"About time!" Lu t'Cca thundered at her. "Split find hiding spot!
Najia backpedaled, giving the irate Split prisoner plenty of room to get past without coming into arms' length of her. At least he seemed to get that this was a prison break, and he made no move for her or her firearm, darting well clear of her, and out from the cell block.
Axiom's voice cut the sudden quiet that was otherwise punctuated only by her racing heart. "While you two were chatting, I've found a way to temporarily disable security in the hangar. That's where we'll hitch our ride. Head for the second level; the Ministry seems to have installed more switches. They'll require some adjustment, but I know you love a good puzzle." Najia snorted. She did, in fact, love a good puzzle, but breaking out of a prison was not the time to indulge in that. Usually. Unless one looked at the prison as the puzzle. She shook her head, huffing, and drew her pistol again. There was no marked pathway this time, but she made better time; it was reckless, but she jogged, since the place was seemingly totally unguarded. And, if it wasn't, chances were that Lucca would run into the guards first, and she'd hear the struggle ahead. She passed the lift, glancing towards it, and hurrying past in the other direction she hadn't been yet, coming to a door. Slowing, she closed enough with it that it opened automatically.
Najia let out a huff; Lu t'Cca was on the other side, but so was Axiom. She stepped forward, and looked from Axiom, who nodded to her, to Lucca, who snarled. "Creature reveal Split hiding spot! Creature nothing better to do?" This is a hiding spot? Najia shook her head; the two of them were literally standing in the middle of an intersection, in front of an airlock with two branches off on either side. She huffed, looking at Lu t'Cca. "Hey, Mellerd said -"
"Split not talk about friend-foes!" Lucca ranted. "Kriss went against family! Betrayal followed petty betrayal! Way of Windfall, yes. Way of some Split, maybe, but not how real warriors do revenge!" He made a guttural sound of anguish, shaking his head vehemently. Kris? He was on a first-name basis with her? The fact that Ace had spoken so frankly of xenosexual encounters popped into her head, the constant talk of betrayal, pettiness, personal matters, and suddenly it was obvious; somehow, this was personal. Personal; and none of her damn business. She held her hand up placatingly, holstering her other pistol, trusting to Axiom's physical presence to keep peace between her and Lucca. "Fine. I'll leave you to it," she said. "Split thought so," Lu t'Cca spat, looking back to Axiom. She looked to Axiom as well. "Switches, Wildcard. Get to it."
Najia nodded, and darted down the left-hand branch of the intersection, fuming all the while. It ran into a dead-end, and she uttered "ah fuck," turning and sprinting in the other direction, slaloming between Maestro and Lucca. At the end, she dead-ended there, and exasperated raised her voice, "the hell?!" Back in the middle, she examined the airlock carefully; she could see that it connected to nothing, which is why she discounted it previously. Carefully she moved into the airlock, her hand on her pistol just in case Lucca tried to kill her by cycling it, but he and Axiom seemed to be in the process of discussing old times.
Exasperated, Najia stepped back out of the airlock. "Axiom, where are these buttons you're talking about? How are we supposed to get out of here?" "Er..." Axiom blinked, tri-ocularly, at her, and looked around. He looked at his datapad. "They should be... Through..." He let out a discontent rumble. "Oh my. That is not obvious on a computer systems diagram schematic." "They're on the other side of the frigging airlock," Najia said. "You're probably already aware that humans can't survive in vacuum, let alone maneuver in it, right?" She snorted, her sarcasm at least getting a sheepish shuffle on his long legs out of Axiom. "Can we get out the way we came back in? Even if it means abandoning the Raven?"
"No," Axiom said gravely. "The tampering I did to activate the cell block doors will be caught by someone sooner or later - probably later than sooner, but sooner if we try to leave the cell block." "Split has been implanted with a tracking device," Lucca growled. "It will raise quite the ruckus when Split leave the cell block!" "If we're leaving by... Unconventional mechanisms, that will be no trouble," Axiom noted. "But if we enter the lift, it will lock down and security will be summoned immediately."
"Outstanding," Najia huffed. "Let me double-check something, see if I can think of something." She turned and left the way she had come from. She bypassed the lift; she had no intention of simply bailing on them. But now, she had two options. Neither was good, but one was significantly less good, so she hoped the other option worked. She opened a channel to Boso Ta. "Boso Ta, I hope to hell you've been listening in." "I have, Assistant!" Boso Ta's voice came through loud and clear. "You are in quite the conundrum. I hope you see a manner in which I may be able to extricate you, for I do not." "You and the Professor have been upgrading teleporters with the ability to upgrade themselves. To do so, you've been transporting equipment, right?" "Hai!" Professor Nakagawa's voice cut in. Clearly he was on the line. "This capability is within our grasp. What is your proposal, Takio-San?" "Can you teleport my EV suit to me?"
There was silence for a long few moments which felt like an eternity. "Potentially," Boso Ta broke the silence. "Have it placed in one of our lifts." "I'll get right on that," Marta cut in on the line. Najia smiled to hear her voice. "Any other requirements?" "If this will work, we will need very precise measurements," Professor Nakagawa said. "The teleporter is more your project than mine, Boso Ta. My thought is that it will require at least three triangulating vessels, and a beacon, and a substantial amount of open space." "Will an empty cell block do for that," Najia asked, hustling down the corridor. "It should yes... Yes! That will work." Rei Stringer cut in on the call, and Najia blinked as she saw Rei's comm-code. "I can arrange the fly-by," she said. It had been awhile since Najia had heard from the friend she had left in charge of the Eighteen Billion Terran-tech construction supplies factory, and generally, in charge of Eighteen Billion affairs. "There's a patrol of Katana in the area already, it won't look suspicious if they do a swing-by of Wormwood Scrubs."
Najia set her datapad down on the floor in the middle of the cell block. "I put my datapad down on the floor. Is that beacon enough," she asked. "Hai, Takio-San," the aged professor's voice informed her. "But I would endeavor to be in another room when the teleport takes place. This is... Highly experimental." "Vacating the room," Najia said, sprinting out into the hallway and down it. "Tell me when it's gonna happen."
"In... About twenty seconds," Boso Ta informed her. "You might want to cover your ears, assistant." Najia didn't even bother to complain about being called 'Assistant' again, she simply crouched and closed her eyes, covering her ears and tried to become one with the railing. She counted to thirty, then opened her eyes. "Did anything happen?" "Your EV suit and EMU aren't in the lift anymore," Marta said to her. "Better go check."
Najia did, and she laughed heartily. Her hardshell carapace EV suit and EMU were sitting on the floor of the cell block. "A perfect teleport! I didn't even hear anything." "Fantastic," Boso Ta said. "You had best hurry, Assistant."
One fast donning later, Najia opened the door to where Axiom and Lucca were still standing around, chatting like old gossips. They both started when they saw her, and she held her hand up. "Easy, guys, it's me." She was hauling her EMU with her. "Split wonders where creature was hiding that," Lu t'Cca said, pointing at her. "Ancient secrets," Najia flippantly answered, as she hefted her EMU into the airlock, and sat in it, strapping in. "Right, let's do this." Reaching up, Najia slapped the airlock cycle button. The door behind her hissed shut; air was evacuated. Her suit indicated a total drop of external pressure, and the airlock's A-grav let go, letting her float free, and so she pushed off the floor.
"Excellent!" Axiom crowed at her, over the comm. "Level 2 is right through there. That exhaust fan may impede your movements, but it won't make our mission impossible. See those alcoves? There's where I'd hide if I were you, whenever the fan is blowing at full speed."
Exhaust fan? I'm in vacuum! Najia carefully maneuvered out. She was in vacuum and microgravity; but she was also inside a large, cylindrical space. Below her was something like a massive fuse-box with a big holographic turret outline, and she jetted down to examine it, but could see no obvious way to tamper with it without most likely setting off major alarms, so she looked back up - just as a synthesized alert klaxxon sounded.
I hate this place, Naija thought, as she saw a fan at the top of the cylinder spin up. At a guess she thought, perhaps it was something like an exhaust, which struck as horrifically wasteful in space, but she could only grit her teeth, watching it spin. At the bottom of the cylindrical space, she only felt the slightest of buffeting; it might have been substantially stronger closer to the top. I am very confused, very frustrated, and I just want to get the hell out of here, she thought. She was seriously considering revisiting her first plan, which had been to simply teleport herself, Axiom and Lucca to Ace's ship.
But now, though, she was pissed, and she wanted to poke something spiteful in Mellerd's eye herself. So she jetted to the top of the cylinder, looking around. As she did, Axiom popped up in her comms. "These airlocks are shut, so you'll need to find a way to bypass their locks." She responded with only a quick "roger," looking around. One airlock, contrary to Axiom's words, was hanging open, but the lights next to it were red. She tried it anyway; but for once, Axiom was spot-on. The airlock door might have been open, but its functions were locked out, the panel totally nonresponsive. She returned below, and looked around; there was an open airlock opposite Axiom and Lucca, so she tried it, and it worked for her automatically.
"Well, let's see what's down this way," Najia muttered to herself, slipping out of her EMU and leaving it in the lock. She unholstered the pistol that was now clamped to her hardshell-clad thigh, and started to look around again.
To her surprise, she found only another cell block - it was a dead end! She was about to hiss in frustration, when she heard someone call to her. "You there! You! Hey! You are not supposed to be here!" Najia turned to face the Teladi voice, her pistol half-raised, when she saw that the figure in question was imprisoned. She lowered her aim to the floor, and appraoched the bars. Standing within was a Teladi, who looked rather forelorn. Najia's shoulders slumped. Well, this is awkward, she thought. When the Teladi seemed to realize she wasn't a guard, she started to ask, "Oh please, please, please! You cannot leave me here! I am friends with Urgu... Ugusa... I can help you make profitsss! I promise."
Najia sighed at the pathetic display, but she understood the Teladi's desire for freedom; though, on the balance, she also had no idea what this Teladi had done to become imprisoned. Knowing Kriss Mellerd, it was a total crap-shoot; she might be a real scum-bag, or she might be being shaken down. Axiom cut in on her. "I sympathize with the little lizard, really I do, but we cannot compromise this mission in the name of charity."
Najia huffed out a sigh, and looked around. Frustratedly, she slapped the door panel on the imprisoned Teladi's cell, and to her surprise - and the prisoner's surprise - it opened. The prisoner looked around, confusedly, and Najia was glad that her mirrored helmet hid her gaze. "That's the best I can do," she said, resignedly. "You'll have to effect your own escape from here, if you can. Good luck." Turning, she huffed back into the airlock, slapping the button to cycle it as the Teladi prisoner looked around in tentative confusion, taking a few steps out of her cell.
Najia pulled her EMU's straps back on. "Well, that was a fucking bust," she snarled. "I'm about to start lasering shit," she muttered, floating back into the massive vacuum cylinder, and back up towards the locked airlocks. She found a third floor of airlocks, but they only offered some shelter from the fans starting up. After waiting that, frustratedly she flew back out again, and started looking around. "Axiom, there aren't any switches here!" "My diagrams say there are switches, Wildcard. Look more carefully - and swiftly."
Najia let out a guttural growl of frustration, and switched to her cutting laser. Giving in to a pique of frustration, she hit her Mk.2 thrusters, blowing past level 1 to the sub-level, coming up level with the big fuse-box. "Right, let's see what this does," she said with a snarl, and targeted her suit's cutting laser on the big set of what looked like fuses.
She blazed a neat line down the middle of them, and, gratifyingly, the 'Turrets' hologram switched to a big red repair icon... She looked around for a moment. Nothing happened. Najia smirked. "On the one hand, this place is frustrating, confusing, and I kind of want to blow it up out of spite by now. But on the other hand, the gross criminal negligence on display is really working in my favor. Fuck it. Lasers for everything," she said, snarling and going back up the shaft. There were a bunch of unmarked panels, and, giving in to the frustration she felt earlier - which she had barely restrained herself from allowing herself to hold Lu t'Cca at gunpoint - she started lasering the panels like a schoolgirl hooligan on a vandalism spree.
"Your new laser is low-powered, but if you keep it aimed at the lock, it will break eventually," Axiom said. Najia blinked. New laser? This is my laser and I've had it for a while, and... Oh, piss on this! She laughed, however, as she saw that one of the panels had indeed fractured.
One deeply-cathatic vandalism spree later, every panel had been opened, and had revealed that inside the two panels nearest the top-level airlocks were two further, smaller panels, with similar mechanisms. With the fan starting up again, Najia took shelter in one of the alcoves at the top, just under an airlock, and, deciding to use her time productively, she lasered the opposite airlock's control panel. After holding her laser on the box for awhile, it was a glowing ruin, and Axiom commed her. "Partial access to level two established," he informed her.
Najia nodded. She didn't even bother to sarcastically snark at him, though the phrase no shit, Sherlock ran through her mind. Rather, she charitably assumed he was reporting to her something he was learning electronically, and turned around. This is gonna be bright, she thought, as she trained her laser at close range on the near access box, and closed her eyes. She held in the firing stud, and held it - counting in her head to seven, when Axiom's comm made her let up off the laser. "And just like that, we have free reign over level two! They can't stop you now!"
Najia grinned, and opened her eyes to behold a molten, glowing hole drilled into the electronics she had blasted. "Right. Let's get this show on the highway."
On the level above her, in the half just above, she slipped in, and found herself facing a door to another cell block, just through the airlock. She went in and looked; no prisoners. Walking out, she huffed, and decided to walk the half-circuit around the big cylinder again. To her surprise, she found a console, just attached haphazardly to a railing. Really? Najia examined it, and snorted; it looked shoddy, ad-hoc. She tapped the console's screen, and it simply changed color. Axiom piped up. "Magnificent! That'll give you access to half of the switches! There must be another console nearby that will let you remove the second cover."
"Got it. Moving on," Najia said. Back to the airlock she went, after checking the other half of the crescent hallway she was in; without any luck, she just floated across to the other airlock on her EMU. Predictably, she found that, on the opposite railing in the other half of the level, was another console haphazardly attached to a railing, and she rapped it quite firmly with her knuckles. It flashed. "How's that, Axiom?" "Both covers confirmed open," Axiom informed her. "Let's flip some switches. Get back into your spacesuit."
"Never got out of it. Who has time to undress four times? Anyway, switches, yaaay switches," she snarked, as she cycled the airlock again, strapping her EMU back on. "Whoever designed this place is both a madman and criminally negligent."
Once the airlock cycled through again, Najia saw that the two panels she had manipulated had caused five boxes that she had previously taken as unimportant junction boxes to slide their panels open. She groaned to herself when she saw that there were five more lock-like switches within. "Great, time for more vandalism, yay." She lasered the first of the boxes' interiors, the one that was lit, and held it for a long few moments.
"Something's not right," Axiom said, comming her. She had a sinking feeling. "The switches are also setting the state of their neighbors," he declared. Sure enough, she had blasted the leftmost switch, and the second had lit up. Worryingly, the leftmost switch did not look damaged in the slightest. "You'll have to find a combination which turns them all off," Axiom said, as Najia groaned. "I don't think a game of whack-a-mole will get you there," Axiom continued. "Though... Actually, it might!"
Najia groaned, and briefly considered calling for a five-hundred-some member boarding party attack from two capital ships instead. "What tail-hole thought this was a good idea," she bitched. "Who dreamed this up? Why install it like this? Don't anybody answer that, those questions were rhetorical," she snarked, as she set about the process of shooting the junction boxes like they were a juvenile 'turn them all off' game.
About eighty seconds and the false start of thinking she could shoot an inactive switch to switch it on and switch its neighbors states (it transpired that she could only make an active switch toggle neighbors' states), all five boxes were dark, and Najia snarled, bristling with outrage that this was evidently considered part of a high security system and not a child's game.
"You got it, Wildcard!" Axiom commed her. "Access to Level 3 established. And it turned off the darned fan! Off to the hangar, then." Up one level, Najia cycled herself into the airlock, and groaned. She was getting mightily tired of this, and she rolled her shoulders. "I am going to need a massage and to soak for an hour in the shower," she griped to no-one in particular. She hefted her EMU half-over her left shoulder, unholstering her pistol, just in case. The EMU was very heavy, but her EV suit had a fairly substantial low-profile power assist mechanism. Not enough to turn her into a super-soldier by any means, but enough to let her heft a 150kg load like a bulky and cumbersome backpack. She was tempted to leave it behind... But it was a good thing she didn't. The corridor she found was only a straight shot to - and she groaned - another airlock. As she approached it, Axiom unhelpfully congratulated her. "Excellent," he said. "Yo're approaching the internal hangar now. Our getaway ship is right over there." Cycling through, she passed into the deep well of an internal ship hangar - and groaned.
