fabric of his cowl, the roughhewn cloth soaked with tears. Strong fingers carded through your dampish hair, still not dried all the way from your shower only a few hours ago. Din pressed his palm against the back of your head, burying you in the crook of his shoulder where he could protect you from whatever had scared you. The yellowed tips of his gloves bumped against your unburdened ear cuffs with each pass of his hand, but the leather scraping the metal couldn’t drown out the whispers that still oozed from your thoughts.

Why why why why why why...

“It’s alright, cyar’ika, I’m here. Grogu’s here.” Without tearing your eyes away from the safe haven of his cloak you groped blindly for the baby, finding the disheveled youngling and pulling him in tight. “Can you tell me what happened?” Din asked, his modulated voice soft with worry. You shook your head against your partner. “Alright, that’s ok.”

-ỉ̶t'̸͑̋́̂s̸ ̵̝͕̏̀͠͝c̷̬͙̃̽͌̑̊o̷̅͑̓̈́m̴̧͓͈̭̃͂́̽͌͑ǐ̶̓̕n̷̓̋̚g̵͕͙͎͊̀͊̽!̶̑̀-

You gasped and pulled away from your husband’s comfort, eyes wider than moons, pupils shrunken to pinpoints. Gloved hands found your face, cupping your cheeks and trying to get you to look into his hidden honeywells that were searching your eyes. Unblinking, you looked right through him.

“Can you hear that?” You whispered, your voice far, far away.

“Hear what?”

-I̴̭̊̚͘͘T̷́̽̕S̴̔̅̈́ ̸̋C̸̀͋Ỏ̸̉̄͝M̸̐͂I̶N̷̽͗̈̌G̵͓̎̈̊̀͛͘͠!̶!̷̤̏-

“That!” you shrieked, making both your boys jump. You clawed at your ears, though you knew that wouldn’t help, the voices were coming from inside. “I-I have.. I have to go! I have to go now!” You tried to spring up off the floor, but your arm was caught in the iron grip you knew and trusted, keeping you at your knees. “I have to warn Alewyn!”

“Cyar’ika what are you talking about? Warn her about what?”

The phantom voice wailed again, and you doubled over from the force of it, sending a fresh wave of tears down your face. Din was getting scared now, his eyes wide with worry behind the visor, his throat bobbing around dry swallows. You’d never woken up like this before, so distraught and inconsolable, and it was making him feel helpless. He couldn’t put binders on your emotions, grapple with your fears, slay your inner demons.

“Let go!” You roared and flew from his grasp, tripping over your faceplate and the pile of quilts as you blasted out the door, sprinting down the Sunskate’s curving corridors towards the bridge with your foundling stuffed under your arm. Haunting voices chased you through the halls, making you deaf to the armored thunder that was following dutifully behind.

You charged through the bulkhead to the bridge, nearly busting the durasteel door off its hinges when you flew through it, skittering to a halt in front of the viewport. With wild eyes you searched the void, ignoring the concerned questions that were being asked of you. Where is it where is it where is it?! From corner to corner you scanned, locking your red-rimmed eyes on every flicker, every spark.

Nothing.

Nothing for miles.

Slowly you became aware of those around you, the soft leather gloves of your mate pulling on your face and the warm but worried voice of the Sunskate’s captain.

“Cyare?”

“Tra’laar?”

“Patu?”

Your legs gave out under you and you let yourself be caught in the steelbound arms of your husband, the two of you sinking to the floor with the foundling still locked to your chest. Terror replaced itself with scalding embarrassment, making you bury your unblinking eyes in the foundling’s forgiving tummy. Your eyelids wouldn’t close no matter how hard you willed them to, because they knew that somewhere, out there,

Was a dragon.

“What’s wrong with her? Did you do something to upset her?!” Alewyn hissed, becoming defensive of her ill-begotten rescue.

“No! She had a nightmare, I think. Cyar’ika whatever it is, it’s not real. There’s nothing out there, come back to me, please.” Mando’s loving pleas and careful touches went unrecognized, no matter how diligent they were.

What finally drew you back to reality was the gentle pat pat pat of fat baby paws on your face. You turned your wilted gaze to the foundling, the embarrassment of being seen so vulnerable only growing stronger and more painful. “I-I’m s-sorry, Goober, you s-sh-sh-shouldn’t have to see me like-”

Pap.

Baby beans smacked you softly on your forehead and closed his eyes, making you furrow your brow. “What are you- oh.” Your eyes slid closed, and a warm peacefulness breezed through you, exorcising the whispering voices between your ears. You took a deep, somewhat stuttered breath and let go, feeling whatever weird baby magic the foundling possessed flow through you. The night terror faded to the back of your mind, dissipating like mist until it evaporated entirely from your thoughts.

“Thank you…” You whispered, nuzzling the baby’s chubby belly. Heart rate steady and breath even, you leaned back against the man who was still holding you up. Din rested the edge of his helmet on the top of your head and hummed, a low, brassy tone, sounding relieved. Where his hands were wrapped around your sides you felt the slow roll of his palms, warm and protective. “I’m sorry, Mando, Alewyn, I don’t know what came over me...”

“S’all right, missy, t’ain’t the first time I’ve seen someone go wailin’ through the halls. We all have our burdens to bear.” Alewyn combed a dainty hand through your hair, brushing it out of your face. “Good thing them boys’ve gotcha though.” She glanced between the visor of the Mandalorian that was coiled so defensively around you and the little green baby you held so dearly. “I can tell they love ya.”

You nodded sheepishly and let Din help you to your feet, his hands never leaving you lest you waver. Angrily you wiped at the corners of your eyes, trying to cover your shame as the three of you walked back to your room. When the bedroom door closed behind you, you went straight for the porthole window, cautiously searching the stars again.

“What are you looking for?” Din asked hesitantly, “What… what were you dreaming about?”

“Um. I had a dream we were… under attack.” You lied, your eyes still locked to the void. If you could help it, the secrets of your past would someday die with you, though by the sounds of the whispers you had heard not even death could keep its mouth closed.

“Must have been one hell of a nightmare, I’ve never seen you like this. Is there anything I can do for you?” Din the ever-thoughtful asked, draping a quilt over your shoulders. The fabric was still warm from where you had been sleeping on it, the weight of it reassuring on your back. You shook your head. He glanced at the back of one vambrace, “We’re still another hour from the station, why don’t we get our things packed and back on the Crest? Would that be ok?”

It was better than going back to sleep, you didn’t trust your own thoughts not to terrorize you again, and you nodded enthusiastically. Din didn’t allow you to lift a finger while he zoomed around the little room, collecting your armor and laundry and then you, scooping you and the foundling up in his arms.

“Put me down, tinman, I’m not helpless!” you chided with a weak little laugh.

“There’s my girl. Nope, I’m carrying you. Deal with it.”

You sighed in a heavy, mocking tone, covering your face with your mask like a shy child while he proudly tromped back to the hangar to where your immobile home lay. Once you were all lifted up the half-hanging ramp you dropped graclessly onto a crate with a huff. You were beat, but it felt nice to be back in your ship, the familiarity adding to whatever calming effect the foundling had used. The little green terror was drowsy in your arms, spent from using his wild baby powers to vanquish your demons. You kissed his wrinkly little head and swaddled him in the quilt Din had accidentally stolen for you.

Tinman was digging through the larder, looking for something for breakfast and found a pack of biscuits to give you. Though the suspicious item he still carried in his pocket had kept him sleepless, the need to care for his loved ones overrode every other instinct, making him forget it for the time being. You weren’t hungry, if anything you were nauseous from your night terror, but Din was insistent; and you nibbled on a bright blue macaroon, splitting bites with the sleepy baby.

Eventually a soft beeping chimed from the Mandalorian’s vambrace, stationfall in fifteen minutes. Outside the ship you heard a holler, and you strode to the ramp to find Alewyn and Lilah, ready to bid thee farewell.

”Alright, so!” Alewyn exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Here’s the dealy-o. The Sunskate can’t actually… dock with the station. M’good ole dad’s still got hunters on the loose, never know when they’ll turn up, eh?” She laughed. “Your ship’s gonna have’ta dock on’er own, but Lilah’s patchwork should hold ya together long ‘nough for the service droids’ta pick ya up.”

You ignored the loud, audible groan from behind you. “I think we can manage that.” You started to hop down off the ramp, but the spry Togruta was already climbing up into the Crest, barreling you over. Alewyn the Affectionate squeezed your ribs so hard you felt the air leave your lungs, making you grunt ugly. One of her nimble hands disappeared from you into her many secret pockets, then snuck into one of yours, leaving a sizable weight of credits behind. “Wynnie!” you hissed against her montral, “Not again!”

“S’least I can do, since we nearly ripped that old bucket’a shit in half and you spared another spacer from the slab.” She held you out at arms length, bobbling her montrals at you with an arrogant grin. “Take care’a yerself, missy. And you too, Mando! Be good to this woman’n’er son or so help me!” The princess raised a fist at him that turned into an outstretched hand. He shook it hesitantly, but the lavender lady reeled him in, and you giggled at his hover-hands while she squeezed the life out of him.

Lilah helped her wife down from the ramp, and the two of them waved before hefting the ramp closed, sealing you inside with your crew. You dashed up the ladder to the cockpit, looking for a horn to honk but there wasn’t one, giving you another item to add to your mental grocery list. Din followed you up with Grogu in tow, taking his seat in the captain’s chair.

The Sunskate’s hangar jaws slid open slowly, pulling a blue force field over the stretch of stars. Far ahead you could just barely make out the shiny little dot where the station was, glittering just a little brighter than the stars themselves. With the cockpit door tightly sealed, Din carefully started up the old gunship, and on instinct you covered Grogu’s ears to protect him from the inevitable backfire.

The Razor Crest sputtered to life and slowly floated out of the hangar door, relying more on inertia than propulsion to get her towards the station. Out the window you saw the enormous rayship that had carried you here bank away from you, the starlight glittering briefly on her copper-colored belly before her propulsion engines flared back to life, and soon enough she was nothing more than a comet streaking through the void.

Din fussed with the radio transponder, opening up a hailing frequency that would alert the attention of the station droids, and it wasn’t long before a large transport unit was making its way to you. The automatic taxi magnetized itself to the roof of the Crest, easing the strain off of your damaged engines.

A robotic voice beeped through the comms: “THANK YOU FOR CHOS-ING EL-GON AU-TO-MA-TED SER-VI-CES. SMILE-Y FACE. CO-MEN-CING TRANS-PORT TO HAN-GAR SEV-EN-TEEN FOR EV-AL-U-A-TION AND RE-PAIR. HAVE A NICE DAY. SMILE-Y FACE”

Din groaned, his fists creaking on the steering wheel. “Why’s it gotta be droids…”

You shrugged in your chair. “Elgon’s old as dirt, prob’ly older than the Crest. I’d be surprised if there wasn’t anything on it that wasn’t animatronic.”

“Great.”

Ahead of you, the station dominated your viewport, humming with a myriad of activity. A neutral starport, Elgon boasted service to any and all as long as they had coin in their pockets, regardless of their commendations or crimes. You’d been to the old outpost many a time, both on your own and while you still wore a uniform, and excitedly you remembered a particular sweets shop that used to operate in the center.

Your service droid was nearly at the station now, approaching a large closed hangar with the number seventeen painted on it in orange Basic. You playfully kicked at the side of the pilots’ seat where Din’s butt was unguarded by the arm rests. “You excited to get fixed up, bucket boy?”

He nodded, he was ready to get back on the trail towards the last bounty. The thought of hunting again reminded him of the Imp device in his pocket that still mystified him, reigniting buried suspicions. I should ask her about it, maybe she knows what it is. He hadn’t wanted to disturb you while you were showering, or when you were getting ready to sleep, so being the polite riddur he decided he would bring it up with you in the morning.

Din reached into his pocket, closing his fingers around the mechanical spider, ready to pull it into the light when the hangar doors opened.

Revealing a blizzard of white duraplast.

“Oh fuck.” Your collective hearts went through the decking at the sight before you. There, swarming the station proper were dozens of Imperial stormtroopers, their eggheads covering the hangar like dirty snow. “Get down!” you hissed at Din who was already two steps ahead of you, sliding out of the pilots seat and under the dashboard. You tore the faceplate off of your crown and stuffed it into his hands along with Grogu and caged your two boys in with your knees, determined to keep anything mando-factured out of sight.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Din spat, slamming his fist on the floor. “This station is supposed to be neutral territory! We need to turn around, we can not stay here!”

Under you the Crest swayed gently in the droid’s grasp before being lowered onto a maintenance skiff, the hoversled bouncing slightly from the weight of your ship. Desperately you threw levers and pushed switches, trying to get the Crest to restart, but her engines were long gone, the turbines spinning almost mockingly slow. You weren’t going anywhere.

The comms light lit up on the dashboard with a soft chime, and on reflex you went to answer it when Din grabbed your leg. “Don’t even think about it.”

You made ‘what-choice-do-we-have’ hands at him, “Dude we are fucked unless I answer them, I-I speak their language, I can get us through.”

���Yeah? So do I.” He hissed from the floor, smacking the side of his thigh where his firearm hung.

“-Ksst!- hush! I’m handling this.” You straightened your shoulders and set your jaw straight before flipping on the receiver.

The holoprojector lit up in front of you with a tiny stormtrooper. “Identify yourself.”

“TK number SPW dash seven-zero-four-two, engaged in dogfight planetside and in need of repairs.”

“Why isn’t your ship running a beacon, soldier?”

“It's pre-empire surplus, it doesn’t have one.”

“What are you doing flying around in such a relic?” The stationmaster said with a bite of suspicion.

“...Budget cuts.”

They chuckled. ”No kidding. Alright then, what’s your designation?”

Shit, uh... “Prisoner transport unit.”

“Roger. Stand-by for transportation to engineering bay and prepare for inspection.”

The trooper winked out of existence, and you started to sigh with relief when the hand on your boot yanked you down to the ground.

“Prisoner transport unit?!” He rasped once you were at visor level with him on the floor. “Could you have come up with something else?!”

Unwillingly, your lips curled back and bared your teeth at his hateful tone. “There’s a shitload of guns and a goddamn carbonite freezer down in the hold, we’re not exactly delivering cookies. We need to get you two hidden before we get to the mechanics, come on!”

Din watched you drop through the ladder hatch with his heart in his throat, the fluttering organ violently trying to break out of his ribs. The Maker must think this is hilarious. After everything I’ve done to keep this kid away from the Imps we’re just going to go knocking on their fucking door. Everything was stacked against him. He was tired from lack of sleep, he was scared for the safety of his clan, and to top it all off he was becoming more distrustful of the microchip by the second; the mounting tension he emanated filling the cockpit like carbonite fog.

Maybe it’s a tracking device?

That… might make sense. Elgon station was out in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, why else would a shitload of Imps be here if not to capture him and his crew? To take his son? Through the night he had grown suspicious of the item he had found, and a nagging thought had seeded itself in his frontal lobe, one that he refused to give audience.

What if it came from her?

No, that’s stupid. That’s your riddur, she’s obviously not an Imp. He reasoned, slowly soldier-crawling his way to the hatch with his son and your armor in tow. It must have been in the coral already, or come from one of the pirates, maybe they planted it here. But if that’s the case then we’ve been handed right over into a trap. He lept down the ladder with Grogu squashed under his arm, watching you fly around the cabin looking for an acceptable hiding spot for your foundling and a full grown Mandalorian.

Time started to move in slow motion as it usually did for him when he was sizing up quarry. What did her puck say, before I decided not to turn her in? He ran through his mental rolodex, digging for your file. Ex hunter. Guild dissenter. Bribed out of high-profile bounty. Now that he had met the high-profiler for himself he really couldn’t blame you, though it was suspicious that you had returned from the bridge one bounty short after speaking with Alewyn in private.

Alewyn. Princess-turned-pirate, a renegade royal that had made a name for herself literally ripping ships down from the sky. Hunter ships in particular. Awful convenient for her to be right in our line of travel to a station full of Imps out in the middle of fuckall nowhere. He froze, his visor locked to your frantic form. As if…

As if she was waiting for us.

The corners of his lips bared his teeth to no-one behind his visor as the distrust he had sown in his own heart dug its claws in deep. This has been a trap from the beginning! She’s been playing the long con since Tatooine. In his other hand he held your betrothal gift, the beskar faceplate that he had presented to you when you swore your vows. It reflected his own visor back to him, the hazy lighting of the cabin shimmering on the mudhorn embossed on the brow. No… that’s not it… that’s not true, she loves you…

Right…?

Or… so she says. His heartbeat picked up to a wicked cantor, echoing in his helmet like a storm of leathery wings. Whispering demons crawled up his brainstem and dragged beloved memories down from his skull and into the light of judgement. Memories of you.

He’d caught you so easily on that dirtball of a planet, too easily for a hunter of your stature. You’d practically tossed yourself into the arms of a complete stranger, assumed the role of the child’s caregiver without question. Agreed to marry him after barely a month.

Grogu made a sniffling noise under Din’s arm, gaining both of his buir’s attentions. His nebulous eyes were beginning to moisten, threatening to spill over with tears at any moment. Instantly you ran to your baby’s defense. “Hey buddy boy, what’s wrong?” You carefully took the baby from Din, hugging him to your chest and making the tiniest sob bubble out of his nose. “No no no it’s ok, please don’t cry sweetheart!”

“He’s scared.” Din growled in a manner not at all comforting. You glared at the indomitable mountain of metal, offended that he would use such a tone in front of his own son. “He knows when there’s a threat nearby.” Under you the Crest wobbled slightly, signaling the start of her trek to the engineering bay. Tick tock.

“Fuck! Can you get in a storage crate?” you asked frantically, bouncing Grogu on your hip to get him to quiet down. The baby could sense the mounting anxiety radiating off of his buir, and was getting himself spun up into a fresh panic. His cries devolved into sobs, making the hull echo with despair. “Shh.. it’s ok! Baby boy please, we can’t do this right now!”

“Too obvious.”

“Ok, the sleeping cubby? The lockers? C’mon Mando work with me!”

“They’ll tear this ship apart the second it hits the bay. There’s no hiding. That’s it, we’re done for.” Din tossed up his hands and made some kind of noise in the back of his throat, some kind of strained laugh, the husk of it making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You knew that sound, it was the sound of acceptance, of defeat.

Like fuck you were giving up. You made to retaliate when something past his shoulder caught your eyes. Expecting you to fight with him he stopped his pacing and glared at you, then followed your eyes to the carbonite freezer. He whipped back around, gawking at you like you’d grown a second head. “Oh fuck no.”

“We are out of options!” you nearly screamed, “I can’t just cuff you, there’s no guarantee that they won't take you and Beans hostage, freezing you would be safer. I-it would only be for an hour or two, tops, just to pass inspection! That thing can unfreeze, right?”

“That is not the point!” Din bellowed, “You are suggesting not only to freeze me but to freeze him as well?” Din jabbed a finger at the baby, a rush of emotions threatening to boil his bucket right off his head. He widened his shoulders, broadening himself so large that he seemed to encompass the entire ship, glossy black eye turning dark and hateful on you. He couldn’t keep his suspicions to himself any longer. “You… has this been your plan all along?”

You balked, “Plan? Plan for what? The hell are you-”

He threw your beskar on the floor and grabbed your shoulders, pinning you against the wall opposite the freezer and making Grogu scream out in terror. Mando’s visor took up your entire field of view, reflecting with your own wild eyes. “Your plan to capture us!” He barked, the malice overflowing like an erupting volcano. “You told that Imp that this was a prisoner transport unit. We don’t have any prisoners on this ship unless you’ve had them since the beginning.”

“Are you out of your fucking bucket?!” You spat back at him, “You think I want to put you in carbonite?! Put my son in carbonite?! There’s nowhere else on this ship to hide you!”

“How convenient.” The joints in your shoulders popped from the force he was applying to them, his weight nearly fusing you with the wall.

“You’re hurting me!” Over you the lights began to flicker, though neither of you saw it with your eyes locked on each other; yours filled with pain and anger, his visor pinning you down as if you were quarry.

At the sound of your pain the tension on your shoulder bones eased slightly, but not enough to let you free of the wall. Scalding shame burnt its way across his face, bitter and stinging. He was hurting you, the one thing he swore never to do to you again, the very first oath he had promised.

You chewed the side of your cheek, trying to steady your words. “Din. I love you. I love Grogu! I lied to that Imp to protect you. I don’t want those rotten eggs to have you, how could you even think that of me?”

She lies. One thing that Din knew about you was that you were unquestionably good at was putting on a ruse, able to sweet-talk quarry or lure droids to their deaths. But the way you took to the comms was different, how you were able to use the Imps own terminology against them, even how you spoke to the pirates before you were ‘rescued’ was delivered with flawless diction. It was too perfect, too natural...

As if that was your real voice.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” He growled, digging armored claws into the flesh of your shoulders, making you suck air through your teeth. Defensively you coiled your arms around Grogu, burying his wrinkly little head against your chest where he would be safe from the man you thought you trusted. Fire cascaded out from under Din's helmet, trying to burn you at the stake. “You told me once that I don’t know you.” His helmet tilted like a serpent poising to strike, words dripping with venom. “But I should have known an Imp when I saw one.”

“I am not an Imp!! That’s not who I am any MORE!” Bulbs exploded around you at your words, glass and sparks raining down from above. The strength of your thundering roar broke the delicate machinery in Din’s helmet, causing his audio intake to screech with feedback. Immediately his hands left your shoulders and went to his ears, trying to protect himself from the horrible noise.

The let-up was all the invitation you needed, and you dropped yourself low; catapulting into Din’s chest plate like a linebacker and knocking him into the freezer. You kicked your faceplate between his boots, thrust Grogu into his arms and punched the activator on the wall, tears flowing hotly down your face. As the fog billowed outward Mando wrapped himself around the foundling, as though his impenetrable armor could protect the child from the nightmare of being frozen alive.

Horrified, you watched as the two creatures you loved most were consumed by the mist, leaving a dark block in its wake that bore their likeness. The metal was already ice cold to the touch when you ran your hand over the glaring curve of your husband's visor, and down to the terrified, tear-streaked face of your baby.

Choked sobs tore at the back of your throat, trying to drown you with guilt. I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry my loves, I… I did what I had to do. You weren���t given time to process your grief, nearly jumping out of your skin when plasticast fists rapped on the access door with authoritarian vigor. Composing yourself to the best of your abilities, you stuck your finger down the barrel of your blaster, scraping off the dark residue and smearing it under your eyes to hide your welted cheeks.

Glass crunched under your boots as you made your way through the dismembered cabin to the wall panel, punching the buttons with shaky hands. The ramp chuggered and stopped halfway down, but it was down far enough for you to make visor contact with the platoon of troopers who were demanding your attention. Their armor was clean, freshly moulded and recently polished. These weren’t just the Empire’s soggy leftovers, these were new recruits.

Disgracefully hopping down from the ramp among a scurry of pit droids you puffed up your chest and squared your shoulders as you had seen your partner do whenever he was intimidating quarry. You crossed your arms behind your back in parade rest, watching as a painted trooper strode up to you, his rifle pointed at the floor near your feet.

“Stand aside, we have orders to search this ship.”

“Whose orders?”

“Elgon Station is under the Imperial jurisdiction of Admiral Forescythe, no ships in or out without search.”

You felt all the blood in your body evaporate at the name. Forescythe. Shit balls of hell, that fucking bastard is still alive?!

“Is that really necessary?”

The rifle in his hand rose just slightly. “You got something to hide?”

“No, sir.” you said sweetly, hoping politeness would buy you brownie points.

“Stand aside then.” The trooper barked, gesturing to your ship with the barrel of his rifle. You jumped when the heavy access ramp hit the ground, turning to glare daggers at the droid that had unfastened the damaged hydraulics. The stormtrooper marched past you up the ramp, inspecting the interior of the cabin as he went. As predicted, he nudged the lids of the supply crates open, pointing his gun at any would-be threats. Another pair of eggheads followed inside, rudely stomping through the Crest’s belly like they owned the place.

The painted trooper made loud, gross sniffing noises. “Smells like carbonite in here, your freezer might be leaking, better get that checked out…” He trailed off when he clocked the machine and its contents, taking big strides towards it. “Lookit that, Is that an actual mando? I didn’t even think they were real, I’ve only ever heard stories.” He gestured to you with his gun, “How’d you do it?”

“Do what?” You asked coldly.

“How’d you catch him? And his... weird dog?” The trooper tapped harshly on the solidified metal that covered your foundling's eyeball, making your blood pyroclast through your veins, but you remained composed.

“I’m more dangerous than I look.” You seethed, digging your nails into the skin of your arms behind your back. And you’re about to find out just how fucking dangerous if you don’t back off!

One of the unpainted soldiers piped up. “Do you think this is the one they’ve been looking for? The one the Admiral was talking about?”

“Could be, I’ll radio the Wyvern when it makes stationfall, should be dropping out of hyperspace in a few hours.” Cotton seemed to grow in your mouth at his words, making it impossible to swallow. No, it can't be.

-ī̶̱̩͋t's̴̈̅ ̵̛̂̈̋͋̏͘͝c̷ŏ̷̐̓͑ṁ̸͌̋̾̕in̵̨͎̩̠̼͂͜g̷͑̔.-

Shut up. The commander jabbed his rifle at you. “I heard someone say that mandos never take their helmets off, we should unfreeze it and see what it looks like.”

“No.” You barked, making the soldiers flinch. Haha. “He’s very dangerous, even under the effects of hibernation sickness he can still be quite lethal.”

“There’s three of us and only one of it.” A rifle was pointed your way, “Thaw it out.”

Like hell. “Alright, then I won’t have to be the one to explain to the Admiral why a Mandalorian is loose in the station, or dead. I’ve heard he’s a reasonable man.”

The three troopers looked at each other with questioning glances, suddenly unsure. That seemed enough to deter them, and you waited while the troopers barked orders at the repair droids, ordering them to get your ship fixed up. A battalion of robots swarmed the Razor Crest inside and out, almost making you thankful Mando wasn’t there to blast them full of holes. The greasy robots would make quick work of the damage, and hopefully have you out of the station before the Wyvern arrived.

The Wyvern. You wanted to curl in a ball and die. Of all the bullshit the galaxy had to offer it had decided that you deserved a double helping of unwanted nostalgia. Not only was the Wyvern’s Tongue still operational she would be bringing with her good old Admiral Forscythe, though last time you saw him he was just a captain.

Your captain.

And he was on his way.

To this station.

To your ship.

To you.

Oh fuck.

Immediately you turned to your partner for reassurance, only to meet his frozen stare. You wanted to release him, let him carry you safely away from this place, but you weren’t out of the woods yet; so you were both going to have to wait. You’d never been frozen, thank the Maker, but you’d heard stories. How being frozen is like being trapped alive, trying to breathe but not being able to move your lungs. Still being conscious but feeling your blood stop in your veins. A living death.

A waking nightmare.

Repair droids swarmed your ship’s interior like a hive of bees, but they were making quick work of the damage and would hopefully be gone soon. Shaky legs carried you back over to the carbonite freezer, and you leaned heavily on the block of frozen metal, stretching your arms around it in an attempted hug. I wish you were here, my love, but it will be over soon.

You pressed a kiss to both of your boy’s faces and slumped to the floor, leaning on the bandoliered boots behind you. Between the wide open ramp and the droids working on the stardrive you were too exposed to unfreeze your family, and the thought of having to wait even a minute longer made the edges of your eyes threaten to spill anew.

Stars above you wanted this to be over. The back of your throat tasted like bile, and the plasma residue smeared under your eyes was starting to burn. You needed to get away, to blast off into space with your boys and put your draconian past behind you before the literal beast reared her ugly head.

But… now he knows. You groaned into your knees, digging claws into your own hair. He knows! You fucking asshat now he knows! Your greatest, vilest secret had been spilled, and you were going to have to find a way to live with the consequences. He... he’ll understand. Bilgerats are practically foundlings, I just need to explain myself better. Yeah! That’s it! I didn’t have the chance to explain myself. He’ll forgive me… right?

Time seemed to crawl, languid and slow, forcing you to wallow in your own guilt. You cautiously eyed the platoons of troopers that would often march past, trying to glare daggers through their shiny white buckets, but they paid you no mind. The hours ticked by, making you more and more anxious by the second. You had no way of knowing how soon the Wyvern would arrive, could be hours, could be minutes. Could be seconds.

-į̶̱̩̄͋ͅt'̶̡̳̰̝̇s̴̈̅ ̵̧̛̺̂̈̋͋̏͘͝c̷̄͋͛̚oṁ̸͌̋̾́̈́̕͝i̸̇̏-

I’m aware! You snapped at your thoughts, pissed that they were still present long after Grogu had purged them from your mind. I must be going crazy, it’s the guilt. It has to be the guilt. You rubbed at your temples, trying to dispel the mounting tension in your skull. When you opened your eyes a sweeper droid was clearing away the glass shards from the floor, and you cocked your brows at it as it went by. When did the lights burn out?

Eventually the interior repairs were completed to the fullest, and the moment the ramp hydraulics were functional again you slammed the door shut and booked it back to the freezer controls.You turned a pair of knobs on the side of the carbonite block and took a step back. The metal that covered your beloved crewmates turned red, then bright gold, sloughing off in luminous waves.

You jumped to catch Din and the foundling before they hit the ground, his strength lost from the effects of hibernation sickness, nearly causing him to melt onto the floor along with the aurelius sludge pooling at your feet. In your ear you heard both of your boys taking desperate, broken breaths; and you rubbed at Din’s dorsal plate, encouraging him to fill his lungs.

As a unit you sank down to the floor where the child practically rolled into your lap. His enormous eyes were squinty and blinking, making you think that he may be temporarily blinded. “Hey booger, it’s ok, can you hear me?” Grogu made a sad little noise, but that meant he could at least still hear. “There ya go, that’s it, nice’n slow. Y’ok?” The child looked up at you with a twisted expression, then immediately yarked bright blue all over your shirt. “You know what, I deserved that, thanks.”

Din’s modulated cough grated in your ear. “How… long?”

“Couple hours, but the repairs are finished, we can get the fuck outta here now. Are you alright? You gonna barf?” He started to shake his head no, but the shaking might have been his downfall because you felt him start to heave. “Not in the bucket not in the bucket! Come on, up! Heeere we go…” You gently set Grogu down on the floor and bullied yourself up under Din’s arm, dragging him as fast as you could to the fresher. You barely got the beskar out of the way in time for your partner to empty his stomach. “That’s it, let it all out, I gotcha.”

Din hung on to the sides of the fresher like his life depended on it, shaking violently with every hurl, and there wasn’t much else you could do but hold on. He released one armored claw from the side of the fresher to reach back and find you, but when you tried to hold his hand to comfort him he pulled his fingers from your grasp. Again you tried, but this time he didn’t just let go, he pushed you away, and you heard him mumble something into the fresher bowl.

“-..a...tor-”

“What’d you say?”

“Traitor!!!” Din spat, curling back around at you with viciously bared teeth, eyes wild and bloodshot. You backpedaled away from the fuming warrior that was half crawling half leaping towards you, making weak throws that were slowly gaining in strength. “You fucking traitor! I should have known! I should have known from the very fucking start!” You’d never seen him angry without the helmet, and it terrified you. He terrified you.