Najia was looking at a Magpie. That was the big, innovative, unique ship?
"If we want to make it out of here, you'll have to destroy the clamps on the hangar doors," Axiom informed her. Najia groaned, sighed, and rolled her shoulders. "Right. I can do that. All this for a..." She seethed, and looked back at the ship.
No, it wasn't a Magpie, but it sure as hell looked like one. It was clearly a derivative design, but it had not the Magpie's massive cargo pods; rather, it had smaller pods, and a lot more gubbins - antennae, dishes, and the like. Fan-dabbie-dozie she thought balefully to herself as she set about finding and destroying the lockdown clamps. As she did so, she also saw a couple more panels that had a turret hologram over them, and, thinking, why the hell not, fried them, too. Moments later, the lockdown clamps fell, too, and she saw a red light glare through one of the hangar windows.
Axiom piped up, "Holy triangle, that's the station alarm! Lucca and I are going to make a run for the ship!" She blinked, looking up - two EVA-suited figures, with full EMUs, cycled through the airlock she had come through.
What, she thought. Where... I... What... Where...? In a moment of dumbfounded confusion, she stared openly, unmoving, before both of them dipped between the ship's large thrusters, and headed for its belly, while Axiom said, "approaching the dock. Be with you in a moment!" Fearing being left behind, Najia abandoned the question of where they had gotten EV suits, let alone EMUs, in favor of making haste to join them.
As Najia negotiated into the airlock, Axiom and Lucca reported that they had boarded, and Axiom was working on powering up the ship's systems, and Axiom was transferring the ship's ownership - and hence, control - to her. They were trying to talk over one another, making it confusing, but, as she got into the ship and shed her MMU, running for the seat, Axiom noted, "This prototype ship does not appear to have an emergency eject system. I assume it was supposed to be added later." "Great," she snarled. "This is going tits-up and I'm in a little ship with no ejection system." "Split been moving into position," Maestro informed her, in a bit of good news. "Alarm must have mobilized more Ministry forces than Split anticipated."
"Thrice blasted!" Axiom roared from the back. "Mellerd deployed a capital ship to head off the Arcadian Endeavour!" Najia groaned, checking her map. A Pheonix-class vessel named Rolling Rock was engaging the Arcadian Endeavor.
As Najia got the Raven's struts up and pushed it forward, she got a comm from the Rolling Rock itself. She snarled as she saw Kriss Mellerd in her comm pane. "Thank you for leading the old man, and his crew of clowns, right to my doorstep. Crossing them off the Ministry's list will do wonders for my career advancement."
Najia gawped at her, in shock at the sheer gall on display, as Mellerd laughed. "You just stumbled into this whole affair, so I will offer you a one-time chance to get out of this. All you have to do is dock at my ship and hand over the pirates youy are currently harboring. You won't be able to keep the ship, but -"
Najia cut her off, snarling in anger. "You just love the sound of your own voice, bitch. Even if I was inclined to take an 'out,' though, nobody can trust you. For anything." Najia switched the comms to her ships, as she powered the Raven up to full. It seemed to be armed with two cannons; she test-fired them by holding in the trigger. They didn't fire immediately, but when she let go, they let fly. "Woah. These must be those Teladi charger things," she muttered. "Whatever. Ladies? This bitch cannot be trusted to keep her word. End her rightly!"
The Rolling Rock was already exchanging fire with Arcadian Endeavor, while Ace nipped at her heels, firing off shots from that launcher and the frontal cannon. Shiv and Kunai - the name chosen for the Paramerion - lifted from the Jackdaw and Arcadian Endeavour respectively, while Jackdaw and the Snapping Tortoise broke from formation with it to engage.
"L beam turrets... Problematic," Najia muttered to herself. "Let me see what I can do about that," she added, as she set the Raven prototype in motion. She could only hope, at least, that Kriss was at least rethinking her decision, now that the odds had tilted decidedly against her.
She dove into action against Rolling Rock, testing out the Muon Chargers, as the ships with her split and attacked. The destroyer was big, and problematic, but it seemed rather... Awkward to control, in fact. Ponderous, its turrets, even the lasers, seemed slow to respond. She nipped around it, firing a few times, as her four ships slipped past it. A plasma bolt struck her shields, and she yelped, diving to evade. "That's it," she heard Rei - not over the open comms, but in her earbud. "I am not letting you get your ass killed like this. I'm dispatching help," she said, and Najia winced.
Great. So this is how the war with the Ministry starts? And yet, oddly... There was no sign of Ministry reinforcements. Najia fled from the immediate vicinity to recharge her shields, coming in close to the Arcadian Endeavour, and watched as the Eighteen Billion Katana squads roared in. She winced as she saw that Okayama and her defense fleet had also been dispatched - a Destroyer squadron was going to bear down on Rolling Rock... Eventually. And yet, the Ministry was doing nothing.
It hit her suddenly; Kriss was rogue. Was doing this on her own. She snarled and grinned. The Ministry might be mad, when this shook out, but they'd have a hard time proving her involvement. Especially if she could play it as her ships responding to a distress call because a rogue vessel with an unaffiliated transponder had attacked a ship. It was flimsy... But it was enough. "Bear down on her, ladies. Tear that thing apart." Najia crowed, as she pulled the Raven in to touch down on the Arcadian Endeavour's landing pad. She looked back. "Axiom, they're gonna need you in the engine room. Lucca, you're not gonna wanna be on this ship!" The back ramp was dropping as she settled down; neither waited for her to have landed fully, they dropped from the ship and sprinted past, to the lift.
"So, you've decided to go down with the sinking ship? One less loose end for me to tie up later!" Mellerd crowed at her, and Najia smirked; of course she knew she couldn't trust Mellerd. "You're worse than a pirate, Kriss. Nobody can trust you," Najia said. "Prepare to kiss your ass goodbye."
Maestro was rattling on in her ear, but Najia could barely hear him over the combat calls. She hoped he was smart enough not to fire upon the T.E. vessels responding - it would be awkward later, and they were joining the fight on his side, after all. He was saying something about escape, and turrets. Najia snorted. "Actually, we're just going to blow this thing up," Najia declared. "We can't leave someone like Kriss Mellerd at our backs."
Things seemed to be doing well at first; the Rolling Rock was handling clumsily, awkwardly, as if she was critically undermanned. That gave Najia an odd hope that she might actually succeed at boarding her; the responding vessels were quickly tearing down her turrets and shields.
Then, everything went dramatically pear-shaped. Najia yelped as lasers tickled the the Raven's shields down and she got them back up again; again and again this happened, each time the hull started to fracture more and more. She made attack runs, damaged a surface element, and then things got worse. Where were those lasers coming from?
"Missile. Incoming missile." She slapped the countermeasures button, only to see the screen flash ammo empty. "Fuck!" A missile slammed into her, followed by a fly-by from a starfighter. She didn't catch it, but she took a pot-shot at it as it went past. Things were going from bad, to worse, when she heard someone howl, "Jackdaw's taking heavy fire! Jackdaw's... Oh fuck!"
Najia felt a moment of total disassociation. Numbly, her hand drifted over the stick, trying to maneuver the clunky ship like a starfighter, whilst fighting through mental fog.
Marta.
"We've got them!" Rei stringer called out, over her line. "I've got the crew of Jackdaw at the depot, but now we're under attack by a Ministry warship!" Najia gasped, shoving her stick forward, hard. Her ship was flying apart around her, and she snarled. "Someone get these motherfuckers!" "We're coming in," she heard - both the first, and last, person she wanted to hear. "Fenrir, engaging!" "Okayama, engaging." "Kagawa, engaging!" "Ark Royal, moving to engage!"
Najia laughed, incredulously. That was four fleets. Four fleets that most definitely were not supposed to be engaging to support the Arcadian Endeavour. One of them the Teladi wasn't even supposed to know about - Alarms blared. The Raven had taken a nasty hit, and a Ministry Kea was lining up on her six. She tried to pull away - she wasn't going to be fast enough - the ship jerked - the world went white.
Najia crashed forward to the deck, yelping, arms up to guard her head. She looked up; a Marine was standing next to her, offering her hand to Najia. "Better get to the skipper, ma'am," the Marina said. "We're Koshirae." Najia laughed, taking the proffered hand and climbing to her feet, hustling down to the bridge's main deck. Selaia Kevlin was standing in the middle like the Maestro, calmingly barking out orders with command presence. She looked up at Najia, briefly, smirking at her. "Does the owner have the conn?"
Najia shook her head, laughing. "Fight the ship, captain. I've got to coordinate this clusterfuck." Selaia laughed at her and nodded, barking out, "bring us up ninety, show her our broadside. Turret gunners, you are cleared to engage."
She hustled down to the fleet coordination console; the crewwoman at it hopping away for her. "This is Takio," she said, hopping on the controls. "Ladies, clear my skies of red. I don't know what the hell has gotten into the Ministry, attacking our stations like this, but if it's hostile out there, we kill it."
Rolling Rock was not having a good day, and it was getting exponentially worse. Her engines had been disabled, and Najia heard Maestro call out over the pirate channel, "Her engines are disabled. Now is the time to get away! But, where is Wildcard?" Najia winced. How was she going to explain that? Did she even want to? "This is Snapping Tortoise," Raleen, the captain of her pirate Baku called out. "We are picking up the crew of Jackdaw and Raven. Let these big bruisers fight, we'll get back to you."
"No!" Kriss Mellerd called out, yelping. "I don't wanna die!" Rolling Rock was coming apart under the growing tide of fire it was enduring, and more ships were still arriving. Najia snarled. Part of her wanted to bid Kriss a bon voyage to the afterlife, but she looked up to Selaia. "If anyone gets out of that ship, I want them. And we don't tell the Ministry."
"Roger that," Selaia said, and barked out orders to the helm to move closer to Rolling Rock. Najia looked back - a Ministry Razorbill was thoroughly engaged, and another had just blown up, attacking the construction depot.
She gritted her teeth, snorting hard. There was going to be hell to pay for this later. Righteous indigation - no, fury - was going to be the order of the day. Her ships had responded to a distress call from a Windfall trader, by an unidentified vessel. It was attacking relentlessly, wasn't on-record as being anything official. Then Ministry vessels, apparently heeding the aggressor's pleas, had jumped in, attacking Takio Enterprises assets, and the inevitable happen.
That was the tack she was going to have to take, and she clenched her fist. Outside, Rolling Rock came apart in a dazzling blossom of red that polarized the bridge windows for a long several moments. When they cleared, the ship was a debris field. Part of her hoped that Mellerd was dead; part of her hoped she wasn't. There was going to be a butcher's bill for today, and she tried - probably vainly - to make peace with that.
"Get us close enough to the Ministry Wharf to make contact," Najia said, looking to Selaia. "I've some barking to do." Selaia smirked at her. "After this? They should know damn well your bark isn't nearly as bad as your bite. They should be happy to get barked at. You should put on a respectable jacket at least." Najia let out a huff of exasperation, hurrying to do just that.
Najia needed to work to summon the righteous indignation she required for the bluff, but she reminded herself of the fate of Ace's mother to do so; the Ministry were assholes, even if they were also the lawful authority; and they had attacked her. She had clear and convincing evidence that Mellerd was up to no damn good. Not that she waas going to reveal it to anyone.
Hence, she found herself with eyes coldly blazing over the comms to the Ministry Police Kea craft which had departed from the wharf to intercept Koshirae. "Enough is enough," she snarled over the holo, standing in the conference room. "My ships responded to an attack upon a free trader from a destroyer that was not transmitting appropriate Ministry codes - not that the Ministry should be allowed to attack random traders, either."
"Your ships fired upon Ministry vessels," the captain of the Kea shot back, clearly outraged - but also, like the pilot who had followed her through the rift - terrified at being massively outnumbered and outgunned.
"Let me be clear, on the record, so there is no ambiguity," Najia said, leaning forward, placing her fist on the table. The effect was to lean closer to the hologram - and on the little attack ship's screen, her face would loom larger. "My ships responded to a distress call from a ship being attacked by an unknown vessel not transmitting appropriate ID. The Ministry, for whatever reasons, chose to respond to the event by siding with the aggressor and attacking my ships. Takio Enterprises warships responded by destroying the Ministry vessels." Her heart was thumping in her chest, but she narrowed her eyes. "If this is the gratitude of the Ministry of Finance, for all that Takio Enterprises has done here in Eighteen Billion, in Grand Exchange and at large, for the Ministry and the company, up to and including constructing facilities and securing neutral diplomats to mediate the dispute between the Company and the Ministry... Well, you might want to check with your superiors before you write a check they have to make good on. To be absolutely clear, this is a threat; you are the highest-ranking Ministry combat officer in Eighteen Billion. It is your decision whether this conflict continues or ceases, here and now. Ah - ah! Shut your fucking muzzle and listen to me carefully," she snapped, as the pilot opened her muzzle to retort.
"If you say anything but words to the effect of 'this was a horrible misunderstanding and we should deescalate the situation' - if you, personally, choose to escalate the situation, the first step I will take will be ordering all of my shipyards to stop producing vessels for the Ministry. The second step will be that I shall cripple the Ministry's ability to replace vessels by destroying the Ministry Shipyard and Wharf here in Eighteen Billion. I shall then proceed onward to prosecute this destructive and pointless war - a war chosen by you, pilot, here and now - by destroying each and every Ministry of Trade station I can find, until someone with some competent authority asks me to please stop doing that. You can see the weight of tonnage I have here, you know the Ministry does not have the tonnage to stop me. The choice is in your claws, pilot; war, or peace. War, or peace. Escalate, or deescalate. Your call."
The Kea pilot visibly shrank backwards in her command chair, obviously struggling to attempt to retain composure and command respect in the face of an overt and direct threat to bring fire and flame directly to the Ministry of Finance. Finally she steeled herself, straightening up in her chair. "This has obviously been a dreadful misunderstanding, miss Takio. The Ministry is undoubtedly going to demand reparations for our lost warships, but such matters are the purview of the financiers, not myself. If you will cease giving offense, we too shall cease attacks upon your vessels."
"Thank you," Najia said, leaning back. She fought not to visibly slump and sigh in relief, or to show how badly her heart was racing. "As for the reparations, they can take that up with the diplomat I have on payroll. Out." She cut the channel, and collapsed back into the chair behind her.
A moment later, the comm lit up again, and she flicked it on. It was a huge conference call, with the commanders of her fleets, the captain of Koshirae, Marta on the Snapping Tortoise with a small bandage on her forehead; Rei Stringer on the 18B construction depot, Tsukiko Peterson back at the headquarters, Professors Nakagawa and Okoye - whom Najia realized with a pang of guilt she hadn't yet formally re-introduced herself to -, Boso Ta,, and Ace. Najia let out a heavy sigh of relief. "Please for the love of god tell me we didn't lose anybody," she said, first off.
"Nobody from Jackdaw, Marta confirmed. "I took a headcount. We got lucky. "That seems to be a recurring theme," added Captain - probably should be Commodore - Xiaowen Kapoor - one of Najia's older friends, and currently the commander of T.E.S. Fenrir. "It helps that we responded with overwhelming firepower. My fleet is reporting no fatalties; thirteen casualties, mostly caused by haste in the heat of battle."
That proved to be the recurring theme; all of her responders reported sustaining injuries, mostly 'workplace accidents' incurred whilst in the heat of battle, but though some were serious, none were life-threatening.
"Najia Takio," Professor Yoriko Okoye - an aged-but-not-venerable, steel-haired professor-turned diplomat said, with the same tone of voice that she had used when reproaching Najia in class. "You are now, as ever you were, charmed, lucky, and reckless. You choose to act with passion first and foremost. This is a fine mess that I'm going to have to clean up, you understand. Can I expect this sort of thing to deal with in the future?"
Najia took in a breath, glancing around at her fellows. Barring a few, they were all young - Tsukiko was the third-oldest and Najia knew she was closer to thirty-five than forty - barely. Most of them looked grave, but not mutinious. She sighed, and smiled, wryly. "While I don't plan to go to war with the Ministry, there may be future... Rough spots to smooth over, yes. If you'd like to resign and go home -" "Not yet," the aged professor said, sharply. "But for dealing with this, I am going to require a pay rise!"
A chorus of chuckles surrounded her, and Najia sighed, face-palming and smiling. "That's fair, professor. We're going to have a fine time untangling this. Ace, how are the Curs?"
Ace looked into her eyes, then looked away for a moment, then back to her. "Secure in Windfall, awaiting your hopefully-safe return." She trilled, and Najia nodded. "Next stop, then."

The Gamers

Background

All Lodge wants is for his gaming group to finish their adventure. Unfortunately, they're more interested in seducing barmaids, mooning their enemies, and setting random villagers on fire. Desperate to rein in his players, Lodge injects two newbies into the distrust: a non-player character controlled by Lodge, who the power gamers immediately distrust, and the rarest gamer of all -- a girl. Can the group overcome their bickering to save the kingdom, or will the evil necromancer Mort Kemnon triumph unopposed?

Joanna Harcourt/Daphne

The new player cares more about the story than the levels. She is a fighter as well as a token female player who isn't at first not taken seriously by the other gamers.
Physicals

• In one turn she kills several goblins with one attack each she can do this because when she goes first and drops an opponent she immediately gets another attack
• Cuts down several more goblins and impales three at once with her spear
• Kills some more goblins
• Takes a kick from a ninja
• Stabs a ninja through the chest and balls
• Puts Luster in a hold
• Easily takes down brother silence and knocks him out with a smack of her spear
• Spears through a zombie
• Throws her spear hard enough to shatter the a metal globe at the top of a staff

Other

• Her highest stat is intelligence and she has bonuses on dexterity and charisma
• She has improved initiative meaning she gets a +4 on initiative
• She adds her int and dex bonuses to her crit range, she gets an extra attack whenever she lands a crit, and her crit range is 13-20 without bonuses

Cassidy/Brother Silence

Joanna's ex and an arrogant obsessed gamer who plays a monk. He plays with a by-the-rules attitude.
Physicals

• One shots a goblin with a kick
• Catches a ninja's spear behind his back takes it away and uses it to stab him
• Skillfully fights two ninjas at once disarming one and kicking away a bucket so hard he accidentally kills Flynn
• Hits someone in a pressure point leaving him completely motionless
  • Does this to a cultist to freeze him in place
  • Hits Ozric in a specific spot rending him completely frozen in place

Equipment

• Has a lightsaber psionic spirit blade, which he uses to take out zombified adventurers and split apart thrones
• A literal shotgun
• A chainsaw
• A bundle of dynamite, equipped with detonator

Gary Wombaugh/Luster

A male who plays a powerful female sorceress who destroys NPCs (especially peasants).
Physicals

• Takes down a Death Demon with a kick in the balls
• Backstabs a zombie, killing it
• Wrestles with two zombies

Magic

• Casts the 4th level spell flaming hand of fiery doom on a farmer completely disintegrating him
• Casts her lighting bolt which takes 2 turns to charge up
  • When it finally fires she accidentally kills Flynn with one hit
• Counterspells an evil mages attack
• Disinegrates a peasant with a blast of fire
• Traps a Death Demon with a hold spell
• Creates a web of magic in front of a door
• Causes a cursed book to burn away with a casting of fireball

Other

• Has a small crossbow

Leo "DaVinci" Lamb/Flynn the Fine

A womanizing bard who is the only character to die in combat. Leo is the owner of the game store where the players meet.
Physicals

• [Limits] Hes killed after being shot in the chest by several arrows
• [Limits] Hes killed by an incoming bucket
• [Limits] Hes killed by himself

Bardic Knowledge

• Immediately recognized the grand inquisitor\
• Knows several pieces of important information about their quest

Seduction

• Him and luster fuck almost immediately
• Seduces a priestess who took a vow of celibacy and has 20 ranks in seduction
• Seduces a barmaid by whispering in her ear

Other

• He easily tricks Osric into thinking there were ninjas outside
• Calms down a frightened peasant by singing
• Frees Luster of a Death Demon's magical control with a counter song
• Charms someone with a song convincing them to give up his old masters gear
• Manages to invoke a goddess' power while she was trapped inside of a magical staff, causing a the magic user who was trying to usurp her to lose control of his powers

Kevin Lodge/Sir Osric

A Paladin played by the DM. Because of this everyone hates his stupid face immediately after meeting him.
Physicals

• Takes down a ninja with an elbow to the face
• After being stunned one of his swings took down Flynn
• Lifts himself out of a magical holding spell that had downed the rest of the party, before spearing through a cultist
• Despite being hit with magical lightning, he survives long enough to explain the weak point of a magic user, although a second round of it kills him

Magic

• Casts a spell with his sword to disintegrate a ninja
• [Limits] His holy magic had no effect on a Death Demon
• Lays hands on Brother Silence after he was knocked unconscious and brings him back up
• Can bless water making it holy water which can be used to torture demons
• Erases the writing on a wall

Other

• As a paladin he can't allow any evil acts to happen on his watch

Other

• They are gifted the staff of resurrection so she can bring back a party member if they were to be killed here it is resurrecting Flynn
  • This resurrects him so often and so fast that the party can literally hide behind a pile of dead bards
• They find a spiked codpiece, knee pads, an unnatural ax, and a lightsaber psionic spirit blade from their former party's equipment

I want to start this right, so stop me from making mistakes before I'm in too deep!

• Skin type: acne prone, sensitive, skin barrier was damaged but is on an uphill swing - I think.
• Tretinoin status: Obagi .025, applied twice so far to a dry face, 6 nights apart
• Routine: -- AM: Obagi gentle cleanser, don't dry after washing, apply neutrogena hylauronic, Elta MD light skin recovery lotion, obagi hydrate lotion -- PM (off nights): obagi gentle cleanser, elta MD skin recovery moisturizer, cerave PM moisturizer -- PM (Tret nights): same as above, except for I apply Tret to a dry face, wait 5 minutes, put the moisturizers on top of Tret

I started with pretty bad acne that has all of a sudden become an issue on my cheeks and forehead (stress induced, I presume). Alright, tell me what to change (and what to use for spot treatment!!) I'm planning to stick with 5 nights between applications... I fear the purge because I have a lot of cc's and texture issues right now.

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The strangest thing about Builder artifacts is that they stay dormant unless prodded. More than a half dozen species grew to maturity on worlds with Builder artifacts hidden beneath lava flows, embedded in bedrock, or on the deeper ocean's floors. Those Builder artifacts stayed dormant. No signals, no power, no nothing.
However, once they were poked or prodded, they reacted with sudden, often shocking, levels of violence to protect themselves and maintain their integrity. Once the Builder's relic deduced that it was no longer threatened, it once again went dormant.
Other relics, however, react with shocking violence the first time they are encountered.
In every case, it becomes quickly apparent: Even though the Builders are unaware of us, fought on our worlds and in our stellar systems when we were still, at the most, hunter-gatherer species, they do. not. like. us.
Once again, the question remains: Who did the Builders hate with such ferocity that even today they will not allow their relics to be touched?
And the question most academics don't like to exam: Do the Builder's sworn enemies still exist?
And the final question: Are we somehow those enemies?
Or rather, we were? Are we what remains of The Builder's ancient foes?
Was their hate reserved for our ancestors?
Is their hate reserved for us? - Thoughts on The Builders, Hrsh.ket Press, 528 Current Era
WELCOME BACK, COMMANDER
ASSERTING BATTLEFIELD CONTROL
PLEASE STAND BY...
...
...
Commander Jane Marcus Prestini raised her head up from where she had slumped forward in her chair, her face against the soft pad that depicted anime-esque dancing and wrestling Kobold squirmlings. Her eyes focused on the LED dot that moved around the pad, leaving a changing RGB color streak behind it as it moved around and around the pad.
She shook her head to clear the muzziness and looked at screen.
Not at her command screen, which dutifully waited for her to provide input before it went from queue orders to manual control, but at the screen she'd dedicated to log files.
She looked it over and checked.
Jane made a face as she saw she had stroked out fourteen minutes ago. The first clone, completed twelve point three two one eight minutes ago had suffered an explosive cerebral hemorrhage when it was 'kickstarted'. The second clone had been brain dead from the get go. The system had defragged and then run CRC repairs. The third clone had errored out during cellular printing.
She was the fourth.
Jane reached out and pawed at the mini-fridge, pulling out a cold drink. Countess Crey Sexy Battery Acid and Over-Ripe Fruit Medly <> She cracked it open with the same hand she held it with, then took a long drink.
Her vitals were settling down. Blood pressure was still a little high, her Beta waves were kicking a little, her endocrine system was showing a few jots and tittles, but it was within the new tolerances.
The med-system finished its checks and threw the number up on the clock.
793 Minutes 52.82143 Seconds
Her new Lifeclock.
She checked her Actions Per Minute.
Well, the last fourteen minutes were all zero, but just before she'd stroked out she had dropped to eighty-five APM and 2.8 Clicks Per Second.
She made a face.
I wouldn't have even passed initial training with those shitty numbers, she thought to herself.
She ran the cold can over her face, then checked her queues.
None of them had dropped below the twenty-five minutes to complete level.
She hadn't lost too many facilities, although it looked like the Slorpies were concentrating on fabrication and energy production facilities, trying to strangle her logistics systems.
Taking another drink, she used her free hand to dance her fingers across the manual keyboard. The holographic keyboard was a thing of the past.
I'm fighting my way backwards. Rather than updates, I'm regressing. Pretty soon I'll be typing kekekekek.
Voice command was shot. It no longer responded. Even newly fabbed components refused to work correctly. Motion Input and her cyberjack no longer worked.
Cascading software failures.
But she was Commander Jane Marcus Prestini.
And she would not yield.
Cold storage decompression was still running. She had those programs on a loop. Born Whole Fast Bake templates, clone templates, weaponry templates, vehicle templates.
She kept having to send the templates to dedicated facilities to be decrypted and decompressed, building that went by the nickname Arendees.
Her systems were badly damaged. Hard drops. Crossing dimensional rifts. Space-time gates.
She was built for it, but machinery, technology, had a limit that flesh could overcome.
Jane knew it, down to her bones, it wasn't hardware, it wasn't fancy toys, that made the difference.
It was willpower, dedication, and raw flesh, blood, and bone.
She tossed the can away, bouncing it into the reclamator, and pulled out another one without looking, even while she kept fast-fingering commands in. The can gave just a snap, no hiss, and she knew that the nanoforge had errored out and given her either flat stimfizz or an empty can. She chucked it, noted by the sound of the can it was probably full of dust, and grabbed another one.
Snozzberry and Blue Licorice.
She swilled down half of it, poured some down her bare back, then finished off the can and tossed it.
Jane checked her hand, holding it out steady.
The shakes were subsiding.
But she knew they'd be back.
A beeping got her attention and she cursed as she spotted the problem immediately.
She hit the emergency shields, cranked them up high, slammed the blast shutters down, and felt the harness bite hard, yanking her back in the chair.
Ultrasonic missiles fired less than three miles out, from under the swamp-sea, leaving a bright white trail as their sprint drives kicked in, whipped toward her.
Her point defense got most of them.
The rest of them sped over the top of her base.
Instead of orienting for a top-down attack like she had expected, they whipped across.
Jane realized what the attack's actual objective was as the missiles hit and detonated.
No flare of antimatter. No white flash of atomics.
Pure ultra-high-ex shape charges.
The charges hit the mountain just to her north, that mountain that half her base was snuggled up against.
Cursing, Jane ramped the shielding up as high as it would go, ordered her two construction drones into the nearest building and into shock positions, and watched as the entire side of the mountain shivered for a split-second.
With a roar she could hear through her equipment, the entire side of the mountain gave away. She ignored the spectacle as she slammed the integrity fields to the max and ordered the point defense to start shooting at the leading wave.
The rubble slammed down, held back for a moment by her battlescreens and the ferocity of her point defense fire.
Just long enough for Asshat and Bitchmade to make it to the buildings.
The battlescreens gave out, the mechanisms exploding, just as the rock covered the entire base.
Jane kept snapping out orders across the UHF and VHF systems, filling the queues.
She heard the slamming of boulders the size of houses impacting the armor of the command center but kept giving orders.
The rocks that hit the swamp-sea caused huge waves to wash over the debris.
Anything that had compromised integrity shorted out.
She maxed out the queues just as the VHF, UHF, and ULF systems were crushed.
Insulation and lighting strips fell from the ceiling along with tiles.
She cursed, throwing off a strip of insulation, her hands jutting out to take control, her fingers twiddling and tapping as fast as she could.
She activated macros, gave point to point orders, then leaned back.
The command center's internal repair systems had fully loaded queues. The external systems were running hard.
She took nearly five seconds to think without moving. Her APM and CPS monitors beeped but she ignored them.
Right before she had lost communication, one of her hovering drone spy-eyes had shown that the Slorpies had followed up with another hit, this one converting a bunch of the rubble into molten rock that was flowing down over the debris.
That made her grin.
You did it in the wrong order, she smiled.
She took out a drink, going through three before she found one that was drinkable. She reached to the back of the mini-fridge and thumped on the nutriforge with two knuckles.
It hissed back.
Standard tactic would be to clear the rubble ASAP, give her nearest factories the ability to add into the fight, since their command turnaround was measured in picoseconds.
But she was running on UHF, ULF, and VHF bands. That meant putting up new systems.
She hmm'd, checking the map. Brought up a few pieces of equipment.
Adjusting an autonomous mobile sword mark-2 would provide the fast tunneling system. Another modification to a standard system would make it so the AMS2 would leave behind a thick bundle of shielded superconductor cable behind it.
More adjustments. Then run it through the simulation system a dozen times.
AMS systems had a tendency to go rogue after a few months of use, but that wasn't her problem. The software was prone to error cascades now that the Jessica-Syndrome had been beaten.
Of course, she always doubled up with bedrock gapped timer based anti-matter destruction charges.
The simulation beeped and she went back to work.
She compared the time to manufacture and deploy those systems to digging herself out.
Less than a tenth of the time.
She punched in the orders and waited.
Her headache was starting.
The guzzled fizzystims and the Countess Crey Fruit Pies she shoved in her mouth fixed that.
Her screens were blinking that she was cut off from the actual status of the other bases and facilities as well as her fighting forces.
Which is why she kept reprioritizing the Level Two Born Whole templates. They could make autonomous decisions.
Sure, the cloning banks kept blowing out, the Born Whole Digicreche kept crashing, but she just rebuilt them over and over.
Hard cable connection was made. Asshat and Bitchmade signaled they'd made it and managed to repair the systems to the buildings they had sheltered in.
Her screens were still blinking that she was cut off, but she refilled the queues and then ordered all living and DS forces to file status reports.
She watched the timer even as she brought up more and more templates.
Her nose started bleeding.
It didn't matter.
She wiped her nose and mouth, then wiped her gory hand off on her bare thigh.
Orbital and stellar forces had obtained victory sixteen hours ago, but it had been mutually assured destruction at the end. The Slorpies were being very careful to go after any sat-com systems she tried to put up to the point that she'd managed to get them to break off on full on assaults to assault a hard-light frame construction point for a sat-com system.
She gave instructions to Asshate and Bitchmade to dig themselves access tunnels to the next facilities and begin repairs. She prioritized the creation engines and the reclamation yard.
She felt the trickle down her neck from her left ear right when the system beeped that Cockhead and Dipshit had been rebuilt. She ordered them in and leaned back, blinking.
She had a slight red tinge to her vision.
She checked her Lifeclock.
She was in the red.
Jane tabbed a few notes in the system that kept the logs and grabbed another cold drink. The repair spider climbed out from behind the minifridge where it had just finished making repairs and Jane took the time to scratch it with the edge of the can. It beeped with happiness and moved on to the next task.
The first connection was made and her screens started flashing that they were updating.
Jane blinked, clearing her eyes, and checked the queues.
They were good for at least three hours.
She nodded to herself.
Cracking open another can, she lifted it up and inhaled the released carbonation.
It made her sneeze.
She held back the sneeze.
She was dead before her face hit her decorative mat.
-----
WELCOME BACK, COMMANDER
ASSERTING BATTLEFIELD CONTROL
PLEASE STAND BY...
...
...
Commander Jane Marcus Prestini smiled as she shook her head. She checked her Lifeclock, then the logs.
She had been gone 16.73 minutes this time.
Her Lifeclock had slightly longer.
She cracked her knuckles, looked over the monitors, and activated her keyboard.
TRANSFERRING BATTLEFIELD CONTROL
ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL
Jane grinned as she used one hand to go through her menus, checking her queues, as she reached out and grabbed a can of Liquid Hate.
The battle was going against the Slorpies now. She knew they had assumed she was knocked out.
Now she was back.
"You'll be sorry" the can squeaked as she opened it.
The template decrypter beeped and her grin got wider.
Yuriko Template Ready...
flashed on the screen.
"Tier Three... online," she whispered.
Time to teach the Slorpies that they weren't the only ones that could come up with new tricks.
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My iPad Air Gen 4 screen becomes completely unresponsive from time to time. The touch stops working when this happens. It either fixes itself after about 10 seconds or I have to lock and unlock the device for it to get fixed. Has anyone else here faced this issue? Is this just my device lagging? I only use it to browse the web and watch youtube so not sure how it can get tripped up by such casual use.