You put up your hands defensively, backing away from him. “Please! Let me explain! It wasn’t-”

“I don’t listen to Imps!” He swung at you and missed, but his agility was quickly returning. You wouldn’t be so lucky the second time.

“Damn it Din, fucking listen-” Ignoring you, he groped for the gun on his belt, and you were barely able to grab your armor in time from the freezer to block his reckless shots. You crouched over Grogu, using your body and the face plate as a shield against the assaulting Mandalorian. “Din! Stop! Please! You’re going to hurt our son!”

“Our?!” He hissed, snarling around the word. “That is MY son! Get away from him!” Din grabbed the beskar mask and tried to pull it from you, yanking you up from the floor. “MY son does not belong to you, this does not belong to you! Who do you think you are?!”

“Who am I?! I’m your wife!”

He stopped trying to wrestle the lovingly-chosen armor away from you, meeting your eyes with his own darkened gaze. His earthly irises flickered fast between both of your own pupils, searching your face for something, some kind of reminder. A reminder that he loves you. The muscles on the side of his jaw clenched and rippled, chewing on the words he was looking for.

When he spoke his voice was hoarse, but certain, as if there would never be a greater truth than the one he breathed into being.

“No, you’re not.”

The coldness in his tone stabbed icicles in your veins and froze your mouth closed, rendering you speechless. His hateful gaze looked down to the mask still in your hands, twisting into a pained expression. “Did… did this mean anything to you?”

“Din… please…” you begged, you voice barely above a whisper, “It means everything to me, you mean everything to me!” Behind you Grogu was already starting to cry again, making the situation even worse. “I love you! I did what I did to protect you, to protect Grogu! I didn’t want those Imp bastards to take you. Can’t you see that?”

The Mandalorian laughed, miasmatic and sickly, infected with distrust. “Isn’t that just like an Imp, lying right up til the very end.” He let go of the beskar as if it was unclean, then turned swiftly around on his heel, striding to the fresher to grab his helmet from where it had been discarded on the floor. He picked it up and looked into it’s visor, almost like he was debating whether or not he could put it back on. It sank over his head with a hiss of it’s latches, amplifying his dominating presence tenfold.

You pressed on, balling your fists in determination. “It shouldn’t matter who I used to be, just who I am now. I don’t know anything about your past, all I know is who you are now, I know that you are my… ner rid-oor…”

He was on you in a flash. “Don’t make me cut out your lying tongue as well, Mando’a is sacred, I should have never taught it to you.” In one swift motion he grabbed the offensive beskar from your useless fingers and threw it somewhere behind him, the iron clanging ugly against the durasteel decking. He dug behind his chestplate and found the lucky talismans you had given him as a sign of your affection, a sign that he now decided should have been a big red flag, shoving them into your empty hands.

“You have dishonored me.”

The Mandalorian bent to pick the crying youngling up off the floor, carrying him over to the bed you had all shared. He didn’t turn around to face you when he spoke again. “Get out.”

His frigid words had you frozen in place, frozen in time. He’s leaving you. Your mind was racing, your heart flooding with sadness and grief. Words abandoned you, giving you only a whisper of your silver tongue.

“Din.. I-I didn’t have a choi-”

“GET OUT!!!” He ripped your backpack off the wall and flung it at you, making you reel from the impact. The ramp opened behind you, and you were suddenly being shoved out the door, rolling backwards out of the Crest. You scrambled to your feet, clutching the krayt teeth so hard that the edges cut your palms while you banged on the rising wall of steel.

From behind the closing door you heard a sound, faint but desperate, nearly inaudible over your own pounding heartbeat. It sounded distinctly like a baby’s cry.

“Bubu!”

-SLAM!-

The access ramp sealed shut, and a shiny silver dome appeared in the rounded transparisteel viewport where Mando was taking his seat at the controls. Imps began swarming you while the old gunship’s engines flared to life, burning like a newly risen phoenix. Poorly-aimed blaster fire ricocheted off the ship’s hull while her landing gear tucked itself up, and soon the home you had grown to know and love was blasting towards the hangar exit without you.

The Razor Crest slid through the magcon field, the backs of her engines turning bright blue as her stardrive kicked into gear, rocketing her into warp speed just as an enormous star cruiser dropped out of hyperspace, dwarfing the station with her size. As prideful and arrogant as the Empire she sailed for, she took up the starfield with the domineering presence of a ship that had once served as the Death Star’s loyal guard dog.

It could be no other than the Wyvern’s Tongue.

-ȉ̴͗t̴'̴s̶̛̓͝͠ he̷̍̂r̶̔ë̷́.-

If you had a single coherent thought left to your name you would have made a series of snide remarks to the completely useless voice that whispered in your ears. You would have fought back against the stormtroopers that were roughly grabbing you and forcing you down under the barrels of their guns. You would have ran through the station and commandeered one of the other ships that had come in for repairs and blasted off to somewhere, anywhere else.

If you weren’t so grief-stricken, so heart-broken, so lost, you would have hurled literal dragonfire at the man who was approaching you now.

The troop commander spoke first. “Sir, this one allowed the mando to esca-”

“Get her up. Now.” You were hauled back up to your feet, but your eyes stayed on the forcefield that was draped over the stars, just waiting for the Razor to come back around.

To come back for you.

Your view became blocked by a tall, thin man in an Imperial uniform, his lapel shining with an even bigger emblem of authority than the last time you had seen it. His soulless eyes bored right into yours, and you knew instantly by the look on his face that he hadn’t forgotten his favorite communications officer. “Sparrow? Is that you?”

The long abandoned nickname stung like needles in your ears, reeling you violently into the present. The admiral cupped your chin and brought your eyes up, forcing you to see him and stop pretending that he wasn’t real; that he was an apparition brought to life by your wailing night terrors. “It is. My little Sparrow has flown back to me.”

The stormtrooper braved an interruption, “Sir, the mando-”

Admiral Forescythe silenced him with a wave of his hand, “No matter, the universe has brought me something even better than whatever Moff Gideon had been after.” The glare on the Admirals face turned to a sickly smile “Pray tell, little bird, won’t you sing me a song? I’ve so missed your lovely voice.”

You shook your head from his hand and pointed to the electromagnetic cuffs that still hung from the backs of your ears, the last remainder of the beloved faceplate you had been gifted. “Hull breach, tone deaf.” was all the excuse you could muster. A stiff leather glove rose up to brush over the Mandalorian steel, and you fought every animalistic urge to go batshit ballistic, rip the admiral limb from limb.

“What a pity, but at least you can still speak.” He was standing too close now, and the disgust you felt for the man who practically raised you made your flesh boil under his gaze. His gloved hand slid down from your ear and grabbed at the bottom of your jaw, forcing your head to tilt while he inspected the bitemarks Din had put on your neck when he still loved you. “At least you haven’t been lonely, good thing I had you chipped when I did. Shame on you for letting someone defile you in such a manner, were you still on my ship I would have had them jettisoned.”

The Admiral raked his eyes over your disheveled form, from your marked flesh to your blackened eyes and your blue-stained shirt, his face twisting in disgust. “Whatever life you have been living clearly doesn’t suit you, it’s high time you cease this reckless behavior and come back to where you belong.” He bent down and picked your backpack up off the floor where it had fallen, slinging one ratty strap over his neatly-pressed shoulder; then extended a hand to you. “Are you ready to come home now, my little Sparrow?”

You blinked a few times at the question, your heart becoming as cold as stone. Home? The Wyvern was not your home anymore, and the admiral was not your family. But the home you knew, the family you loved was now lightyears away, far far away from where you were now; and they weren’t coming back.

Din wasn’t coming back.

That left only one place left for you to go.

Back... home.

<-Previous Next->

TAG LIST

@mrsparknuts @cookiejuicedesu @kaermorons @ironbabey @theflightytemptressadventure @emesispo @what-iwish-youknew @misscamptl @t3a-bag @poppunkdee @misscamptl @pandastasia @simpingmess @lilychristine01 @inaturenymph @buttercup--bee @blackd0gdesignuk @tanzthompson @transientblueseraph @jasmincita @sunnnygiiirl123 @beskarboobs @doin-stuff @novemberrain221

[captainrexisboo]

In A Single Night Chp 3

HEY Y’ALL!  Flashback Chapter. Theres actually going to be a few of these, so strap in!! Y’all are gonna learn all about this au whether you want to or not. Onwards!!!

Warnings: wound description. family angst.

Chp 2 if you missed it ❤️

Tag list in the replies! Let me know if you would like to be tagged! All Comments Are Welcome!!! HERE WE GO-

EDIT: CHAPTER 4!!!

“Where is he?” Cody burst through the door to the doctor’s ward with explosive force, slamming the thick slab of oak into a thankfully sturdy table, clanging sterilized metals in their glass containers and having the overused hinges make a terrible scream. The two doctors in the room had just sat down from stitching their patient, long coats blotted with still wet red stains, and were jumping right on their feet again to the young soldier’s frantic scrambling, “What in the nine hells happened, he was just on patrol, just outside the wall-”

“Cody, Cody-” his cousin, an assistant to the surgeon, came up to him while hurriedly removing his working gloves, tossing them onto the stool he had sat on. He shushed Cody gently, placing clean, steadying hands on his shoulders and gently putting their foreheads together, “It’s alright, he’ll be okay.”

“Kix, where’s Rex?” The young Sergeant had a fearful glaze in his eyes, hands grasping onto Kix’s wrists as if to anchor himself to reality, swallowing the thick lump in his throat, not allowing one anxious tear to fall from his dark sepia stare. Kix squeezed his hold on Cody’s shoulders, keeping calming eye contact with a matching gaze, both in concern and color, before letting up and nodding in the direction to follow.

“Be quiet now, Codes. He’s asleep for the time being, as soon as he wakes up he’ll be in a world of pain,” Kix nearly pulled back the separating curtain, before his shoulders raised, turning to eye his older cousin, “It’s pretty bad...by soldier standards, it’s not anything we can’t handle, but...just brace yourself. It’s still rather grisly.”

Cody could feel the grave undertone in Kix’s voice, causing him to hold onto his breath. He gave Cody a single, slow nod, chin coming back up to point. A silent word to continue pulling the curtain back. Kix obliged, not before taking in a breath himself, the curtain pulling back with a shrill sound to rival the hinges of the medical ward’s doors.

Well. It was certainly Rex. The same shock of blond hair, heavens knows where that trait came from, but with the seemingly signature Fett jawline and nose they all seemed to carry...except that his nose had been uncentered from some brutish force, cracked back into place by the medics and turning a sickly puce, matching a bruise as big as Cody’s fist on the soft underside of his jaw. A bright red swell that was violet towards the center nearly shut his right eye, and there was thick stitching across his chin. Above the neck, Kix was right, nothing worse than an unsupervised sparring match with a bad partner. It was Rex’s shoulders and torso that had Cody turning ashen. Skin was torn and ripped, showing vulnerable muscle underneath, twitching with every strained breath Rex took in his sleeping form. Where there was skin left, Kix and the head doctor stitched together what looked like deep claw marks. Deep bruises and various scratches littered Rex’s form, but the worst damage was definitely the mauled gashes on his right chest, and left stomach. 

“What… what bite is that?” Cody pointed to Rex’s left shoulder, clearing the hoarseness of terror from his throat. This was his Corporal, his twin, looking half dead on the thin cot before him. What the hell had happened?

“Well,” Kix looked down, a little sheepish, and for the briefest distraction Cody let himself wonder how his cousin could look so embarrassed in this situation, “The doc says...he says bear attack.”

“... Bear attack?”

“Uh,” Kix looked back up, only to shoot his gaze right back down to Rex’s tightly wrapped up ankle, “Y-yeah.”

“Look at that,” Cody pointed to the giant, odd shape, in something he can only think of like a squared off crescent, voice pitching near menacingly low, “You’re a Fett, Kix. We’ve been hunting since we could toddle, does that look like a bear bite?”

“What else could it be?” Kix spat, his stress from working on close family punching through his words, “You’re ‘the great Jango’s son’, why don’t you tell me? Have you seen that kind of a bite before?”

“I’ll start calling Jango my father when he starts acting like it,” Cody snarled back, looking off and raking his nails through his hair. He brought his fingers down to pinch the bridge of his nose, breathing deep and shutting his eyes tight. He let out a ragged breath, “I’m sorry, Kix, I just…”

“I know,” Kix paralleled Cody’s breathing, “It’s family.”

The moment grew heavy, the two of them finding some small, bitter comfort in the shared understanding that was their closely interwoven family. Cody clapped a hand to Kix’s shoulder, pulling him in to press their temples together, continuing to look at Rex’s resting form. He pointed vaguely to the wrapped ankle, the bandages down there free of any blood spots, a wordless question passing through the action.

“Bad sprain,” Kix mumbled, wiping a hand over his face as if to rid the dread from his expression in a single action, “We think he was running and tripped, that’s the only spot below his stomach that’s been wounded.”

Cody pushed off of Kix’s head, a wry puff of what could have been laughter breathing past his lips. If Rex was running, it couldn’t be a bear. You don’t run from bears, any hunter, Fett or not, knows that. Instead of lighting the fighting flame again, Cody sighed low, squeezing Kix’s shoulder, “And did anyone see this bear? The bear that happened to come up near the wall, a solid four hundred meters from the forest perimeter, and attack my brother who kriffin’ decided to run away-”

Oh, Cody was going to lose it. Nothing was adding up, nothing was making sense, and his mind was getting more muddled the longer he spent looking at Rex.

“Were there tracks, anything like that, anything else that confirms that this was a bear attack?”

Kix fell silent, looking back at the sprained ankle. Cody had his answer; no. They were making an assumption based on the singular fact that they don’t know what else it could’ve been- it was the best they could do until Rex woke back up.

~

“I guess a bear?”

Cody could only stare. He was ready to rip his hair out, match Rex’s closely cropped cut, “Really? A… are you sure?”

Rex shrugged, hissing a bit at the movement on his shoulder. He was bandaged up now, the salve the doctor and Kix had tenderly soothed over him as a disinfectant finally dry. He cleared his throat, voice still weary from his extended sleep, “I don’t know what else it could’ve been, Cody. It was covered in thick fur, had massive claws, and stood upright-”

“Did you run from it?” Cody cut in. He had to know, just for this to make a lick of sense.

“I…” Rex took a pause, blinking to himself, biting his lip, “...I don’t remember. I was just startled, and then I fell, when the thing…it...”

He trailed off, shaking his head, “No, that can’t be right.”

“What?” Cody pushed, near teetering at the edge of his seat, not bothering to hide his desperation, “Rex, just tell me, whatever you were going to say.”

His blond twin lifted a questioning brow, starkly dark compared to his fair hair atop his head, “Why, Codes? It’s not that important-”

“Rex. Please.”

Cody kept at his pleading stare, and Rex faltered. Cody ordered, he was their squad’s staff sergeant, he never begged. He looked at people with hardened fire in his glare and a stern scowl, not eyes as wide as dinner plates and a pathetic pout. Rex was so shaken at this  demeanor, he couldn’t do much else other than comply, “...well, like I said it stood upright. I… it felt like whatever it was locked eyes with me, and then… it started sprinting. Like a man.”

~

Cody refused to talk about the beast that attacked his brother after he heard what Rex had to say. It was clear no one truly knew, and no one would ever truly know, so he certainly wasn’t going to beat himself up over it. Rex had healed amazingly quick, tender yet sturdy scar tissue forming after about two days of changing bandages- while happy to spend some time with Kix, was elated to leave the medical ward so quick. He was let into training again a week later, like nothing had happened, and after a week more, the incident was nearly gone from Cody’s mind until he saw the gruesome scars that decorated Rex’s form when in the showers, or changing in the barracks. All was well.

Until Rex went missing a full month after the attack.

[xeno-stories]

Chapter 3: Consumed

Chapter 3:

We drifted to dreams again, dreams of the beacon deep in this cluster of lights. It will be consumed. One day. We pushed too hard our earlier attempts, stretched our tentacles too thin and run against orbs covered in hives of stingers that stopped us. Now we creep more slowly. We will devour countless orbs but we much learn the nature of our prey.  This cluster is ripe with life and many forms have grown stingers to oppose us. We must know how best to crush them so we may evolve efficiently as possible and then consume them all.

 Iron Benediction, Retribution-Class Battleship

               Somewhere in the histories it is written. Etched in the tribe’s memory. Sasscha just needed to find it. She has been pouring over the tribe’s memories for a week. She crawled along the floor beneath the engine room deck hundreds of tablets were kept here for her tribe. Since the passing of her mother she had become their keeper and it was her responsibility to find information when the tribe needed it. She slid around another corner and pulled another tablet. Her brothers and sisters were counting on her.

               In the floor about a hundred meters away Cetch prodded the dead creature again.  It was mostly rotted at this point even though it had only been dead a few days. This was normal when he and his tribe spent time near a carcass. Even metal for that matter could tend to deteriorate a little faster when they were around. That was why they often moved their juunlak around the human’s ship. Every year or so the humans would start to notice the need for repairs and tear into the floors. Cetch and his brothers and sisters would then move to a new area of the vessel.

               The four-armed creature in front of him was like nothing he had seen before, but something in his memories iced about it. If only it had killed anyone other than Paks, preferably some humans, perhaps they would already know what it was.  But no, it seemed to be instinctively seeking their heart. Packs was enthralled by it when he and the others found her, she tried to protect it as they shot it with their fusils. It lashed out and murdered her with the last of its strength before collapsing from its wounds. Now with Paks dead they had to rely on Sasscha who was untrained and young. She would have studied the memories for another decade before splitting off on a new migration.

               Cetch bushed aside a dangling robe from his face as he looked up from his wandering thoughts he had heard someone coming sliding along the walls. He watched the crack in the wall only dimly visible from some light creeping through the floor grates above. Sasscha slit through the crack holding a tablet and looking excited.

               “Brother! Here! Look!” She exclaimed though it was almost a whisper he could hear her clearly over the din of the engines above.

               “You may not call me brother anymore Sasscha, you are our mother now.” He hissed. A reminder he had given her daily since Paks had passed. Sasscha ignored him.

               “Look Cetch, in the history from several Peh-ha ago! A creature of four arms infected half the tribe. It mesmerized the mother and she submitted to it. It then began to infect the others with a sort of genetic warping disease. Children were born with clawed arms and no hair or fur. The mother’s second was not infected at the time and took the uninfected on a Peh-ha.”

               “This sounds like what the beast was trying to do to Mother Paks.” Cetch tapped his hand on the creature’s skull deep in thought. Ignoring his statement Sasscha continued,

               “They then created a new juunlak on a human world under a small city. Every child for three generations was monitored for signs of the disease and several children and their parents were killed to cleanse the tribe in the first generation. It says here that the tribes mother was so hurt by the loss of memories and the deaths of her tribes members that she took her own life after generations of making sure the tribe was cleansed.”

               “Sounds like we are lucky that…”

               “This is why we have such short memories! A creature like this took over half our tribe and the rest had to escape with only fragments! We have been half blind all this time Mother always seemed…”

               “Sasscha!”

               “So frustrated that we lacked the thousands of tablets some of the memories talked about.”

               “Sasscha, slow down!” She stopped and glanced up.

               “Oh, sorry, I just…I got excited”

               “Yes, I see that. What can we do to try to prevent this in the future?”

               “I need to research more. But we should move the juunlak soon, some place far from the docking bays, perhaps near the bridge? It was almost time to move anyway, right?”

               “Yes it was, the humans are more alert near the bridge it would be a risk for our tribe.”

               “Well that is just it right? This thing didn’t get in here through our tunnels under the floors, it climbed through air vents and hid in natural shadows until it dug through the floor to us.”

               “Yes this is true perhaps the humans can unwittingly protect us.  This is a good idea, I knew you would grow into being our mother quickly Sasscha.” Sasscha paused. It was the first compliment she had received since becoming the tribe’s mother.

               “Thank you Cetch.” She touch his arm. “I must go continue to read, the memories have much to tell. Can you begin preparing the tribe to move?”

               “I can and I will, thank you Mother. You will keep us safe.” He bowed and turned to bend through a hole in the ground to climb into the ceiling of the floor below where much of the rest of the tribe was currently. Sasscha smiled internally Cetch was the eldest brother of the tribe and many cycles her senior but he had called her mother. She slid back through the crack to go shift through the memories.

               She pulled several of the oldest tablets they had and began to read. It seemed that the tribe had monitored the location of their previous juunlak. Eventually after a time the creatures had started to infect humans as well. This didn’t surprise her; humans were easy to trick and are very numerous. The population of creatures eventually grew to a point they started to emanate with a warp related beacon. Then what she read filled her with terror. Her memories talked about a beast that blacks out both suns and warp, so massive it consumed the planets one after another. The beacon created by these beasts drew in the creature and the last monitors of the juunlak showed a world devoid of life, consumed.

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: Counterpoint, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 5

Summary:  After being recompleted, Ienzo vows to do everything in his power to atone for the atrocities he committed in the past. But this life hasn't been easy, and he's plagued with memories and nightmares. When Demyx suddenly reappears, the two discover that they have more in common than they thought, though the secrets in their past might tear them apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post kh3

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

For the next day--for the next several, actually, it was so hard to tell time in this lab--Ienzo worked tirelessly. He read through the backlogs of the apprentices’ original research, thousands of pages of it, examining and cross-examining psychological and chemical experiments alike. There had been, in total, some hundred subjects, not counting those who had been deemed outliers or had gotten turned away at the beginning. One hundred people.

He knew better than to eat before he worked. He drank tea with extra honey to keep up his blood sugar and willed himself to feel numb.

The first dozen or so subjects had been volunteers, and unrelated to one another. After that, there were some pairs, a mother and son, friends. The first twenty or so had samples taken, were asked some questions about their life experiences and their relations to one another, and then the results were studied. This was the more-or-less harmless beginning.

There were physiological correlations for the existence of bonds between hearts. Heart rates would nearly synchronize, especially between family members or lovers or anyone who had bonded for many years, rather than just friends or those in strained relationships. Rates of oxytocin and dopamine were generally higher, and people were generally happier and more well-adjusted.

It was around then they started getting cocky. To put it mildly.

If the strength of bonds could make someone happy, what would happen if they were to break?

Or if a person had no bonds--did that make them more unstable?

They started to keep subjects longer, overnight, then for weeks on end, in those awful hollow cells in the lab’s basement. There was fear, panic, and this made it all the easier for the loaded questions to stick. Rather than build people up, this psychology tore them down.

Soon after the first Heartless was born from them. This person had been a young woman, and she’d screamed and screamed for hours before finally succumbing to the darkness within.

Ienzo remembered feeling scared. And to a degree the others had too, but they hadn’t backed down. They interpreted it as another discovery about human nature.

He closed out of the files briefly and rested his head in his hands. This felt like torture. But if he could only find some insight, he might be able to use this pain to help Sora. If only he had samples from Sora and Riku, or Sora and Kairi. If the trace was there, physically, there might be some way to induce a sleep that would allow Riku to connect with Sora, something akin to what had happened during the Mark of Mastery exam. But how? He had no magic to perform such rituals, and to do so medically was dangerous.

He felt like he was back at square one. Ienzo stood, noting the tremor in his knees. Firstly, he needed to eat and take care of his body. He could figure out the rest once he was stable.

He did so, was able to keep down a meal and sleep for a few hours. His circadian rhythm was hopelessly off; it was the middle of the day. For some reason his teeth were chattering, even though he wasn’t cold, and he knew he needed a break from this project before it started to worsen his own psychological state. Yet to do nothing and purely rest would be a bad idea. He needed distraction.

Ienzo went back to the study room and sat on the bench. It was uncomfortable, he noted, not that he was after comfort. He opened the first page of the score. He could only read treble clef, and not very well; he had to mutter a quick mnemonic under his breath to orient himself. The metering was odd, too, with the sixteenth note carrying the beat. He tried to count it out. Did it work rhythmically with his translation? It was really only the written language that evolved, the actual words had remained mostly the same when spoken.

Ienzo could not seem to get it right. Playing the keys felt awkward, though he could remember Dilan once remarking he had pianist’s fingers.

“You going ahead without me?” Demyx’s voice startled him. He smiled slightly.

“Oh, Demyx. No. Not quite. I just… I was trying to figure out the rhythm of a phrase. It changes the meaning of the characters in my translation, which changes the meaning of… just about everything.” He set his head in his palms. “I’d basically have to start over.”

“How long have you been at this?” Demyx asked. “It… seems like you’re pretty tired.”

Ienzo blinked, then looked out the window. The sky was pink. “...Quite some time,” he admitted. “I… tend to lose track.”

Demyx sat next to him on the bench. “Which section do you mean?”

“This little bit here. See?” He touched the measure in question. Ienzo played the phrase, and he saw from Demyx’s grimace that he’d had it completely wrong. “I can’t for the life of me count it out correctly. I… should have waited for you.” In a moment of exhaustion, he considered confessing what he’d been up to. He didn’t want to bear it alone, but why should he burden Demyx? Their relationship was tenuous as it was.

He held out his hand, unbandaged. The scar was red, but it seemed to be healing well. Ienzo was struck with the odd urge to run his finger over it. He hadn’t seen a naturally healed wound in a long time. That had to be why, right?  “Well, you’re in luck. I’m all healed up. Even took out the stitches. Let me see. Oh, right. I remember this.” He wrinkled his nose. “It’s the meter. 29/16ths.”

Ienzo did not know what that meant. “Beg pardon?”

Demyx rolled his eyes a little. “I know, right? God, at least make it an even number. 30/16ths would be so much easier to count. And they’re short measures, too, that all bleed into each other. It’s so…”

“Chaotic,” they said at the same time.

Suddenly, Demyx looked shy. “Well, it sounds kind of more like this.” He played through the bridge with more fluidity than Ienzo had. “I’m sure on the actual sectioned instrument it would be completely different. And that would be…” He thumbed through the pages, seeking the same phrase. “...This one. And it’s got a treble clef, which means your options are really, really open. ...What’s this?” He gestured to the rune next to it.

“They’re letters. Let me see.” Ienzo checked the dictionary. “My guess would be either an F or an S. Runes are, for whatever reason, pretty phonetically similar to our language now. If I had to start my studies all over again I think I would focus on linguistics. It’s just so delightfully complicated, and it really reveals a lot about human psychology how words and roots formed--” Goodness, he was rambling. He cut himself off. Linguistics was one of his favorite subjects in private study, but it had never applied to anything he’d done as an apprentice. It left it untainted.

Demyx’s brows furrowed. “An F? But it could mean flute, but that would mean it transposes higher, and that… feels off.” He played the notes in octave. “But if it’s an S… what could it be?”

Ienzo went back to his translation from several days previously. “Dawn. That’s the first character. So, if I’m correct at all, the first phrase is “Dawn town.” Maybe’s more like “Dawn, Town,” with a comma. Maybe it’s more of an action line. But that’s not the correct participle.”

With an unreadable expression, Demyx said, “Daybreak Town.”

“I’m sorry?”

He shook his head. “Not dawn. Daybreak. The rhythm wouldn’t fit.” He played it again. “It fits with “Daybreak”.”

That was absolutely correct, Ienzo realized. With a little jolt, he realized that, here with them working at about the same level of competency, he was having fun with Demyx. It had been a long while since he’d found this sort of eager ease in his research. The pain of the past few days dissipated a little. “You’re right. That’s so apt. Daybreak Town. I wonder what that is. Is it poetic license? A place? I’ve no clue.” He stood up and started poring through geography books. “Perhaps there’s a reference to it in some sort of history…” The sunlight was fully through the window now, warm as it grew weaker.

When Ienzo looked back up, he saw Demyx staring at him with an puzzled look.

“You’ve an odd expression on your face. Is everything okay?”

Demyx jumped a little. “Yeah, uh, fine.” He cleared his throat. “You seem pretty passionate about this kind of stuff.”

“Passionate?” He paused. Yes, that was right. “Yes. I suppose. I’ve never defined it at such, but I… I always feel most myself when I’m in my research. Making connections.”

Demyx nodded and sat forward a little. “I know what you mean. That’s how I feel when I make my music. Like… I’m part of something worth something. Like I have…”

“Purpose,” Ienzo said. “I refuse to believe things are meaningless.”

“I find you easier to talk to than Zexion,” Demyx said. “Why is that?”

The comment made him feel weak. Was it possible Ienzo was wrong? Could he ever leave behind Zexion’s darkness? “He and I are… not the same,” he said. “Every day I’m working harder to be a better person, to make up for all of the terrible choices I’ve made. It is… exhausting.” He looked away. He wondered if he should bring it up, this anxiety they had so in common, but decided against it. “You are different as well. I know it’s still hard to realize this.”

He shook his head. “The others don’t either. I just wonder how much of our Nobody selves were made of bad memories. I mean… I was a complete asshole. The way I treated Roxas--” He trailed off, turning pink. Was it possible he felt regret?

“It’s unfortunate there’s no way to quantify what you mean,” Ienzo said. “There must be purchase in it. If you’ve no conscience, no empathy, it’s easy to make bad decisions. Because none of it matters. I don’t want to live like that any more. Now that I’ve a choice.” It seemed like a revelation to him. Was Zexion psychologically different enough that he was not entirely to blame? But--what about when he was a child?

“Me either,” Demyx said quietly.

This commonality found, Ienzo drummed his fingers on the piano bench. “Hopefully this research will shed some light on the past,” Ienzo said. “Shall we get back  to work?”

The next morning, Demyx was late. Ienzo was disappointed, but not surprised. He tried to push through a few more of the lyrical lines.

With yesterday’s context, the first line became Daybreak Town is a fucking mess. Was it some sort of self-deprecating folk song? But considering how chaotically the song began, Ienzo wondered if it were more of a tone poem.

More fights breaking out. That line was simple enough. Keys and sparks flying everywhere. By “keys”, did they mean Keyblades? What else could they mean?

While Ienzo puzzled this, Demyx came in quietly. He was pale, his face drawn, and he clutched one elbow in self-support. He started rehearsing quietly, his playing not as fluid or as perfect as before. Ienzo bent back over his book. He considered asking if something was wrong, but if it were, what could he say in reassurance?

“Do you ever have nightmares?” Demyx asked so suddenly it startled him.

“Well… I suppose to a degree. Everyone does at some point or another. Why is it you ask?”

“I had a really bad one last night and I can’t get it out of my mind. It just… it felt so real,” he said.

So that was why he was so shaken. Ienzo turned towards him. “What was it about?”

Demyx shuddered. He spoke haltingly, in a low, restrained voice unlike his normal patter. “I was in the Keyblade Graveyard. There were… so many bodies in armor… cut up… bleeding… completely dismembered… The Keyblades were everywhere. There was so much blood in the dirt that it was muddy, and red.”

Ienzo considered this. These dreams were terrible, but unfortunately a price to pay for surviving Xehanort. “Perhaps this is a manifestation of survivor’s guilt, because you weren’t one of the true vessels, and thus, didn’t perish in battle. It’s a natural psychological response. We internalize trauma differently as humans.”

He hugged himself more tightly. “Trauma? Do you think I’m traumatized?”