The dock workers at Station 26 were deadly efficient. By the time I'd stepped out into the gangway, they were already swarming around the ship, taking note of fuel nozzles they'd need and trying to get advanced readings of power levels and repairs. Most paused as they reached the back of the ship, nodding at the damage and doing their best to look solemn about how much money they were about to make.
Though there were a myriad of species surveying my ship, in the end, there were more humans in one place than I'd seen in the past couple of months. Mythellion wasn't a bastion of humanity, and the job before that had been lonely overall.
I should have felt better about the species of the crew and found some human camaraderie in it instead of the general apprehension that came alongside standing in the middle of a Station 26 spaceport again.
I shrugged the Nurse's bag higher up over my shoulder, having ensured that I left the top unzipped and the barrel showing. The chances were next to zero that I'd fire it during my time on the Station, but the Nurse was an expensive piece of military hardware, at least enough to hopefully cause anyone feisty to reconsider.
Though people had swarmed the ship, Victoria and I had been given a wide berth to exit onto the main platform. That said before I could start a conversation with her a young blonde-haired boy in thick, plasma-burned clothes walked up to me holding a data pad. He looked both expectant and way too young to be in charge of anything. "Translator for English?"
I nodded. He'd understand that it was for Victoria instead of me.
"Guang? Tel? Deut-"
"It's not for me-"
The boy tapped his wrist twice and likely turned his translator off, "Yeah, I'm trying to have a private conversation. Good to know you speak English, my Cant is shakes."
"I take it you turned your translator off?"
"Yours still on?"
"Yes."
"Is she paying for this, or are you?"
"Why?"
"Why is his translator muted?" Victoria asked.
"Just a second- It's my ship?"
"And you're payin'?"
"Yes."
"Well, shit, there goes the bonus rate." The boy tapped something on his datapad and then squinted at it, leaning in too close like it was going to help him understand the message on there. "Are you fuckin- God dammit. BOYS!" he called over my shoulder, "It's been marked to go to the pent. Clear out."
"What was that?"
"Your ship's going upstairs."
"No, it's not. You can repair it here."
"If it were up to me, I would be getting them on it right now," the boy leaned to shout past me again, "I said CLEAR OUT- but it ain't up to me anymore. You're going up to the pent."
"Can you ju-"
"I would not be making this decision because I like being paid, and you woulda been payin' me instead of those dickheads up there, but it ain't up to me so-" he shrugged, "your ship is going upstairs, and I'm gonna have a drink tonight before I tell my brother about today's numbers."
I pulled one of several anonymous credit chips I'd set up before landing out of my pocket. "How about we fix it here?"
"Oh, this isn't your first time on Station 26, mate?"
He gave me space to answer. I didn't.
"Look, I'd love to, but whatever's on that chip ain't worth my license so, you're going to the pent. I'm going to go find another piece to patch up." He was already walking away before he finished speaking, ending with a wave instead of a goodbye.
I took a deep breath, shut my eyes to pray for patience and shoved the chip back in my pocket as the scurrying crew that had been scanning my ship packed up to follow the boy. I stopped just short of swearing under my breath.
"That doesn't look like it went well."
"It didn't."
"What'd you do?"
"I didn't do anything," I explained, "but I also do not want to get dragged up to the luxury docks."
I turned and saw Victoria processing my train of thought for a second. In most cases, the Luxury docks were the place to get premium repairs on a fast timeline. It was theoretically the best place for us. Of course, she lacked full context about my history here. How was she supposed t-
"Well, I'll be damned, I almost couldn't believe it when I saw those landing codes come across my screen."
I snapped my head to catch the woman stepping off a nearby exposed lift, dropping onto the corrugated steel floor; she offered a smile as she landed.
"Welcome back, Kingston."
"Hey, Natasha."
Natasha sneered at her full name and shook her black hair out before winding it back into an out-of-the-way ponytail. Her arms were a motley of different coloured skin grafts welded on over the years to compensate for engine burns and faded tattoos. She looked way too happy to see me.
"Who's this?" Victoria asked
"This is Natash-"
"Tash," she cut in between us and held out a hand to Victoria before looking up at her and then at me, "Flying with a Fotty now?"
"The Fotuan" I corrected, "is a client."
"So you're still doin' the merc shit, honestly thought you woulda cleaned up your act by now."
No, she didn't.
"What brings you to Songlai? You certainly didn't tell me about any plans."
I nodded over to the ship; I wasn't about to elaborate on all of the details, least of all those about Victoria.
"Just the damage, then? Here I was hoping you limped here in spite of it," Tash frowned at the ship and pointedly at Victoria, who returned her stare with unblinking silver eyes. Her frown flipped, "Well, an accident is just as good as coming here on purpose. It still gets you here after all."
She fired a smile at me as she finished speaking. She had a habit of trying that. Tash had charmed a lot of people into underestimating her by being unerringly friendly when she thought it would suit her.
She clocked the fact that my expression didn't thaw, and turned her attention elsewhere.
"What about you? What's your story, Fotty?"
"Vic," Victoria answered. Her 'fake name' came out covered in frost, at least she remembered to keep some of my instructions to heart.
"Why'd ya hire Kingston?"
"He was the only reasonable candidate for my work on Mythellion. Unfortunately, the talent pool was shallow."
"You know, I don't care what they say about Fotuans. I like you."
"I'll let you know when the feeling's mutual."
"Alright." Tash took a step back from Victoria and answered with a long whistle before sizing the young girl up. Tash spoke rapid-fire with her glances, but I wasn't sure Victoria caught any of it.
"Just here to say hello, Tash?"
Tash smiled at me using the name she preferred, "No no no no no, I came down here from Pent to bring the ship up for you, and honestly, I really should be getting to that. How about you two get settled and I'll catch up with you."
"Call me when you want that," I answered before starting to walk away.
"Actually, wait-" Tash dug into the front pocket of her apron and pulled out a pair of silver cards with emerald and gold markings carved into the service. "Courtesy of Jie."
I didn't take the cards right away, but Victoria did. "We appreciate the hospitality."
"You're the one getting the freebie there," Tash pointed out, "that's for Kingston."
I ran my tongue across my teeth, "Jie's hospitality is appreciated."
"She's a generous woman," Tash answered, "you gonna bring all that hardware?"
"Yes."
"Suit yourself. Enjoy Songlai."
"Let's go Mr. Diadona," Victoria nodded for us to move and I watched Tash catch herself for a second in response to Victoria using my last name. I'd have to correct her on that.
Tash made her way over to the ship, leaving us alone as she grabbed several nearby engineers to help secure it onto a lift.
Victoria watched her work for a moment, focusing on where Tash was even as she walked to the other side of the ship and disappeared from view. Victoria took a moment to straighten herself and pull back her shoulders, the first steps she took toward the dock's exit were strides.
Even though I was the person who should have been walking us anywhere, as I knew where we were going, I let her lead for the sake of appearance.
Once we had stepped away from the ships and into the throng of lines, workers and passers-by that was the main platform, Victoria spoke up, "How well do you know her?"
"That's a complicated question."
"It seems simple."
"Then it's the answer that's complicated," I corrected, wedging myself between a human couple to keep up with Victoria. "It's not an issue."
"I wasn't implying that it was, just that you seem to know a lot of people."
"Like Dvall?"
"And Jie."
"It's a small galaxy."
"To the contrary," she looked down at me and motioned for me to take the lead so we could use the right exit gate, "it's so big we're on Station 26 despite you being against it."
"Correction then. The circles you run in with my kind of work are small circles."
Victoria cast a sideways glance at me, but if she doubted that everything going on was entirely a work connection, she didn't vocalize it.
The silver passes got us through the exit gate and pushed us past processing without as much as a second glance at the Nurse on my back. I shoved the pass deep into my pocket and sighed as we reached the main promenade up to the Pent. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
From the outside, Station 26 was gaudy, audacious and ostentatious; you knew flying up that you would get a city with a golden face with an underclass of steel and sinew to work the lithium mines. The Pent was the golden face, but it had picked up a lot more emerald since I'd last been here.
That and the lack of rubble must have had something to do with Jie.
There was an order to the crowd up here. Beneath the massive golden screens plastered in advertisements, the people of the Pent moved with purpose, almost like it was a system as opposed to a crowd. Shining green pathways cut through the square, only separated by lavish gardens with exotic plants imported from the far reaches of Sol.
Lanterns hung in the air, humming with energy and pumping out light to keep the street basking in the constant golden glow of sunset. Above them, a complicated network of trams and railways cut between the upper floors, revealing how much of the Station had been hollowed out to allow for this stunning display of wealth; and power.
It took a careful eye to notice them, and I might have missed them if it weren't for experience, but there were plants in the crowd, pedestrians with golden accents on their clothing that kept too steady a gaze to be wandering.
I shrugged the Nurse higher on the shoulder, and we headed toward exactly where Jie wanted us.

*My
Apologies if this is NOT directly related to wrestling itself, one of my best friends passed away last month, and I needed a place to share his memory, and as he was constantly bullshitting on SC, I couldn’t imagine a better place.
Reddit user HipHoppington died last month, and his last post was about how hype an NXT show was starting off, on /SquaredCircle
When we worked in IT together, I sparked an interest back in wrestling with him and we began to hold in-office bets and had belts and everything. We would photoshop our faces over Cena/Hogan and use it as our professional profile pictures if we lost.
He would watch wrestling every Wednesday with his mom, and just tonight she messaged me with how much she thought about what she would have imagined he would say during the show. It was their favorite time of the week to spend together.
Tonight, I realized I had his Reddit username from years ago so I wanted to scrub it and I noticed he posted here often. I’m not sure if anyone recalled the name, but if you look up HipHoppington and noticed you had spoken with him or recalled something he wrote, just know that he was someone who brought the best out of people. He was a hilarious bullshitter and odd and loved his kid more than a father possibly could. We all lost a little light.
Take care, everyone. Hold your friends and family dear and tell them you love them.

I got hired about 6 months ago (369-). But today I had my first moment of teaching and it made me feel really confident so I just wanted to share here.
For background, the partner I’m talking about has been working there for 12 years now, he’s a shift and him and I are friendly. I was making the new cinnamon caramel cream cold brew. As I was pumping the cinnamon dolce into the foamer he looked at me and asked me “what are you doing?”. I told him that I was making that drink. He told me it gets pumps of cinnamon caramel. I explained to him it was pumps of each, half in the drink and half in the foam. He said nope. And I looked at him completely puzzled. We went back and fourth a couple times. He looked on the till to see if he could figure it out. He assured me it was only cinnamon caramel. I still expressed that I was pretty sure it was both, but whatever. He jokingly said “look I don’t mean to argue, but I knew I was right hand on hip & funny face”. I had put the foamer down on the counter and he grabbed it and rinsed it out, then made the drink.
Later, fast forward an hour or so. I was shooting the breeze with another partner (who also has happened to be there for a really long time) and I told him this story. He expressed that he thought I was correct. So we grabbed an iPad and officially checked the recipe card. I think we all know what It said. So I went over to my coworker and showed him. He did the basic “huh very confused oh wow. I’ve been making them wrong this whole time” etc etc. And I turned to him and said “hey ——— I don’t wanna argue buttttt…I knew I was right que hand on hip and smug face (all in good fun!).
So yeah. I Want to reiterate that all of this was in good fun. I am in no way upset with him and the other way around. And this isn't me gloating about "always being right" or anything. It just helped my confidence on the floor a little bit as that's something I've been struggling with lately.

Hi all - I've been trying to map some retro controllers (released with the Mini consoles over the years) to the Steam Deck to play as many games as possible with their original pads. Some of them however simply don't seem to relate to the gamepad mapping.
For instance, my TurboGrafx USB pad (D-pad, start, select, and two face buttons) knows that 'button 2' is B/cancel as standard, but no matter what I map to A/Accept in the mapping, nothing happens when I push button 1. I've literally mapped the entire controller to A button, but nothing works - unless I map Button 2 to A button.
The pad works fine, I've tested it on the PC Engine Mini. What I can only assume is that Button 1 simply doesn't correspond to any of the default 'Gamepad' buttons Steam uses and thus can't be mapped? Is there any way to map beyond the limited capabilities of Steam Deck's mapping feature? Is there any way I can push a button on the controller and THEN assign it a function? A two button controller shouldn't be this difficult to configure!

Hi everyone. I aaammm miserable.
I started on .01 (Stieva-A) in October, got bumped up to .05 (Retin-A) in January, and was using that until a week ago because I’ve been breaking out non stop from January to March and someone said it’s likely an irritation to .05, not a purge. I was using .05 every 2-3 days trying to work my way up to every day.
I was using benzoyl peroxide in conjunction with .01 from October to December and that pairing was working for me after the nasty 2 month adjustment period. I continued using the benzoyl while on .05 until the beginning of March when someone suggested I just do one active at a time to alleviate the irritation.
Dropping benzoyl didn’t change the breakouts so I stopped using .05 completely last week and have gone back to using .01 this week. I’ve used it every other evening and my skin has revealed a whole new breakout, each day worse than the one before. My .05 irritation was consistently below my mouth, but the last week on .01 has sprouted spots all around my mouth and alongside my nose. I know your breakout is meant to brew 4 weeks before you even see it, but the timing of switching to .01 and having the breakout spread upward is exactly matched which is so weird.
I am exhausted from this. I left my house for a total of 40 minutes in the last 7 days because I am humiliated. Makeup doesn’t cover it sufficiently, it’s just a mess of bumps and dark red and purple spots. This is having such a negative impact on my life.
Please can someone help. I’ve read the wiki and a number of other peoples posts, but I don’t know what will work!
Does lowering your dosage from .05 to .01 start your purge again? Is that what’s happening? I thought since my skin had already adjusted to the .01 back in December, it would be fine to go back to. I haven’t added the benzoyl peroxide back in to try continue giving my skin a break. Should I be adding the benzoyl peroxide back in because .01 isn’t strong enough on its own? Should I have instead stuck with the .05 and lowered the frequency of use? Or will my skin relax on the .01 in a week or two?
Please please please help :( I would really like to know what my next two weeks should look like and if there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
Face wash: Cetaphil gentle foaming cleanser Moisturizer: neutrogena daily moisturiser