Surely he didn’t think this behavior was normal for humans? “In all likelihood, yes. I’m not qualified by any means to make that diagnosis, but considering what you’ve been through--and by extension, the rest of us--some sort of post-traumatic stress is not uncalled for.”

“I just want it to not bother me.” His voice dropped to almost nothing.

Ienzo frowned, knowing that sensation all too well. “I’m sure. If there was something I could do to help you, I would. Unfortunately, there’s no easy cure. You just must remind yourself that the pain you feel is illogical, and it will pass. The best key to these things is usually reason.” It wasn’t much help, but it was something he could offer.

“Always one of my strong suits,” he said dryly.

“You just need something to center yourself,” Ienzo said. He was aware of how artificial he sounded, and he hated it. “Something you can hang onto when these moments come.”

Demyx’s eyes met his. “Do you experience the same thing?”

Right. He was sharper than they’d given him credit. There was a reason Demyx had been largely in charge of reconnaissance. “For many years. Even before the Organization.”

Demyx hesitated. “What happened to you?”

Ienzo froze. He didn’t have to tell him, but at the same time, part of him wanted to. “You know I was very young when Ansem the Wise took me in.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Of course.”

Ienzo took a deep breath. “Do you know why that is?”

“I just figured you were that smart.”

It was so much easier not to make eye contact. “You flatter me. ...My parents passed away when I was a child. It was… not natural.” Maybe if he said it quickly, he could get it over with.

Demyx turned towards him more fully, a sad, knowing expression on his face. “Heartless?”

“No. Heartless were not as common then. There was another type of monster, one created from negative emotions. We know now that they come from Ventus’s counterpart, Vanitas. But then… they were everywhere. I was actually coming from here… this very castle… with both of my parents. It was open to the public then. And… well. There was a swarm.”

The memories to him were very vague, cauterized by time and trauma. He remembered more having the story explained to him than experiencing it.

“Both of my parents passed. I only survived because Aeleus was on duty and stepped in. I’ve still got the scars.” It felt odd, but not entirely uncalled for, to show Demyx the scars at the top of his shoulder. They’d stretched and whitened as he’d grown, and often he forgot they were there.

It was then Ienzo became aware of how closely they were sitting; there was little enough space. Demyx lightly brushed his fingers against the scars. Ienzo flinched at the unexpected touch. “I’m sorry,” Demyx said quickly. “I wasn’t thinking. And, um. I’m sorry about your parents, too.”

He fixed his shirt. “I don’t remember much of them, even now. But you see. When you insist I cannot understand… I understand better than you know.”

“Yes,” he said.

For a moment they held eye contact. Ienzo could still feel what it had been like to have these scars touched, the slight calloused scratch. A feeling he could not recognize bloomed within him. Whatever it was scared him. He glanced over at the clock and noted with relief that it was getting late. “It’s about time for me to start making dinner. You’ll join us, right?”

“Right,” he said. Ienzo left. In his pockets, his hands trembled.

Ienzo had always thought he understood emotion, at least from a purely literal perspective. This is sadness. This is fear. This is anger. And so on.

What was it he was feeling?

Whatever it was it was strong, and he could feel it under his skin, all too warm and alive. It was not necessarily unpleasant. The only anxiety he was experiencing came from the unknown.

After dinner, he sat in his bedroom and tried to puzzle it out. It had happened when Demyx touched his old Unversed scars. Ienzo ran his fingers over them experimentally but felt nothing but skin. The last time he’d been touched by anyone else--Ansem, when he was sick--he’d felt an odd revulsion. What was so different about Demyx’s touch? This was, he realized, the second time he’d felt this emotion, not the first; it had been there last week when he’d stitched his hand. And again when he’d watched him play piano.

Ienzo’s breathing hitched. He let himself remember having the scars touched, and felt a soft pulse of the emotion, like light.

He got up and crossed over to his bookshelf. He pulled out the old dictionary and riffled the thin, brittle pages until he found what he was looking for.

Longing, n; a strong desire especially for something unattainable. See also: pining, passion, lust.

Was it even possible?

He put the dictionary away and sat on his bed, shaking all over. The panic made him dizzy. Somehow or another these feelings had grown within him against all awareness, bright and sharp and piercing. Ienzo wanted--

That’s what it was. He wanted the unknown. And he wanted Demyx to be in it with him.

“Oh, fuck,” he said.

[bibliophilea]

The Case of Salt and Pepper Hills

This was made as a part of the Mob Psycho 100 Gift Exchange collection on ao3 (MP100_NewYears_GiftExchange) organized by @mp100ficrec! For @koshidraws, who requested sweaty Mob and Reigen, probably on a mission or something.

Cross-posted on ao3 (17248679), ffn (13165518), and dA (The-Case-of-Salt-and-Pepper-Hills-779125996)

I would have provided links, but I think tumbl’s still on it’s bullshit with them. I decided to provide the identifiers used to differentiate between works when inserted into the correct formats for the URLs.

Any and all feedback is appreciated! If you have questions regarding accessing this story and art on the sites above, or questions in general, feel free to ask!

Reigen had taken the job because he thought it'd be a nice change of pace from the stifling confines of the office. The AC had broken down a few days prior, and his only weapons against the heat were a fan spinning idly to create the illusion of coolness, and an open window to catch a nonexistent breeze. Mob never complained, but Reigen could see the sweat coating his student's face, and the way his eyes unfocused more than usual when trying to do his math homework. So when the backpackers stopped by to ask for psychic protection on their hike up Pepper Hill, Reigen jumped at the chance to leave the office with Mob in tow.

The bus ride was mercifully cool - at least until it broke down a kilometer from the hiking grounds. It would take a mechanic another half hour to get there, and then who knew how long to fix the overheated engine, so Reigen decided they'd walk the rest of the way. It wasn't a bad walk - there was shade from the trees on the side of the road, and the wildflowers were beautiful this time of year. Nonetheless, their shirts were starting to stick to them by the time they reached Paprika River, a wide, rushing thing carving a path between Salt and Pepper Hills.

They stopped to rest in the shade of a large oak tree marking the beginning of the path up Pepper Hill, taking in the view of the river and Salt Hill on the other side of it, vibrant greens reaching up towards a clear blue sky. The rush of the water was soothing, complementing the chirps and tweets of birds calling out to each other in the trees above.

"Beautiful, isn't it, Mob?" Reigen said, pulling out his phone to snap a couple of pictures. Mob only nodded. Reigen checked the time, and then almost swore - crap, they were late!

"Well, sightseeing's over, let's go, Mob!"

Reigen grabbed Mob's arm and pulled him around, up the winding path that would eventually lead to the campsite, and their clients.

He had known it would be hot. He had expected it to be humid. What he hadn't prepared for were the bugs.

They assaulted his face, flying at his eyes, landing in his hair and clothes before taking off again. He had walked through more than one swarm of gnats, and he was certain he'd have mosquito bites on his neck later.

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised by how much the bugs liked him - his face and brow were coated with moisture, sweat dripping down his brow and into his eyes, down his face and flicking off his chin. His shirt was soaked, as were his pants, which were chafing his thighs with every step. He'd taken off his jacket and loosened his tie, but it only helped a little as he trekked uphill, his breathing harsh. Harsher still were Mob's breaths, though, as he stumbled to keep up with Reigen, tripping over roots and plants that had grown into the path. Not a well-maintained path, Reigen thought with a frown, before turning to inspect a tree trunk, keeping an eye on Mob in his periphery. It was an interesting tree trunk, he decided, with moss growing on the side facing the river, and with whorls and lumps that looked like a craggy yet smiling face. As Mob caught up, Reigen turned back to the path, keeping a slower pace so as not to lose his student. He had only taken a few steps before stumbling over a hardened root. Which wouldn't have posed much of a problem for anything but his image if his shoe weren't hanging half a meter above Mob's head instead of on his foot.

"Shishou, are you okay?" Mob asked as Reigen hopped on his other foot, clutching his toes.

"Yes Mob, I'm fine," Reigen hissed in pain, rubbing his big toe. The pain was receding, and he didn't think his toe was broken...

"I can give you back your shoe, if you want," Mob said, lowering the shoe within Reigens reach.

"No Mob, that's fine. This is for your practice, remember?" Reigen waved it away, gingerly putting his foot on the ground. His toe still ached, but he could walk on it. And he could use the pity of arriving with only one shoe on, and the intrigue of the other shoe floating behind him.

"Let's keep going."

Another fifteen minutes passed before Mob stopped walking. Reigen was surprised at the boy's stamina - in this heat and humidity, the walk was hard, even at their slowed pace, and Mob didn't have the best stamina for hiking most days. But they were only five minutes away from the campsite, and they were already an hour late. So when Mob called out to him, Reigen kept walking.

"Shishou-"

"Come on, Mob, we can't stop now! We're nearly there!"

"Shishou, there's-"

"And besides," Reigen added, slapping the side of his neck with a grimace, "The longer we stand still, the more mosquitos we'll have to deal with. Let's keep moving-"

"Shishou, look!"

Reigen turned to look at Mob, taken aback at the sharpness of his tone. But Mob wasn't looking at him. The boy was looking to the left, out past the trees and the river, to the hill on the other side. They had stopped in a clearing, and it was a gorgeous view from here. Sunlight glistened on the water below, water which was hedged by lush green forest giving way to beautiful patches of lighter green clearings peppering the hill across from them. The campsite on the other hill was visible from here, like a terrace cut into a part of the hillside, sandstone and dirt contrasting with the greens. He could hear laughter filtering over the river rushing by, could just hear the rustle of leaves as trees on the far hill moved with the wind-

Wait.

There was no wind.

Reigen took another look at where Mob was pointing, paying closer attention to detail. Trees were moving, yes, but only small clusters of them, and only near that campsite, or at the base of the hill. And there was something else, something off about the way the river sounded, or maybe it was the clustered rustling of leaves, or perhaps the wildlife-

The birds. They had stopped chirping.

A scream echoed across the river.

Reigen's blood ran cold, and he shivered despite the heat. They were on the wrong hill.

Shit, shit, shit.

Shouts and cries emanated from the campsite on the other hill, and Reigen could see the beginnings of chaos: some small figures running, some frozen in place and pointing at the sky, a tent crumpling as if stepped on by a giant foot.

Shit!

He couldn't swim or wade across the river - it was too wide, to deep, too fast for him to make it safely, let alone Mob. He scoured the river for a bridge, or a boat, or maybe a log - something to get them from one hill to the other. The main roads were too far away from the hills to consider; the pedestrian bridges were nearer, but even if they booked it, by the time they reached the other campsite they'd probably be too late. There had to be something closer, though, something that didn't involve Mob levitating them both across-

Aha! It was small, and he nearly missed it, but there was a boat on the bank of the river, bobbing in and out of view behind the trees. It was a little out of the way, and no doubt someone else was using it, but it was much closer by than the pedestrian bridges. It would have to do. Now he just needed to pick a route that optimized his time-

Another scream, louder this time, more shrill. Reigen looked up to see something - no, someone - floating above the campsite, about a hundred feet or so, dangling upside down by their foot and jerking as if to try and get away from something only they could see.

Fuck it, Reigen thought with a grimace, eyes wide, and took a step towards the river. He just needed to get down the hill - the forest posed a problem but as long as he was going downhill he'd make it to the river, and then he could follow it to the boat-

A blast of warm wind as unnatural as the trees rustling on the other hillside took him off guard, nearly sent him tumbling off the path. Reigen turned to see Mob, wind blowing his hair from his face, a look of deep concentration as he held the shoe aloft with one pointed finger, his other hand outstretched towards the campsite across the river. Leaves and grass and dirt whipped past his student, leaving the boy untouched but flying at Reigen's suit and face and hair; so he turned again and saw the detritus that didn't buffet him fly down the hill and across the river, picking up spray from the water and plant matter from the other hillside as it rose to the campsite. Reigen could only watch as people were bowled over, as screams were drowned out by the snapping of ropes and the flapping of tents as they came apart under the onslaught, wrenched from the ground to join the debris climbing with the wind. He couldn't look away as the wind and water and debris rose to take the form of something huge, something monstrous, something that ballooned and expanded as the wind rose and the screams grew more shrill and-

And suddenly, it was gone. Just a light breeze remained, connecting one hill to another. The debris and the floating person seemed to pause for a moment, suspended in the air.

And then they began to fall.

Reigen reached out. He nearly took a step. He froze. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't get there in time - who was he kidding, he was never going to get there in time! He had taken Mob to the wrong hill, and now they were going to watch someone die because of it. His throat tightened. His hand trembled. But he couldn't lower it, couldn't stop searching for a way to - maybe - but what if-

But they were falling.

And there was nothing he could do.

They were falling.

They were falling.

...

Why hadn't they hit the ground yet?

Shattered on impact?

For that matter, why hadn't the debris rained down on his clients yet, showering them with injuries, perhaps even more death?

They were falling.

But they were falling... more slowly?

Reigen's hand was outstretched, but it no longer trembled. He measured the distance between the falling person and his thumb, kept track of the debris between his fingertips. Their descent had slowed, Reigen confirmed, was slowing, and now they were - floating? Yes, floating to the ground. On it's own, Reigen's hand lowered with them, swaying by his side. He watched as the plant matter formed itself into a neat pile in the corner of the terrace; as the tents reformed themselves and tethered themselves to the ground; as the floating person gently landed on their feet, before collapsing to their knees. Reigen locked his own knees to keep from doing the same.

The warm breeze stopped. The silence was deafening.

Then the birds began to chirp again.

The campers on the far hill began to rise, to come back to the campsite, to huddle close and hug each other, to survey the scene where nothing but a pile of branches and leaves and dirt remained to show the ordeal they'd gone through.

Reigen wrenched his gaze away from them, turning to look at Mob.

Had Mob done this?

Mob's hand was down. He was sweating, but no more than he had been before. His other hand was still in the air, still pointing at the shoe hovering above his head. As far as Reigen could tell, the shoe hadn't moved an inch from where he'd last seen it.

Mob's gaze was directed at the sky above the hill, but it turned to Reigen as he continued to stare, flabbergasted at the psychic power within such a small body. A child. His student was a child.

A child who didn't need a fully grown adult gaping at him.

Reigen schooled his expression into one of disinterest, looking above Mob's head.

Mob turned his head to gaze up again at the sky.

"Do you still want me to carry your shoe?"

Reigen started, then looked up at the shoe, which Mob had moved to within Reigen's reach.

"... No, you can give it back."

Reigen grabbed his shoe from the air, then turned his back to his student as he put it back on. He had come here expecting a hike, not... whatever the hell that was. What was that thing? He wasn't able to see it, but he could see how huge it was when Mob had used his powers, could see its shape in the blast of wind and debris Mob had created in stopping it. He could still see that person falling from the air, could still hear their screams in his head. That had been too close. Far too close. And Mob, from this far away, had taken care of the problem without breaking (more of) a sweat. Reigen was glad Mob had taken the initiative, proud even - he himself had been useless, unable to do anything to help because he'd led them up the wrong hill, led them away from his clients-

Shit.

They were still on the wrong hill.

His clients had no clue that he had been there, that they had fulfilled their job as psychic protectors, if not psychic escorts.

Reigen couldn't, wouldn't, let that stand.

Reigen grabbed Mob's hand, wrenching his student's attention away from the sky.

"Come on Mob, we're on the wrong hill! We have to catch that boat!"

He dragged the boy off the path, into the forest. It was still the quickest way to the boat, which hadn't moved despite the wind and the screams on the other hill. If he was lucky, he could catch his clients before they left, tell them what they had done to melt the evil spirit before things could get too too hairy. If he could do that, maybe he wouldn't have to worry as much about this month's rent. Maybe he would get paid.

Reigen did not get paid.

[thelordice]

When In Rome

Author’s note: This story takes place around Season 5 SG-1, though no date in particular applies. In Star Trek timeline, the year is 2412.

Rygo looked up from the desk console in his quarters as his first officer summoned him. Exiting his quarters, the status lights in the corridor lit up – the ship had gone to Yellow Alert. Rygobeth Ircretian Lerginas jogged through the corridors to the command center of the Congregation Naval Vessel Founder’s Glory near the heart of the ship. Unlike the Starfleet ships he had served on for nearly a century, the building convention of the Malrissian Congregation combined the main engineering bay and bridge into a CiC at the center of the vessel. And while the Founder’s Glory had not been built by the Congregation Navy – it had instead been discovered adrift in the Betreka Nebula with her sister ship, the Founder’s Wrath, and was a Jem’Hadar battlecruiser – the Malrissians had significantly retrofitted the vessel with their own tech.

It had taken little time for the Malrissian admiral to reach the CiC – while Malrissian convention had all crew quarters on the outer hull line (so they could be used as lifeboats in the event of an evacuation), Rygo had requested his quarters be near the CiC for instances like this. He entered through the portside bulkhead and addressed his officers. “Report.”

Commander Zhe La Luna, his first officer, sounded off. “Admiral, sensors are detecting an anomalous subspace signature on the surface of Toron III. There are no settlements recorded on the planet, and the signature does not match the profiles of known communications or propulsion systems.”

Rygo’s science officer – a Jem’Hadar named Garara’usan, given to the Malrissian Congregation as part of a cadre of such officers in exchange for data on the Founder’s Glory and Wrath – chimed in. “Sir, the signature is intensifying. We will not be able to reach Toron III by warp or ellipse before it increases to the point of disrupting our engines. However, it is weak enough presently that we should be able to establish a stable wormhole.”

“Very good, Garara’usan. Vel’sh, spin it up.”

The Breen helmsman – a refugee from the Confederacy – replied in the affirmative in the raspy machine garble of his vocoder. The ship began to hum with power as the device that made this ship unique came online. The Wrath and the Glory had been found adrift, devoid of all life, as a result of it. The war-era prototype Dominion portable wormhole generator had functioned perfectly, shooting the ship more than a hundred light-years in seconds. However, there had been an unforseen consequence: the wormhole had been filled with metaphasic radiation, and the short jaunt had disintegrated every living thing on board. Malrissian technology had held the answer: utilizing their subspace vortex technology (morphologically similar to a short-range wormhole), they had corrected the metaphasic issue by projecting the generator’s verteron matrix through a vortex, forcing enough of the metaphasic radiation back into subspace that the resulting wormhole was safe to traverse, though the downside was that this limited the wormhole’s maximum range to 74 light-years, as well as destabilizing the vortex whenever a ship passed through, rendering the system useable by only one ship at a time. Toron III was well within that range.

“Attention all personnel,” Rygo said over the shipwide intercom, “prepare for wormhole travel.”

Garara’usan reported, “Vortex established. Wormhole verteron matrix… generated. Wormhole in five seconds.” On the forward viewscreen, a brilliant spiral of bright blue blossomed into space, and grew large as the ship’s pilot sent the vessel through.

The vessel rocked with intense turbulence, and the alert lights went from yellow to red. This was not normal. But before Rygo could ask what was going on, the turbulence subsided, and the vessel shot through the far end of the wormhole. They were alive; that was a good sign, at least. “Report,” Rygo said.

“Coallating sensor data, sir,” Garara’usan reported. A moment later, he continued. “It appears that the subspace anomaly in the system disrupted the wormhole, though I’m still determining precisely how. Additionally, I am no longer detecting the anomaly on sensors.”

Gammo’toran – another Jem’Hadar, posted at the ship’s Operations station, followed that report. “Shields are down to 56%, but still holding. Minor power fluctuations in the EPS grid. And the turbulence has temporarily disrupted our warp and ellipse drives.”

“Time to repair?”

“Unknown, sir, Commander Galli reports that she is still assessing the nature of the disruption.”

Vel’sh Kohpawka, the pilot, then reported, the crew’s universal translators interpreting his vocoder garble. “Admiral, astrogation sensors are reporting anomalous data. Based on our readings, we have been sent downtime 411 Earth years. The year… is 2001.”

“Initiate counter-detection systems,” Rygo ordered. “We can’t risk being detected by contemporary powers.”

Garara’usan reported again. “Sir, I’m detecting a settlement on the surface of the planet. There have never been any signs of habitation on this world, past or present. Life form scans indicate… this is not possible.”

Rygo rose from his command chair and walked to Garara’usan’s console. “What is it?”

“Sir… the readings indicate that the settlement is populated by humans.”

“But the year is 2001. The Eugenics Wars have been over for only half a decade on Earth, they can barely make Earth orbit right now. There should be no way for humans to be out this far.”

“And yet, here they are, sir. And I am detecting a minor subspace distortion on the surface, though the distortion itself is preventing me from scanning its source. There are, however, four human life signs in the vicinity. They are moving away from the distortion, in the general direction of the settlement.”

Rygo considered things for a moment. “Garara’usan, get Kudso’ikat and Remata’klan and head down there. Use your shroud to study those four humans, and the settlement, then report back.”

“Yes, Admiral.” He rose from his console and used his communicator to signal the other two Jem’Hadar. Rygo took his place at the science station – he had been trained as a Starfleet science officer, and had never been above doing the work of his officers when duty called them elsewhere. Focusing the ship’s sensors, he managed to pierce the subspace distortion just enough to detect an anomalous crystalline structure at the heart of the anomaly. Further scans proved inconclusive.

A few minutes later, the away team hailed the ship. They had split up to cover more area. Kudso’ikat was the first to report. “Admiral, this is extremely strange. The human settlement appears to be primitive – very little in the way of metalworking, no electricity or anything approaching advanced technology. I am returning to the transport site.” Garara’usan followed up. “I have reached the source of the subspace disrtortion, sir. It is some kind of ring structure, approximately 6.7 meters in diameter. There appears to be a control device in front of it. I will approach it and attempt to analyze.” Finally, Remata’klan reported back. “Sir, the humans moving away from the ring structure do not appear to match Kudso’ikat’s reports of the indigenous population. They are weilding some form of firearms, and are wearing clothing made of synthetic fibers. One of their number is carrying a staff of some kind, which is emanating a low-level energy signature that my tricorder cannot match to known profiles. It appears to be some form of energy weapon.”

A suspicion began to sink into Rygo’s mind. It shouldn’t be possible... but in his career, Rygo had encountered many seemingly impossible things. “Remata’klan, these humans… are they wearing black vests over green jackets?”

The Jem’Hadar seemed surprissed. “Yes, sir, they are.”

“And the one carrying the staff, did you happen to see his face?”

“Yes, sir. There was a strange gold marking on his forehead. I have never seen its like.”

Ho boy, Rygo thought. That was just about all the confirmation he needed. “Remata’klan, head back to the transport site and return to the ship with Kudso’ikat. I’ll assemble a more proper away team and meet these humans myself. I think I have an idea what’s going on here.” He triggered the intercom. “Doctor th’Zeph, report to the CiC for away duty.” Then he addressed his first officer. “Commander Luna, I want you with me. If I’m right about this, it’ll be helpful to have a human face on this mission.” The petite Asian woman nodded and surrendered her station to a relief officer, just as Rygo did the same. Once the Aenar chief medical officer arrived, they stepped onto the starboard CiC transporter pad and beamed down to the planet. The coordinates they selected were only a hundred meters from the position of the anomalous human party. “Approach quietly, people. We don’t want to startle these people too much.” It took them very little time to get close to the group, and they used the wooded terrain to hide. “Tasop,” he whispered to his medical officer, “do you see anything weird about the bald human?”

Tasop nodded. As an Aenar, he was congenially blind, instead “seeing” with his subspecies’ advanced telepathy. Tasop had honed his blindsense to be able to see within the bodies of others to diagnose internal injusries without a tricorder, making him a surprisingly good surgeon for a blind man. “There’s… some kind of pouch in his abdomen. There appears to be a creature inside it, but I can’t make anything out about it from this distance.”

“That lines up with my hypothesis. Time to see how right I am.” Rygo raised his voice and spoke. “Attention humans! We are approximately twenty meters to your nine o’clock. We are lightly armed, but will approach without our weapons drawn. We come in peace, we just want to talk!” Rygo took point, raising his hands to show they were empty. Tasop and Zhe La followed suit. When they caught sight of the group, Rygo was unsurprised to see they had their weapons drawn and leveled at them. They exchanged looks as Rygo’s team approached. Once they were three meters away, Rygo stopped. “Hello. My name is Rygobeth Lerginas. This is my first officer, Commander Zhe La Luna; and my chief medical officer, Doctor Tasop th’Zeph.”

The male human near the center of the group responded. “I’m… Colonel Jack O’Neill, this is Major Samantha Carter… Doctor Daniel Jackson… and Teal’c. You said you wanted to talk.”

Rygo sighed. That was the confirmation he’d expected. “Indeed we do, Colonel. This is going to sound weird to you, but I am an officer in an organization… called Starfleet. It’s the military and exploratory branch of the United Federation of Planets.”

O’Neill traded looks with Carter and Jackson. “You’re right, that does sound-”

“Like Star Trek, I know,” Rygo replied, cutting him off. “That’s what makes this situation weird. My ship was investigating a subspace distortion on this planet when we were sent downtime more than four centuries. For us, the Earth year is 2412. And for us… none of you are real. I know all of you because inb our universe… you’re fictional characters in a holonovel series, within which the events of my universe are fictional. But given that multiverse theory pretty well supports the idea that there’s a potential universe where any fictional story is real, I suppose it’s possible we’ve transitioned universes due to the anomaly. To prove my knowledge… you four are SG-1, the flagship team of a top secret United States Air Force organization known as Stargate Command, based under Cheyenne Mountain. Jack, you were called out of retirement when the program was relaunched a few years ago. Sam, you were promoted to Major for your participation in it. Daniel, you are the Earth’s foremost expert on both Goa’uld and Ancient languages, having been laughed out of academia for your ultimately correct theory that the Egyptian pyramids were landing platforms for alien ships. And you, Teal’c of Chulak, were the First Prime of Apophis until Colonel O’Neill convinced you to rebel. Tek’ma’te.” Rygo bowed his head respectfully. Teal’c raised an eyebrow in surprise and nodded back.

Jack decided to sass. “So you’re from Star Trek, eh? Say something in Klingon.”

Rygo sighed. “Jack… taHqeq chaH DaDaghu'.” Jack glanced at Carter. “Sounded Klingon to me.”

“It was,” Rygo replied. “I said you are the largest idiot on this planet. Now, can we get down to business?” Carter chuckled. “He’s got you pegged there, sir.”

Jack affectionately glared at her for a moment before turning back to Rygo. “What do you want, mister…”

“Just call me Rygo, for simplicity’s sake. My ship reached this world using a prototype artificial wormhole generator. I now suspect that the subspace anomaly we came to investigate was somehow tied to the Stargate. Major Carter, since you’re the brains of this merry band, I’d like you to accompany me back to the Gate. My science officer is already there, taking readings. Jack, you can accompany us if you don’t trust me – and I suspect you don’t, all told. Doctor Jackson, if you like, you may chat with Commander Luna and Doctor th’Zeph – I’m willing to bet you’re excited to learn about their cultures.”

SG-1 collectively exchanged looks. Carter shrugged, and that seemed to be the deciding factor. “Alright,” Jack replied, ‘we’ll help you out. We came to make contact with the village on this planet, but we can come back Why don’t you, uh, take point back to the Gate?”

“Very like you, Jack. Don’t want your mystery guests behind you. That’s fine.” They began the short walk back to the Stargate, SG-1 chatting quietly to themselves behind Rygo. Along the way, Colonel O’Neill spoke up. “So uh, when you said that Klingon stuff… you really think I’m an idiot?”

“No, actually, Colonel,” Rygo replied, “I have nothing but the upmost respect for you, and all of SG-1. But I figured you’d believe an insult before a compliment.”

“You really do know us, Rygo. So, if you’re from the future, and you know what’s going to happen to us…”

“Don’t ask, Colonel. Not only do I not want to spoil your future for you, it would violate Starfleet’s Temporal Prime Directive. It’s bad enough that I communicated with you at all, but I suspect we’re going to need Sam’s know-how on the Gate to get home. And speaking of…”

They rounded a corner into a clearing, and there sat the Stargate. “Even more impressive in real life,” Rygo remarked. “Garara’usan! Show yourself and report!” Rygo turned to SG-1. “Don’t be alarmed, but my science officer can turn himself invisible.” And as if that was his cue, Garara’usan unshrouded with a shrill hiss. “Admiral, I have made my initial scans of the ring structure. It appears-”

“It’s alright, Garara’usan, I know what it is now. Long story short, the turbulence with our wormhole transit shifted us into a parallel universe. We’re… basically in one of my holonovels. It’s a long story. The ring is called a Stargate. It channels energy from the control device to create an artificial wormhole between it and another gate – the symbols on the control device determine which other gate it connects to.”

“That would explain the subspace anomaly, sir – and, possibly, why our wormhole was affected. If our wormhole intersected with the path of the… Stargate’s… wormhole, the subspace interaction could have caused the crossover.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Rygo replied. He gestured to the humans. “This is SG-1. They’re from Earth in this universe. The woman is Major Samantha Carter, she’s the scientific expert of the group. Consult with her on your findings, please.”

“Yes, Admiral.” Garara’usan approached Sam and bowed briefly. He showed her his tricorder and got down to the minutae of the problem.

“Hey,” Jack said, “since when do people in Star Trek have superpowers?”

“It’s a long story, Jack,” Rygo replied. “Garara’usan is a member of a race known as the Jem’Hadar. They were genetically engineered to be supersoldiers for a power known as the Dominion. They worship the leaders of the Dominion as gods – something you might like to talk to him about before we leave, Teal’c. I’ve done all I can to convince him that the Founders are false gods, maybe your… unique perspective could help with that.” Teal’c raised his eyebrow again, and then Rygo’s combadge chirped. Rygo tapped it. “Lerginas here.”

“Admiral,” Gammo’toran reported, “Sensors are detecting a subspace signature approaching at FTL velocity. It appears to be a ship.”

“Can you get a reading on it? Hull configuration, weapons systems?”

“Yes, sir. It appears to be apyramidal vessel with anciliary framework around it. Detecting numerous weapon emitters.”

“A Ha’tak vessel. ETA?”

“Fifteen minute, sir.”

“Launch a recon probe, then get to the far side of the planet and await my signal. Switch to ansible comms and do not engage. I repeat, do not engage.”

“By your command, Admiral. Glory out.”

Rygo turned to his science officer. “Garara’usan, shroud up and stay here. Observe the number and disposition of enemy landing parties and report back. Tasop, hive us up. Colonel O’Neill, we should probably head back to that village. I suspect the Ha’tak detected the subspace anomaly caused by our wormhole drive and is coming to investigate. When they don’t find the source, they’ll try to question the villagers, and I’m not about to let innocent people get hurt because of a misunderstanding. Prime Directive be damned.” Rygo drew from its holster a phaser, and Commander Luna  and Doctor th’Zeph did likewise. “My ship will hide on the far side of the planet until the recon probe determines the Ha’tak’s relative strength. If we have a chance of taking them on, I’ll order my ship to engage the enemy. If my ship is overmatched, I’ll have Garara’usan try to sneak aboard via the ring platfor and see if he can sabotage the ship.”

Jack nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s get moving, we can probably reach the village in time if we hurry.” The humans and Starfleet officers took off at a jog back the way they came.