Bright blue eyes blink at you.
“... Ah. Welcome. Its great to meet you, I do hope this wont be the last time we cross paths. As I know it, you havent heard of the Nightfall story. Do you have some time? Ive always been a fan of story telling. Cmon, Sit down.”
Their eyes bore into you, watching as you got comfortable. The deep brown cat cleared their throat, settling down. Their tail swept over the ground, curling around them.
“So, there were these four cats. Very important, each from one respective clan,” The cat started. Its eyes flew wide, “You- You do know the clans, right? Theres Thunderclan, Shadowclan, Riverclan, and Windclan. Just, making sure. Can never be too confident. Anyway-”
PROLOGUE
Damp wind flowed between the cats, shaking the pool of water they had gathered around. Starlight shone on the surface of the rippling water. One of the four cats, with a soft brown pelt, wrapped their tail around their paws. Even in the shadows of dawn, His yellow eyes glowed. He opened his mouth, speaking lightly. “Are we sure about this?”
His gaze slowly lifted, settling on a golden-brown tabby she-cat. Her lips curled back, a smile softening her features. She looked fuzzier than the brown tom, her paws larger. “Duskfur. Please calm down, we already agreed on this - If my memory serves.” She added playfully.
There was a mewl of laughter from the cat next to the pretty she-cat. Their fur was almost pure white, minus her paws, which were sandy and striped. She looked smaller than the other three, her muscles less defined. Her fur was far sleeker than any of the others, her shoulders also broader. Her snout was pointier, her teeth slightly poking out from her bottom lip. The last cat, with deep black fur, unsheathed his claws, swiping at the white she-cat. He was by far the largest of the cats, his fur nearly blending into the ground.
She yelped, jumping back. A line of blood had already started welling on her nose. She lifted a paw, holding it over the wound. “Shadestorm!” Duskfur stood, looking at the black tom. His ears were pricked.
“Can we just start this?” Shadestorm hissed, stepping hesitantly into the pool.
“Birchpaw, are you alright?” The golden-brown tabby questioned, licking the blood off the smaller. “That was uncalled for.” The she-cat said, turning her hostile gaze to Shadestorm.
“Whatever.” Shadestorm rolled his eyes, scoffing. He shook his fur, holding his wet paw up, staring at it with disgust.
“… I'm fine. Thank you, Ambersight.” Birchpaw smiled, pushing against Ambersight as she led the other into the pool. Ambersight flinched as the cold water seeped into her fur, but Birchpaw looked content. Shadestorm watched the two of them, before once again stepping in. His face was determined. The pool was large enough to fit two or three more cats.
Duskfur cleared his throat. “Well. Remember your purpose, and do not stray into other clan territory.” Duskfur started, Looking around for confirmation from the others. “We have already learned our lesson.” He sighed, looking down at the water. His reflection stared back. Shadestorm’s dark fur had started to grow translucent, and sparkly. Not long after, the other cats coats matched Shadestorm’s.
“Goodluck.” Birchpaw whispered, her voice trailing off as her figure slowly disappeared into the forest behind her.
Within a heartbeat, the four cats had appeared back around the pool of water, which was no longer glittering. Their fur was dry, showing no sign of having been soaked. Ambersights claws sunk into the hard dirt, pulling roots up as she flexed. Each cat's fur stood on end, as if in a warning, and even Shadestorm looked confused and disturbed. His tail lashed from side to side, his lips nearly drawn in a snarl.
“There will be a time dimmed by ghost and blood, only the sun's lover can transform the path of shadow. Left alone, Leafbare’s creation will wake, and only then will the quick challenge the power of the sky. The swift must relinquish what it took before all can unite.” Birchpaw echoed what she had heard, the three others sharing glances.
“It was all the same.” Duskfur said, his voice quiet and hoarse. “The sun's lover… Leafbare, the quick, ghost and blood… What does it mean?” He shook his head. The other cats fell silent, not daring to make eye contact.
“Could the sun's lover refer to Sunpaw of thunderclan?” Ambersight asked, her whiskers trembling.
“I don't think so. Sunpaw is only an apprentice. Leafbare is too soon.” Birchpaw pointed out, but Shadestorm jumped in.
“It could mean another leadbare. There's nothing suggesting it's this one.”
Birchpaw growled, baring her teeth. “There's nothing suggesting it's not this one either, foxbreath.”
“Did you see anyone specific?” Duskfur asked after an awkward pause, clearing his throat, not looking at anyone particularly.
“I did.” Ambersight ripped her claws out of the dirt, her paw stained brown. She flicked her paw, flinging dirt off of it. Her ears flattened.
“Was it Sunpaw?” Duskfur asked. Ambersight hung her head, seeming defeated. “No,” she muttered.
“I also saw a cat from my clan.” Shadestorm growled, forcing himself to sit down. “I think that means we all saw a cat from our clans.” Shadestorm suggested, his bright green eyes glistening.
“We need to hurry then. We know where to go and who to find, and this doesn't sound good.” Duskfur shook, scraps of moss soaring from his pelt. “We can't wait.” He continued, turning around. The three others jumped up, following Duskfur closely. “And remember. Do not pass into other clan territory. If we don't find the right cats in time, this could truly be disastrous.”
Shadestorm passed Duskfur. “I don't listen to anyone younger than me.” He spat, sharply turning into a dark spruce forest.
The three continued down the starry path that was becoming increasingly speckled with other cats. Some were faded, and some were bright. They shared tongues, lazing in the sunlight. Ambersight huffed, quickening her pace to run into an undergrowth. Duskfur padded on, birchpaw following as closely as she could manage. Her short legs were not catching up with Duskfur, creating a gap between them. Before Birchpaw lost the other altogether, the two split. Duskfur sped off into a large moorland, while Birchpaw jumped into a mellow river.

My broken glasses are starting to annoy me. They feel unbalanced on my face and the single remaining nose pad is rubbing a hole in the side of my nostril. I might try to hot glue the other nose pad on tonight, even though mother said not to. It is worth a try. I just can't focus.
As you may imagine, this lack of focus caused me to miss the deadline for my short story Scion In Bloom. I'll still finish the story eventually but I won't be submitting it to the world just yet. On the bright side, the new prompt for this week is out and I have to admit I find it a bit more compelling. The theme is "Something borrowed" and the prompt I'll be picking is "Set your story at an antique roadshow." I'll be titling my story Opposite Ends. My plot summary so far: "Sisters, one rich & one poor, trying to sell their grandmother’s antique Fabergé egg clock. The rich sister wants to sell it on the black market because poor people can be fooled into paying more. The poor sister wants to take the clock to a fancy antique roadshow because rich people have more money to spend. The sisters steal the clock back and forth and try to convince the antique roadshow security that they owned the clock first."
I didn't get much else done today because of the aforementioned glasses issue. I hope you'll forgive me for ending this note short as well. I can barely stare at my screen for five minutes before my nose and/or eyes twinges in pain.
Yours & Mine,
S.O. Skinner

My head hit the pillow, what a long day. As I slipped into a deep sleep. I awoke suddenly but wholly calm and aware, unlike my typical mornings...this was not my bedroom. I was in what slowly became clear, a dingy concrete train or trolly station. I sat up off the bare cement bench. A few scattered pages of news paper, wind blown into the corners rustled and caught my attention. Perhaps some answers to where and when I was. As I approached I noticed the script grew fuzzier and less legible, until I picked it up and it was nothing but tv static printed on yellowed paper. What was happening? It had headlines and type from across the room...I walked back to the bench, glanced back and the writing was back! but still illegible at this distance! Odd. What is this place? I looked around...
The single steel track stretched laser straight off into the horizon to my left, and curved impossibly sharply to my right. I peered around the corner and saw it in fact did a 180° turn and followed a downward grade. The concrete tunnel was illuminated by washed out red cage lights that became fewer in number and longer in spacing until the rails vanished into darkness.
I glanced around the rest of the L shaped concrete train stop, louvered windows faced away from the track, a single door lead outside. Brutalism architecture, stained a dark grey from years exposed to time and moisture but dried to a fine off black powder like surface. A small knapsack at the end of the other bench. Gingerly I opened the bag. A tin of sardines. A watch, broken. And note pad and pen. A knife. A much used candle and a nearly exhausted box of matches. I threw it over my shoulder. Let's see what's outside I told myself. The thought was silent, in my mind, and was peculiar as I often quietly talk to myself. I thought about saying it out loud, but stopped myself. The potential intrusion felt hostile in the silence.
I stepped out of the door.
The sky was rain grey, and dim like twilight, with no discernable sun or light. The air was dry as a bone. A slight wind creaked through a lone gnarled shattered tree trunk several meters away.
Hmm. Nothing but some poor dry grass between the cracks of pavement and dusty sand undulating as far as I could see. Only interesting feature I noticed was a payphone, a single lamp post overhead casting a nostalgic yellow over it.
I picked up the phone and held it to my ear. No response. No dial tone. Just more deafening silence. Buttons were equally lifeless. I carefully replaced it on the hook. I turned and walked inside.
I sat on that bench for what seemed like hours, staring blankly at a wall mounted light. Perhaps I was sleepy? I lay down in the same spot I woke up earlier.
I must have dozed off as I awoke again but in my bedroom this time. Where was I? Did I slip through a imperceptible dimensional wall? It was so real. Tangible... I rolled over , coughed and my eyes grew heavy again, thoughts swimming through half formed ideas about where I traveled to.
I awoke yet again on the same bench. An instant had passed yet it felt like I had been laying on the bench an eternity. Time felt uncomfortable but familiar here. The time piece in the satchel! I pulled it out. Exactly broken as before, face cracked and body lifeless. But the hands were different. I was certain of it. My mind began to race. The possibilities. Could I travel? What was time? Where was here? Suddenly I felt weary again. Maybe I'd sleep on it again and get some answers in real life. I nodded off.
I awoke, yet this time it was still in the train station. Something felt wrong. Something felt off. Panic coursed through me. It consumed me. Rememeber your counselling. Breath. Journal. It's always been cathartic. I opened the knapsack and retrieved the notepad and pen and wrote. I wrote and wrote and wrote until the flight inside me subsided...
Dear reader, I write the past, now, as I remember it, was it like this though? I don't know anymore. I've been stuck at this station for eons. Never hungry. Or thirsty. And my writings one by one have faded into static on pages, like the newsprint at my arrival. Curiously that news print has in fact slowly disintegrated...some sort of time must exist here, I believe. Funny though, my note book never runs out of paper, or my pen of ink. My old writings slip from my memory, but not my arrival here in this forsaken place...
I haven't venture down into the lower track yet. But I believe I may today. I have certainly tried walking in all directions outside this station. I have walked miles and miles. Endless grassy dunes and the odd dead corpse of what was once some kind of tree. The laser straight rails also lead seemingly to infinite. At first this illicited panic, and anger, and much fear. However I have grown as bleak as my entire world.
Yes. Today I will venture down. My unease is gone. My mind is blank. Good luck to my future self, and to anyone that may travel here. Maybe these pages will offer up a companionship, or perhaps they will disolve into static or maybe I'm writing for the decay...

As I slipped into a deep sleep, I awoke in a dingy concrete train station. I sat up off the bench. A few scattered pages of news paper, wind blown into the corners rustled and caught my attention. Perhaps some answers to where and when I was. As I approached I noticed the script grew fuzzier and less legible, until I picked it up and it was nothing but tv static printed on decaying paper. What was happening? It had headlines and type from across the room...I walked back to the bench, glanced back and the writing was back! but still illegible at this distance! Odd. What is this place? I looked around...
The single steel track stretched laser straight off into the horizon to my left, and curved impossibly sharply to my right. I peered around the corner and saw it in fact did a 180° turn and followed a downward grade. The concrete tunnel was illuminated by washed out red cage lights that became fewer in number and longer in spacing until the rails vanished into darkness.
I glanced around the rest of the L shaped concrete train stop, louvered windows faced away from the track, a single door lead outside. Brutalism architecture, stained a dark grey from years exposed to time and moisture but dried to a fine off black powder like surface. A small knapsack at the end of the other bench. Gingerly I opened the bag. A tin of sardines. A watch, broken. And note pad and pen. A knife. A much used candle and a nearly exhausted box of matches. I threw it over my shoulder. Let's see what's outside I told myself. The thought was silent, in my mind, and was peculiar as I often quietly talk to myself. I thought about saying it out loud, but stopped myself. The potential intrusion felt hostile in the silence.
I stepped out of the door.
The sky was rain grey, and dim like twilight, with no discernable sun or light. The air was dry as a bone. A slight wind creaked through a lone gnarled shattered tree trunk several meters away.
Hmm. Nothing but some poor dry grass between the cracks of pavement and dusty sand undulating as far as I could see. Only interesting feature I noticed was a payphone, a single lamp post overhead casting a nostalgic yellow over it.
I picked up the phone and held it to my ear. No response. No dial tone. Just more defending silence. Buttons were equally lifeless. I carefully replaced it on the hook and went inside. I turned and walked inside.
I sat on the bench for what seemed like hours, staring blankly at a wall mounted light. Perhaps I was sleepy? I lay down in the same spot I woke up earlier.
I must have dozed off as I awoke again but in my bedroom this time. Where was I? Did I slip through a imperceptible dimensional wall? It was so real. Tangible... I rolled over , coughed and my eyes grew heavy again, thoughts swimming through half formed ideas about where I traveled to.
I awoke yet again on the same bench. An instant had passed yet it felt like I had been laying on the bench an eternity. Time felt uncomfortable but familiar here. The time piece in the satchel! I pulled it out. Exactly broken as before, face cracked and body lifeless. But the hands were different. I was certain of it. My mind began to race. The possibilities. Could I travel? What was time? Where was here? Suddenly I felt weary again. Maybe I'd sleep on it again and get some answers in real life. I nodded off.
I awoke, yet this time it was still in the train station. Something felt wrong. Something felt off. Panic coursed through me. It consumed me. Rememeber your counselling. Breath. Journal! I opened the knapsack and retrieved the notepad and pen and wrote. I wrote and wrote and wrote until the flight inside me subsided...
Dear reader, I write this now as I remember it, was it like this? I don't know anymore. I've been stuck at this station for eons. Never hungry. Or thirsty. And my writings have long since faded into static on pages, like the newsprint at my arrival. Curiously that paper has slowly disintegrated...some sort of time exists here I believe. Funny though, my note book never runs out of paper, or my pen of ink. My old writings slip from my memory, but not my arrival here in this forsaken place...
I haven't venture down into the lower track yet. But I believe I may today. I have certainly tried walking in all directions outside this station. I have walked miles and miles. Endless grassy dunes and the odd dead corpse of what was once some kind of tree. The laser straight rails also lead seemingly to infinite. At first this illicited panic, and anger, and much fear. However I have grown as bleak as my entire world.
Yes. Today I will venture down. My unease is gone. My mind is blank. Good luck to my future self, and to anyone that may travel here. Maybe these pages will offer up a companionship, or perhaps they will disolve into static or maybe I'm writing for the decay...

To start off with I am not sure if this is the right sub for this. I have always bought slightly used cars to avoid the initial depreciation. However this leaves me with a total junk. So I am currently debating if it makes more sense for me to keep my old car and fix it or just buy a new car (new or used).
​
Allow me to explain. First real car I got was a few month old F150, worked great for a bit until it developed a nasty habit of drinking oil. It was under warranty so I kept bringing it to Ford Dealers trying to get it fixed but they did shady things to avoid fixing it until it was out of warranty. The engine was getting worse, consumed more oil and got worse mpg it developed knocking and had misfires. This was around covid when used prices skyrocketed so I sold it and got another car.
​
This is my current truck, is a Ranger and its manufacture's warranty expired last month...and this month the HVAC system decided to stop working. Took it in, $3000 repair, and my extended warranty will not cover it. Also on this car there is issues with the rear brakes so I will need to replace the rotors and pads soon but hopefully not this year but soon, another $600ish. This is not including all the other small things that do not work on the vehicle either, which parts are on backorder for (covered by warranty). Then this truck alone as been in the shop for transmission issues already and issues with its transfer case and other electronic issues. My point being, I have a feeling this is just the beginning of a very expensive and unreliable vehicle and I am not sure what to do.
​
I am faced with this dilemma. Do I pay about $3600+ to fix the issues on my current vehicle? Or do I try to trade it in and get another? I am currently leaning towards just seeing how much I can get for it and move on to a Toyota and hope for the best. If I do go this route, is going new the better option? I seem to have absolute horrid luck at buying cars. Honestly I really just want peace of mind knowing my car will turn on when I want it to and shift into D. I am not getting that peace with my year and one month of ownership of my current truck.
​
As for finances, I hope I can get about $30k for the current truck, I own it outright. As for the new one I am leaning towards a Tacoma TRD Off Road which used will be about $40k and new will be about $46k. Income: $61k before bonuses, $650k in taxable brokerage account, $35k in retirement accounts, and $10k in cash outside of my emergency fund. No debts and minimal spending.
​
At this point I would not mind selling some stocks to have a vehicle that works but I do not know if that is a good idea, I would probably have a lot of buyer's remorse if I did. I would rather not do it, but I also want a reliable car; I just don't have anyone else to ask.