* * *

Nebulous purple energy swirled and tore a hole in space. A massive ship shot out from it, emerging from hyperspace. The black and gold mothership entered orbit quickly, and within moments a matter stream shot down to the surface.

As ordered, Garara’usan, crouched low and hidden by his shroud, observed the rise of the ring platform and its deposit of half a dozen alien warriors – seemingly human, but all bearing a mark on their foreheads – a square-like character with a line vertically through the middle. Garara’usan focused his mind, projecting this mental image into the temporary groupthink Tasop had created between the Starfleet officers.

Back at the village, Tasop drew this symbol into the dirt before SG-1. “This is the symbol of Lord Yu.”

“The one the System Lords sent to Earth during the negotiations with the Asgard?” Carter asked.

“Indeed.” Rygo chimed in. “I remember a holonovel chapter about those negotioations. Yu is fairly reasonable, maybe we can talk this out.”

“Unlikely,” Teal’c replied. “With a secret this potentially powerful at stake, Lord Yu is more likely to try and claim it by force.”

“How did your doc know to draw that symbol?” Daniel inquired.

“Before we left the Gate,” Rygo explained, “I had Doctor th’Zeph use his telepathic abilities to establish a temporary groupthink, so we could communicate with Garara’usan without risking him being heard by the Jaffa.” Daniel nodded. “Good idea, I suppose.”

Rygo, from his crouch, looked up at O’Neill, looking him in the eye through the visor he wore. “Okay. I brought these Jaffa here, intentionally or otherwise, I’ll take responsibility for getting them out of here. Jack, if you would be so kind as to take cover in the village. My people will take point on the defense, I want your people to hang back as a second line… in case we don’t make it.” Jack nodded in reply and gave his team the needed orders. Rygo projected thoughts into the groupthink.

“Alright. Garara’usan, tail the Jaffa as they head this way. Keep them second-guessing themselves – create diversions, stall their approach as long as you can, but stay relatively close to the Gate. If the Glory can’t fight off the Ha’tak, be ready to get onto the platform they used to get down here. It works on a principle of matter swapping – if you’re on it when they send down reinforcements, you’ll automatically be sent up to their ship. Tasop, hang back near the village. Keep the groupthink up, and use your illusion abilities to distract anyone that gets through us. Luna, you’re with me. We’re going to try and talk this out, but be ready to start shooting if we fail. Set phasers to stun – the Jaffa may be aggressive, but they’re slave soldiers. They don’t deserve to die over a misunderstanding like this.” His officers projected acknowledgements and the officers moved into position. Garara’usan kept the team apprised of the Jaffa’s approach, and before the Jaffa got too close, Rygo activated his ansible comms and hained the Founder’s Glory.

“Lerginas to Glory. Tactical report.”

Gammo’toran replied, “Recon probe suggests the enemy vessel is of comparable strength to a Romulan D’Deridex-class warbird, and is armed with a battery of plasma cannons. We should be able to fight them off if we have to, sir, but it’ll be dicey – shields are only back up to 73%.”

“Good. Fire to disable weapons and shields only, we don’t want to kill these people. The situation is complicated. Maintain your position until I signal for you to attack. And prepare a security team for transport to my position, we may need reinforcements.”

A few tense moments of waiting later, the Jaffa became visible. Rygo looked to see if one of them was Yu’s First Prime – but none were. That did not bode well for negotiations. He stepped out alone into their sight and shouted to them. “Jaffa, kree!”

The Jaffa started and leveled their staff weapons at him. “I just want to talk!” He approached, hands up and empty. The lead Jaffa approached him. “What are you?”

“A member of a species never before encountered by toe Goa’uld. I’m not from around here. You were sent to investigate anomalous scanner readings, correct?”

“No. We have come to claim this world for our god, Lord Yu. If you stand against us, you will die.”

“Oh.” Rygo sighed. “That’s not what I wanted to hear. Alrighty then, I’’l just… be on my way…” Rygo started to turn, but the Jaffa shouted, “Stop! You will be taken to Lord Yu as a prize, if you are as you say, a species never encountered by the gods.”

“I don’t think so. You’ll just have to kill me.”

The Jaffa smirked. “Very well.” The tip of his staff opened, crackling with energy. Rygo remained still. The Jaffa fired.

The blast passed right through Rygo, who disappeared a moment later. It had been an illusion created by Tasop.

From the flanks, the real Rygo charged, phaser in hand, and stunned the lead Jaffa. Zhe La Luna stunned two more, a phaser in each hand. The three remaining Jaffa turned, activated their weapons… and were stunned as Garara’usan unshrouded behind them and fired quick bolts from his Jem’Hadar rifle at both of them. “We need to press the attack. We’ll head to the Gate, secure the ring platform. I’ve already informed Tasop of the Jaffa’s intent, and he’ll alert SG-1.” He activated his ansible comm again. “Lerginas to Glory, hostile intent confirmed. Move to engage, beam down the reinforcements as soon as possible. Set Emitter Configuration Alpha and stick to it, we don’t want the Goa’uld seeing weapons they’ve never conceived of before.” Emitter Configuration Alpha was a protocol for the Congregation Navy that set their weapons to fire plasma pulses, similar to what they’d used durung the Peacekeeper Era thousands of years before. Rygo hoped that by using it, the Goa’uld wouldn’t be too curious about the technology being used.

Rygo and his team arrived in the clearing just as another group of Jaffa ringed down. A third group guarded the Gate. Rygo issued orders through the groupthink.

“Garara’usan, shroud and flank the enemy. Once they’re distracted, we’ll attack from the tree line. Keep them guessing where we are and keep them pinned down until the cavalry arrives.”

Tasop chimed in. “Admiral, SG-1 insisted that they assist you. They’re on their way.”

“Follow them, Tasop. Be ready to assist them if they’re injured. The gate is guarded by a dozen Jaffa, and more are likely on the way.” As if on cue, the ring platform activated again, and another squad of Jaffa arrived. “Wait! I have an idea.” Rygo projected his plan to Tasop, along with the necessary images to project. It would be mentally intensive, but it just might work. Rygo hailed the Glory. “Lerginas to Glory, hold off on the attack. I have a plan.”

By the time Tasop and SG-1 rendevoused with Rygo, two more squads of Jaffa had arrived to guard the Gate. Rygo filled SG-1 in on the plan as Tasop focused his mind on the task.

The chevrons on the gate lit up, one by one. When the seventh turned on, the Gate opened with a bright blue flash and a whoosh. The Jaffa turned and leveled their weapons. A hologram faded into view.

It was Lord Yu.

“Jaffa, Kree!” Yu called. The Jaffa stood at attention. “I have lost interest in this meager world. You will return to the mothership and make ready to leave.” He faded away again, and the gate whooshed closed. The Jaffa exchanged looks, then reluctantly began to gather at the rings. The first group left as Jack commented, “Neat trick.”

Rygo was distracted, however, examining Tasop. The massive exertion of such an illusion had fatigued him. “Let’s hope they buy it. It won’t be long before they realize the deception. Let’s make the most of it. Wait for a couple more squads to leave, then we’ll stun the rest. After that I’ll signal my ship to attack. But this is only a temporary fix. Yu will return to this world, and he’ll be pissed that his Ha’tak was attacked. Once we secure the Gate and drive off the Ha’tak, would it be possible for you to relocate the villagers? Maybe Yu will lose interest in the world if there’s nobody to enslave.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Sam replied to Jack.

“I’ll talk to General Hammond about it.”

“In the meantime,” Rygo said, “I’ll try my best to head back from whence I came. Much as I’d be proud to stick around with you guys, the galaxy in my universe isn’t the most peaceful place, either. But rest assured… your future is bright.”

Once it was down to the last two squads, Rygo and his team charged alongside SG-1. With the element of surprise, a dozen Jaffa were no match for the teams. Rygo signaled the attack in orbit.

* * *

Just as the Jaffa realized they’d been tricked, the Founder’s Glory came around the planet at full impulse. Loosing a volley of plasma pulses, the Ha’tak’s shields flared under a withering barrage. They responded quickly with a flurry of their own. The Glory bobbed and weaved, Vel’sh Kohpawka’s Breen helmsman training making the ship hard to hit. Several blasts still found home, however, and the ship’s shields drained with each hit. But under sustained fire themselves, the Ha’tak’s shields dwindled and finally collapsed, and with a series of surgical strikes, the ship’s weapons were knocked out. Exercising the better part of valor, the Ha’tak broke orbit and – in a similar violet cloud as had brought it to the world – jumped into hyperspace. The day was saved. And with Sam’s data regarding Stargate wormhole dynamics, it was a simple matter to calibrate the Glory’s drive for the return trip – they needed only for the Stargate to be active. Before beaming up, however, Rygo collected himself a souvenir, taking the staff weapon from a Jaffa felled by SG-1. Shaking each of the team’s hands, Rygo removed his visor and looked each in the eye. When he came to Teal’c, who he saved for last, he pulled the Jaffa in close and whispered in his ear. “Kel shak lo, Teal’c. You will see the Jaffa freed from their false gods sooner than you think.” He pulled back, raised a finger to his lips, and nodded with a smile. Teal’c nodded with a smile as well. As his team prepared to beam out, Rygo gave the group a crisp salute. “Keep up the good work, my friends. Open the Gate as soon as I leave, please.” O’Neill and Carter returned the salute as Rygo dematerialized.

Back aboard the Glory, staff in hand, Rygo accessed the intercom. “all hands, prepare for wormhole transit. We’re in for another bumpy ride.” He sat in his command chair and said to Garara’usan with a smile, “Dial us out.”

“Yes, Admiral.” Humming again with power, the Glory tore open another hole between universes, and returned to Federation space. Rygo suspected that he would never quite be able to enjoy the holonovels of SG-1 the same way.

Meeting one’s heroes tended to do that.

[sarissophori]

Forebode, Chapter 4

Twenty minutes passed. The second away team of Varrez, Han, Talgold and Barrens sat in the shuttle suited up and harnessed in. Clearance was asked for and given, the hangar was vented, and the shuttle made another run for the moon’s surface, performing an overfly of the area before landing in a clearing south of the valley by the dune sea, creating a cloud of fine red dust.

       “See you kids later” Ausmith said. “Remember your emergency channels.”

       They stepped out onto a plain of sand and rocky outcroppings, and a soft, whispering wind. The terrain rose gradually ahead of them, building up to the near mountains. XH-Lambda loomed over the western skyline, waxing to a quarter-phase. Several other moons were also out, rising and falling in their separate arcs, ghostly pale in the haze. Varrez in particular was taken by the sight.

       “It’s so primordial, like how Mars must have looked before it was terraformed –minus the gas giant, of course.”

       “Yeah, imagine that” Barrens said. “Let’s roll out the rover and get going, the sooner the better.”

       “What’s your hurry, sergeant?” Varrez said. “We can take a few minutes for sample gathering, can’t we?”

       “I’m not saying you can’t play around in the dirt, doc” Barrens said. “But we’ve got a job to do, and we shouldn’t stay down here any longer than we have to.”

       “It’ll only take a second” Varrez said, kneeling to collect some quick sand and mineral samples, and tucking them away in containers.

       “See? A second.”

       “Maybe we should get going” Talgold said. “The daylight’s looking a little dull, and the rover’s electric.”

       “Actually” Varrez said. “Because XH is a twin-sun system true night is very seldom here, even less so with a gas giant hanging overhead. There’s probably no such thing as true night on this moon, for all we know.”

       Dr. Han, not caring for the conversation, cranked the rover and backed it out from the shuttle, down the ramp, and skidded it to a halt. He set it in drive and revved it twice.

       “There’s a possible alien anomaly just a few kilometers away from us, and you people are talking about rocks and sunlight? Let’s go!”

       Barrens grinned. “Han, my man.”

 The flatness of the lowlands went by quickly as the rover sped across the wastes toward the mountain valley, kicking up dust and pebbles with its ample treads. As they neared the valley, they noticed odd silhouettes in the hanging mist, tall and thin but otherwise unclear; they became steadily revealed as the team drove closer, and the mists passed further downrange.

       It was a forest of sharp, angular pinnacles, hundreds of feet high, filling the entirety of the valley and climbing to its lower slopes; skeletal forms bleached and bone-dry, tree-like in structure yet also unsettlingly alien.

       “Christ” Barrens said. “Captain, I hope you’re seeing this.”

       “I am” Hindel said from the bridge. “And I don’t believe it.”

       “What do you think it is?” Talgold said.

       In the awestruck silence, Varrez spoke quietly.

       “It’s beautiful, grotesquely beautiful.”

       They drove to the outermost eaves of the forest, boneyard, whatever it was, and parked the rover under its shadows. The ‘trees’ were smooth with odd indentations along sections of their trunks, like bamboo stalks; they rose vertical and robust, tapering into fragile tufts of tendrils like cotton canopies seven to eight hundred feet over them. The air within was still, the soft wind dying outside the outer staggered groves.  Varrez walked up to a trunk and touched it, feeling it scrape along her gauntlet.

       “It’s very stony; looks organic enough, though.”

       “Almost like that growth we found in the lab” Barrens said. “Maybe this is what it grows into?”

       “Perhaps we can cross-analyze” Han said. “Varrez, do you have a scraper?”

       “Several” Varrez said, opening a small kit and handing him one.  

       “Every good geologist does.”

       “Thank you” he said, taking it with a curt bow.

       Holding a container underneath, Han scraped off trace amounts of the ‘tree’ for further study, snapped the lid shut, and gave Varrez her tool back.

       “How deep is the marker into this thing, captain?” Barrens said.

       “Almost six hundred meters in” Hindel said. “Follow your HUDs, and you’ll get there.”

       “Alright.” Barrens grabbed a large backpack from the rover’s bed and slung it over his shoulders, synching it firmly across his chest, patting down the locks.

       “I’m taking point. No one leaves sight of anyone else, got it?”

       “Yessir sergeant!” Varrez and Talgold said, saluting flippantly.

       “Right behind you” Han said with a thumbs-up.

       Not quite the responses he wanted, but Barrens expected as much from a bunch of civilians.

       At his lead, they entered the forest. The ground was almost completely covered by slithering and overlapping roots, tripping them up somewhat, though progress was steady; they weren’t in any hurry, mostly for safety, but also for being in the midst of a giant environmental wonderland, once the shock of its foreignness became a wonder for it.

       The meter count on their HUDs counted down. Light coming through the canopies was the color of a rich late sunset, if sunset it was, filtered by the cotton puffs into shifting beams touched with wafting motes in the dead air, blurring to a deep ruby hue in the darker parts of the forest that slowly enveloped them.

       “You almost expect a deer or something to come leaping out at any moment” Varrez said aloud, to herself.

       “What, like a space-deer?” Talgold said.

       “I got bad news for you, Varrez; space-deer probably eat people.”

       “Oh? how do you figure that?” Varrez said.

       “We’re in uncharted space, the rules are inverted here. It’s basic physics.”

       Varrez chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

       “Well if we do run into something” Barrens said. “It’ll be running straight into this.”

       He patted a side pocket on his backpack, indicating the folded shock rifle he was carrying with him.

       “Fully charged and ready to go.  I’ve got a pistol on my leg as well.”

       “You really think you’ll need those?” Varrez said.

       “I didn’t think we’d be strolling through a giant petrified forest in the middle of a desert moon” Barrens said. “Who knows what else we’ll run into here that we haven’t seen yet?”

       “Let’s just hope you won’t have to use them” Han said, keeping on the periphery of conversation as he glanced up and around at the overbearing stalks, himself almost expecting to see some alien creature scurrying in the ruby half-light.

 Thirty minutes passed on their mission clocks. The trees grew largest and thickest where the marker indicated the metallic presence, now only a few meters away.

       “Something’s flickering” Barrens said. “Right ahead of us.”

       A wall glinted in front of them through the stalks and roots of the forest, faintly iridescent. It was scratched by the gripping trees, partly subsumed by them, but there were still patches of it that shone like silver, if tinted by a ruddy hue.

       “Ensign Komev?” Varrez said. “I think you owe Ellson a beer. I might too.”

       The team tentatively approached, and discovered more than a simple wall. Rising with, and above many, of the trunks and eaves, angular and yet organic, smooth as polished stone and gray as steel, was a single spire tapered like an icicle, monolithic and austere, the wall surrounding it only one part of a greater monument.

       “You’ve gotta be kidding me” Barrens said.

       “Incredible” Han said. “Something this far out can’t be manmade.”

       “Then who built it?” Talgold said. “And would they consider this trespassing?”

       “Doesn’t look like anyone’s been home in a while” Varrez said. “Unless this is a typical aesthetic for them, whoever they are.”

       “What, the whole ‘abandoned’ look?” Barrens said. “Always a crowd favorite.”

       Captain Hindel chimed in. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. We’re potentially talking about one of the greatest discoveries in human history; it’s worth taking a moment to plan out our next move.”

       “Next move?” Talgold said. “I thought that was finding a way inside, past the wall.”

       “Even if there was a way in” Barrens said. “I wouldn’t be so eager trying to find one in something so dilapidated, nor would I advise it for this team.”

       “You wouldn’t have to” Talgold said. “This is an exploratory survey, not a military foray. You can wait out here, if you want.”

       Barrens shifted his stance. “The captain put me in charge of everyone’s safety out here, whether you like it or not, and I strongly advise waiting for a properly equipped excavation team to assume the risk of checking this thing out before we do anything.”

       “It’ll take a full year for anyone else to get here” Talgold said. “Are you seriously prepared to wait that long? Besides, I don’t think the captain meant for run-of-the-mill safety concerns to interfere with scientific research of this magnitude, do you?”

       “We’re talking about strolling our way into a bunch of alien ruins that could be dangerously unstable” Barrens said. “My concerns aren’t ‘run-of-the-mill’, doc.”

       “It doesn’t look unstable” Varrez said. She approached the wall and ran her gauntlet along its dirty yet refractive surface like she did the tree trunk, wiping away centuries of dust.

       “I can’t find a crack in it, despite its condition.”

       “With all respect, this is not a democracy” Barrens said.

       “You’re right, it isn’t” Han said. “Thoughts, captain?”

       Their channel to the bridge was silent for a moment. Hindel sat back in her chair and weighed her options, wanting the ruins to be explored, but fearing for any unseen hazard they may walk into –and how bad it would look on a report after her first time in command. Yet credentials and commendations, as well as the thrill of exploration, leaned heaviest on her and tipped the scales away from overt concern.

       “Exploring the anomaly was your primary mission, though I understand the sergeant’s caution; I share it, too. However, this opportunity we have to touch, to study and record something other than human, even superficially, can’t be passed up while we have it all to ourselves. I give permission to search for a way inside the wall, provided the danger is minimal.”

       “We can look out for ourselves, captain” Talgold said, smiling at Barrens.

       “We’ll be careful” Varrez said.

       “I have complete faith in the sergeant’s abilities to keep us safe” Han said.

       Barrens shook his head, muttering to himself.

       “You may proceed” Hindel said.

The team began walking the perimeter of what proved to be a very formidable old wall: sixty feet high and a third in width, topped with geometric parapets laced with interweaving patterns; whether purely for decoration, or perhaps for defense, couldn’t be guessed. After much scouting and slipping over roots, following the curve south and east, they found an archway-shaped opening in the wall.

       “Captain, we found a way in” Talgold said, rushing forward. “Can you see it?”

       “I can” Hindel said. “Be careful.”

       Barrens grabbed him and made him wait for the other two lagging behind. Together, the team passed the entrance into the interior space, estimated by their HUDs to be over one thousand feet across, and choked with twisting, calcified saplings clinging to the inner wall. The ‘plain’ within the wall was covered in the same dull burnished metal of the spire and complex, overrun by thick vine patches and other nodules resembling fungi and molds; some of them were smaller versions of the larger stalks that made up the forest, as tall or taller than the team, already sprouting their thin, dandelion-like tendrils. Talgold wandered in awe, muttering excitedly while recording everything in detail, while Varrez gingerly collected more samples.

       There was an open doorway at the base of the spire, resembling a gaping mouth with inverted teeth; inside was pitch black except the first dozen or so feet, where a red haze filtered through, giving the impression of a large waiting throat.

       “Is this where this whole forest came from?” Talgold said. “Plant nursery gone wrong?”

       “It’s the Wanderer all over again” Barrens said to himself, subconsciously patting his suit to make sure his weapons were still on him.

       Not sharing his concern, Talgold stepped up to the doorway of the spire and slowly panned his helmet, letting his light shine within; the first artificial light in who knew how long.

       It was a hallway, or a cathedral, leading into a dark his light couldn’t penetrate. Vines continued along the floor and walls, covering over intricate murals of hieroglyphics mixed with geometric symbols. There were rows of chambers on either side.

       He laughed from giddiness. “You guys have gotta see this!”

       The others rushed up and peered in, stunned by what they saw.

       “We have to check this out” Talgold said. “We have to.”

       “Is it safe?” Varrez said.

       “Seems intact” Talgold said. “Hasn’t fallen over yet, anyway.”

       “We’ve gone this far” Han said. “We should be okay if we stick together.”

       “You’re out of your damn mind” Barrens said. “There’s no way we’re going inside this.”

       “Captain?” Talgold said. “Just a quick foray, please?”

       Barrens sighed. Another silent moment passed on Hindel’s end.

       “Stay within each other’s sight.”

       They entered the black of the hallway, filing in behind the sergeant as he took point again, grumbling as he did. The outside world subsided into the background, taking all reddish daylight with it. Their visors adjusted accordingly, though only by so much. They switched to infrared, seeing that the way was straight, and that the ceiling was high and vaulted. It also reverberated with the slightest noise, carrying the echo of their footsteps, every scrape of their suits, to an uncomfortable degree. Though not pristine there was no speck of dust, no obvious decay, as if the spire and what happened here were frozen in instance, eternally preserved without resolve.

       Seems to be a theme on this planet, Barrens thought.

       Nerves aside, they passed by the hieroglyphic murals with fascination, a desire to touch and study them, but that all-too-human dread kept them from lingering, and no one wanted to fall behind even a few steps of the others.

       “Oh, I wish we could understand these” Varrez said. “It’s so beautiful how they interflow with each other, scene into scene, like they’re all one long unbroken conversation.”

       “I think you missed your calling, Varrez” Talgold said. “You should have been a writer.”

       “By their reflective gleam” Han said. “I’m tempted to say that these pictograms are lined in gold, or a similar alloy. An interesting use.”

       “Guess human beings aren’t the only species who enjoy decorating” Varrez said.

       Barrens scoffed. “What I’d like to know is where the damn lights are. What’s the point of writing on the walls if you can’t see it?”

       “Maybe they could see it just fine” Talgold said.

       “Fine nothing” Barrens said. “No lights, a skeleton forest, a bunch of weird voodoo-shit on the walls…it’s as if this whole place was designed to scare the hell out of you.”

       He decided to check in with the Wayfarer.

       “Still with us, captain?”

       “There’s a little interference, but I read you” Hindel said. “I’m sending your feeds directly to archive. The company will definitely want records of this.”

       “Hear that, guys?” Talgold said. “Once we get home, we’re set for life!”

       Talgold’s voice carried down the hall ahead of them, penetrating the dark and reverberating in an uncomfortable closeness despite the size of the complex. Barrens glared back at him, and he shrugged.

       “How far in are you?” Hindel said.

       “About fifty meters” Barrens said. “I’m not sure how far it goes, but we haven’t had any trouble yet.”

       “I’ve got Ausmith on an open channel in case” Hindel said.

       A few more meters of echoing darkness, and the team came to the edge of a vast spherical chamber that was the heart of the structure. Their HUDs showed it to be at least five hundred feet in circumference. The hallway split off along the sides, skirting the void, meeting on the other side to continue as another hallway. On both sides, however, were long thin platforms with what appeared to be daises perched out overlooking the bowl.

       “Quite the room” Han said. “Wonder what it was for?”

       “You’re the alien expert” Barrens said. “You tell us.”

       “Xeno-biology, not xeno-archeology” Han said. “No such field has ever needed to exist, until now.”

        The team began to spread out as they stepped into the chamber, Barrens and Han going left, Varrez and Talgold right, staying close to the walls. Unlike the hallway, the chamber had no murals of complex hieroglyphs or geometric signatures; it was bare, almost utilitarian, yet even here arms of fossilized vines slithered along the floor, to the edge of the pit where they seemed to stop abruptly, almost as if they were severed from it.

       Talgold dared to step in for a closer look, crouching by the lip of the bowl, when a noise broke his concentration; a hum, very subtle, so much so that he almost didn’t catch it. He tapped the side of his helmet.

       “Anyone else hear that?”

       “Hear what?” Varrez said.

       “That humming sound, kind of like a ship engine, only softer.”

       “I don’t hear anything” Varrez said. “Could be interference.”

       “Are you getting any?”

       She did a quick check. “No.”

       “Then I don’t think it’s that.”

       Talgold kept crouched and listened. The sound remained.

       “Get down, and keep still.”

       Varrez complied, waiting a moment.

       “I hear it, barely.”

       “But where’s it coming from?” Talgold said.

       “Don’t ask me” Varrez said. “I would’ve missed it completely if you hadn’t pointed it out.”

       Talgold stood up again, and the noise faded.

       “It’s low level, like it’s coming from the floor.”

       Varrez looked down, shifting her feet.

       “You can’t be serious; this place is a ruin, how could anything still be running, assuming it even has a power source?”

       “Don’t ask me.”

       Then, Talgold noticed another oddity. The beam of his helmet light faded out as he looked across the pit, but it too was subtle, something that also almost slipped by him. On a hunch, he reached out his hand and held it over the pit. A thin blue outline gave way, creating faint ripples in the air. He pulled back, and the air corrected itself.

       “Holy shit.”

       “Dr. Han, Sergeant Barrens!” Verrez said. “Come here, quick!”

       The two ran over, expecting to be shown some artifact or tool, a little disappointed to find their teammates seemingly milling about.

       “What’s with all the ruckus?” Barrens said.

       “Show them!” Varrez said, smiling widely.

       Talgold reached out again and withdrew, creating the same disturbance as before.

       “It has an effect on light too” he said. “Try it.”

       They shone their lights across the void, and saw the beams distort and fade away before they could reach the other side.

       “Well I’ll be” Han said.

       “There’s a hum coming from the ground as well” Talgold said. “I bet the two are corollary.”

       “A power source?” Han said.

       “Maybe.”

       Talgold glanced over to the platform and, without a word, walked towards it. He stepped onto the platform, approached the dais, and examined its smooth metallic surface. It had patterns similar to the hieroglyphs, arranged in sections separated by grooves and contained in blocks. Talgold studied them, his heartrate rising on his display.

       “What are you doing?” Varrez said.

       “What if this is some kind of control surface?” Talgold said.

       “So what if it is?” Barrens said. “This place is ancient, kid. It’s not gonna work, and even if it did, I wouldn’t go messing with it.”

       “I’m not” Talgold said. “I just want a visual record of it, for the archive.”

       “Make it quick” Barrens said. “Then we’re leaving. I think we’ve explored enough for one day.”

       “Sure, sure.” Talgold brushed his fingers on the dais, adjusting the brightness of his light.

       “How’s that look, captain?”

       “Like one for the history books” Hindel said. “Great job everyone. Tie up any loose ends and report back to the shuttle.”

 A sudden deep groan went through the chamber, reverberating the hallways like they were hollow instruments. The team jumped, looking up and around nervously. All readouts rose sharply; Barrens hissed a sharp curse. A low rumbling continued, coming from the walls and vibrating them. The dais began to glow, illuminating the glyphs in a neon blue light. The force field over the pit shifted into visibility, humming ambiently as power fed into it once more.

       “What happened? What’s going on?” Hindel said.

       “There was a bit of a tremor, ma’am” Barrens said. “We’re getting out now, alert the shuttle.”

       A pulse flashed from the dais, and the rumblings ceased. A small holographic sphere appeared from the glyph console, flickering and spinning serenely. Talgold watched it nervously.

       “What the hell?”

       The sphere stopped, registering his presence, and scanned his faceplate with a wide beam.

       “Get down from there, Talgold!” Barrens said. “That’s an order!”

       Before Talgold could comply, the hologram concentrated its beam into his eyes, holding him unmoving at first. Then he began to fidget, and tremble, and scream.

       Barrens sprinted to the platform, leapt up the dais, and yanked Talgold free of the hologram, still screaming. His pupils were dilated, the sclera red from ruptured blood vessels. Tears streaked his face, and blood streamed from his nose. The sphere, interrupted from its attempted link, winked out and turned the console red, beginning a new wave of tremors.

       Unseen doors closed, sealing off the chamber and hallways. A chill of dread gripped their spines. Varrez laughed nervously.

       “Hey kid, kid, look at me!” Barrens said, cradling Talgold in his lap. He was still shaking, his eyes fixed on some far point, muttering incoherently.

       “Shit!”

       Barrens unslung his backpack and rummaged quickly through his med-kit, prepping a syringe and injecting it through a special port in Talgold’s suit. He gasped, shuddered, and lay still. A good sign, hopefully.

       “Sergeant!” Hindel said, her voice cutting out. “Situation report, now!”

       “Things got real FUBAR real fast, ma’am, I’ll get back to you.”

       There was no way to know if any of what he said got through before static overwhelmed his connection, cutting them off from the Wayfarer.

       “I’m not picking them up anymore” Varrez said. “What do we do now?”

       “Hindel knows were still inside the structure” Han said. “I’m sure she’ll get us out somehow.”

       “What about Talgold?”

       “One problem at a time!” Barrens said, trying to rouse Talgold from his shock. He dared to take another syringe, a stimulant, and inject a minute amount into the port. Talgold gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, fighting for speech that was slow to return, muttering frustrated strings of incomprehension.

       “Sh-sa-sarge…w-we…”

       He grimaced between breaths, trying to force out the words.

       “Slow down, take your time” Barrens said. “We’ve got plenty of it.”

       “N-no, we d-don’t” Talgold spat.

       “D-dangerous…have to…”

       Talgold bolted up, heaved himself to his feet, and leaned over the console. Barrens moved to restrain him, but Talgold pushed him away, screaming.

       “Get away from m-me!”

       “I know you’re not feeling right, kid” Barrens said. “But you need to calm down.”

       “I n-need to s-save us!” Talgold said. “Save us!”

       “That’s it” Barrens said. “Got no other choice.”

       Barrens gripped Talgold in a pin, struggling to bring him to the floor as Talgold fought against it; he quickly swiped the shock pistol from the sergeant’s holster and shot a low-setting bolt into his leg, making Barrens drop as pain and numbness spread throughout his calf.

       Talgold waved at the icons, bringing up and manipulating holograms as if he were suddenly an expert on them. Varrez and Han watched on in stunned silence.

       “This p-place is a research facility” Talgold said. “They abandoned it, q-quarantined it…had to destroy it.”

       Images flashed and faded. The force field shifted hue, and the chamber walls shuddered.

       “It knows w-we’re intruders” Talgold said. “Can’t risk infection, g-gonna wipe this place c-clean again, and everyone s-stuck inside it.”

       Tears welled in Varrez’s eyes as the weight of the moment, of Talgold’s words, sank in. Han clapped her shoulder in consolation, fighting his own rising panic.

       “If I c-can convince it to override p-protocol, I c-can save us.”

       “How are you going to do that?” Barrens said. Talgold didn’t answer.

       A shadow moved down the chamber walls, ambling like a large spider, noiseless in its descent. As Talgold tapped and swiped away in madness, its skulking outline caught Varrez’s attention. Her heart skipped a beat; she pulled on Han’s arm.

       “What is that?”

       It crouched on all fours, keeping as low and hidden as possible, stalking its way to the platform. Her eyes widened.

       “Talgold, watch out!”

       The creature sprinted, bounding its way up to the console; alerted by Varrez, Barrens snatched his pistol from under Talgold’s gaze and aimed, leading his shot, and fired into the creature’s chest. It recoiled and shrieked; an awful, ear-splitting wail of pain not only from the static bolt, but from the agony of its own existence.

       Its full horridness was caught in their intersecting lights. Despite its animal-like demeanor it was bipedal, a mangled mess of carnage and physiology, unsettlingly humanoid; its bones were bent and dislocated, stained by dried gore, adorned with long sharp protrusions on its arms and backside. What was once a head was yanked back, the throat open and exposed; a mass of slithering feelers poked their way through the trachea as bare vocal cords screeched such an inhuman pitch of suffering, it froze the blood in their veins.

       Barrens switched his pistol to its highest setting and fired again, then again. The creature stumbled, then redoubled to attack them. A fourth shot sent it over the platform and into the pit, landing with a sickening splat.

       Varrez was sobbing as Han struggled to lead her to the chamber doors. Barrens grabbed Talgold and followed behind, stopping only to retrieve the rifle from his pack as more shadows moved around them.

       “Han!” he said, tossing him his pistol. “Point and shoot, make’em count!”

       Han nodded, though felt little assurance.

       “The doors” Talgold said. “Get me to the d-doors.”

       Barrens dragged him over as fast as he could, the creatures screaming as they closed in, punctuated by gagging and warbling noises.

       “Hold him!” Barrens said to Varrez, handing Talgold off to her.

       “Let’em do whatever he needs to do, we’ll cover you!”

       Braced against Varrez’s shoulder, Talgold waved his hand beside the doors and activated a holographic pad.

       “I can override the d-doors” he said. “It’s still g-gonna wipe the facility. We need to get out before it does.”

       Barrens and Han started firing, and he hurried his fingers over the icons.

       “Please, Talgold” Varrez said. “Please, oh God, please.”

      “Almost, I t-think I…”

       The icons faded. The doors groaned and slid apart, opening to the hallway.

       “We’re through!” Varrez said.

       Without waiting she hurried herself and Talgold out of the chamber. Barrens and Han shuffled after, laying down a suppressive fire as the doors slowly closed again, sealing in whatever it was that attacked them.

       “What the fuck?” Barrens said.

       “Let’s try and get reception” Han said, panting. “Maybe we can get Ausmith to meet us outside the forest.”

       They carried on as swiftly as they could go with Talgold in tow, continuing to talk under his breath.

       “Used to be green, used to have water…they brought it here, studied it, wanted to understand its resilience, adaptability…outbreak, there was an outbreak, growing and growing, whole hemisphere compromised; planet cleansed, only way to be sure.”

       “Can this wait until we’re back on the ship, Talgold?” Varrez said. “Kinda not in the mood for it right now.”

       “The ship?” Talgold said, his voice clearer, stronger.

       “Yes, get back to the ship, and leave. It’ll start here, but it’ll spread, cleanse everything.”

       “Don’t have to say that twice” Barrens said.

       They returned to the entrance, but found that it had closed itself off like the inner chamber. Again, Barrens and Han took defensive positions as Varrez steadied Talgold to work another holo-pad, now glowing by the door frame.

       “So, uh, how much time do you think we have left?” she said.

       “I’m assuming not much” Talgold said, cracking the locks and opening the doors; that familiar dull, dirty orange light spilled in, a sight the team couldn’t have found more beautiful or uplifting.

       “Fuck this moon” Barrens said. “Let it get cleansed, whatever the hell that means.”

       A creeping form clinging to the outer door frame swung down and jumped them. It swiped its arm at them, lashing with its sharp whip-like growths, slashing Talgold across his chest and tearing open his suit. Trails of blood seeped through before the underlayer of bio-foam could close it.

       Varrez screamed and fell backwards with him, barely saving them from another vicious slash. Barrens and Han unloaded on it, firing until its flesh and exposed organs were literally burning. The creature hissed and writhed, shriveling into a heap, mercifully dying with a rasping wail.

       Catching his breath, Barrens tried contacting the bridge again.

       “Captain Hindel, come in. This is Sergeant Barrens; can you hear me?”

       “I can now” she said. “What happened? We got cut off by some kind of power flux. Some of your readouts are still on the fritz, are you alright?”

       “Talgold’s in critical condition” Barrens said. “If you could get Ausmith to swing by the forest, we’d appreciate it.”

       “Done” Hindel said. “Alerting Dr. Walsh to prep for immediate surgery.”

       “Prepare yourself for a hell of a briefing, ma’am” Barrens said. “And captain? It’s good to hear your voice again.”

       “Likewise, sergeant. Hindel out.”

       Talgold gasped for air as Varrez and Han carried him over their shoulders, stumbling in their haste but refusing to slow down. Barrens sprinted beside them, leveling his rifle at the forest’s crimson shadows and scanning for any sign of movement. They seemed to be alone, for what little comfort that offered. The forest was sinister thing again, now that they knew what dwelt within, or perhaps was itself; a parasite, a rampant fungus that gave birth to monstrosities no nightmare could fathom.

       They hurried under its brooding canopy, not only for Talgold’s sake or his premonitions, but for their own pounding fears, distilled to their most primal essence, fears far worse than simply being hunted like prey; fears of mutilation, being hacked to pieces by an abomination far from home or help, your friends having no choice other than to leave you behind, because saving you would kill them too.

 They reached the end of the forest with no further attacks. The rover sat untouched. Ausmith had the shuttle parked and ready, standing by the ramp as the engines idled. He ran over when he saw them dragging Talgold.

       “Christ, what happened to him?”

       “Get us back to the ship, lieutenant” Barrens said. “Now!”

       Varrez and Han hurried Talgold into the cabin and lay him down, trying to keep him prone. The bio-foam seal was holding, though he had since relapsed into shock.

       “He’s bleeding internally” Han said. “If he makes it, it’ll be close.”

       “What about the rover?” Ausmith said.

       “Fuck the rover!” Varrez screamed, spitting on her visor. “Take off!”

       He gave a curt nod and darted for the cockpit, closing the ramp, throttling the engines, and lumbering them skyward in a cloud of dust, leaving XH-Ld behind in a jolting ascent.

       Han grabbed a med-kit from the shuttle’s bulkhead and did every meager thing he could do, to no avail. Talgold slipped further and further away, his vitals dropping to their faintest ebbs.

       “He’s not going to make it.”

       Talgold coughed, shuddering, flexing his fingers.

       “Varrez, please; I don’t want to die with my helmet on.”

       Varrez nodded while shaking, unlocking his helmet and gently removing it, setting it aside; he took a deep breath of the cabin’s pressurized oxygen, coughing again.

       “Thanks, much better.”

       “Hold on, Talgold” Varrez said, taking his hand.

       “A few more minutes, okay? Please?”

       Talgold said nothing. His eyes glazed over in a blank stare and his head turned away, rocked by the shuttle’s motion. His readout flatlined.

       Varrez sobbed. Han bowed his head. Barrens sighed and looked down at his boots.

       It proved a long, quiet return flight to the Wayfarer.

[scienceblogtumbler]

Asteroid’s Scars Tell Stories of its Past

By studying impact marks on the surface of asteroid Bennu – the target of NASA’s OSIRIS-REx mission – a team of researchers led by the University of Arizona has uncovered the asteroid’s past and revealed that despite forming hundreds of millions of years ago, Bennu wandered into Earth’s neighborhood only very recently.

The study, published in the journal Nature, provides a new benchmark for understanding the evolution of asteroids, offers insights into a poorly understood population of space debris hazardous to spacecraft, and enhances scientists’ understanding of the solar system.

The researchers used images and laser-based measurements taken during a two-year surveying phase in which the OSIRIS-REx spacecraft, about the size of a 15-passenger van, orbited Bennu and broke the record for the smallest spacecraft to orbit a small body. 

Presented at the opening day of the American Astronomical Society’s Division for Planetary Sciences meeting on Oct. 26, the paper details the first observations and measurements of impact craters on individual boulders on an airless planetary surface since the Apollo missions to the moon 50 years ago, according to the authors.

The publication comes just a few days after a major milestone for NASA’s University of Arizona-led OSIRIS-REx mission. On Oct. 20, the spacecraft successfully descended to asteroid Bennu to grab a sample from its boulder-scattered surface – a first for NASA. The sample has now been successfully stowed and will be returned to Earth for study in 2023, where it could give scientists insight into the earliest stages of the formation of our solar system.

Impact Craters on Rocks Tell a Story

Although Earth is being pelted with more than 100 tons of space debris each day, it is virtually impossible to find a rockface pitted by impacts from small objects at high velocities. Courtesy of our atmosphere, we get to enjoy any object smaller than a few meters as a shooting star rather than having to fear being struck by what essentially amounts to a bullet from outer space.

Planetary bodies lacking such a protective layer, however, bear the full brunt of a perpetual cosmic barrage, and they have the scars to show for it. High-resolution images taken by the OSIRIS-REx spacecraft during its two-year survey campaign allowed researchers to study even tiny craters, with diameters ranging from a centimeter to a meter, on Bennu’s boulders.

The team found boulders of 1 meter or larger to be scarred, on average, by anywhere from one to 60 pits – impacted by space debris ranging in size from a few millimeters to tens of centimeters.

“I was surprised to see these features on the surface of Bennu,” said the paper’s lead author, Ronald Ballouz, a postdoctoral researcher in the UArizona Lunar and Planetary Laboratory and a scientist with the OSIRIS-REx regolith development working group. “The rocks tell their history through the craters they accumulated over time. We haven’t observed anything like this since astronauts walked on the moon.”

For Ballouz, who grew up during the 1990s in post-civil war Beirut, Lebanon, the image of a rock surface pitted with small impact craters evoked childhood memories of building walls riddled with bullet holes in his war-torn home country.

“Where I grew up, the buildings have bullet holes all over, and I never thought about it,” he said. “It was just a fact of life. So, when I looked at the images from the asteroid, I was very curious, and I immediately thought these must be impact features.”

The observations made by Ballouz and his team bridge a gap between previous studies of space debris larger than a few centimeters, based on impacts on the moon, and studies of objects smaller than a few millimeters, based on observations of meteors entering Earth’s atmosphere and impacts on spacecraft.

“The objects that formed the craters on Bennu’s boulders fall within this gap that we don’t really know much about,” Ballouz said, adding that rocks in that size range are an important field of study, mainly because they represent hazards for spacecraft in orbit around Earth. “An impact from one of these millimeter to centimeter-size objects at speeds of 45,000 miles per hour can be dangerous.”

This composite image of a boulder on Bennu’s surface shows the cascading rim of one of the asteroid’s ancient craters that originated while Bennu resided in the asteroid belt. The image combines photos from OSIRIS-REx and reconstructed shape models built from the OSIRIS-REx laser altimeter instrument. The overlaid colors highlight the topography of the boulder (warmer colors are higher elevation).University of Arizona/Johns Hopkins APL/York University

Ballouz and his team developed a technique to quantify the strength of solid objects using remote observations of craters on the surfaces of boulders – a mathematical formula that allows researchers to calculate the maximum impact energy that a boulder of a given size and strength could endure before being smashed. In other words, the crater distribution found on Bennu today keeps a historical record of the frequency, size and velocity of impact events the asteroid has experienced throughout its history.

“The idea is actually pretty simple,” Ballouz said, using a building exposed to artillery fire as an analogy to boulders on an asteroid. “We ask, ‘What is the largest crater you can make on that wall before the wall disintegrates?’ Based on observations of multiple walls of the same size, but with different sized craters, you can get some idea of the strength of that wall.”

The same holds true for a boulder on an asteroid or other airless body, said Ballouz, who added that the approach could be used on any other asteroid or airless body that astronauts or spacecraft may visit in the future.

“If a boulder gets hit by something larger than an object that would leave a certain size cater, it would just disappear,” he explained. In other words, the size distribution of boulders that have persisted on Bennu serve as silent witnesses to its geologic past.

A Newcomer to Earth’s Neighborhood

Applying the technique to boulders ranging in size from pebbles to parking garages, the researchers were able to make inferences about the sizes and type of impactors to which the boulders were exposed, and for how long.

The authors conclude that the largest craters on Bennu’s boulders were created while Bennu resided in the asteroid belt, where impact speeds are lower than in the near-Earth environment, but are more frequent and often near the limit of what the boulders could withstand. Smaller craters, on the other hand, were acquired more recently, during Bennu’s time in near-Earth space, where impact speeds are higher but potentially disruptive impactors are much less common.

Based on these calculations, the authors determine that Bennu is a relative newcomer to Earth’s neighborhood. Although it is thought to have formed in the main asteroid belt more than 100 million years ago, it is estimated that it was kicked out of the asteroid belt and migrated to its current territory only 1.75 million years ago. Extending the results to other near-Earth objects, or NEOs, the researchers also suggest that these objects likely come from parent bodies that fall in the category of asteroids, which are mostly rocky with little or no ice, rather than comets, which have more ice than rock.

While theoretical models suggest that the asteroid belt is the reservoir for NEOs, no observational evidence of their provenance was available other than meteorites that fell to Earth and were collected, Ballouz said. With these data, researchers can validate their models of where NEOs come from, according to Ballouz, and get an idea of how strong and solid these objects are – crucial information for any potential missions targeting asteroids in the future for research, resource extraction or protecting Earth from impact.

source https://scienceblog.com/519361/asteroids-scars-tell-stories-of-its-past/

[olivereliott]

Island Hopping In The Midnight Sun

   [NOTE: 2020 is the tenth year of my blog at Semi-Rad.com, and since I started it, I’ve been fortunate to get to do some pretty wonderful adventures. Throughout this year, I’ll be writing about 12 favorite adventures I’ve had since I started writing about the outdoors, one per month. This is the ninth in the series. The other stories are here.]

Several years ago in a conversation, a friend said something along these lines: I think it’s funny that in the United States, we don’t think you’re worldly unless you’ve traveled a bit and have a passport, but often times, when we travel, we go halfway around the world to out-of-the-way places and meet people who have never left those places, and we come back and tell stories about those interesting people who have stayed in one place their entire lives. But if they lived just down the road from us, would we think they were interesting at all?

I grew up in a small town in the middle of America, and sometimes when I travel to small towns in other places that feel exotic to me, I catch myself thinking, “This is a great place. I wonder if I could live here?” And then I wonder if the people who live there think their little town is as amazing as I do, or if they wish their town had a movie theater or more things going on, like I did when I was growing up. Maybe both.

—

Hilary and I walked our bikes into downtown Svolvær, Norway, in the late evening, looking for a spot to sit down and eat “lunch” out of our panniers before riding another 15 miles to the village of Henningsvaer. Svolvaær, population 4,700, is a small town similar in size to my 3,000-person hometown, but is surrounded on one side by 2,000-foot rocky peaks dropping straight into the ocean, and on the other by the open waters of the oceanic seas of the Vestfjorden, separating Norway’s Lofoten archipelago from the mainland by a 2-hour ferry ride. Around 200,000 visitors pass through the town each year, including Hilary and me, on day five of our bike tour, having pedaled just over 180 miles in between three boat rides between islands.

We chatted briefly with Ulke, a man we met, about where we’d camp for the night, as he was also looking for a spot. He was hitchhiking his way through Lofoten on his way to Svalbard, having left Turkey, almost 3,000 miles away, a month and a half ago. He mentioned a place near town, and we said we’d planned to ride a bit more south and then find a spot. As he walked off, I was a bit in awe of his adventure, and smiled that we had crossed paths with him on our own—much smaller-scale—trip, just 300 miles across eight islands. I mean, Ulke’s trip was not a vacation—that was a journey. The type of thing you quit your job to do, move out of your house, maybe never come back.

As we rolled our bikes up to a picnic table, a Norweigian couple asked us where we were headed on our bikes, and where we were from. I said we were from the U.S., and the woman replied, “Kardashians, that is all we know about the United States,” and we all laughed. I commented how beautiful Svolvær was, and she said she had grown up there but had been living in Oslo for almost 40 years. We chatted a bit more, then sat down to eat, and then pedaled south.

The sun hung low in the sky as we wound our way down the E10, and then on a smaller road toward the village of Henningsvaer, where we’d spend the night. We hadn’t been in much of a hurry most of the trip, because it was June, during the midnight sun—at this latitude, eight degrees above the Arctic Circle, the sun doesn’t set between May 25th and July 19th. We had no real reason to stick to a schedule, aside from riding through towns when grocery stores were open. We hadn’t been to bed before midnight since the trip started, and on Day 2, we’d slept off our jetlag from 12:40 a.m. until 1:40 p.m. On Day 3, as we sat and ate lunch at a table outside a convenience store in a small town, I commented on how quiet the little town was, then laughed as I looked at my watch to notice it was almost 10 p.m.

If you catch a few days of sunny weather during this part of the year, the result is the longest “Golden Hour” you might ever see, unless of course you live here, or Alaska, or somewhere else in the high northern latitudes. You look at the horizon and your brain thinks it’s seeing a sunset, and the deep amber and orange light just stays that way … for hours. Normally, if I saw a lovely sunset while camping, I’d rush to grab my camera or my phone and snap a photo of it. That evening while I was cooking dinner near Henningsvær and looked over the calm water to the glowing rocky peak of Sørfjellet, and had that same pang of urgency, but then remembered, no hurry—just take a photo in the next hour or so.

We had planned out our trip to give us plenty of time to hang out, shoot photos, explore a little bit, drink coffee in cafes, and in general not be in a hurry. Three hundred miles over ten days equaled thirty miles per day. I had found someone’s route starting in Tromsø and ending in the village of Å, and it looked perfect. Fly into Tromsø, rent touring bikes, ride to Å, jump on the ferry to Bodø, fly back to Tromsø, and then head home. If you mention Norway in a traveling context, the first thing people will usually say is, “Isn’t it expensive there?” And yes, it is, but in a country where you can camp anywhere because of something called “allemannsretten,” which means “all man’s right,” any place you like can be a campsite, as long as it’s 150 meters from the nearest building. So it’s kind of a dirtbag touring cyclist’s dream.

Many of the islands are connected by bridges or tunnels, but those that aren’t require a ferry to get across. Our second ferry of the trip, from Gryllefjord to Andenes, took us across open sea, and was the first time I’d ever seen motion sickness bags hanging on the walls. We strapped our bikes to a wall in the vehicle hold downstairs, then sat at a booth in the bistro and watched chairs slide back and forth across the deck and people stagger back and forth from the snack bar as the ship pitched and rolled. I ate a waffle and drank a cup of coffee, and then put my head down on the table and passed out for a half an hour—the jet lag was finally catching up with me.

On the ferry, almost everyone was local, heading down and getting into their cars when the ferry docked at 8:45 p.m., and we headed down to find our bikes and wait our turn. When all the cars had driven off the boat onto shore, we pedaled out, a little surprised to note that eight other touring cyclists had been on the ferry. The door had opened facing almost due west, and as we rode out to see the cluster of buildings of the town of Andenes and the jagged peaks behind it, the sun washed everything a golden orange. We rolled off the boat and onto land, pedaling on a narrow asphalt road into town, the whole thing feeling like we were at the edge of the world. Of course, to most of the people on the ferry, it was just part of another day of getting back and forth between home and work, or home and some errands. Our adventure, someone else’s commute. We ended up camping about 100 feet off the road south of town that night, cliffs dropping down to the Norwegian Sea on the other side of the road, and a moose strolled through our campsite as we cooked dinner at 11 p.m., the golden hour still hanging on.

There’s a quote from Andy Warhol’s book America that I think about a lot when I think about living somewhere else, or being somewhere else:

“Everybody has their own America, and then they have pieces of a fantasy America that they think is out there but they can’t see…So the fantasy corners of America…you’ve pieced them together from scenes in movies and music and lines from books. And you live in your dream America that you’ve custom-made from art and schmaltz and emotions just as much as you live in your real one.”

That passage can have many different meanings depending on when you read it, and Warhol’s 1980s America is of course far different than the one we live in now. But when I first read it, what struck me was the idea that I could only live one place at a time—no matter how much I fantasized about other places and what it would be like to stay there for a month, or a year. And as I’ve made my way through the middle part of life, I started to understand that I was never going to live in, say, New York in my late 20s or early 30s. And I was probably never going to live in a lot of places, for that matter. But I could travel, and see places, and try to experience a little bit of them for a few hours or days, and know a little bit more about the world because I’d been there and talked to a few people, and navigated a city, and ordered coffee, and maybe haggled with a cab driver.

I don’t know why we travel; just that we’re lucky to be able to do it at all, if and when we can. I can’t say “I love New York,” or “I love the Lofoten Islands,” like the people who call those places home, and do so because they were born there or because they chose to move there. I don’t know exactly how to communicate my feeling for the places I’ve been, but it’s something like this: I’ve been there, count myself lucky to have gotten to experience it in a small way, and even though I’m not there right now, it makes me happy that it’s still out there happening right now, without me. I got to dip in, have the time of my life there, and dip back out, and life kept going on as it was before I arrived, probably changed not at all by my brief presence there.

Bike travel, I think, makes the world feel bigger, because its slower pace forces you to pay attention. A town that’s a half an hour away by car or bus can be half a day away via bicycle—both in our backyards as well as halfway around the world. Biking to the next town over wakes you up to things you’ve missed while flying by at 35 mph or 65 mph dozens of times, and the process of exploring your home territory can make the whole place feel bigger. Which is travel, too. But when we’re close to home we usually have our travel brain turned off, and we’re less open to discovery, and wonder. And maybe that’s why we feel bored with where we live, even though it’s probably more interesting than we give it credit for. I think part of what my friend was saying, when he was talking about us traveling the world to find people who stayed in one out-of-the-way place their whole lives, is that you don’t necessarily have to travel the world to be worldly.

If you timed it right, you could almost get through our entire 10-day, 300-mile Norway bike trip in a single day driving a car on the exact same route. But experiencing it at 11 mph over a week and a half means more images have stuck with me for years afterward:

Looking back at Hilary pedaling an all-but-deserted road in late evening, dodging not cars, but sheep, wearing Gore-tex mitts over her cycling gloves. Riding through a dark mountain tunnel under construction, water dripping everywhere, no lights inside, hoping no cars came through. Sitting at the top of Reinebringen, a steep hike to a peak, where the clouds parted for a few minutes so we could see mountain-ringed inlet and the town 2,000 feet below. Lying in the tent scratching the dozens of welts on my legs from some sort of insects that bit me while I was cooking dinner and Hilary asked, “Do you want to put on some pants?” to which I replied, “Nah, I think they’re just gnats or something.” Trying to sleep on the popular Kvalvika beach after watching the sun “set” sideways at midnight, only to be awoken by the dozens of sheep bleating through the night as they grazed around us, keeping the grass as trimmed as a golf course green. Jumping into the freezing surf for four seconds just so we could say we swam in the Arctic Ocean, and then wondering if it was technically just the Norwegian Sea, or if the Norwegian Sea was considered part of the Arctic Ocean. Looking to the west and remembering that over the next ridge, there was nothing but open ocean for 1500 miles to Greenland. A man dropping a 100-Norwegian Krone bill out the window of a pizza restaurant in Bodø to a street musician who had just packed up his steel drums to leave for the night after playing for a couple hours on the plaza below.

On our third-to last day, we stopped at a small tourist shop in Ramberg for coffee and waffles, and chatted with the man tending the register, Henrik, who had been born in the house across the street in 1943 when it was full of German troops during World War II. His mother had fed some of the 500 Russian prisoners in the town, and had been taken away by the Gestapo, and was supposed to be sent to Auschwitz, but was not. Henrik had become a driftwood artist, and his eyesight had been fading the past few years. He came out of the shop and sat at our table to talk for a few minutes in the sun before we headed on our way again.

We bought a small glass fishing float from the shop and packed it in our panniers, hoping it would survive the next few days of our ride so we could take it home. When I see it on our bookshelf next to some other knick knacks, the float always reminds me of being halfway around the world, talking to a guy who had seen a lot in his 72 years, but could still point across the street to the house where he was born.

Thanks for reading. These posts are able to continue thanks to the handful of wonderful people who back Semi-Rad on Patreon for as little as $1 a month. If you’d like to join them, click here for more info—you’ll also get access to the Patreon-only posts I write, as well as discounts to my shop and other free stuff.

—Brendan

The post Island Hopping In The Midnight Sun appeared first on semi-rad.com.

[rawcatlawnchair]

Chapter 11 - Ruzuli

Ruzuli thought she knew how to fight. Fights were simple, it was just you and the opponent. You hit and they blocked. You struck and they evaded. The simple back-and-forth nature of it all had always appealed to her, and her natural talent for fighting only further pushed her interest. But she wasn’t in the middle of a fight.

This was carnage, this was chaos, and she had no clue where to start. A fight had a simple win condition, a singular goal to work towards. In a fight, one could be totally focused on defeating one’s opponent. Looking around her, she had a seemingly uncountable number of enemies, and far too few allies to help her in the fight.

Okay, let's take this one slowly, she thought. First rule, first rule. When Master Roko had first taught her how to fight, she had been utterly shocked when he told her the first rule was not, in fact, to hit it very hard. The first rule is to check your surroundings. And so she did.

Behind them was a gaping hole, the explosives having dug a massive chunk out of the bridge. Ahead of them, further down the bridge, was another hole of a similar size. All ten caravan cars were now trapped on a flimsy road of wood, with neither a way forward nor back.  And all around her, the air was peppered with cries of confusion and terror. Not to mention the monstrous ships quickly approaching the bridge.

The boats were immense, with countless sails and even more goblins hanging from their riggings. The twin boats sailed side by side, with only minutes to spare before they reached the bridge. Front mounted cannons were already firing at the bridge, albeit with many of their shots coming up short. Soon, however, those shots would find their mark.

All the while, a bell furiously rang, emanating from the center of their column, a clear call for aid. Ruzuli could spy an elf courier running from car to car, whispering some words to the rangers before moving off. One by one, groups of passengers began to gather their things and run to the middle of the bridge, seeking safety.

Ruzuli turned to face Jirei. “Any ideas?”

“Get these civilians out of here. RANGER!”

The ranger still sat at his seat, holding the reins of his horse. “Yes?”

“We need you to help with the evacuation. How many can you fit on your horse?”

“Two, maybe three.”

Ruzuli looked at the incoming boats. Even from a fair distance, she could hear the faint murmur of war cries and screaming from the goblin horde that was about to flood over them. They didn't have enough time to get everyone out in time.

Finally, the elf courier arrived to convey commands. “Feng wants all the civilians in the middle. We've made a makeshift defence there.”

Ruzuli didn't like the idea of caging themselves up and waiting for their enemies to come to them, but she had to agree this time. Already the civilians were fleeing for safety, having abandoned their personal belongings. Their party had no choice but to follow. As they moved off from their position, the ship nearest to them began to sail into the bridge. Ruzuli instinctively turned back to watch, and quickly wished she had not.

Using a tactic that only a goblin could have come up with, they used the already weakened bridge as a makeshift port, ramming their ship neatly into the hole they had blown up, completely blocking off any chance they had at escape. Even from hundreds of meters away, the triumphant roar of the goblins could be heard, shortly followed by the percussive roar of cannons, slamming into the bridge and spraying splinters into the air. Their attack was less of a tactical move and more of a way to flex their muscle, to show off the vast might of the goblins. A huge wave of goblins vaulted off the deck, landing on the bridge, and began to advance towards the now-abandoned caravan trains.

Ruzuli turned to face her destination, and ran quicker than ever.

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

When the party reached the center of the bridge, Feng and his men had already set up a miniature fortification. Four cars had been corralled into makeshift walls, lying perpendicular to the bridge. Stacks of crates filled up the space between the cars, acting as deterrents to their goblin assailants. From their cargo, they had even managed to salvage weapons, armour and even some wooden barricades with sharpened edges. When they spotted the arrival of the last of the travellers, they hastily pulled a barricade to the side to allow their passage in. Ruzuli looked around, and picked out a furious Feng from within the crowd. Next to him stood another elf, dressed in the kingdom’s colours, with a white and green patterned shirt and a red symbol on the back. Unlike Feng, this one gave off a dignified air, and seemed to be in control of the situation. As they entered, he was in the midst of addressing a group of guards and civilians.

“...and under these emergency conditions, I am field promoting Feng to a Captain of the Elven Army.”

Feng stepped forth, a look of worry present on his face for the first time. “You heard Councillor Shi-an. Civilians, hide behind the cover wherever you can. Guards, keep watch for the incoming enemies. Attack on sight, and for those with guns, shoot to kill. We don't have the luxury of mercy out here.” Ruzuli didn't quite know what a gun was, but from the word 'shoot’ she assumed it was something akin to a crossbow.

Turning to face Ruzuli and her allies, he spoke once more. “As for our special guests, you’re going to be fighting by our side.”

“And what if I say no?” Ruzuli barely tolerated Feng, let alone wanted to take orders from him.

“Then we add four travelers to our casualties when we make it out of this mess,” Feng replied coldly. “I don't have time for rebellious underlings.” The two stared at each other briefly, before the air cracked with a cry.

“Fog rolling in, sir!” An elf mounted on top of a crate cried out a warning, and Ruzuli leapt up alongside him to see an unnatural wall of mist slowly approach their small fortress from all directions. It was accompanied by the telltale rumbling of the ground, a steady march that surged into a frenetic, uneven dash from both sides of the bridge. The rumble grew louder and louder, and it would be only seconds before the goblins would be on them.

“Look alive!” Feng cried, grabbing a polearm and standing at the vanguard of the defence. “Or you won't be alive for long.”

The fog rolled to the very edge of their fortress. And from the fog burst a red wave of goblins.

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

The worst part of large scale battle wasn't the fighting, Ruzuli noted. It was the noise. The screaming, the roars, the low booms of cannons in the distance and the piercing cracks of something else entirely. The dying, guttural cries of a goblin as a sword sliced his neck open, the screams as a goblin clubbed a guard’s head in, the sickening clash of metal scraping and slicing about. The defenders numbered just over twenty, and already their defences were being strained. With assailants from both sides, the defence was a constant scramble to keep up with the pace of the seemingly endless waves of goblins. Ruzuli stood abreast with three elves as they blasted back the goblins trying to scale the small mountain of crates they had formed, with the elves firing crossbow bolts alongside her own lightning.

Without warning, the charging goblins surged, pushing in faster than they could blast them back, and Ruzuli was forced to unsheath Kite and begin to hack away at the poorly armoured goblins. Kite was by no means a powerful weapon, designed more for quick strikes than for cleaving through opponents. Yet it slashed through poorly-forged copper armour as if it was paper, allowing her to smash the red horde back. A short distance away, a poor guard had a goblin stuck to his head, as the goblin mauled away at his head. Ruzuli gathered up energy and fired a force bolt in its direction, knocking the goblin away and impaling it on a wooden spike on a barricade. But her lapse in focus meant the goblins got ever closer, and now they were beginning to flood over the crest of the crates.