A homeless teenager reaches out to the Shil’vati on first day of the invasion of Earth.
This is a rewrite of my original story ‘Loyalist’.
Credit to u/bluefishcake for writing the original SSB story.
Pizzaulostin who has been beta reading since the beginning.
and u/BruhMomentGEE
Credit to u/HollowShel for getting me started with this!
This story is based in the SSB universe.
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as always, comments are welcome.

Chapter 17:

Thanks to the author of Alien-Nation for editing this chapter!

Ruhal:

“We are sorry about the restraints. Your dossier has a security lock from the Office of Interior that I can’t even read, and all our supervisor could tell us was ‘interview with caution’,” one of the two agents explained.
I regarded my handcuffs with professional disapproval. They had a longer than regular chain for ambulatory movement and inmate processing, by the deep, I could even use them as garrote if needed. They had revealed the limits of their rank with that apology.
“No need to worry. I am sure this will be a formality in less than an hour,” I told them, if there was one thing that was in abundance on the planet Sky it was Interior and undercover commando trainees. I hoped this would probably be their most interesting case all month.
“So, would you care to explain how you are raising a human, that is also considered a military asset?” The agent inquired as she pulled out her slate.
“Of course, Klein surrendered himself and requested medical aid and refugee status. He was willing to answer essential questions regarding human culture that aided in liberating humanity into the Shil’vati Empire. He wouldn’t be safe on Earth anymore, and I mentioned that he was still important in writing my reports. If I had my slate, I could give you the relevant documentation,” I said in a conversational tone, without any of the emotions that weighed the story, and glossing over the specifics.
“No need. I have everything you submitted to the Interior, including his asset designation, the interrogation transcripts, and even his doctor’s contact info. To be honest with you it’s the only reason we haven’t interviewed you yet, even after a dozen calls about a ‘possible trafficked human’ since he arrived. Your information is corroborated with several other departments. The issue now is what the medivac scans found.” The agent pushed a slate towards me with medical notes bolded for emphasis ‘probable severe abuse’.
“The report shows a recent history of blunt force trauma, abrasions, and even muscle tearing, in short. It looks like the human has been systematically tortured for months. You also have recently requested restricted training armor in the human’s size.” The agent explained.
Ah, that was my mistake. I had been treating Klein as another child, just with some unique needs. It looks like there were other considerations, ones that I failed to see.
“I really do need my omni-slate to illustrate this, it’s on my desk right now if one of your assistants could get it?” I asked, hoping they got the suggestion to not leave me with only one interrogator in the room so they wouldn’t be graded too harshly.
They thankfully acquiesced without comment, and with my omni-slate in hand I pulled up the latest video of Klein practicing with me, the speed and brutality was difficult for me to sit through. Then, Klein pulled off his helmet seconds later, laughing in the rain. Unconcerned that, without armor, we could have just killed each other- I was grateful he had, else it might’ve been interpreted quite differently. “The bruising mostly from everyday participation at a Rakiri gym, and some remnants from before I got proper gear for baton practice. He heals extremely fast, and more so, he isn’t happy unless he exercises for at least an hour or two a day.”
I pulled up another video. Klein was sitting at the table bouncing his leg at an ever-increasing pace while trying to focus on a decently complex equation. He finally stood up and started pacing mouthing words as he skipped in time to an unheard rhythm.
“W-what’s he doing?” The agent asked, looking just a tad disturbed by the display of what seemed erratic behavior.
“A sort of dance while playing the song ‘a fine mesh net’ on his headphones. There was a monsoon that Shel weekend, and even I’m not crazy enough to fight in a thunderstorm like that. He does that around the house for an hour, and then finally settles in on a video game,” I explained to the agents, who were looking at me dubiously.
“So, you oversee an adolescent who is an intelligence asset, but also seems poorly fitted for Shil’vati life. Why the baton practice? Wouldn’t that make him even more dangerous, more of an outsider? Are you trying to sabotage his integration? Why not take him shopping, instead, or teach him beauty and self-care routines?” They were antagonizing. Countering every argument to see how I reacted. It seemed they could at least interrogate decently well.
“I hardly call a few quirks ‘poor fitting’. The baton practice is for obvious self-defense. Its intention is to make him dangerous,” I explained, letting the interviewers lead the conversation.
The back and forth went on for a while, but I presented a highlight reel of the last few months. Including a Rakiri gym video when Klein tried to flourish a wall climb and smashed his shoulder on the ledge while face planting into the mud.
The agents would not be arresting me today. They would need medical reports, and would require Klein, Hario, and Compassion Through Deeds to attest while truth scanned that these were sports injuries, and not some conspiracy to commit torture. We were also going to need to see an ICAD agent every two weeks for counseling. I had no idea what ICAD was, but I would investigate them later.
Finally, the agents appeared they were closing up the interview. I tried not to brace myself as they asked the complicated question. “One thing we need to know is, what is Klein to you? If he is just a crucial asset, then why haven’t you contacted a local volunteer family foster? Or was the military asset just a cover to find a male heir?”
I sighed, the truth wasn’t incriminating, but if I didn’t word it right, I would look like the worst sort of military tourist. “I had, originally, taken care of Klein as a key intelligence asset. Within that first week though, I had found that despite the decades of preparation, there wasn’t a process for someone to claim asylum as a child during first contact. He would be in military bureaucratic limbo without an advocate. We both know where he would end up.”
The room cooled by several degrees, which was a pity, I almost got the talkative agent to laugh at Klein’s antics. “Out of duty I investigated ways I could bring him home until I could find resources to place him in a stable situation with all the resources to help a xeno without a community. I found someone who was willing to help in exchange for reports on Klein’s adaptation to Shil’vati lifestyle. That’s Klein’s purpose as a military asset in my home.”
I continued. I was saying more on than I needed to, but if they did a follow up investigation later for some other incident, which was a when, not if, then I wanted this on record. “Klein has become part of this household though, despite, or maybe because, of his oddities. He may not be Shil’vati, but he seems to have integrated well. It’s why, while it was never my intention, when he is an adult, I will offer him full adoption, and title of home guardian.”
I watched the agents exchange looks, then the agent made a few taps on her slate. ‘Upper left, middle center, probably a message app’. I then listened for the telltale taps of a yes as a micro expression of a self-satisfied smile crossed the agent’s face. I decided to stop playing interviewee.
“So, you won the bet on if I would claim the human as my son, how long has that pool been building?” I asked folding my hands together.
The agent answered before she could think. “Two months… Wait!? How did you-”
The agent was cut off by the squawk of the slate’s speaker. “Agents you did well enough with the interview portion, however; you absolutely failed to secure the subject. Could you please illustrate to them why I stressed caution {petal of death’s veil}?”
The code name wasn’t one I had heard in decades, but I wasn’t going to snub an old handler. I kicked on my fast reaction mods to max speed and lunged over the table past the still sitting agents. I pirouetted and twisted the restraints into a loop as I brought them down over the left agent’s head and pulled back carefully, lightly touching the chain of my restraints around the neck of the agent before she could even react.
I kicked off my mods and caught my breath as time returned to normal. Both agents’ eyes went wide with shock as the one not about to be strangled tried to get away to pull out her weapon. “W-who are you!?”
“I’m going to slowly release you and put my hands up, is that everything you needed {hated old friend}?” I directed my question to the slate, using the code High Shil word to show I was playing along.
“More than enough. Agent! Holster your weapon and come back to the safe room. We need to go over security procedures,” the slate responded, and the very brief confrontation was over.
The agents walked out, and Siltan stomped in looking like she could bring about a thunderstorm by pure force of will. “We weren’t the only ones to get visits from the ‘majesty’s’ Interior today. Cee let me know that the Interior is also interrogated Reqellia as well.”
I now understood why these two rookies were here. It was a distraction for me. I grumbled as I picked up my slate and called Reqellia. Her face appeared a second later.
“By the Deep, it’s been a long day,” Reqellia breathed out as I heard a door slam, then she cursed some more.
“Tell me everything. Is Klein ok?” I asked.
“Cee says he’s fine and is waking him up. Klein might be getting a mod himself before she closes him up though because, oh- looks like it’s my day is going to get longer still. ICAD is here, and it’s a Hydrean in a Gearschilde clinic.” Reqellia hung up, and I stared at the phone in confusion.
It was time to find out what ICAD was.

Klein:

I blearily came to, as high powered, piercing white light flooded my half open eyes. I tried to move my arm to shield my face and found I couldn’t. Actually, I couldn't move or even feel anything from the neck down.
I started to panic as I turned my head, focusing on lettering on a terminal, tried to sigh, and felt what few muscles I could control turn to lead as I sank back on the medical bed. Thank the goddess, it was Shil and Gearschilde lettering on the slate and medical supplies.
“Good afternoon Klein, are you okay? Your heart rate spiked.” I heard Cee, or full name Compassion Through Deeds, speak and turned my head to see her. She wore a dark red lab coat and regarded me with unblinking cybernetic eyes. Most of her orange skin had been replaced with dark steel etched with stylized waves and swirls of silver. Her face still emoted in a pleasant smile, but had that uncanny valley look of unblemished synth skin. I looked down to see a dozen micro surgical tools still inside me.
I should have been screaming at the sight, but all I felt was relief and joy. “Yeah, I just worried for a half second that I had hallucinated the last few months and was actually on a back on Earth on some black-market operating table getting my kidney stolen.”
Cee was aghast. “Does that happen on Earth?”
I would shrug, but again, I couldn’t move, instead I responded. “Rumors of it happening, but I never knew anyone personally.”
Cee reassured me. “Well, good news Klein, you are on Sky, you are in a Gearschilde clinic where stealing vital organs is a legal, moral and religious crime of unrepentant severity. What I have done is remove your appendix, and let the sedatives wear off so we can discuss what you want in its place.”
“In place of my appendix? Why?” I asked, it wasn’t like I really needed the vestigial organ turn internal hand grenade.
“Customary in Gearschilde for surgery is to be about giving a better life than just taking from the body. So, any ideas of what would make your life better?”
I thought about the bruising, the constant having to put healing patches on, and the annoyance of doing so. I thought about the near fatality of almost blowing my appendix, and if something could have fixed the issue before it got out of hand. “What about a healing dispenser? I keep having to put on patches and gel at the end of the day, and if I miss a spot, I will pay for it later.”
Cee gave me a grateful expression. “That’s a perfect first implant. I was worried you were going to ask for something more aggressive. When I was your age, I got my first defensive mod, a retractable forearm knife. Of course, my next surgery was being stitched back together after accidently stabbing myself with it.”
I tried to chuckle, but I didn’t have control of my diaphragm for it. “So, what’s next?”
Cee explained. “Well, the fabricator in the other room is right now creating your implant. It shouldn’t take long; are you ok being immobilized for the next hour or so?”
I thought about it, and honestly, I was still surprised I wasn’t panicking. “No, but I’m going to get really bored just laying here, do the Gearschilde have any good myths or stories?”
I knew I was fishing in an untapped pool that was guaranteed to have something. I wasn’t expecting my doctor to be gleeful at the thought though. “Oh blessed be you child, I am a surgeon priest, half the reason I am in this vocation is to tell stories. I take it you know nothing about Gearschilde mythology, or even our history?”
It was on my list of rabbit holes to get into, but instead I binged the rest of Prince Of The Stars and cried, it was nice. “No, but I would love to hear them.”
“Well if you want to, every Shel we have open services and brunch. But since you are new to Gearschilde mythology we should start with one of my favorites. The story of the Hopestrider.”
The ceiling lights dimmed, and the sterile operating room felt surprisingly cozy as I leaned my head back. Listening to Cee starting up the tale. “Our sect requires us to lead what can best be called ‘child technician classes’. Learning to take care of machines, which includes us by the start of adolescence, if not before. It’s a critical life skill, and teaching it is considered an important part of our religious studies.”
‘Cyberpunk VeggieTales’ Squirrel brain chittered.
No one wants your opinion squirrel brain. I thought back.

Cee’s story: Hope Strider

“Long ago our world was full of harsh life. The valleys were often filled with poisonous mists and deadly predators that could rip apart even the strongest of our people. The mountain kingdoms were brutal fiefdoms that sent many to their deaths mining precious metals from the dangerous wastes of the valleys. Drilling into the heart of the mountains provided the power necessary to purify water, and later, steam engines turned those fiefdoms into empires. Expanding into the wastes using the lowest class of people as its foundation.”
Cee paused for dramatic effect. “Then, everything changed.”
“The ground shook, and the mountain kingdoms erupted in fire and molten rock. Radioactive dust from these now volcanoes made the centers of civilization barren and deadly. Only the wasteland colonies in the poisonous mists provided any refuge, and so king and commoner alike huddled in the once disposable outposts of a ruined world. Our story starts a generation after the calamity with an unlucky child.”
I heard a ding, Cee stopped as the ceiling lights came up. “Oh dear, let me stop for a second to get the implant.”
I leaned back and thought about her nightmare world. When Cee returned, I didn’t even bother to open my eyes, too engrossed in the imagery of the story. “What happened to the child?”
I could hear the whirring as she started to work. Her voice I realized had taken a more scripted cadence. She must have automated her voice so she could focus. “In a metalworker’s home, a child was born with broken legs and brittle bones. It was common in those days for such a child to die that way. It was their first born and the parents did everything they could to save them. A surgeon was called. The child lost their legs, but kept their life.”
“The child lived in the workshop. Kept warm by the hearth’s fire, even unable to walk, they were curious. Day in and out, they watched their parents construct machines that helped the community make food, filter the air, and defend the homes from the starving, mutated, monsters that circled the fortress walls. The child felt helpless though. Only able to crawl within the confines of the home or be carried around like cargo about the maze-like town of winding stairs and narrow passageways.
“They spent much of their time learning, sitting near the hearth to keep warm, they did the careful work of filing gears and wheels needed to control what could be automated as each hand replaced was another that could be spent doing something else critical to keep the community alive. Still, the child wanted to do more. They could not deliver what they made, and had to rely on others to help them at every turn in life.”
“Little did the child know that in the hearth a machine spirit lived, getting by eating scrap metal that fell in and sleeping at night on the bed of embers. The machine spirit saw the child’s wish, an invention without form, and turned it into a dream for the child, since new machines would mean new machine spirits to play with.”
That night the child saw themselves flying over the cold gray landscape on a pair of machine legs. Traveling the dangerous paths to other towns, and giving the isolated towns hope and community. The child awoke with joy and crawled over to his workbench littered with scrap metal, now children….”
Cee stopped talking and her voice went back to an unscripted rhythm. “I just realized we can’t do the practical part of this story. In class each kid gets a hope strider stuffy with snaps to attach legs they make. We give them bits of copper. Show them how to bend and hammer it, and how to bond it by wrapping the joint in solder and then applying heat with a soldering iron heated in their own toy ‘hearth’ with a safety cover. Still we get a daily small burn or cut, but that in itself is a valuable lesson in tool safety.”
It sounded adorable in a weird, steampunk way. “Sounds fun, so, new legs?”
Cee got the que, as much as I loved the story, and the talk about kindergarten metal shop, I was still immobilized on the operating table. I heard surgical whirring, and the scripted voice came back. “Yes, the child works all night until they fit the new legs on, and for the first time stand up on their own! The parents are overjoyed as they watch them move about the house and that afternoon, with the help of an iron bar as a cane, they walk around their community by themselves.”
“However, it isn’t long before the legs start to see wear and tear, but the child persists, not wanting to stop and fix the creaking joints, until one day the legs stop working altogether and they fall down in a twisting staircase. Carried back to the workshop, they rest for days to heal before they are able to work again. Constructing a new set from the remains of the old. Now…”

Klein:

Cee stopped again, but this time she had moved away from me and was putting the now bloody surgical tools into a sanitizing system. “We're done! I am going to start removing the nerve blocks, so you’re going to be sore, but if things get too painful, let me know. Please, try not to move anything but your hands right now, even then I would advise against it.”
My whole body had that pins and needles feel and I tried to move my fingers, but it was sporadic and jerky. Cee distracted me by explaining my new implant. “So, this implant is very basic. It can only be requested to send diagnostic data. The implant only administers more healing serum at a safe, steady rate if, and only if, it doesn’t detect any in your bloodstream. There is an injection site with a color change circle around it. It uses standard go, caution, stop colors to let you know if it’s functioning. I want to wave your omni-pad over the site and check the diagnostics at least once a day. It should hopefully catch if something like this is happening again.”
I tried to not move as I felt my body twitch. My gut felt like I had been run over, repeatedly. I asked, “why didn’t my medical monitoring implant catch this?”
Cee explained. “That’s only good for basic vitals. Near universal indicators of life and activity such as heart rate and blood pressure. The new implant will be able to scan for elevated protein counts. So, if one of your other internal organs starts to malfunction you can get a more unambiguous message that I hope you won’t ignore before getting medivac’d through the city.”
I chuckled a little at that, and it hurt. “Ow, ok, no movement. I thought it was just a pulled muscle or something.”
Cee looked down at me sternly, and her voice took on a deeper, more authoritative tone. “Child, more than enough Gearschilde have died thinking they can just, push themselves past their organic parts failing, if you have a torn muscle that hurts after you’ve used healing gel, then it’s serious enough you need to come see me, or another xeno-doctor, immediately. That’s why I hope your new implant can fix things before it gets to that point.”
Cee brightened after that and went back to the explanation of my implant. “Now that I scolded you, there is a color changing circle over your implant’s location. It will change color when the healing serum runs low, or and will start to flash in color, and try to ping your omni-pad if it detects a malfunction. The implant uses a standard Shil’ implant autoinjector, and it will reject anything not meant for red blood standard biology, but still be careful, it’s not a perfect filtering system. Today I’m giving you a set of autoinjectors I want you to use throughout the week. It's fortunate that your implant’s primary function will speed up your recovery time.”
Ok, that’s cool to know, but.
‘What happened to Hopestrider?!’ Squirrel brain demanded.
“So, the story, what happens next?” I asked as Cee helped me sit up. My stomach still hurt, but the feeling was in the overworked muscle category rather than a gut punch.
Cee started to explain as I put on what was essentially gym clothes. Soft, baggy pants and shirt with easy pull away tabs if they needed to remove the clothes quickly for checkups and surgical intervention. “Well, we don’t have time to go over the Hope Strider as a story, or even a summary, but if you want to, my husband teaches the child technician class during open services on Shel, you could sit in and listen.
Right now, I will give you a family crafted picture book that tells the core story of Hope Strider growing up, and making their first delivery. After that it’s a loose selection of legends that are attributed to Hope Strider as they grow older and more accomplished, but while I get that book, I need you to speak to someone.”
Cee led me out of the operating room, and into a comfortable looking lounge where a… Hydrean was sitting in an Imperial business uniform reading an omni-pad. My brain pulled everything I knew of Hydreans out. A rabbit hole I had dug into one rainy Shel on the public information repositories.
She, they, single gendered I reminded myself, looked up and smiled at me calmly, mouth closed for politeness. Their skin was grass green with artful patches of bark on her face and neck, the result of cosmetic scarification. They looked human, or Shil’oid, but that was purposefully done. Even the somewhat standard looking ‘desert walker’ Hydreans normally had more, or less, limbs than standard. Biological modification was at the root of all Hydrean technology, ancient as the stone ax to other species.
I thought about how contentious Hydrean/Shil relationships were said to be. Their arid home planet was off limits to all but certified personnel who had been trained how to handle the dangerous mix of flora/fauna that instead of being different groups, was just a single taxonomy that had no distinction between predator and prey. With their complex biology, a Hydrean needed to undergo extensive body modification just to exist off their home world.
Cee left the room with a friendly goodbye and offered assistance “Hello Klein, I am Ka’tel. It’s wonderful to meet you. I am with the Imperial Child Assistance Division, or ICAD. My job is to help interspecies fosters and adoptions. How are you feeling today?”
I caught a glimpse of her teeth as they spoke. Triangular, and made of burnished metal meant to tear off chunks of animal, plant, or even rock, whole and let their stomachs’ mix of acids dissolve it into something the rest their body could use.
‘The agent in charge of your welfare is a plant/animal hybrid with a diet of ‘yes’, your doctor is a wholesome orange 40K mechanicus, and your crush is a were-lion, you are not ok .’ Squirrel brain remarked.
“I’m actually pretty good, despite the surgery, it’s actually a common issue for humans.” I said to Ka’tel, because my life was weird before the aliens, squirrel brain was just being a pessimistic asshole.
“Really? Do you know what caused it?” Ka’tel asked.
“It just, happens? Gets irritated or infected and then you need to get it removed.” I said nonchalantly. Ka’tel made a mark on her omni-pad.
“How did you know? It seems dangerous if it can happen suddenly, and you mentioned it before you passed out.” Ka’tel asked tone friendly and conversational.
“Oh, the side of your stomach hurts. I was hoping it was just a pulled muscle bec- Dammit!” I just remembered what happened before I woke up here.
“The raid game! Ko’tasa would have had to substitute for me and she’s not well balanced for our team mix.” I said with a exasperated sigh.
Ka’tel cocked their head to one side, but the tone in her voice was humorous. “You were willing to ignore a possible life-threatening condition for a game?”
I explained, though I felt idiotic now. “I couldn’t tell. I get sore muscles all the time from gym, and sparing, and even from the auxiliary work, honestly my commandant doesn’t really know where to put me sometimes. Last week I helped with road clearing for the new town to go up a few [miles] away, and the girls could barely keep up with me.”
Ka’tel seemed to be enjoying my rambling. “Sounds like you really get put to work.”
“Not really? The auxiliary is the only work I do, and if I wanted to stop I just, can. It’s not like I need to worry about buying food.” I knew what I was saying seemed strange while living in the Imperium.
It was the first hint that Ka’tel was controlling her expressions when she seemed more attentive and… relieved? “That’s delightful news to hear! Is there anything about your living situation that bothers you?”
I paused and thought about it, and really couldn’t see anything. “Not really?”
“Anything, or anyone, you miss from Earth?” Ka’tel asked, stressing that last bit, dropping a mental bomb on my head and I froze, mouth partly open with a half formed response. When was the last time I even thought about Earth as more than an abstract concept? It hadn’t been [six months] since I left but…
I didn’t feel anything.
The last year I lived on Earth, it was like being a ghost. I saw people, I even talked to people, but it was like a thick plate of glass all around me. Today I felt color, and life, and things, but that last year on Earth?
Like radio static.
I looked at Ka’tel, and their expression was one of controlled neutrality. Why was I not freaking out?
I had a sensation of the room spinning. I asked, “No, I don’t really feel anything about Earth, is that normal?”
“I don’t know Klein, by most sentient standards what you went through was unusual, and from what little I know about humans that isn’t propaganda, it’s unusual for humans as well. What I do know is right now you seem happy and healthy, and that’s my top priority.” Ka’tel said as they stood and offered me a stiff plastic card with their contact details on it.
“We will be chatting every other week to see how you are adjusting. I might ask to visit you at the youth auxiliary depot, the gym or at home. I really am glad to see you are doing just fine, but if you ever need a way out, that card has an emergency signal function, just pull the plastic tab.” Ka’tel told me, and was about to open the door before I spoke up.
“How should I refer to you?” I asked, and once they realized, Ka’tel gave me a genuine, toothed, smile that was both menacing and goofy at the same time.
“Most people don’t learn enough Hydrean biology to ask. Her, that’s how everyone in the office sees me, and it’s more convenient socially.” She said, opening the door to an anxious looking Itaro standing next to a serious Ruhal and Reqellia.
“I need to speak to you Ruhal, and Reqellia, you should join us for this conversation as well.” Ka’tel said as she ushered me out.
Cee led us into a gaming room with a long table on one side, and a set of couches facing the wall to wall display on the other. She handed me an overloaded plate of cookies with bottle of water, and stepped out, closing the door behind us. “Eat those, your stomach has healed, but it’s going to need calories to fuel the recovery.”
Only then did I realize I was salivating at the smell of warm sugar, and flour made of Kasan grain, if I was identifying the green color correctly. I put the plate of cookies on the table, and snarfed them as I sat down.
After swallowing the fourth cookie semi-whole, I looked up to see Itaro’s face fighting a war between impatient, apprehensive, and hopeful. I stopped, realizing what I was doing, and sipped some water to stall for time.
I was about to pull my omni-pad out from my pockets when Itaro suddenly put her hand out to stop me. “Wait! Klein, I need to tell you something…”
She was silent for a long moment, what was she worried about?
“I… Like you, as, I find you…. Attractive, and I may have gotten a little…. overprotective when you got hurt.” Itaro said, her voice stuttering.
‘Oh, that makes things easy.’ Squirrel brain was for once, right.
“I like you too.” I said as I leaned over and kissed her.

///// Author’s Commentary

Wow! I couldn’t find a good stopping point so I just kept writing and writing and… It turned into something over 5 thousand words. I spent the last day trying to figure out clear up a few parts. This week I have some time off! So there will probably be another chapter sooner rather than later.

So I blindly tried this product after seeing it mentioned once:
https://www.amazon.com/Globular-Cluster-Comfortable-Compatible-Pro-Soft/dp/B0BYNF7JXC/
It looked good on paper and on the pictures. Higher forehead pad, soft foam fill for both forehead and backpad. 2 different pads: one with leather coating and another with material coating that feels like Valve Index base facial interface. And of course a top strap.
I already had VR panda comfort mod (forehead pad and top strap). However with VR Panda while the pain on the forehead was a little lower, I lost a bit of FOV and I would lose more if I didn't squeeze the headstrap to compress the forehead cushion. So it wasn't a perfect solution for me.
With globular one it's just perfect. I can't feel any pressure on my forehead, backpad is big and makes it so I can easily and comfortably angle Quest Pro lower on my face so not only I end up with more FOV but the light leak from the bottom is closed off. The FOV difference is honestly massive (mostly vertical one, but horizontal got visibly better too). But the most important thing is that I can now wear it for long periods of time without head strain. It's fully comfortable. I really recommend trying it out. It's a bit expensive but it's worth it. I hope it helps someone looking for a good comfort mod.

A homeless teenager reaches out to the Shil’vati on first day of the invasion of Earth.
This is a rewrite of my original story ‘Loyalist’.
Credit to u/bluefishcake for writing the original SSB story.
Pizzaulostin who has been beta reading since the beginning.
and u/BruhMomentGEE
Credit to u/HollowShel for getting me started with this!
This story is based in the SSB universe.
Previous
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as always, comments are welcome.

Chapter 17:

Thanks to the author of Alien-Nation for editing this chapter!

Ruhal:

“We are sorry about the restraints. Your dossier has a security lock from the Office of Interior that I can’t even read, and all our supervisor could tell us was ‘interview with caution’,” one of the two agents explained.
I regarded my handcuffs with professional disapproval. They had a longer than regular chain for ambulatory movement and inmate processing, by the deep, I could even use them as garrote if needed. They had revealed the limits of their rank with that apology.
“No need to worry. I am sure this will be a formality in less than an hour,” I told them, if there was one thing that was in abundance on the planet Sky it was Interior and undercover commando trainees. I hoped this would probably be their most interesting case all month.
“So, would you care to explain how you are raising a human, that is also considered a military asset?” The agent inquired as she pulled out her slate.
“Of course, Klein surrendered himself and requested medical aid and refugee status. He was willing to answer essential questions regarding human culture that aided in liberating humanity into the Shil’vati Empire. He wouldn’t be safe on Earth anymore, and I mentioned that he was still important in writing my reports. If I had my slate, I could give you the relevant documentation,” I said in a conversational tone, without any of the emotions that weighed the story, and glossing over the specifics.
“No need. I have everything you submitted to the Interior, including his asset designation, the interrogation transcripts, and even his doctor’s contact info. To be honest with you it’s the only reason we haven’t interviewed you yet, even after a dozen calls about a ‘possible trafficked human’ since he arrived. Your information is corroborated with several other departments. The issue now is what the medivac scans found.” The agent pushed a slate towards me with medical notes bolded for emphasis ‘probable severe abuse’.
“The report shows a recent history of blunt force trauma, abrasions, and even muscle tearing, in short. It looks like the human has been systematically tortured for months. You also have recently requested restricted training armor in the human’s size.” The agent explained.
Ah, that was my mistake. I had been treating Klein as another child, just with some unique needs. It looks like there were other considerations, ones that I failed to see.
“I really do need my omni-slate to illustrate this, it’s on my desk right now if one of your assistants could get it?” I asked, hoping they got the suggestion to not leave me with only one interrogator in the room so they wouldn’t be graded too harshly.
They thankfully acquiesced without comment, and with my omni-slate in hand I pulled up the latest video of Klein practicing with me, the speed and brutality was difficult for me to sit through. Then, Klein pulled off his helmet seconds later, laughing in the rain. Unconcerned that, without armor, we could have just killed each other- I was grateful he had, else it might’ve been interpreted quite differently. “The bruising mostly from everyday participation at a Rakiri gym, and some remnants from before I got proper gear for baton practice. He heals extremely fast, and more so, he isn’t happy unless he exercises for at least an hour or two a day.”
I pulled up another video. Klein was sitting at the table bouncing his leg at an ever-increasing pace while trying to focus on a decently complex equation. He finally stood up and started pacing mouthing words as he skipped in time to an unheard rhythm.
“W-what’s he doing?” The agent asked, looking just a tad disturbed by the display of what seemed erratic behavior.
“A sort of dance while playing the song ‘a fine mesh net’ on his headphones. There was a monsoon that Shel weekend, and even I’m not crazy enough to fight in a thunderstorm like that. He does that around the house for an hour, and then finally settles in on a video game,” I explained to the agents, who were looking at me dubiously.
“So, you oversee an adolescent who is an intelligence asset, but also seems poorly fitted for Shil’vati life. Why the baton practice? Wouldn’t that make him even more dangerous, more of an outsider? Are you trying to sabotage his integration? Why not take him shopping, instead, or teach him beauty and self-care routines?” They were antagonizing. Countering every argument to see how I reacted. It seemed they could at least interrogate decently well.
“I hardly call a few quirks ‘poor fitting’. The baton practice is for obvious self-defense. Its intention is to make him dangerous,” I explained, letting the interviewers lead the conversation.
The back and forth went on for a while, but I presented a highlight reel of the last few months. Including a Rakiri gym video when Klein tried to flourish a wall climb and smashed his shoulder on the ledge while face planting into the mud.
The agents would not be arresting me today. They would need medical reports, and would require Klein, Hario, and Compassion Through Deeds to attest while truth scanned that these were sports injuries, and not some conspiracy to commit torture. We were also going to need to see an ICAD agent every two weeks for counseling. I had no idea what ICAD was, but I would investigate them later.
Finally, the agents appeared they were closing up the interview. I tried not to brace myself as they asked the complicated question. “One thing we need to know is, what is Klein to you? If he is just a crucial asset, then why haven’t you contacted a local volunteer family foster? Or was the military asset just a cover to find a male heir?”
I sighed, the truth wasn’t incriminating, but if I didn’t word it right, I would look like the worst sort of military tourist. “I had, originally, taken care of Klein as a key intelligence asset. Within that first week though, I had found that despite the decades of preparation, there wasn’t a process for someone to claim asylum as a child during first contact. He would be in military bureaucratic limbo without an advocate. We both know where he would end up.”
The room cooled by several degrees, which was a pity, I almost got the talkative agent to laugh at Klein’s antics. “Out of duty I investigated ways I could bring him home until I could find resources to place him in a stable situation with all the resources to help a xeno without a community. I found someone who was willing to help in exchange for reports on Klein’s adaptation to Shil’vati lifestyle. That’s Klein’s purpose as a military asset in my home.”
I continued. I was saying more on than I needed to, but if they did a follow up investigation later for some other incident, which was a when, not if, then I wanted this on record. “Klein has become part of this household though, despite, or maybe because, of his oddities. He may not be Shil’vati, but he seems to have integrated well. It’s why, while it was never my intention, when he is an adult, I will offer him full adoption, and title of home guardian.”
I watched the agents exchange looks, then the agent made a few taps on her slate. ‘Upper left, middle center, probably a message app’. I then listened for the telltale taps of a yes as a micro expression of a self-satisfied smile crossed the agent’s face. I decided to stop playing interviewee.
“So, you won the bet on if I would claim the human as my son, how long has that pool been building?” I asked folding my hands together.
The agent answered before she could think. “Two months… Wait!? How did you-”
The agent was cut off by the squawk of the slate’s speaker. “Agents you did well enough with the interview portion, however; you absolutely failed to secure the subject. Could you please illustrate to them why I stressed caution {petal of death’s veil}?”
The code name wasn’t one I had heard in decades, but I wasn’t going to snub an old handler. I kicked on my fast reaction mods to max speed and lunged over the table past the still sitting agents. I pirouetted and twisted the restraints into a loop as I brought them down over the left agent’s head and pulled back carefully, lightly touching the chain of my restraints around the neck of the agent before she could even react.
I kicked off my mods and caught my breath as time returned to normal. Both agents’ eyes went wide with shock as the one not about to be strangled tried to get away to pull out her weapon. “W-who are you!?”
“I’m going to slowly release you and put my hands up, is that everything you needed {hated old friend}?” I directed my question to the slate, using the code High Shil word to show I was playing along.
“More than enough. Agent! Holster your weapon and come back to the safe room. We need to go over security procedures,” the slate responded, and the very brief confrontation was over.
The agents walked out, and Siltan stomped in looking like she could bring about a thunderstorm by pure force of will. “We weren’t the only ones to get visits from the ‘majesty’s’ Interior today. Cee let me know that the Interior is also interrogated Reqellia as well.”
I now understood why these two rookies were here. It was a distraction for me. I grumbled as I picked up my slate and called Reqellia. Her face appeared a second later.
“By the Deep, it’s been a long day,” Reqellia breathed out as I heard a door slam, then she cursed some more.
“Tell me everything. Is Klein ok?” I asked.
“Cee says he’s fine and is waking him up. Klein might be getting a mod himself before she closes him up though because, oh- looks like it’s my day is going to get longer still. ICAD is here, and it’s a Hydrean in a Gearschilde clinic.” Reqellia hung up, and I stared at the phone in confusion.
It was time to find out what ICAD was.