Ruzuli’s actions blurred into a constant stream of attacks. Parry, strike, duck, strike. A goblin had managed to make its way on top of one of the cars, and she shot a weak lightning bolt, briefly stunning it. Before she could move over to finish it off, a spear shot out from her right and embedded itself neatly into the goblin’s neck. Not waiting for it to bleed out, Feng dashed forward and leapt up, landing on the roof and snatching the weapon up, before going back into the fray.

Eventually, the enemy numbers began to thin. The poorly trained and equipped goblins had failed to overwhelm their defences with sheer numbers, and the tide turned against them. Ruzuli spied Trixi grabbing a stone club, then using his magic to blast it like a cannonball, slamming a goblin off the edge of the bridge to a watery grave. Over to her right, Octavia was cleaning up the last of them, taking on three goblins alone. She nimbly dodged a pike thrust at her, then grabbed it and broke it over her knee as if it were a twig, snapping it into two. She grabbed one of its splinters and bashed it into the startled goblin’s head, before dropping the splinter and smashing his head into the side of the caravan. He collided with a satisfying thwuck and slid down the wall, limp. The other two quickly fled, running for the safety of their ships.

“Is that the last of them?” Octavia asked.

Right on cue, a solitary goblin showed himself from atop a crate, and made a running leap at Feng, dagger outstretched and ready to stab him. And right before Ruzuli’s very own eyes, the goblin’s head exploded, bursting into a large pile of gore and a small pile of brains, accompanied by a thunderous crack. When she looked around for its source, she only found a dwarf with a cane in one hand, and one of those wooden weapons in the other. The dwarf presumably swore, and sat back down on a crate, cane in his lap, and completely uncaring about the goblin corpses surrounding him. It had been a slaughter for the goblins, but it had worn out the defenders. Ruzuli wasn't sure if they could survive another attack, much less several more.

“That’s a gun,” Trixi whispered as loud as possible. “Imagine a cannon, but it fits in your hand.”

“Impressive,” noted Ruzuli.

“Terrifying,” said Jirei, shaking her head. While none of the elf guards had fallen in battle yet, many of them were nursing injuries that ranged from small scratches to open wounds. Without a healer, many would fall in the coming skirmishes. Feng was already motioning to his men, trying to get them back in order.

“Move the injured over there, by the fresh water. You, druid, attend to them.” Feng waved Jirei away, turning to face the unimpaired survivors. “Right now, if we sit here and stand our ground we will die where we stand. We survived their first attack, but knowing goblin scum it won't be the last. I'm proposing we make a pre-emptive attack on the eastern ship and clear a path for a ranger to ride through and get help. There's a decently-sized guard outpost a twenty minute ride away, and with some luck, they'll help break us out of this siege.”

He called out a string of names and five elves lined up in front of him, ready for battle. They had fared better than most of their comrades, making it out of their first skirmish with little more than a few bruises and cuts. He inspected them one by one, then nodded. In a surprising turn of events, he called for the dragonling and the human.

“You two, you'll be fighting alongside these elf guards. You're our distraction for the rangers to get through, so buy as much time as you can.” Octavia grimly nodded, but Ruzuli would not take such orders so easily.

“So we're the sacrificial lambs, are we?”

“You catch on quick.” Feng nonchalantly answered. “Although you might survive, if you're good enough.”

“I’m not dying for your cause.”

“You’re right. You're not.” Feng paused, appearing to think for a second, tilting his head to the side. “You’re going to fight to the bitter end, not because some idiot elf told you to, but because people are relying on you to. The civilians outnumber the fighters here four to one, and as the strong we have a right to protect the weak. This isn't my cause. It's theirs.”

Feng pointed to the civilians crowded around their small base. The dwarf with the cane. The young guard, holding back cries of pain as Jirei attended to his wounds. The worried merchant, clutching a pendant, desperate to see his family once more. The uneasy fighter amongst the ones that Feng had chosen, who wasn't quite ready to leave this world just yet.

Feng looked back at Ruzuli, looking her in the eye for the first time since they had met on that road on the plains. “Will you fight?”

In that moment, they shared a connection, an understanding of warriors. The knowledge that their duty went beyond themselves. And Ruzuli nodded.

“I will do what I must.”

Their small advance party readied up however they could. Each one of the elf guards going with them carried a gun for an emergency, and two rangers with horses would be accompanying them. Octavia had already shifted into her focused mindset, and her face betrayed no emotion. Ruzuli could only try to match her expression.

At last they were ready. And without turning back, nine souls strode into the unfamiliar fog.

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

Ruzuli had never been so thankful that goblins were completely unfamiliar with the concept of stealth. Against any other opponent, pushing straight into their lines like this would be suicide. Yet the telltale noises of goblins gave away the positions of enemies long before they came into view. Octavia’s light orb hovered above them, giving them an ever-so-slight advantage in the fog. It shone a few metres out, letting them see more without giving their position away.

Walking through the abandoned bridge made Ruzuli feel uneasy. Looking at the things people had abandoned, carts left in the middle of the road, and wreckage all over the place, these things simply did not feel right. In the distance, she could make out the faint silhouette of the ship, with its immense masts and sails showing through the fog.

Ruzuli noticed one of the guard's ears twitch, and he held up a hand, halting their progress. Octavia extinguished her orb; the small advantage they gained from sight was incomparable to the position they could be giving away. With elves and their superior sense of hearing, they could hear the threats before they could be seen.

“I hear...eating?” The guard who had warned them sounded confused but he unsheathed his blade and brought his shield up nonetheless. Underestimating an opponent was usually a death sentence. The rangers remained at the rear while the seven fighters moved forward as stealthily as possible, in a V-formation with Ruzuli and Octavia at the very edges of both ends. Every step was taken carefully, and they progressed in near silence.

As they approached an upended carriage, it was suddenly clear what the goblins were doing. With various foodstuffs laying all over the floor, and raucous gnashing noises from just beyond the veil of fog, it was obvious that a group of goblins were helping themselves to the food. While she was unsure if the feast was for five or fifty, every dead goblin was one less foe in between them and freedom. At the count of three, they charged forth and sprung their surprise.

Ruzuli didn't have time to count how many goblins they were facing. With their tactical edge, they never stood a chance. She had hacked through two goblins before one even picked up a comically oversized mace to face her. She sliced at its handle, breaking the weapon in two, leaving the goblin dumbfounded, before using a force bolt to slam it backwards into another hapless foe behind it. Beside her, an elf guard dashed forth to finish the duo off. A quick stab sealed their fates and Ruzuli went off to find another foe. She heard the horses begin to charge through the fog, trampling all over the hapless goblins.

While moving about the fog, trying to find another goblin to take down, one particular one stood out to her. Unlike the drab brown and grey armour that the average goblin wore, this one wore a light teal robe and a ridiculous pointed hat. It held its hands up to the sky, as if it was casting a spell. Perhaps it actually was.

She dashed closer and with a leap, fired a lightning bolt, which instantly caused the goblin to pay attention to her and dodge backwards. She drew a stream of water from the air and coiled it around her arm, poised and ready to attack.

“Impressive!” It cried, in a voice higher than most goblins. “But it'll take far more than that to slay Pawa, the Mistress of the Rains, the Bringer of Storms, the-”

“Shut up,” Ruzuli growled. After all the annoyance the fog had brought them, she was definitely not in the mood for some hydromancer’s monologue. Kite was already in motion, a wide swing aimed straight for her throat.

In one deft motion, Pawa used the tendril of water to shove herself aside, before summoning two more to bind Ruzuli’s hands together, knocking Kite aside and cackling maniacally in the process. Ruzuli tugged at the watery handcuffs and found that they were surprisingly strong. Even she was unable to snap free from them easily.

“Another victim, another victory for the great mage Pawa!” Despite the fact that her allies were being slaughtered around her, Pawa seemed to be extremely proud that she had managed to ‘disarm’ Ruzuli.

Before Pawa could break into another villainous rant, Ruzuli decided to end the fight there and then. Sending sparks into her fists, the shocks travelled through the water tendrils, sending jolts directly into Pawa’s hands. With her concentration broken, the water evaporated into air, Pawa’s knees buckled and the fog around them dissipated. For the first time, Ruzuli could truly see the carnage they had wreaked. She counted over fifty goblin corpses, at the hands of a mere nine people. And here she was, about to add one more to the casualty count.

She shot one more blast of lightning at the downed hydromancer. She made a series of pained noises, before rolling onto her back. She might have been defeated easily, but even in defeat she had to have the last word.

“I, Pawa, may have fallen, but you shall never defeat Captain Zazelle. Even my mighty power is a mere flicker in the shadow of her inferno.”

Ruzuli snorted. Every word that had come out from this goblins mouth had been nothing but hyperbole. A clean swipe with Kite slashed the female goblins throat open, and her breathing stopped without so much as a sound.

With this opponent felled, Ruzuli rose and took in the sights of their next obstacle. The boat was a good few hundred meters away, but even at this distance it was imposing.imposing. Three great masts lined its center, with its sails billowing and catching the breeze with ease. If this ship had sailed into the harbour back in the Chalice, it would have rivalled even the largest ships. At the signal of an elf guard, they began to advance

Clearly, the captain of the ship had taken notice of their presence, for the goblins had laid out a large plank from the deck and had begun to descend in remarkably neat fashion. Lining up in rows and armed with a variety of weapons, they stood in formation, with a space in the center for someone to walk down.

What came down the walkway was the least goblin-like goblin Ruzuli had ever seen. Instead of drab grey platemail and blood-stained leather armour, it dressed in a brilliant orange sleeveless robe, complete with flowing silver strands of cloth that flapped about as she walked. She strode with an air that was half confidence, and half arrogance. Ruzuli couldn’t see any weapons on her, but she knew better than to underestimate her enemies. Any goblin that dressed that flashy definitely had a couple of tricks up their sleeve.

The sea of goblins parted to let their apparent leader through, allowing her to stand at the very forefront of her fighting force. All the elf guards had already readied their arms, prepared to strike at a moment’s notice. Octavia had powered up, and Ruzuli had brought out Kite. Yet she seemed nonchalant about the challengers before her, as if they were but flies to be swatted. Finally, she spread her arms open, and began to speak.

“I am Captain Zazelle, second amongst goblins only to the great Three Princes. I see you have dispatched two entire squadrons of our advance parties, and for that I must congratulate you. Not many survive one encounter with a full squadron of goblins, let alone two.” She paused for a moment, before slashing the air with her hand, materialising a flaming whip from thin air. The embers danced about on the construct as she cracked her whip and continued with a menacing smile on her face. “Third time’s the charm, wouldn’t you say?” And with her words, she began to advance, striding forward step by step, her army two paces behind her.

Ruzuli clenched her fangs, roared, and charged.

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

The plan was rapidly falling apart. Faced with a swarm of goblins, moving about on two feet was seemingly impossible, and the rangers did not fare much better. For every goblin they trampled over, two more took their place, harassing the horses as they went. At this rate, it would be impossible for anyone to call for help. Worse still, their commander, this Zazelle of theirs, had scarcely entered the fray, seeming content to allow her men to throw themselves onto the blades of the elven guards. Someone had to clear the way.

She gathered up as much energy as she could, and unleashed her flames in a wide arc, blasting them in the general direction of the goblins near the boat. While her control left much to be desired, her power was unmatched. The wave of fire immediately scattered the smarter goblins, and the rest quickly found themselves on the receiving end of searing pain, the fire quickly engulfing both them and the bridge under their feet.

“GO!” Ruzuli shouted with all her might, and the rangers made a break for the wooden walkway, gracious for the diversion. With significantly less opposition, their steeds stormed up the planks, knocking aside the helpless goblins. As they reached the deck, and subsequently disappeared from sight, Ruzuli breathed a silent sigh of relief. Aid would come in time. Now all she had to do was survive.

The elf guards had realised this, and one of them produced a horn and blew, signalling a retreat. As Ruzuli was about to turn and flee, a sudden snap sound burst through the air, and Ruzuli suddenly found herself on her back, having been tripped by something. Next to her, Octavia had met the same fate. She leaned up while prone, only to see Zazelle just metres away, and closing the distance. Without hesitation, she got back onto her feet and brought out her blade, only to quickly realise the quagmire they had gotten into. While the elves were fleeing for their lives in the distance, the goblins had completely encircled them, forming a large circle, almost as if they were to fight for their entertainment. As she watched Zazelle walk towards them in an almost lazy manner, it dawned on her that she was probably right.

“Two elves got away by horse. Five more ran on foot.” Zazelle spoke with a certain drawl, as if she was already bored by her two opponents. “My men get to kill all the elves they want. But you two aren’t from these parts, are you? I want you two for myself.”

“Observant.” Ruzuli couldn’t help but fire back a snarky remark, even if she was about to fight an opponent who was almost definitely stronger than her.

“And that I am. The dragonling has terrible control over her power, preferring to simply blast away until everything is ash. And as for the human, you’ve got so many blind spots you should have been born a bat. Essence is powerful, but all magic has its limits.”

The talking was clearly meant to put the two on edge, and the subtle taunts were getting to them. Already, Octavia was shuffling closer, aiming to close the gap between them and end the fight with a single blow. Ruzuli felt this immense urge to just shoot lightning at the goblin, although a small part of her brain told her that her plan would almost certainly backfire.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Zazelle said, crouching with her whip hand extended behind her. The smile of menace had turned into one of malice, now fully enthralled by the impending violence.“It’s only right for the guests to go first.”

Ruzuli flashed a brief look at Octavia, and with a wordless nod, both charged with blade and fist respectively, ready for anything the goblin could throw at them. Seemingly anything.

In a motion so fast Ruzuli could barely picture it, Zazelle used her free hand to conjure up a force bolt and shot herself upward, causing the both of them to stop and glance upwards, only to see the whip flash downwards and bring forth a wave of flame. Octavia had her essence barriers up, but Ruzuli brunt the full force of the attack. It quickly ignited her jacket, and she hastily attempted to put it out by absorbing the energy of the flame, much to the amusement of the goblins crowding around her. Ruzuli had known that the goblin mage was stronger than them just from the way she acted, but only now was it apparent the sheer gap in their skills.

Zazelle was already back on the offense, having already landed and making her way towards her. Ruzuli rose to her feet, anticipating the next attack. By the time the whip broke the air, her blade was up and ready to block, but it was in vain. The speed of a whip was too much for eyes to follow, and her sword met thin air, Zazelle’s attacks easily striking her. Time after time the flaming whip struck at her, leaving countless scars on her cloth armour.

Despite having a numerical advantage, Octavia was struggling to find a good opening to get a hit in. With her relatively slow essence blasts being easily dodged, she was forced to close the gap, only to be met with strong opposition. Time after time she pushed through the flames to get a hit in, and time after time she was repelled. Her barriers were strong, but under the heavy punishment the shields that protected her bare skin began to crack.

Ruzuli ached from the fight. Simply staying alive was pushing her to her limits, yet for Zazelle she seemed completely at ease. Neither she nor Octavia had managed to land a significant hit, and the injuries were starting to stack up. Eventually, the stinging sensation in her chest bit away at her, and in desperation, she put everything she had into a solitary lightning bolt, erupting from her fingertip.

The lightning, yellow and furious, closed the distance in an instant. With the essence she had put into it, it should have fried her at best, and incapacitated her at worst. Instead, Zazelle fired off one of her own, causing the twin bolts to collide and redirect, zapping a hapless goblin by the side and instantly causing it to explode. To Ruzuli’s surprise, his demise was met with cheers rather than sadness. Evidently, his grisly death was more amusing than the loss of a comrade.

Zap! Her lapse of attention meant she failed to notice Zazelle charging up another bolt, and now it arced through the air, headed straight for her. Time seemed to slow down as she saw a flash of white from her right, leaping through the air to intervene. The lighting bolt struck Octavia square in the chest, shattering the remnants of her barrier. The blast staggered her, but she landed on her feet, and without hesitation broke into a run for the goblin.

As expected, the whip flew out once more to stop her push, but without breaking a stride, she managed to grab onto the whip as it slashed through the air, and yanked on it, causing Zazelle to lose her balance and fall forwards. In one smooth motion, Octavia did a sideways flip with her full running momentum. While upside down, she angled herself such that the flailing goblin was behind her, brought her fists up to her chest, then struck over her head with an essence-powered strike, sending the goblin tumbling into the boundary of their arena.

For a moment, Ruzuli was awestruck by Octavia’s incredible maneuver. But they had no time to lose. Clearing the path with a quick series of sloppy lightning bolts to send the goblins in their way scrambling, Ruzuli and Octavia fled for the safety of the center of the bridge, not looking back to see if goblins had pursued them or not.

They had made half the distance back when an elf spotted them returning in the distance. As she gazed at their fortress, an assortment of heads poked out from cover, including what appeared to be their teammates, as they awaited their return. They were on the home stretch. They were making it out alive.

That optimism lasted but a fraction of a second. She felt something warm wrap around her leg, and before she could even look down, it yanked at her, dragging her down the bridge in an incredibly uncomfortable manner, bumping and turning as she went. Finally, she came to a standstill at the feet of a livid Zazelle, having transformed her whip into a lasso. Without mercy, she stomped down onto her chest, sending her retching for air.

“RUZULI!” By now, Octavia had realised the fate of her teammate, and had turned back for her. Before Ruzuli could even attempt a warning, the lasso had gone back for her once more, this time going for her eyes. Being unable to evade it, Octavia was ensnared, and Zazelle reeled in her prey, igniting the lasso all the while and filling the air with agonized screams.

“Did you think you could humiliate ME? IN FRONT OF MY MEN?” Zazelle had one boot firmly holding down Ruzuli, while Octavia remained trapped and burning beneath the flaming lasso. “I was going to be content with just your deaths, but it looks like much harsher treatment is in order.”

In the distance, Ruzuli saw two figures sprinting towards her, one tall and one short. She already knew who had come to their rescue, but she was uncertain of their success. Jirei and Trixi were fine fighters in their own right, but against Zazelle they would scarcely stand a chance.

“More victims?” Zazelle said with a sneer. She removed the lasso and the boot, leaving the two incapacitated on the floor as they struggled to recover. “If they insist.” Ruzuli was left gasping for air, the pain in her chest intensifying. Sharp pangs pierced her, and she felt like she could use a nice long nap right about now.

In the distance, she saw Jirei get down on both knees, with one hand flat on the ground. The very bridge itself seemed to glow a brown, earthy green, emanating with power flowing from the druid.

“CHARGE!” The order came to no one's surprise, and the goblins raced to claim a free kill, paying no heed to the downed fighters.

This was bad. This was really bad. This was-

CRASH! Ruzuli, already straining to stay conscious, looked at the water beside the bridge. Wading towards the bridge was a colossal monstrosity made of seaweed. Every fibre in the creature was made of the plant, and this seemed to amuse the goblins, as they began to fling spears at it, which it did not seem to mind.

It was only amusing until it swiped downwards, taking a huge chunk out of the bridge, along with twenty goblins. The bridge turned to chaos as half the army attempted to scale it to take it down, and the other half fled for the boat, causing chaos in the ranks. Even a seasoned veteran such as Zazelle would find it hard to keep her army under control under such bizarre circumstances.

With the last of her energy, Ruzuli turned to look at Octavia. If she had the strength to fight, she was not showing it, with a deep scar left by the lasso encircling her head at the eye level. She lay prone on the ground, invisible to the mayhem around her.

And at last Ruzuli's eyelids fell, mind devoid of any coherent thought.

Next Chapter ｜Start from the beginning

[thetraveljedi]

TRIP REPORT: Budapest, Hungary

After a lovely day in Vienna, we continued down the Danube to our final stop of the cruise- Budapest, Hungary. As we cruised down the river through the night, we were treated to lovely views of Bratislava and the countryside of beautiful Slovakia. We arrived just as the sun rose over the hills of Buda, and had a prime docking location on the Pest side, right near the Chain Bridge.

Some background before I begin- Budapest wasn’t called Budapest originally. It started off as three separate cities- Buda and Obuda on the western side of the Danube, quieter and full of hills, and bustling Pest, an important Hungarian commercial center, on the east side of the river. Eventually the three combined in 1874 to become Budapest- though the government did consider calling the city Pestbuda before settling on the opposite. As a result, the city is sprawling and the sites of Budapest are quite scattered throughout. So due to my limited time in the city, I decided to book a private tour with a car so I could get to see as much as possible.

We started off with a short drive over one of the several crossings over the Danube, the famous Chain Bridge. The bridges over the Danube in Budapest were destroyed in World War II; only the towers of the Chain Bridge survived the destruction. Fortunately, the bridge was rebuilt and maintains much of historic glory thanks to the gorgeously restored towers.

Once on the Buda side from the Chain Bridge, we passed through the Buda Castle tunnel, seeing the remains of Buda Castle, once the home to the royals of Hungary. The castle was heavily damaged during World World II, and is now home to the Hungarian National Gallery and History museum. Once through the tunnel, we continued up one of Buda’s most notorious hills, Gellért Hill.

Gellért Hill is home to some of the more controversial pieces of Hungarian history. A huge stone Citadel looms around the hill, built by the Hapsburgs after the Hungarian Revolution in 1848. Hated by Hungarians due to its symbolism of the Hapsburgs long reign over Hungary, pieces of it were symbolically destroyed after it was handed over to the local government at the end of the 19th century. Standing on the very top of the hill is the Liberty Statue, erected after World War II during Soviet occupation to commemorate their victory in World War II and the end of the Nazi occupation of Hungary. It is one of only two Communist era statues that remain in the city of the hundreds that once stood on Budapest’s streets; most of them were removed and now form Memento Park, an open-air museum on the Pest side, including most of the several Soviet soldiers that used to surround the Statue of Liberty atop Gellért Hill. The Statue of Liberty is an impossible site to miss in the skyline of Buda, a reminder that despite a turbulent history of occupation, an independent Hungary has emerged from the rubble.

After that somber look into Hungary’s more recent history, we moved into the historic core of Budapest, called the Castle District. Home to several of Budapest’s most well known historic sites, such as Matthias Church and the Fisherman’s Bastion, walking through the Castle District truly feels like you’re stepping back into time. For lunch, I had to try one of my favorite dishes in its native land- goulash- and sampled some Hungarian wine. My guide told me winemaking in Hungary has just begun making a huge comeback in the wine industry, and since red wine is my favorite he suggested I try Egri Bikavér, aka “Bulls’ Blood,” a famous full-bodied red unique to Hungary. It was really delicious, so much so I made it a point to find some to bring back to the ship with me.

Following lunch, we hopped back over the Danube to Pest, starting with one of the most famous architectural sites of Hungary, the stunning neo-Gothic Hungarian Parliament Building. It’s so expansive you’ll feel tiny standing next to the sprawling building. Next to the Parliament is Kossuth Tér (Square), home to important government buildings and also the site of the Kossuth Tér Massacre, where in 1956 hundreds of demonstrators protesting the Soviet occupation of Hungary were gunned down by Soviet troops. There are still a lot of missing details about the incident, including how many people died; estimates generally believe the number to between 300-800, but some recent research indicates that number could be in the thousands. Many of them were kids and college students. An underground museum detailing the event lays under the memorial honoring the victims, and asks anyone with any additional information about massacre to report it officials to complete the missing pieces in this dark chapter of Hungarian history. Even more haunting are the bullet holes still visible in the government buildings that surround the square.

Next we drove through the bustling streets of Pest, down the major avenue Andrássy Út, which is *the* big shopping hub of Pest and is lined with gorgeous historic buildings, including the Hungarian National Opera House. At the end of the road is Heroes’ Square, a statue complex devoted to celebrating some major figures in Hungarian history, such as Stephen I, the first King of Hungary.

Heroes’ Square also marks the beginning of City Park, Budapest’s crown jewel of a park, which is home to several important sites, such as the Museum of Fine Arts, Palace of Art, and the Budapest Zoo. The Park and many of its buildings were constructed as part of a huge millennium celebration held in 1896 to commemorate 1000 years since the establishment of the Principality of Hungary, when the Magyars, the ancestors of Hungarians, first settled into their current spot in the Carpathian Basin. You’ll hear and see the number 96 all around Hungary because of its key spot in Hungarian history- the Parliament Building, for example, is 96 meters tall in commemoration. Just don’t remind Hungarians that the committee organized to determine the year of Hungarian settlement actually found that the Magyars arrived in 895, not 896; the committee was asked to add a year onto their findings because the city leaders knew all the construction necessary for the grand festivities wouldn’t be ready in time for 1895.

Another staple of City Park is the Széchenyi Baths. Hungary lays on top of a vast network of thermal hot springs, so much so that when the Romans first settled in Hungary they named the settlement Aquincum- “abundant waters.” You’ll find tons of thermal baths in Budapest, but the Széchenyi is one of the largest and most historic. It was packed with people enjoying the benefits of the warm mineral water. If I had more time, I definitely would’ve hopped in!

But I still had a few more sites left in Budapest I needed to make my way to. Next up, we headed over to the Jewish Quarter and the Dohány Street Synagogue. Before World War II, 5% of Hungary’s population and 25% of Budapest’s pre-war population was Jewish. But as anti-Semitism in Europe grew in the early 20th century, the Hungarian government began to enforce “Jewish laws,” and Budapest’s Jews were forced to live in a miniscule section of the city surrounding the synagogue. Hungary would go on to join the Axis, which gave Hungary some more freedom as to how to interpret Hitler’s “Final Solution” to exterminate Jews. Hungary opted to deport, inter, or send Jews to Hungarian military labor camps rather than engage in the genocide. This wasn’t enough for Hitler, though, and in 1944 he sent the Arrow Cross regime to Hungary to ensure his orders were carried out. The Jewish Quarter was turned into an even smaller walled ghetto, where Jews were forbidden to make any contact outside the walls. 600,000 Hungarian Jews died in the Holocaust. Today, only .5% of Hungarians are Jewish.

After World War II, the Synagogue and the surrounding neighborhood were left to decay, leaving the iconic synagogue and Jewish Quarter buildings in disarray. But as Communism finally left Hungary, renewed interest in restoring the temple helped bring the building back to its former glory, much thanks to the financial support of a famous Hungarian-American Jew, renowned cosmetics entrepreneur Esteé Lauder. Built in 1859, Dohány Synangouge is the largest synagogue in Europe and the second largest in the world, and is one of the most beautifully unique houses of worship I’ve ever had the privilege of laying eyes on during my travels.

My final stop in Budapest was the Great Market Hall, an absolutely enormous 3-floor market that has everything Hungarian you can imagine. The basement boasts the fish and pickle market, the ground floor has all produce, meat, wine, and other snacks, and on the top floor you’ll find tons of souvenir shops and a restaurant. It was built in 1897 and heavily damaged in World War II as its located right near Chain Bridge. It sat neglected during the Communist occupation, but was fully restored and reopened only in 1997. I got to sample some delicious cheeses and Hungarian wine, and learned all about the different kinds of Hungarian paprika there are- be careful for the spicy varieties if you do the same!

I still can’t believe I managed to squeeze all of those Budapest sites into a small period of time, but I definitely felt like there was still so much more left of the city to see. I returned to the Viking Vili having fallen in love with Budapest and eager to return so that I can experience more of the city. Of all the cities I visited on this trip, Budapest had one of the most unique histories and friendliest people I encountered.

And now we’ve reached the end of my Trip Report! It’s been so much fun reflecting and sharing this trip with all of you. I leave for my next trip in less than week, heading across the pond to London for a week and going to a longtime favorite footie/soccer team of mine, Arsenal. I can’t wait to share this trip with all of you too! But in the meantime, I’ll be switching up some of the articles to include more travel tips, destination guides, and special interest travel- foodie, sports, and history travelers should get excited for those!

[lizswyverns]

CYCLE SIXTY-FIVE

So I don’t normally do this, but this week’s TAZ episode drove me absolutely crazy and I actually had to write fanfic. For the first time in my adult life. I had to work out Lucretia’s character arc during Cycle Sixty-Five, and I hope you’ll enjoy. 

The world is ending. One lonely little nerd, camped out on a planet that doesn’t understand her, must discover the strength to hold off the apocalypse.

Day One

Her head was on fire. So was the hall.

“Davenport?” she whispered as she sat up. The hall was above her, somehow. The ship was sitting on its side. “Magnus? Merle?” If there’d been some kind of accident, they’d come to save her. “Lupe?” A beam of agony split her head as a metal beam creaked, ripped, and crashed loudly just around the corridor. If the mage was practicing her fire spells near Lucretia’s books, after she’d been told over and over . . .

But there was nothing. No response. Not even Lupe’s apology-minus-actual-apology little snorted laugh. She was alone, and her uniform—fresh, in her recorded state—was soaked with water

My cabin, she remembered. Davenport and Magnus had been arguing over their first stop, and she’d ducked back into her cabin to get away. She hated it when they argued. I went back to my cabin. There was an explosion. The water . . .

“Fisher!” she yelled, scrambling to her feet. Water was dripping from a long crack in the voidfish’s tank. The beast itself was nervously twisting its tentacles left and right, humming a fearful tune.

She shouted, kicking fallen books out of the stream’s path as she ran for her gear trunk. The duct tape was on the very bottom, beneath a dozen extra quills and a box of cartography tools. Silver tape tore in her teeth as she slapped sections over the leak. At last, the flow slowed, and the voidfish stilled.

“Stay right there,” she said, trying to sound authoritative. The voidfish didn’t seem reassured. “I’ll go get your buddy. Magnus will make this right. He’ll protect us.”

It made a nervous cooing sound.

“No, I’m not sure what calamari is,” she lied. “But don’t worry, I won’t let Taako anywhere near you.”

The fire had died down. The walls were steel—only the wooden supply crates had burned in the blast’s aftermath—and her shoes had enough grip that she could climb the listing hall. Dim sunlight was filtering through the ship. The hull had been breached somewhere. We were attacked! She should hear the mage twins shouting taunts as they returned fire, the pounding crack of the electric siege ballista Magnus had picked up eight cycles ago. All was still.

What will we do? she thought, trying to distract herself from the stillness. This was a bleak world they’d come to. There’d be no beach time, no painting. There’d been less and less of that in the past few cycles. It’ll probably take us months to repair this damage, and the Light of Creation . . . how could they hope to retrieve it in time if they spent all their year making repairs? Another damned plane. Another.

After so long, it felt like a punch in the gut. Would she spend another year tucked in her room, interviewing this world’s inhabitants, scrawling down another history only she would read? It was the only thing she could do. The only thing she was good for. The only weapon she had.

Merle, she thought, coughing as she climbed across the tipped bridge. The metal of the rail was still hot. Blisters sprung up where her fingers accidentally brushed it. Merle, where are you? She needed the old dwarf, his terrible jokes, his practically-negligent spellcraft, his deep well of faith in humanity and their mission. “Hello?” she called. “Anyone? Anyone?”

Her voice echoed off the vaulted metal ceiling. A terrible panic gripped her. It was like she was back in grade school all over again, walking into a cafeteria where people would laugh at her and pull on her bun, banished to a table on the far side of the room where her only friends were her books. Stay calm, Lucretia. You’re almost a hundred years old. You can handle this.

At last, she could peer through the hole the blast had left. Tracks led off into the distance. Heavy wheels had rutted an impromptu path. Close-set steps showed where a halfling had walked for a few meters—then, where he’d collapsed and been dragged.

She was alone.

Day Six

The town sat in a little divot between two hills. A collection of makeshift buildings cobbled together from old mining equipment and weathered scraps of wood. Children ran around a center square. It didn’t seem like enough children for a town this size.

Halfway down the ridge, she’d noticed the ashy air coating the back of her throat, and torn a strip from her uniform to make a makeshift mask. A few people passed her on the way. She’d thought everyone on this plane was human, that she wouldn’t stand out. But their backs were bowed, and when she tried to make eye contact, their eyes shied away from hers.

“Hello?” she called as she walked into the center square. Cracked tiles shifted underfoot. Grey-tinted weeds grew up between the broken hexagons. “Kids? What’s this town called? Where are your leaders?”

The pack of children scattered as she approached. One older boy, dressed in a ragged toga, met her eyes with a frown. “This town doesn’t have a name.”

What? She’d encountered all sorts of strange practices in her journey across the worlds, but this was unique. People named everything. “What’s your name, then?”

“Xavier. Are you with the Ministries? That doesn’t look like a Ministry uniform, but it’s too nice to be from here.”

Her dusty uniform was nothing special. How could this town be so poor? This world seemed to be a harsh place, but she’d seen those high walls and those great statues in the city they’d approached. There was enough wealth here to provide for all.

“I’m not from the Ministry,” she answered. “Did you see a ship—a falling star—crash down on that ridge over there? I come from another world. That ship brought me here.”

He cocked a grubby eyebrow. “We had a mayor, once, but the Ministry arrested her. Yuvra’s our leader now.”

“Take me to them.” She pulled a gold coin from her pocket and held it up, hoping that currency was recognized here. “It’s important. Your world’s in trouble.”

He gave her a look asking if that news had been meant to surprise him.

But the boy was good as his word, and he did respond to the promise of gold. Xavier led her through the twisting back alleys of the town, past buildings of corrugated metal and glue, past sleeping people huddled in piles on every corner. She couldn’t stop herself from staring at everything she saw, but one man glared at her from the top of a pile, and she felt absurdly ashamed.

“Here,” Xavier said as they approached a building from which off-key fiddle music echoed. “Be careful. The rebels can be dangerous people.”

Rebels? She swallowed as she passed him the coin. “I’ll be fine.” She had no part in the struggles of this world. None of them did. They’d faced hostile introductions on new worlds, but surely everything would have gone fine for her friends as soon as they dropped a Zone of Truth and made this . . . this Ministry . . . believe in their honesty.

The tavern was dark, cramped, and reeking of sweat and sour beer. Yuvra was easy to find. She sat atop a table, her blond-brown hair flying back in a frizzy cloud, a mug in her hand, a slashing scar cutting through the side of her face. A boisterous crowd surrounded her. “Excuse me,” Lucretia said. When no one responded, she bent her head and elbowed her way through the group.

“Who’re you?” bellowed Yuvra as she approached. Lucretia flinched at the sound. Be brave, she told herself. What would Magnus do?

In halting sentences, she explained her problem, ending in a quiet inquiry as to what had become of her friends.

“They’ll have been taken to the capital,” Yuvra said. “To face the Ministry of Justice. It’s illegal, crossing worlds.”

“Illegal? What’s the precedent? Does that happen often here?”

Yuvra laughed. It was a throaty, alarming sound, rather like the one Lupe made when she was plotting something. But this laugh concealed real danger. Not just someone replacing your shampoo with rainbow hair dye. “It’s against the laws of nature, isn’t it? Forget your friends. The Ministries are too powerful. They rule every last livable inch of this fucked-up world.”

And that’s exactly why they’re the perfect people to help us, she thought. “Thank you, ma’am. You’ve been very kind.”

Yuvra frowned. “If my words send you to the capital, then it would have been kinder of me to stab you here and now.”

Day Twenty-One

The panel clattered to the ground, narrowly missing her foot. She cursed, hopping sideways. The welding torch fell from her hands and sputtered out on the dusty ground.

It was hopeless. Three days had passed before she found the spares; another three before she mustered up the strength to drag them out into the sunlight. Welding them onto the hole was supposed to be the easy part. But she still hadn’t figured out a way to hold them in place while heating the right joints, and she had a terrible suspicion she was missing something.

“Almost got it!” one of the watchers called. Everyone in town had been coming up during the days to watch her struggle. They formed a tight-knit, ash-streaked crowd, seeking the amusement that must have been hard to find in the nameless town. She couldn’t tell if the words were meant as cruelty or genuine amusement.

Anyone, even Barry, might have had the courage to yell at them. To threaten to knock their heads together unless they helped. She was sure, from the old mining equipment in town, that someone among them knew how to weld. But the thought of standing in front of such a large group of people, telling them all to fuck off or pitch in, made her tremble.

Enough, she thought, angrily rubbing her eyes as she slunk back into the ship’s interior. Enough for today. Just enough. But collapsing on her bed didn’t make the whirling storm of concern fade from her mind. She lay there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling. Beside her, Fisher whirled and chirped a worried little song.

“He’ll be back soon,” she said. “Just gone out to find the Light, remember? He’ll be back soon, and then he’ll play ducks with you for a week straight.”

She wasn’t a natural liar, but the voidfish seemed to calm at that, sinking into a quiet, not-quite-sleep. It’s not that bad a lie. Not even a lie, really. They’re probably all halfway to the Light by now. She hadn’t seen it fall. I’ll fix the ship and fly to the capital. We’ll have a nice dinner with these Ministry folks and plan our next step from there. It’ll be fine.

She couldn’t close her eyes for hours.

Day Thirty-Three

She walked into town, a pack full of books and inkwells wearing her down. Her shoes were sturdy rubber; her eyes and nose were covered by a goggle-mask she’d found at the very bottom of Barry’s trunk. She could breathe a little easier now.

“You’ve given up on your ship?” Xavier said when she told him her plan. He was hanging out in the center square, like he always did. She’d come to realize kids in this town really had nowhere to go. Neither did the adults. Once, the Ministries had paid them to mine stone and iron, but those days were gone. It’s not me they were mocking up on the ridge. They just needed something, anything, to laugh at. To feel alive.

“My friends can fix the ship,” she said. “They’re amazing people.”

“You must be pretty amazing yourself, if you’re going to walk to the capital.”

“I hired a guide.” Speaking with the old woman hadn’t been so bad, when Lucretia had managed to corner her alone. The ancient insignia on her toga had told Lucretia she’d once belonged to some government body. Sure enough, the woman was a former soldier. More than willing to take her to the capital, for the right price. “Will you take care of the ship? I still have a friend there. Watch over it. It’s very important.”

Xavier looked skeptical. She sighed, and passed him a small bag of coins. “Very important,” she echoed.

Fear filled his eyes. “What if you don’t come back, ma’am?”

He was looking at her like how students looked at teachers. How she looked at Davenport. “Even if I don’t, my friends will.” Old doubts niggled at her. She pushed them aside. “They’re fighters. They always make it through just fine.”

Day Sixty-Three

“Stop crying,” Maret said. The old guard gave her a rough shove on the back, nearly knocking her sprawling across the asphalt road.

Lucretia pushed up her mask and wiped at her running eyes. “You don’t understand,” she whispered, staring at the ground. “Those books . . . they’re everything to me. I started them the moment I arrived on this world. One had the natural facts: flora, fauna, and geography. The other was all about your politics, about the people I met. They’re critical, if . . .” If your whole world dies. So I can hang on to a piece of a memory. Tell myself I’m doing something important with my stupidly long life.

“So some robbers took your books.” Maret laughed. “They took my purse, though at least they were stupid enough to forget to check my shoes. That’s a third of my money I’ve lost. A third fewer meals for my family. You don’t see me crying about it. What matters more, books or family?”

She should know. She should be able to think, but she couldn’t. Her heart was still pounding from shock. The robbers had pointed a sword at her throat, and she hadn’t inhaled once until they lowered their blades and rode away, laughing. A tiny scratch pricked at the base of her throat. It hurt like hell. Her frantic thoughts were sprinting in circles, unable to coalesce into anything worthwhile.

How many times had she seen Magnus rush into a fight, taking wound after gushing wound until he’d been completely overwhelmed? How many times had she seen Lupe blow herself up to stop an oncoming foe? How many times had Taako been left behind on a dying world to test some new spell against the Hunger? How many times had Merle given his life to parlay with their worst enemy?

She’d died before. Once, some strange yellow insect had infected her with a sweating, feverish poison. Once, a rope bridge had snapped as she’d crossed a canyon, dropping her thousands and thousands of meters into darkness. But she’d never embraced that risk. She’d never flung herself at an enemy to save her friends. She’d never truly tested her courage—and today, when a robber had put a sword at her throat, she’d utterly failed that test. She’d begged for mercy, and they’d robbed her and ridden away, laughing.

There’s mercy in thieves. There’s none in the Hunger. She’d always known that much, intellectually. But now she knew what it really meant.

I’m still not ready for this fight. Even after all these years. I can’t do this.

Day Eighty-Seven

“Be careful,” Maret said as they walked through one of the capital’s bustling markets. “There’s a thousand different customs, and a hundred thousand laws. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Keep your eyes down. If you have questions, ask me and only me. Anyone else could be a spy.”

“How do I get to the Ministry of Justice?” she asked.

“Commit a crime,” Maret said. “But you don’t want to go there.” She pointed up at the high white wall. The statues Lucretia had seen on arrival still towered over its boundaries. “That’s where they channel the forces of Providence. It’s dangerous magic. Cursed.”

It was exactly the sort of place they’d need to go to start their search. The others will be there. They will. They will.

The market was full of goods from all over this world, mostly practical pieces of metalwork and ash-colored crops, though a few sold fine cloth and one—notebooks! The shoppers were sedate, passing from stall to stall in organized lines. Guards in elaborate robes patrolled the rows, eyes flicking from person to person. Lucretia waited until one was only at arm’s length before she grabbed a small book from the edge of the stall and slid it up her sleeve.

The guard met her eyes. She braced herself, ready for the accusing shout. But he only turned and walked on.

“We’ll stay here, tonight,” Maret said, pointing up at a battered inn sign. “When the dawn comes, you can start asking after your friends. If they made it out of the Ministry, they might still be in town.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Lucretia replied. A bright flicker of defiance had come to life inside her. She’d stolen something. For a moment, she felt almost as daring as Lupe and Taako.

But I have my own plan this time, she thought. And it’ll get me to my friends faster than any questions you might ask.

Day Ninety

She’d been illustrating her new, stolen book when the guards crossed through the door below her window.

“Run!” Maret called from the steps. Lucretia closed her book, smudging the drawing she’d been making of a giant mushroom, and slipped the tiny volume up her sleeve. She didn’t want to risk losing this one, too.

Maret was roughly dragged into Lucretia’s room. Her hands had already been tied, and a bruise was rising around her eye. “Run, girl!” she shouted. The guard holding her rammed a fist into the side of her head.

“You’re here for me, officers?” She pulled on a smile, trying to look nice and unassuming.

One grabbed the front of her uniform, dragging her forward. His thumb wiped the dirt from the patch on her breast. “I.P.R.E. It’s her. The seventh. We’ve been looking for you. You’re required at the Ministry of Justice.”

They found me. The guard’s tone wasn’t kind, but what did that matter? They knew about her. About her friends. “I’ll come,” she said. “Just—ow!”

They bound her hands, dragging her and Maret roughly down the avenues towards the high white walls. Once or twice, Maret flung herself in the street and made them drag her. But a few meters later, she would always rise to her feet again, stumbling along.

No one seemed to look at the two women in chains. This must have been a common sight. Too common.

The guards led them through a gate, into a broad park lane full of statues and withering grass. Thousands of statues, all carved from weathered calcite, dull tan men, women, and children. Each face was unique, each body slightly different. The oldest were no more than eroded lumps, but as they approached the gate in the white wall, they grew newer and more distinct. Even the ragged edges of their clothing had been chiseled with impeccable care.

She’d never seen any art like it in all her many years. It would have impressed her, if it hadn’t made her shiver.

“The Walk of the Guilty,” Maret said, her voice wavering. “This is where they keep the ones convicted by Providence.”

“You build sculptures of convicted criminals?” Now there was an odd tradition. Especially since these weren’t typical sculptures at all, but portraits of agony. Hands were upcast in silent pleas. Faces wore tortured masks.

“Girl,” Maret laughed. There was no humor in the sound. “You’re looking at the bodies of the dead.”

Lucretia’s stomach twisted. Dead. All dead. How could it be so? A magic this dark . . . they’d had a million morbid conversations on the Starblaster, discussions of necromantic energy and human sacrifice, a thousand stabs in the dark as to what powered the Hunger and what made it grow. She’d never known anything like this was possible.

The white walls loomed above her head. A shudder rippled through them. One of the statues seemed to shake its head.

It felt like a needle had jabbed itself in her spine.

A whisper was growing. Travelling through the stone. There was magic in it, though she didn’t recognize the type. She didn’t know anything. Suddenly, she was afraid.

‘Betrayer,’ called a voice, and then a chorus of four. ‘Betrayer! Betrayer!’

Her eyes found the newest sculptures. Six figures in fresh lime, unworn by weather and time. Six beloved faces locked in dead, frozen stone.

Lucretia screamed.

So this was how the universe ended. Not with them all dying at the Hunger’s many hands. Not with the Skyblaster failing to make a crossing. Not with space and time convulsing to wipe them out. Their stories ended here. At the hands of a cruel power. Judged guilty by a world that wasn’t theirs at all.

No, whispered a tiny voice, bubbling up though the sticky, black morass of her thoughts. It’s not over. You’re still here. But what could she do? She was nothing. Had nothing.

Betrayer, the walls called. Oh, Betrayer. Necessary betrayer.

Lucretia reached out and grabbed Maret’s hand. Then, with a flick of her fingers, she did the little trick Davenport had spent a whole early cycle teaching her.

Her heart pounded, but she forced herself to smile. With her free hand, constrained a little by the chains, she reached up and plucked at the patch on her uniform. “So . . . does anyone know what I.P.R.E. stands for?” she asked.

“You tell us,” said the guard holding her chains, not even looking down from his horse. “That’s your outfit.”

“Actually, I just borrowed it from my girl.” She cocked her head in Maret’s direction, hoping that the old soldier was close enough to her height for them to believe it. The uniform had always been a little big on her. “We met last night, and . . . as one does. Stuff. You know.” Blood was rushing through her cheeks. Lupe could sell this. Not me. But Lupe was dead. Dead forever, unless Lucretia got away. “She’s from another planet. Pretty awesome, huh? She’s got a bunch of pictures from there. Look up her sleeve.”

The leading guards stopped and slid off their horses. Two more gathered around Maret. “Turn out your sleeves, prisoner.”

Maret’s eyes widened as Lucretia dropped her hand. She must have felt the fresh weight in her sleeve. “I . . . what? Lucretia, what are you doing?”

She’d travelled for weeks with the old soldier. Shared her fire, listened to her stories. At the sight of the panic in Maret’s wide grey eyes, Lucretia nearly broke. Nearly confessed it all. Her heart felt like it would leap out of her mouth. What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I—

“It’s her!” said a guard, plucking the book from Maret’s sleeve. They gathered in tight to look.

Lucretia let her chains fall slack. Then, in one smooth motion, she gripped the lead and pulled.

It tore free of the guard’s hands, snapping away so fast it tore at his skin. Someone screamed, and then she was running, running faster than ever before in her life. Into the maze of statues she fled, feet pounding, head spinning. Zigzag. Dodge. Evade. Some dexterity she didn’t know she had rose up inside her. She lunged behind a stone man just as an arrow split off his head. Dropped into a muddy stream just as a pistol ball struck the sandy bank.

Her feet sloshed through water. Someone was yelling. Maret was screaming.

I’m sorry, Lucretia thought. But she’d found a hole in the wall, and she couldn’t go back.

She flung herself into the sewer grate and let the water take her.

Day One-Hundred-Fifty-Seven

Every day for the last three months, she’d dreamed of—and dreaded—this moment. Now that it had come, it barely seemed to matter. She limped up the bare, deforested hill, her shoulders aching under the weight of her pack. She didn’t notice the orange glow until she crested the ridge.

“Lucretia!” Xavier called, waving excitedly. He, Yuvra, and the other rebels looked up from around the bonfire where they sat. Awed whispers rose into the air.

They didn’t expect me to return. But the ship was still there. Half-covered in old blankets and the litter of food wrappers, but present. The tight fist around her heart uncurled halfway. It’s not over. Not yet. She would have cried in relief, but she’d left all her tears on the road. With the dust digging into her eyes and stinging at her throat, she couldn’t waste any water.

After so many months away, the ship still felt like home. Xavier led her through, excitedly explaining how he’d read all her books, how he’d befriended the strange little fish that lived in her room, how he’d stood at the controls and imagined he was flying. When she made it back to her room and listened to Fisher sing his happy song of welcome, she nearly collapsed into a quivering heap. But she’d been too long on the road, dodging Ministry patrols and bands of outlaws, and the warm words of other people were too tempting. She went out and joined the bonfire.

“Is it true?” asked a girl who couldn’t have been more than ten. “Did you really come from another world? What’s it like there?”

“We found a bunch of books on healing spells and stuff,” said a boy. “You guys must know so much if you can do magic like that!”

“It’s only a story,” Yuvra said gruffly, sipping from her tankard. “We have an ambush on a Ministry caravan to plan, remember? They’re coming to town next month to collect the taxes. When they hear we can’t pay, they’ll start collecting us. Stop thinking about stories and start focusing on your job!”

“They’re not stories,” Lucretia said. It was the most she’d said in months. “It’s true. All of it. We’ve visited dozens of worlds. Thousands of places.” All of them better than this. “There was a world full of giant mushrooms. Another full of music and art. But let me tell you about my home. We found this power, this . . . this Light. And we used it to build amazing things . . .”

Words spilled from her lips, building palaces out of the air, reconstructing marketplaces and schools and the high walls of the Institute. The children and younger rebels watched with gleaming eyes as she described the building of their ship, the technology they’d created to ease peoples’ lives, the discoveries they’d made in the name of science. Even Yuvra let her frown fade a little.

“Huh,” she said when Lucretia finally trailed off. “That was a nice story. Hopeful. Maybe if we keep fighting, we can make our world that good.”

Your world will end in six months. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She’d given them hope.

And they’d helped remind her that she hadn’t given up yet.

Day One-Hundred-Seventy-Two

“Work, damn you!” she screamed at the welding torch. “Work!” She’d gotten half the replacement panels in place, wedging them at crooked angles to one another, lines of molten metal waste marking her every mistake. She’d really started to make progress. And now the damn torch . . .

She flung it across the bridge. It clattered against the walls and fell to the listing floor. What it didn’t do was magically fix itself.

Balling her hands into fists, she made herself breathe deeply, inhaling and exhaling until the swarm of her thoughts were under control. Then she re-unfolded Lupe’s schematic diagram, puzzling over the cramped, loopy, wandering handwriting.

The welding torch schematic made no sense. Not anymore. She’d stared at it for countless hours, trying to determine how the magical power source was connected, wondering if it was something wrong with the nozzle or the tubing. On the other side of her work table, one of Barry’s thick mechanical engineering textbooks lay open. She’d finally found the section on repairing equipment—but nothing in it suggested how to align the magical and mechanical components that the lovers had designed together.

The written instructions blurred together in her head. Useless. Meaningless. Words and guidelines had been her safeguards since long before the journey began. But books alone couldn’t save her. Safeguards couldn’t save her.

She’d had sixty-five years to adjust to the reality of her situation. Her home was gone. Countless worlds lay ruined. The fate of the universe lay in the hands of seven fuck-ups. Her friends had embraced their fate. They’d trained to fight, scoured worlds for resources and knowledge, recruited congregations and students and sports teams. They’d become warriors, adventurers, leaders. She’d only watched.

Now, every tool at her disposal, everything she was . . . was all entirely useless.

Something had to give.

Day Two-Hundred and Three

The noise began around noon. Angry voices on the road. The clatter of hoofbeats. No one in this town can afford a horse. These were either Ministry folk, or highwaymen. Either way . . .

Her fingers shook as she blew the dust of Magnus’s axe. His small room was still and cluttered, full of weapons and woodshavings, the air scented like old candy and pine sap. The smell should have been comforting. Instead, it only reminded her of how very alone she’d become.

Her arms burned as she lifted the axe, though the weeks of welding had helped a little with the weight. She wasn’t Magnus. She was short and unimposing, a scribe, not a fighter. But the axe shone wickedly sharp. The sight of it should scare away any Ministry soldier who got too close.

“You’re up early,” Yuvra said as she stepped outside the ship. She and some of the older rebels had camped overnight on the far side of the ship’s hill, waiting to ambush the tax collectors. “Come to join us?” she said, eyeing the axe.

She shook her head. “I’ll only get in the way.”

The rebel leader nodded. “Have a fun time working on your ship.”

She’d put patching the breach on hold for now, until she could find a way to replace her broken welding equipment. Instead, she was working off Davenport’s hastily-scrawled emergency directions, trying to figure out what the best way would be to pilot the ship out of this planar system. He’d given them all some training, in case of a scenario like this one, but the bits of training she remembered were at odds with what he’d actually written in the bright red binder labelled ‘Emergency.’

The scrawled handwriting crimped into illegibility. Only one word in three was legible near the bottom of the page, usually a ‘don’t’ or a ‘carefully.’ She went back into the ship and grabbed her magnifying glass. When she came back outside, the top of the road had erupted with the sounds of battle.

The tax collectors arrived early. She shivered, grabbed the binder, and turned back to the ship. The shouts were growing louder and louder. Someone was screaming. Dying. She ducked her head low and ran for the ship. It didn’t sound like the rebels were winning. She’d have to hide in her room until the fight ended, and then—

And then what? There was no hiding the Starblaster. The soldiers of the Ministries would still come find her. Drag her back to the capital. To the high wall, and the circle of statues, to freeze her along with her friends.

To end the universe.

She did the math.

The rebels had built a makeshift barricade across the road, between the two high boulders that lined the ridge. The soldiers were taking heavy losses whenever they pressed the line, but the old wooden slats were splintering. Three men had a ram and were pounding away at the boards.

No one noticed the silhouette climbing the boulder.

“Now!” she shouted, and leapt, hoping the rebels would hear her. Her ankles jarred when she hit the ground, and then there was no time to think. The soldiers were coming at her. The world slowed.

There was no time to be afraid.

She swung low. The axe connected with the man’s thigh. He screamed, crumbling forward. Blood sprayed onto her chest, splattering her jaw.

She reversed her grip and brought the axe down into his skull.

Seizing on the soldiers’ confusion, the rebels leapt over the barricade. She caught a flash of movement, and turned, running with them. The axe flashed red in her hand. A soldier fired a crossbow, grazing her ear, hitting another rebel in the guts. They couldn’t have been older than sixteen, but the battle-coolness that had settled into Lucretia’s skull told her what she had to do. The soldier crumbled as she struck them in the chest.

“That was good,” Yuvra said, after. “Didn’t even hesitate. You really have done this before.”

She hadn’t. She waited for the pain to hit, a crushing wall of empathy that would wipe out her world. I killed a man with my own two hands. What if he had kids? A partner somewhere? A man who would die in a few months anyway. A man who wanted to kill my friend.

“I knew what I was doing,” she lied.

She wanted to go back to the ship and go to bed, but the rebels insisted on dragging her down to the tavern to celebrate. Xavier bragged to the whole town that she’d been his friend first. Yuvra bought her drink after drink, and didn’t laugh when she started slurring her words after the third.

“I say we make Lucretia the second-in-command!” the leader announced. “She saved us all today, and the gods only know we could use her brains! Thoughts?”

Blood rushed to her cheeks. “Oh, no, I couldn’t—” but the happy shouts of the crowd drowned her out. A dozen tankards were lifted in her direction. They were staring at her, she realized, but not to laugh. Staring with respect.

For the first time in two hundred and three days, she didn’t feel so alone.

“Okay! I’ll do it!” she said. “But there’s something you have to do for me. Help me fix my ship. It’s important.”

Day Two-Hundred and Four

They began welding on the panels at daybreak.

Day Three-Hundred-Eighteen

The lash of the whip left a bloody trail down her side.

“Traitor!” shouted the Ministry soldier. “Rebel scum!”

She pressed her face against the post and bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

“Where are your fellows?” The whip fell again. The world flashed red. “We caught you lighting a bale of oiled refuse outside the camp. Short person like you could never have carried that much oil yourself. Confess, and you’ll get a fair trial before the Ministry of Justice! Resist, and I’ll take your fingers next.”

A hysterical laugh, full of bloody spit, exploded out of her. Fingers would come back, so long as she was close enough to the ship to escape in thirty-seven days.

“Do your worse!” she shouted. “You won’t get a word from me!”

Hot iron hissed as they pressed it to her skin. She screamed, then, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. The scent of her own burning flesh washed over her.

“It’s over, traitor,” said the commanding officer, heating her branding iron for a second touch. The red tip was the only light in the ashen dark of night. Grit was clogging her throat as she gasped down air. “We’ll have your rebel friends captured and imprisoned by the next moon’s turn.”

You’ll all die first. All of you will die.

More laughter, terrible and ragged, spilled from her as the iron approached.

Day Three-Hundred-Forty-Two

The world faded in and out of focus. Her head felt puffy, immense. She could still feel her right foot aching, just beyond the stump.

This is only a fever dream, she thought, staring up at the prison window and the ashen clouds beyond. Faces drifted in and out of focus: her parents, crying over her pain, old classmates, laughing in her face, the crew, frozen in calcite. Help me! she wanted to cry. She needed an axe. A healing spell. A hug.

But nothing of that sort would be given to her. She had to reach out and make it happen. She was alone. Alone, and dying of gangrene. The universe would end on the piss-streaked floor of her cell.

“Lucretia?” came a whisper. “By all the gods . . .”

Yuvra? There was the rebel leader’s scarred face, her astonished eyes, staring in the window. Another hallucination.

But she’d take whatever she could get. “Help me,” she whispered. “Help . . .”

“Xavier, go steal a horse.” The rebel pulled out a wicked looking pair of clippers and locked them around one of the window bars. “Hold on. We’re here for you.”

It took an agonizing half-hour to get the bars free, and another excruciating few minutes to squeeze her through the narrow window. Raw concrete scraped her skin. When the stump collided with the wall, she nearly fainted.

“Drink this,” Yuvra said, pouring a skin of fresh water down her throat as Xavier bandaged her leg. Lucretia gulped the water greedily, and then upended the rest of the skin on her face. For a moment, the hot stab of pain subsided. They slung her over the back of the stolen horse and led her past two dead guards. Out into the ashen night they swept, letting the branches of a dying forest conceal them from sight, sneaking away on a ranger’s trail.

“You never said a word,” Yuvra whispered some time later, clearly awed. “We heard that they were torturing you, but they never came for us. You kept us secret even at the cost of your foot.”

“It had to be paid.” And I couldn’t let them take me too far away from the ship. Something warm was glowing inside her. Something besides the fever. “Thank you for coming, but why? It was a terrible risk.”

“You gave us hope,” Xavier said. “With your stories and smarts. You fought besides us when we needed you and planned a half-dozen successful assaults. With you on our side, we have a chance to move forward. A chance to be free. That chance, that hope . . . it’s worth any risk. You’re worth any risk.”

She smiled. Blood rushed to her cheeks. The pain running up her leg was like nothing she’d ever felt in sixty-five cycles; they’d probably have to take the rest below the knee to stop the infection. But the pain told her she was a fighter, and Xavier’s wide eyes told her she was a leader.

She’d never before realized how much more she could be.

Day Three-Hundred-Sixty-Five

Her horse nearly collapsed as they road into town. Her neck was sagging over the reins. Yuvra and Xavier had begged her to slow down, especially after the second amputation, but she’d ignored their protests. “Our people need us home,” she’d said. And my ship. I need my ship.

People parted like waves around her horse as she trotted into the central square. Everyone in town had come outside to watch the growing darkness tint the edges of the sky. They smiled at her and her companions, but it was a nervous grin. They wanted their leaders to tell them all was well.

“All’s well,” she said, turning so they could see the stump of her leg. Her smile was strong. Confident. Look what I survived, it seemed to say. You can survive anything. “How’s my ship?”

A woman stepped forward. “We fixed it, ma’am. Patched the hole, rewired the control console. But it’s . . . the Ministry soldiers arrived three days ago, and surrounded it. They can’t get in, now that the hole’s closed, but they’re not letting anyone else close either. They think it has something to do with that weird stuff happening in the sky.”

Her heart stopped. “How many soldiers?”

“Fifty or so.”

Fifty. She couldn’t break through herself. Not even with the twenty-odd rebels to help her. Her fingers closed tight around the handle of the axe Yuvra had brought her. Magnus’s axe. Her old friend would have tried to protect as many of these people as possible. Given his life, if needed, without a care for the greater good. Merle would have told the villagers the truth. Lupe would have been horrified by their fates. Forgive me, old friends. I’m not you. I only know what’s necessary. For me. For us. For everything.

There would be no mercy.

“Do you see this dark sky?” she shouted. “Don’t be afraid! This isn’t the end—it’s a new beginning! An end to fear! An end to hopelessness!” She’d lived among these people for so long. She knew what they needed to hear. “That darkness is an emissary of my homeland, come to liberate you all from the Ministry’s tyranny! But it will be gone, soon. I need to return to my ship and send a signal to summon it down. I need to break through their forces!

Nervous voices stirred through the crowd. Terrified faces glanced at the massed ranks of soldiers atop the hill. Lucretia lifted her axe, squeezing the horse with her thighs. It turned, facing the hill.

In the far distance, with a sound like a thousand thunderclaps, a black pillar slammed into the ground.

“Who’s with me?” she called. “For freedom! For your futures! You know me! I’ve fought for you! Sacrificed for you! On my word of honor, I swear, if you cut me a path, I will end the Ministry’s tyranny forever!”

The crowd roared as one. Then they were rushing forward, charging up the hill. Yuvra drew her sword and bellowed a war cry. Xavier, armed with an old pickaxe, urged a group of his friends into the melee.

Lucretia gave them half a heartbeat’s head start, then slapped her horse with the flat of her axe, urging it into a gallop. “Freedom!” she cried. The word leapt from her, speeding the villagers’ charge. “Freedom! Freedom!”

The soldiers had barely made it to their feet when the horde of rebels and villagers hit. With a cry of fury, they tore through the first rank of soldiers. But more waited behind. Guns fired. Swords flashed. A bullet tore through Yuvra’s neck. She took her killer down with her as she fell.

The image of her spraying blood was laced against the back of Lucretia’s eyes. It was one she’d never forget. But that didn’t matter. None of this mattered. The ground shook once more as a second pillar touched down. She plunged through the melee, her horse screaming with panic, foam drenching its sides.

“Ride!” Xavier shouted, voice strained with pain and hope. A sword was sticking out of his guts. “Ride and save us!”

I’m sorry! she wanted to yell. I’m sorry—but she couldn’t waste the breath.

Her horse collapsed, exhausted. She hit the ground on her bad side. The world blacked out for half a second, and when she came to, opalescent black soldiers were advancing on all sides of the melee. The Hunger. It’s found me. She dragged herself forward, crying, screaming. Ashen grit spilled down the front of her shirt. An arrow thudded into the meat of her shoulder.

Her hand found an ash-grey length of wood in the muck, a spear with the top broken off. A staff. Just what I needed. With the last of her strength, she stood, leaning her weight on the wood. The noise of battle pounded against her eardrums, mixing with the thunder of her ancient foe. She flung herself forward. Her fist slammed against the ID sensor. The door flashed green and opened.

Hurry. Hurry. Her staff slipped against the metal floor. She flung herself into the captain’s seat—it was too small for her, it didn’t fit her, it never had. Pain shot through her wounded arm as she typed a command. ‘Autopilot engaged’ flashed across the screen. Autopilot wouldn’t be fast enough.

“Override!” she shouted. “Manual override, engage!” Her fist slammed down on the ‘enter’ key. Engines howled. Screaming. Spitting out dirt. The ship wobbled. Righted itself. Rose. Black opal shadows were climbing over the port windows.

‘Are you sure you want to override?’ it prompted her. ‘This ship was not designed to be manually piloted by an untrained—‘

She hit ‘Y,’ and pulled the throttle.

A thousand G’s dragged her backwards. The repaired panel shrieked and rattled, throwing off sparks. She cursed and commanded, threatening the ship, threatening the gods. The Hunger’s shadow blotted out the sky. Closed off her view of the other planes. She yanked on the tiller, aiming for the last clear patch of sky, and set her teeth.

She blacked out as she forced the throttle back further.

Reality stretched.

Day One

“We made it,” she whispered, burying her face in her hands. “We made it.”

A warm, familiar palm grabbed her shoulder. “Lucretia?”

She straightened, standing once more on her two good legs. Before her, where none of the group could see, she tightened her hands into fists.

“I made it,” she whispered.

Something had changed in her voice. It wouldn’t change back.

[cozy-writing-corner-blog]

Unexpected

word count 1,071

He was not prepared for this. And he was scared.

Edward Lamell, a private detective, never thought that he’d ever find himself in a situation like this. Under an old bridge in the woods, confronting, what he would call, a troll.

 Edward was pretty sure that he would retire when he got out of there, if he ever got out of there.

He began to silently curse himself for being so stupid to take on this case and investigate on his own.

Originally, it was about the, rather mysterious, destruction of many high-voltage lines, and the media listed unbelievable reasons for it. From an unnoticed, sudden storm to a group of teenagers, who apparently thought it was funny to vandalize. And Edward thought all of the listed reasons were complete bullshit.

And since our hero of the story was a detective, he had simply started to look deeper into everything.

It cost him many nights without sleep but in the end, he was sure that this destruction was neither caused by human nor nature. It had to be something mythical, something you only hear about in fairy tales and folklore.

In his childhood Edward believed in the old tales his grandmother told him before bed but as he grew older this stopped and sooner or later, he forgot about all the tales.

 The Troll before him, at least twice the size of a normal human man, had started to slowly wake up from it’s deep slumber.

But Edward couldn’t move. He was frozen.

His brain couldn’t comprehend the fact that he was facing a creature he never thought walked the earth. And the only thing he hoped for was that he would survive.

Edward held his breath and tried to make as less noise as possible, his mind on the other side, was so loud that he was scared the creature will hear him anyway.

He tried to remember.

To remember the tales about trolls, especially the ones about trolls living under bridges, and their weaknesses.

After an eternity, that is what it felt like for Edward, a single word popped into his mind: Light.

A troll’s weakness is light, daylight to be exact.

But how would our detective make that happen?

It was around one or two o’clock in the morning so finding daylight was obviously impossible.

He could try to sneak back and figure everything out as soon as he arrived somewhere safe or he could face the troll right there, right then.

And this time Edward trusted his human instincts and slowly made his way back to where he came from.

His heart stopped beating the second he stepped on a small twig. The sound it made echoed through the whole forest. And it certainly wasn’t unnoticed by the troll.

It started to slowly stand up and to sniff around.

Soon it’s nose picked something up.

 Then it dawned Edward. Trolls can smell Christian blood. And he was exactly that. Christian.

Again he cursed himself for forgetting something so important.

He stood completely still for a moment and took a closer look at his surroundings, to either find a way out of there or to at least find something that would help him stun or even defeat the troll.

 Edward stood in the middle of a small forest, the trees were somewhat small yet still very clump.

The moon stood high up in the sky and you could see the stars that, as well, lit up the sky very clearly and very beautifully.

A soft wind was howling through the woods, you could see fireflies in the bushes.

They looked like many tiny pairs of eyes watching Edward’s every move with a hint of curiosity.

A few hundred meters ahead was this old wooden bridge, the home of the troll, if you can call it that.

And a few meters behind the brave detective was a small puddle of… something.

Edward believed it was mud of some sort of gunk. It definitely was filthy and smelled horrible!

“Maybe I can use this to cover up the smell of my blood!” he speculated.

 He held his breath while sneaking backwards. Step for step and as noiseless as possible.

Meanwhile the troll awoke a little more with every second that passed. And with every second he started to smell more and more of the detective’s blood.

The giant monster started to look around his bridge, trying to determine the source of the ominous smell that Christian blood carried.

Every time he took a step the ground started to shake violently.

And the moment he took his third step Edward had reached the big puddle.

The smell was almost unbearable but he had no other choice as to jump in there because the troll was looking in his direction for a suspicious amount of time and he didn’t want to risk dying this night.

 Edward was lying on his back in the puddle, completely engulfed in whatever was in there, his head facing the night sky. He didn’t really want to know in what he was laying there. It was probably better that way.

But he couldn’t help but to let his mind wander.

To his home and his family.

To his job and why he decided to be a private detective.

 He currently lived alone, was never really the type of person wanting a family of his own.

But as he was laying there he thought about how sad it’d be to leave this world without leaving something behind, a husband and maybe one or two adopted kids.

His family lived in another country and he cut of the contact and moved to Norway after they kicked him out for being “something his family couldn’t tolerate”. That something was called being gay.

In Norway he started to work as a private detective, and the only reason for that was that Edward thought it sounded “cool”.

 While he waited until the troll dropped it’s search and went back to sleep he almost fell asleep as well.

Edward lay there for approximately an hour before he decided it was safe to leave his puddle to slowly and quietly make his way back out of the forest and to his car.

His final destination was his home where he wanted to take a good long shower, take off three weeks from work and to book himself a vacation somewhere far away in Asia.

[5hfanfiction]

With Every Sip (Part 3)

Camila Cabello was fourteen years old. She was fourteen years old and she knew that the bruises that her mom’s boyfriend sometimes left were harder to hide than the words from her mother that scarred her insides. She knew she had one thousand, four hundred and thirty days left until she could finally escape her home town for good, she’d been counting down since the day she started freshman year three months ago. She knew that Lauren Jauregui was still her best friend, her only friend really, but she often worried that she probably wasn’t hers. She knew she didn’t love her boyfriend Jason, she wasn’t even sure if she liked him all that much, because when they kissed her heart didn’t race the way she discovered it could at twelve years old. But what she wanted to be when she grew up? Camila still didn’t know. All she knew was that that she didn’t want to be alone.

Jason was eighteen and the first boy to ever show Camila any interest, although that didn’t stop her from turning him down the first few times he asked her out anyway. A relationship was probably the last thing she needed to add to her already very complex life right now. But as the school year continued and Lauren got increasingly busy with sports and her new friends, Camila finally gave in to the older boy’s advances. She knew that probably wasn’t a good enough reason to date somebody, but her world just seemed so dark right now and whilst this boy might not hold the answers, at least he’d hold her until it was light.

“I just don’t like him Camila.” Lauren groaned as the two girls walked home from the bus stop one day after school. It was becoming pretty apparent that even the mention of Jason’s name was enough to set her best friend off. It wasn’t the first time that she had expressed her dislike for the guy, which irritated Camila to no end. It wasn’t like she was Ethan’s number one fan either, but at least she didn’t bite her friend’s head off every time she dared to bring him up.

“You’ve met him once Laur.”

“Yeah and that was one more time than I needed.” Lauren grumbled back.

Camila rolled her eyes. “I really don’t get what your problem with him is.”

“Well I have many. But there’s the fact you’re having sex with him for a start.”

Camila stopped dead in her tracks, grabbing the other girl by the arm to pull her back to face her. “And what’s that got to do with anything?” She snapped.

“I just think it’s kind of strange that an eighteen, nearly nineteen year old guy would want to be with a freshman.” Lauren shrugs. “He’s graduated high school, he has a car and a job, why doesn’t he just date someone his own age? It’s literally illegal that he’s sleeping with you, you know that right?”

“And what, you’re going to report it to the police are you?” Camila shot back.

“Obviously not, but I still don’t think it’s right.”

Camila sighs. She wants to tell Lauren that she’s not sure if it’s right either, because being intimate with Jason definitely doesn’t feel right. She wants to tell her that she probably dislikes him just as much as she does, that everything he does drives her crazy in all the wrong ways. She’s wants to tell her that she’s not sure why he’s with her either, because she doesn’t know why anyone would want to date her let alone an eighteen year old. But most of all she wants to tell Lauren that despite all of that, it’s still nice to feel wanted for a change, because she’s craved that feeling all her life. But Camila knows her friend wouldn’t understand that, and she’s glad she doesn’t have to understand, she’d never want Lauren to have to feel this way,

“I think you’re just jealous. That’s the actual problem.” Camila says instead, because deep down she knows that’s probably the only logical reason for Lauren’s strong dislike of her boyfriend. She doesn’t like losing, she never has.

“Jealous? Why would I be jealous of him? I have a boyfriend.” Lauren fires back defensively, she doesn’t miss a beat.

“I didn’t mean that you’re jealous of Jason…” Camila furrows her brow at Lauren’s odd misinterpretation of her words. “ I think you’re just jealous of the fact that I actually beat you at something. That I finally did something first.”

Lauren’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open, she looks like she could almost laugh, but she doesn’t. “That’s bullshit Camila.” She scoffs, shaking her head in what looks like disbelief. “I’m not getting at you because i’m jealous that you lost your virginity first, I’m just trying to look out for you because you’re my friend!” Lauren’s voice is raised now and it sends a shiver down Camila’s spine. She’s used to getting yelled at, but never by Lauren.

Her whole body automatically stiffens, the walls that she perfected building since she was a child quickly going up in defense. “Well you haven’t really been acting like it. You’re always with your other friends or Ethan.” Camila tries to raise her voice too, but it comes out sounding feeble and weak.

Lauren rolls her eyes. “Well I’m sorry that you’re not the only fucking person in my life. Jeez. Do you really expect my entire world to revolve around you? Because news flash, it doesn’t.”

Camila stared back at Lauren blankly. She knows what her friend is saying is reasonable, because she knows you should never let your world revolve around one person, it’s a recipe for disaster. But it’s not that easy for Camila, it has never been that easy, because for as long as she can remember her world really has revolved around Lauren. As unhealthy as it may be, her world is Lauren.

She says nothing, yet something about the silence in this moment feels so loud. The words that can’t seem to find their way from her brain to her mouth, echo overwhelmingly inside her head, She can’t breath.

“Do you know what Camila? Fuck you.” Lauren finally snaps, bored of waiting for a reply. “Call me when you realize what an idiot you’re being.”

Camila watches as her best and only friend turns and walks away from her and the sight hurts more than she ever thought it could have. And that’s when she realizes, if something so small could be this painful, maybe it’s best that this is happening now and not further down the line. Lauren’s the only person left who has the ability to break her heart but hasn’t yet, and Camila think’s she’d rather keep it that way. This is what’s best for both of them.

One day passes. Two. Five. One week. Three weeks. One month. Two months. More? Camila wants to call Lauren everyday. But she doesn’t.

Lauren was fourteen years old. She was fourteen years and she knew that she loved a lot of things, but above all she loved to learn. She knew that knowledge was power and she wanted to fill her head with as much insight on the world as she could possibly cram in. She knew she had things pretty easy in school, everyone loved her, both students and teachers and it looked like high school was going to be a breeze… at least it did until recently. She knew that she had never missed someone as much as she misses her childhood best friend right now, however with every day that passed, bridging the gap seemed harder and harder to do. But what she wanted to be when she grew up? Lauren still didn’t know. All she knew was that whatever her future held, she still desperately wanted Camila to be part of it.

It’s fifth period on Friday, and fifth period on a Friday means gym class. Gym class with Camila to be specific. They haven’t spoken a word in months and Lauren knows she’s almost ready to crack, she can feel it. She’s gotten to a point now where seeing the other girl and not talking to her feels physically painful, not to mention watching her eat lunch alone. It makes her heart pound so hard in her chest that she thinks it’s not just her willpower that’s about to crack but potentially her rib cage too. Lauren’s not exactly sure how she’s going to do it, how she’s going to fix this mess, but she refuses to spend another single day walking home ten meters behind Camila rather than beside her. Even if that does mean swallowing her pride and being the first to wave the white flag.

They’re in the locker room before class and Lauren’s watching the brown eyed girl intently, so desperate to catch her eye for even a second that she doesn’t bother to look away when Camila starts to undress. She stares without shame as the other girl pulls her shirt up over her head, leaving her upper half covered by just a bra, her slender torso on show for all to see. Not that anyone is watching but Lauren. She should probably look away now, she knows she should, but she doesn’t. She blinks but when her eyes open again they’re still fixed on Camila. She’s turning around to reach into her bag for her gym clothes, and that’s Lauren she see’s it.

“Lauren… hey Lauren.” The voice of one of her friends calls out beside her. “Why are you watching Cabello get changed you creep." 

Lauren might have felt embarrassed at being caught out if she didn’t feel so sick. Her cheeks might have flushed red if her face hadn’t already drained white.

"Don’t tell me her gay has finally rubbed off on you.” Lauren just about hears the girl add mockingly.

Her friends questioning Camila’s sexuality would normally anger Lauren greatly, she’d flip out and tell them they had no idea what they were talking about. But right now, whether Camila was flying the rainbow flag or not just didn’t seem to matter, not when she had her very own rainbow splattered across her skin. Lauren’s eyes dart frantically over the mass of pink, blue, purple and yellow bruises that wrapped around the left side of Camila’s body and up her back. She’s not quite sure she can believe what she is seeing, she doesn’t want to believe it. Then, just a fast as Camila’s injuries were revealed to her, they’re gone, as she swiftly pulls another shirt over her head.

Lauren stood frozen to the spot. She’s experiencing so many emotions right now she’s not even sure which one she should feel first, but in the end, she doesn’t have a choice. Confusion, sadness and guilt all collide together to create something that feels a lot like anger, which is now searing through her veins. It feels like it’s igniting every nerve in her body and for the first time in her life Lauren knows what it means to burn with rage. Her eyes are still fixed on Camila, pulse thumping in her ears, one word running through her head over and over and over.

Jason.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur.  Lauren is walking home now, not beside Camila liked she’d hoped earlier, but behind her like she’s done everyday for the past few months. Lauren wasn’t going home though, no, she knew she wouldn’t be able to eat or sleep or even function properly until she had gotten to the bottom of this.  Until she’d had made sure it could never happen again. All she needed to do now was find the courage to approach Camila and somehow formulate words, which seemed to be proving easier said than done.

Lauren follows Camila all the way home, her presence going completely unnoticed because as usual, she has her music too loud in her ears and head too high in the clouds to take in anything around her. By the time Lauren’s rounding the corner into the other girl’s street, unfortunately she’s already shutting her front door closed behind her. Lauren stops abruptly, she’s in completely unknown territory now, because although she’s been friends with Camila for as long she can remember, she’s never called at her house before. Lauren knows the rules, they always meet at her place or she texts Camila when she’s at the end of her street to let her know she’s there. Camila has always claimed it was because her mom’s super strict and Lauren’s never really questioned it, she knows how Latino parents can be sometimes.

But a text isn’t going to cut it, Lauren needs to speak to Camila face to face and she needs to do it today, like now, before she chickens out. Without another thought she crosses the invisible barrier into Camila’s street and makes her way across the road to her house. Before Lauren knows it, she’s standing at the front door, so nervous that she’s not sure if she has knocked yet. She raises her hand to knock it again, or maybe for the first time, when suddenly the door creeks open slightly.

The second Camila’s head pops out through the small gap, Lauren sees her face visibly drop. She’s missed Camila so much, so it’s not really the response she was hoping for.

“L…Lauren..what are you doing here?” The brown eyes girl stutters.

“We need to talk.” Lauren replies bluntly, it’s the only way she can keep her emotions at bay right now.

“Right, right yeah we do.” Camila nods, still looking nervous.  "But can we do this tomorrow? I’ll meet you somewhere. Not here.“

Lauren shakes her head. "No Camila, I know I haven’t been a very good friend recently, but I’m here now and I need to talk to you.”

“This isn’t a good time Lauren, I…”

“I’m sorry, ok?” Lauren cuts her off. “I’m sorry I took so long to talk to to you, I’ve been an ass. "But please just let me in, this can’t wait.”

Camila bites her lip nervously. “What was it you wanted to talk about? I can maybe get out to see you later.”

“Well…” Lauren gulps down the lump that has suddenly formed in her throat. “In gym today I…”

But Lauren doesn’t get to finish her sentence.

“Camila who’s there?” A voice interrupts as the door is yanked fully open, revealing a woman that Lauren assumes must be Camila’s mom.

“Just a friend. Lauren was about to go.” The other girl replies quickly.

The older woman’s eyes widen. “We didn’t know Camila had a friend?” She coos.

It’s very obvious to Lauren that Camila’s mom had been totally unaware of her existence until now and she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t a little hurtful. She talks about Camila all the time at home, so much that it was only two days into their fight when Lauren’s mom first questioned if something had happened, she said she’d noticed the absence of Camila’s name at the dinner table.

Camila’s mom speaks up again interrupting her train of thought. “Listen, why don’t you come in and stay for dinner, we’ll order in. Heck, it’s a Friday, why don’t you stay the night? It’s not often Camila brings around company.”

Lauren glances over at at her friend who still has the same strange expression on her face that she wore when she first opened the door. She watches as Camila looks up at her mom uncertainly, then back to her with a shrug that Lauren decides is permission for her to say yes.

She’s swiftly ushered in by Camila’s mom, who contrary to how Camilla had previously described her, didn’t actually seem that strict at all. The house is pretty small, a little unkempt too, but nothing really out of the ordinary either. She’s quickly introduced to a guy called Donny sitting on the couch, who she knows is Camila’s mom’s boyfriend because he’s come up in their conversations before, only very briefly, but she still recognizes the name. He seems a little odd and Lauren doesn’t like the way he looks her up and down, but before she has enough time to form any real opinions of him, Camila has taken her by the hand and is dragging her away from him and upstairs to her room.

The two girls are sitting on Camila’s bed now and Lauren is trying her hardest to keep the conversation light. She can feel how tense the other girl is and she knows she’s going to have to ease her in gently. They start off with small talk, but not before long they’re filling each other in on everything from the intricate details of what’s  been happening in their lives, to an in depth analysis of what they thought of the last few episodes of Pretty Little Liars. It takes no time at all for them to back into their old rhythm completely, it’s as if they’ve never been apart and the last few months were just some terrible dream.

Maybe it’s just the sheer happiness of being back in Camila’s presence or the fact it’s very easy to get lost in Camila all together, but Lauren almost forgets the reason that she was even there in the first place. Almost but not quite. After an hour and a half, Jason’s name finally finds its way into the conversation and the two syllables immediately bring Lauren crashing back to the uncomfortable reality of the conversation they still need need to have. Her heart is already thumping ominously in her chest as Camila blabbers on about some Pandora charm bracelet he bought her. Apparently she’s too afraid she’ll lose it so she’s kept it in the box, which is now being pushed into Lauren’s hand for her to look at.

She opens the box reluctantly and stares in. There’s already about twelve charms on the bracelet, which is probably the same number as the amount of large bruises Camila has on her back. Lauren knows because even though it’s been hours, she can still see the image every time she closes her eyes.

“So is this a guilt gift then.” She says bluntly, finally cutting to the chase.

“What?” Camila gawps. “Lauren please don’t start this again.” She adds desperately.

And that’s when Lauren breaks, she literally breaks down into tears that she hadn’t even been aware she was holding back until they were pouring out of her eyes uncontrollably. She tells Camila that there’s no point in lying because she’s seen the marks on her skin, closely followed by a sobbed “If Jason’s hurting you, you know that you could tell me right?”

And Camila denies it as first. She has her hand on Lauren’s face, wiping back her tears as she swears blind that the bruises have nothing to do with her boyfriend. She then backs it up with a “you know how clumsy I am” which smells a lot like bullshit to Lauren. It takes another half an hour of gentle probing, but Lauren eventually wears Camila down. She finally cracks and admits that her and Jason had gotten into an argument last week that had escalated pretty badly. It hurts to hear, but Lauren thinks at least the admission means this is finally all over for Camila, it means they can start to fix this. 

The other girl doesn’t seem to share the same relief though, Lauren figures she’s probably still scared.  Which is also maybe why she is refusing to report him for assault no matter how much Lauren begs. She knows she has to pick her battles though, so she drops that for now and they come to the compromise that Camila has to end things with Jason tonight. One threatening text later, which was from Camila but typed by Lauren, and her friend is single once more. Lauren know that this isn’t the end and there’s still a lot more they have to deal with, but for tonight that’s enough. 

The rest of the evening goes pretty smoothly, the two of them eat pizza in Camila’s room followed by a Harry Potter movie marathon cuddled up with each other in her bed, both too mentally and emotionally drained to even speak. They’re two and a bit films in and Hermione has just punched Draco in the face when Lauren starts to feel herself drifting off. The light is still on and she’s yet to get changed into the pajamas Camila set out for her, but she’s too comfortable to move. She turns over, curling into the other girl’s side, arm draped lightly over her stomach as she finally lets her eyes close.

“Sleepy?” Camila whispers beside her.

“Mmmm.” Lauren simply hums back because it’s the most she can manage. 

The TV is still on in the background but the sound seems to be getting further and further away until it’s nothing but a murmur. Lauren feels a light touch on her arm and then lips press against her forehead for a few seconds in a gentle kiss.  

“I’m so glad you’re here. Everything is better when you’re here.”  Camila softly sighs against her, it’s the last thing she hears before she succumbs to the blackness of her sleep. 

It’s 4am when Lauren wakes up to complete darkness. She’s a little disorientated and she can’t see a thing, but she knows she’s alone in the bed. She hears the bedroom door creek, followed by a soft patter of feet against the wooden floorboards of the hallway and she assumes Camila has probably just got up to go to the bathroom or something. Lauren rolls over, hoping that when she gets back into bed that she’ll crawl in behind her and be the big spoon. Her eyes are about the drift closed again when a noise causes them to shoot wide open instead.  It’s not loud, but it definitely isn’t quiet either, there’s shouting coming from across the hall.

Lauren sits up in bed and strains to hear what’s being said but she can’t quite make it out. She slides out from under the covers and tip toes across the room, opening Camila’s door slowly to peer out into the dark corridor.  

“Guys. Lauren’s right across from you, she’s sleeping, please, please can you not do this with her here. Please.” Lauren hears Camila begging behind the door of the room across the hallway. 

“Lauren’s cross withuss? I allow that little bitch to stay and she wanna try to dictate what I can do in my own house.”  She hears a male voice bellow, the drunken slur obvious in his voice. Her whole body stiffens.

“No, I said she’s ’across from you’, not c…”

Camila is cut off again by shouting.

“Bring her here. Bring'err in here and get her to tell me to my face." 

"Please, please be quiet you’re going to wake her, please.” Camila begs again in a voice just above a whisper.

“Don’t you fucking tell him what to do.” Lauren hears Camila’s mom join in now, sounding very different to the sober woman who had greeted her earlier.  "He’s right, bring the bitch in here if she has a problem.“ 

Lauren’s mind switches from confusion to fear. It’s obvious they’re not the kind of drunk she’s used to seeing with her parents. This is nothing like  like the time her mom overdid it with the champagne on New Year’s and her dad had to put her to bed. No, Camila’s mom and her boyfriend were both beyond intoxicated and they were clearly angry drunks.    

She steps out into the hallway now, walking about half way before she stops again. She’s not sure if she’s trying to get closer to the other room or closer to the stairs so she can run if she has to. 

"She doesn’t have a problem, I just… can you keep your voices down please, that’s all I’m asking. Just for tonight.” Camila tries again, she sounds like she’s about to cry. 

“Hey, tell me this…” Lauren hears Donny shoot back just as loud as before. “Is she in your grade? She definitely looks older than your grade, more mature if you know what I mean.” He adds, the sleaziness in his voice making it obvious to everyone including Lauren exactly what he means. 

“Oh, so that’s hows it is.” Camila mom slurs back. “You want that little slut? Fine fuckin’ have her, see if I care.”

“Don’t you start accusing me woman,  I’m juss'saying Camila should bring her in here so we can talk.”

“Donny please. It’s 4am, just…” Camila begins but she doesn’t get to finish. 

“I’ll go and see her myself then, fucking give'er a piece of my mind.” The male voice snaps, followed by the sound of loud footsteps stumbling across the room. 

“No, no, you’re not going into my room. You stay away from her.” Camila is yelling at the top of her voice now and Lauren is torn between running back to the bedroom to hide or running forward to face the inevitable. 

“Get out of my way you little slut.” Donny growls, followed by a bang then a yelp coming from Camila that ultimately makes Lauren’s decision for her. Without a second thought she launches herself forward, throwing open the door in front of her and quickly reaching up to flick the switch beside her head.

The light flickers for a second before the whole room is lit up revealing the scene only a few meters in front of her. Lauren’s heart stops as her eyes adjust to the light and settle on Donny who has Camila pressed up against the wall by her throat.  Her face is pressed to the side, she’s looking right at her and Lauren thinks that her eyes hold as many emotions right now as her bruised skin holds colors, scared, sad, angry, but above all, Lauren thinks she looks embarrassed.   

“Camila.” Lauren says in a small whimper, causing Donny’s face whip in her direction, it’s like he hadn’t even notice the light switch on until now. His hand immediately drops from it’s tight grasp around Camila’s neck, throwing her to the side as he lets her go. 

“Get that girl the fuck out of this house.” The man barks angrily as he turns away. 

Before Lauren has a chance to even process what she’d just walked in on, Camila is pushing her out into the corridor and back into her room. She’s standing rooted to the spot, frozen in shock as Camila passes her her shoes saying something that Lauren completely misses, but she assumes is ‘put them on’. Lauren does what she’s told, bending down to slide on her converse before trying and failing to tie the laces, her hands are shaking too badly. She stands up to find Camila is pacing the floor in front of her mumbling apologies and something about knowing it was dumb to let her stay. Lauren thinks it sounds like she knew this was going to happen, like this was something that maybe happened a lot and for the first time that day Lauren puts two and two together and finally makes four. Jason had nothing to with Camila’s bruises.

Minutes later, both girls are outside, walking in complete silence. It’s starting to get light and the birds are beginning to chirp their morning songs above them. It’s an ironically calm sound compared to the madness of the storm that’s brewing in Lauren’s head right now, as the shock starts to where off and realization of what happened starts to set in.   Lauren didn’t even register where they were headed until they were entering her street. She wasn’t even sure she’d be able to focus enough to put one foot in front of the other right now if Camila hadn’t of been pulling her along by the hand. She’d always seen herself as the more mature out of the pair, but right now she feels like a little kid. 

They’re outside her driveway when Camila finally turns to face Lauren, looking her in the eyes for the first time since she’d pulled her out of her mom and Donny’s room. 

“Are you my friend?” She finally breaks the silence with a question that Lauren hadn’t been expecting.

“You know I am Camila.” Lauren relies without having to think. “You’re my best friend… I love you.”  

Camila nods for a moment, staring back at Lauren intently. “Then please don’t tell anyone about what happened tonight. I’m sorry you had to see that but it’s not as bad as it seems, I promise. We can talk about it tomorrow?”

She stares back at Camila in silence, not quite believing what she’s asking her to do. Lauren had always thought being a friend just came naturally, it wasn’t something that you needed guidelines or instructions for, yet in that moment she has no idea what she’s supposed to do, her heart is torn in two. Because although Lauren’s fourteen and sometimes she think’s she knows everything, right now she doesn’t know if being a friend means keeping a secret and hating yourself for it, or doing what feels right and having the other person hate you for it. Especially now that she knows what it’s like to lose Camila even for a short amount of time.

“Go inside ok, get some sleep.” Camila says gently, but the words still manage to startle Lauren

“Don’t leave,  don’t go back, you can’t.” She panics

“I have to Laur.” Camila sighs sadly. 

“No, no you don’t.  just stay with me. I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

The other girl shakes her head. “It’s not that simple, I wish it was. We can talk tomorrow ok?”

Lauren can do nothing but stare back at her hopelessly, she can tell by Camila’s voice that nothing she says or does is going to change her mind right now. 

Camila pushes herself up onto the tips of her toes to kiss Lauren’s cheek. “And I love you too by the way.” She adds beside her her ear before she turns and walks away.  Lauren knows that something about the way she said those words just made everything harder.   

Lauren quietly unlocks her door and closes it behind her, before taking off her shoes to creep up the stairs. She figures that maybe if she gets a few more hours sleep, she’ll know what to do when she wakes up in the morning. But she doesn’t get that chance. Her mom must have heard her come in because she’s awake, standing in the upstairs hallway asking why she’s back so early. In a sudden panic, lies that Lauren didn’t even know were in her head are spilling out of her mouth and she’s telling her that she came home because she was sick, she adds that Camila’s mom dropped her home and it was really nice of her. And it doesn’t even feel like a lie, because the moment the words are out, Lauren knows it’s too late to take them back and she really does feel sick. 

She closes her eyes to calm the nauseousness that’s now flowing over her, but  Camila’s bruises are still the only thing she can see behind her eyelids.  Although now she has a new insight into the other girl’s life, instead of just seeing the bruises, she’s also picturing all the scenarios that could have caused those marks too. They’re playing out in front of her at double speed, making her head spin. 

After almost ten years of friendship, Lauren’s finally putting all the pieces of the puzzle together and suddenly everything makes sense, Camila makes sense. Lauren sees the small, quiet girl who she met at five years old, the one that flinched when you touched her and made her own moldy bread peanut butter lunches and the reality of the situation finally hits her full force force like a punch to the chest. Ten years, whatever Camila had been going though, she’d been going through it for ten years, possibly longer. And Lauren saw nothing, did nothing. She can’t stop it now, she’s hunched over and throwing up in the spot where she stands and her mom is rubbing her back, saying something that sounds like she heard there was a stomach bug going around. And Lauren cries. Lauren cries so hard that she throws up again.