Klein:

I blearily came to, as high powered, piercing white light flooded my half open eyes. I tried to move my arm to shield my face and found I couldn’t. Actually, I couldn't move or even feel anything from the neck down.
I started to panic as I turned my head, focusing on lettering on a terminal, tried to sigh, and felt what few muscles I could control turn to lead as I sank back on the medical bed. Thank the goddess, it was Shil and Gearschilde lettering on the slate and medical supplies.
“Good afternoon Klein, are you okay? Your heart rate spiked.” I heard Cee, or full name Compassion Through Deeds, speak and turned my head to see her. She wore a dark red lab coat and regarded me with unblinking cybernetic eyes. Most of her orange skin had been replaced with dark steel etched with stylized waves and swirls of silver. Her face still emoted in a pleasant smile, but had that uncanny valley look of unblemished synth skin. I looked down to see a dozen micro surgical tools still inside me.
I should have been screaming at the sight, but all I felt was relief and joy. “Yeah, I just worried for a half second that I had hallucinated the last few months and was actually on a back on Earth on some black-market operating table getting my kidney stolen.”
Cee was aghast. “Does that happen on Earth?”
I would shrug, but again, I couldn’t move, instead I responded. “Rumors of it happening, but I never knew anyone personally.”
Cee reassured me. “Well, good news Klein, you are on Sky, you are in a Gearschilde clinic where stealing vital organs is a legal, moral and religious crime of unrepentant severity. What I have done is remove your appendix, and let the sedatives wear off so we can discuss what you want in its place.”
“In place of my appendix? Why?” I asked, it wasn’t like I really needed the vestigial organ turn internal hand grenade.
“Customary in Gearschilde for surgery is to be about giving a better life than just taking from the body. So, any ideas of what would make your life better?”
I thought about the bruising, the constant having to put healing patches on, and the annoyance of doing so. I thought about the near fatality of almost blowing my appendix, and if something could have fixed the issue before it got out of hand. “What about a healing dispenser? I keep having to put on patches and gel at the end of the day, and if I miss a spot, I will pay for it later.”
Cee gave me a grateful expression. “That’s a perfect first implant. I was worried you were going to ask for something more aggressive. When I was your age, I got my first defensive mod, a retractable forearm knife. Of course, my next surgery was being stitched back together after accidently stabbing myself with it.”
I tried to chuckle, but I didn’t have control of my diaphragm for it. “So, what’s next?”
Cee explained. “Well, the fabricator in the other room is right now creating your implant. It shouldn’t take long; are you ok being immobilized for the next hour or so?”
I thought about it, and honestly, I was still surprised I wasn’t panicking. “No, but I’m going to get really bored just laying here, do the Gearschilde have any good myths or stories?”
I knew I was fishing in an untapped pool that was guaranteed to have something. I wasn’t expecting my doctor to be gleeful at the thought though. “Oh blessed be you child, I am a surgeon priest, half the reason I am in this vocation is to tell stories. I take it you know nothing about Gearschilde mythology, or even our history?”
It was on my list of rabbit holes to get into, but instead I binged the rest of Prince Of The Stars and cried, it was nice. “No, but I would love to hear them.”
“Well if you want to, every Shel we have open services and brunch. But since you are new to Gearschilde mythology we should start with one of my favorites. The story of the Hopestrider.”
The ceiling lights dimmed, and the sterile operating room felt surprisingly cozy as I leaned my head back. Listening to Cee starting up the tale. “Our sect requires us to lead what can best be called ‘child technician classes’. Learning to take care of machines, which includes us by the start of adolescence, if not before. It’s a critical life skill, and teaching it is considered an important part of our religious studies.”
‘Cyberpunk VeggieTales’ Squirrel brain chittered.
No one wants your opinion squirrel brain. I thought back.

Cee’s story: Hope Strider

“Long ago our world was full of harsh life. The valleys were often filled with poisonous mists and deadly predators that could rip apart even the strongest of our people. The mountain kingdoms were brutal fiefdoms that sent many to their deaths mining precious metals from the dangerous wastes of the valleys. Drilling into the heart of the mountains provided the power necessary to purify water, and later, steam engines turned those fiefdoms into empires. Expanding into the wastes using the lowest class of people as its foundation.”
Cee paused for dramatic effect. “Then, everything changed.”
“The ground shook, and the mountain kingdoms erupted in fire and molten rock. Radioactive dust from these now volcanoes made the centers of civilization barren and deadly. Only the wasteland colonies in the poisonous mists provided any refuge, and so king and commoner alike huddled in the once disposable outposts of a ruined world. Our story starts a generation after the calamity with an unlucky child.”
I heard a ding, Cee stopped as the ceiling lights came up. “Oh dear, let me stop for a second to get the implant.”
I leaned back and thought about her nightmare world. When Cee returned, I didn’t even bother to open my eyes, too engrossed in the imagery of the story. “What happened to the child?”
I could hear the whirring as she started to work. Her voice I realized had taken a more scripted cadence. She must have automated her voice so she could focus. “In a metalworker’s home, a child was born with broken legs and brittle bones. It was common in those days for such a child to die that way. It was their first born and the parents did everything they could to save them. A surgeon was called. The child lost their legs, but kept their life.”
“The child lived in the workshop. Kept warm by the hearth’s fire, even unable to walk, they were curious. Day in and out, they watched their parents construct machines that helped the community make food, filter the air, and defend the homes from the starving, mutated, monsters that circled the fortress walls. The child felt helpless though. Only able to crawl within the confines of the home or be carried around like cargo about the maze-like town of winding stairs and narrow passageways.
“They spent much of their time learning, sitting near the hearth to keep warm, they did the careful work of filing gears and wheels needed to control what could be automated as each hand replaced was another that could be spent doing something else critical to keep the community alive. Still, the child wanted to do more. They could not deliver what they made, and had to rely on others to help them at every turn in life.”
“Little did the child know that in the hearth a machine spirit lived, getting by eating scrap metal that fell in and sleeping at night on the bed of embers. The machine spirit saw the child’s wish, an invention without form, and turned it into a dream for the child, since new machines would mean new machine spirits to play with.”
That night the child saw themselves flying over the cold gray landscape on a pair of machine legs. Traveling the dangerous paths to other towns, and giving the isolated towns hope and community. The child awoke with joy and crawled over to his workbench littered with scrap metal, now children….”
Cee stopped talking and her voice went back to an unscripted rhythm. “I just realized we can’t do the practical part of this story. In class each kid gets a hope strider stuffy with snaps to attach legs they make. We give them bits of copper. Show them how to bend and hammer it, and how to bond it by wrapping the joint in solder and then applying heat with a soldering iron heated in their own toy ‘hearth’ with a safety cover. Still we get a daily small burn or cut, but that in itself is a valuable lesson in tool safety.”
It sounded adorable in a weird, steampunk way. “Sounds fun, so, new legs?”
Cee got the que, as much as I loved the story, and the talk about kindergarten metal shop, I was still immobilized on the operating table. I heard surgical whirring, and the scripted voice came back. “Yes, the child works all night until they fit the new legs on, and for the first time stand up on their own! The parents are overjoyed as they watch them move about the house and that afternoon, with the help of an iron bar as a cane, they walk around their community by themselves.”
“However, it isn’t long before the legs start to see wear and tear, but the child persists, not wanting to stop and fix the creaking joints, until one day the legs stop working altogether and they fall down in a twisting staircase. Carried back to the workshop, they rest for days to heal before they are able to work again. Constructing a new set from the remains of the old. Now…”

Klein:

Cee stopped again, but this time she had moved away from me and was putting the now bloody surgical tools into a sanitizing system. “We're done! I am going to start removing the nerve blocks, so you’re going to be sore, but if things get too painful, let me know. Please, try not to move anything but your hands right now, even then I would advise against it.”
My whole body had that pins and needles feel and I tried to move my fingers, but it was sporadic and jerky. Cee distracted me by explaining my new implant. “So, this implant is very basic. It can only be requested to send diagnostic data. The implant only administers more healing serum at a safe, steady rate if, and only if, it doesn’t detect any in your bloodstream. There is an injection site with a color change circle around it. It uses standard go, caution, stop colors to let you know if it’s functioning. I want to wave your omni-pad over the site and check the diagnostics at least once a day. It should hopefully catch if something like this is happening again.”
I tried to not move as I felt my body twitch. My gut felt like I had been run over, repeatedly. I asked, “why didn’t my medical monitoring implant catch this?”
Cee explained. “That’s only good for basic vitals. Near universal indicators of life and activity such as heart rate and blood pressure. The new implant will be able to scan for elevated protein counts. So, if one of your other internal organs starts to malfunction you can get a more unambiguous message that I hope you won’t ignore before getting medivac’d through the city.”
I chuckled a little at that, and it hurt. “Ow, ok, no movement. I thought it was just a pulled muscle or something.”
Cee looked down at me sternly, and her voice took on a deeper, more authoritative tone. “Child, more than enough Gearschilde have died thinking they can just, push themselves past their organic parts failing, if you have a torn muscle that hurts after you’ve used healing gel, then it’s serious enough you need to come see me, or another xeno-doctor, immediately. That’s why I hope your new implant can fix things before it gets to that point.”
Cee brightened after that and went back to the explanation of my implant. “Now that I scolded you, there is a color changing circle over your implant’s location. It will change color when the healing serum runs low, or and will start to flash in color, and try to ping your omni-pad if it detects a malfunction. The implant uses a standard Shil’ implant autoinjector, and it will reject anything not meant for red blood standard biology, but still be careful, it’s not a perfect filtering system. Today I’m giving you a set of autoinjectors I want you to use throughout the week. It's fortunate that your implant’s primary function will speed up your recovery time.”
Ok, that’s cool to know, but.
‘What happened to Hopestrider?!’ Squirrel brain demanded.
“So, the story, what happens next?” I asked as Cee helped me sit up. My stomach still hurt, but the feeling was in the overworked muscle category rather than a gut punch.
Cee started to explain as I put on what was essentially gym clothes. Soft, baggy pants and shirt with easy pull away tabs if they needed to remove the clothes quickly for checkups and surgical intervention. “Well, we don’t have time to go over the Hope Strider as a story, or even a summary, but if you want to, my husband teaches the child technician class during open services on Shel, you could sit in and listen.
Right now, I will give you a family crafted picture book that tells the core story of Hope Strider growing up, and making their first delivery. After that it’s a loose selection of legends that are attributed to Hope Strider as they grow older and more accomplished, but while I get that book, I need you to speak to someone.”
Cee led me out of the operating room, and into a comfortable looking lounge where a… Hydrean was sitting in an Imperial business uniform reading an omni-pad. My brain pulled everything I knew of Hydreans out. A rabbit hole I had dug into one rainy Shel on the public information repositories.
She, they, single gendered I reminded myself, looked up and smiled at me calmly, mouth closed for politeness. Their skin was grass green with artful patches of bark on her face and neck, the result of cosmetic scarification. They looked human, or Shil’oid, but that was purposefully done. Even the somewhat standard looking ‘desert walker’ Hydreans normally had more, or less, limbs than standard. Biological modification was at the root of all Hydrean technology, ancient as the stone ax to other species.
I thought about how contentious Hydrean/Shil relationships were said to be. Their arid home planet was off limits to all but certified personnel who had been trained how to handle the dangerous mix of flora/fauna that instead of being different groups, was just a single taxonomy that had no distinction between predator and prey. With their complex biology, a Hydrean needed to undergo extensive body modification just to exist off their home world.
Cee left the room with a friendly goodbye and offered assistance “Hello Klein, I am Ka’tel. It’s wonderful to meet you. I am with the Imperial Child Assistance Division, or ICAD. My job is to help interspecies fosters and adoptions. How are you feeling today?”
I caught a glimpse of her teeth as they spoke. Triangular, and made of burnished metal meant to tear off chunks of animal, plant, or even rock, whole and let their stomachs’ mix of acids dissolve it into something the rest their body could use.
‘The agent in charge of your welfare is a plant/animal hybrid with a diet of ‘yes’, your doctor is a wholesome orange 40K mechanicus, and your crush is a were-lion, you are not ok .’ Squirrel brain remarked.
“I’m actually pretty good, despite the surgery, it’s actually a common issue for humans.” I said to Ka’tel, because my life was weird before the aliens, squirrel brain was just being a pessimistic asshole.
“Really? Do you know what caused it?” Ka’tel asked.
“It just, happens? Gets irritated or infected and then you need to get it removed.” I said nonchalantly. Ka’tel made a mark on her omni-pad.
“How did you know? It seems dangerous if it can happen suddenly, and you mentioned it before you passed out.” Ka’tel asked tone friendly and conversational.
“Oh, the side of your stomach hurts. I was hoping it was just a pulled muscle bec- Dammit!” I just remembered what happened before I woke up here.
“The raid game! Ko’tasa would have had to substitute for me and she’s not well balanced for our team mix.” I said with a exasperated sigh.
Ka’tel cocked their head to one side, but the tone in her voice was humorous. “You were willing to ignore a possible life-threatening condition for a game?”
I explained, though I felt idiotic now. “I couldn’t tell. I get sore muscles all the time from gym, and sparing, and even from the auxiliary work, honestly my commandant doesn’t really know where to put me sometimes. Last week I helped with road clearing for the new town to go up a few [miles] away, and the girls could barely keep up with me.”
Ka’tel seemed to be enjoying my rambling. “Sounds like you really get put to work.”
“Not really? The auxiliary is the only work I do, and if I wanted to stop I just, can. It’s not like I need to worry about buying food.” I knew what I was saying seemed strange while living in the Imperium.
It was the first hint that Ka’tel was controlling her expressions when she seemed more attentive and… relieved? “That’s delightful news to hear! Is there anything about your living situation that bothers you?”
I paused and thought about it, and really couldn’t see anything. “Not really?”
“Anything, or anyone, you miss from Earth?” Ka’tel asked, stressing that last bit, dropping a mental bomb on my head and I froze, mouth partly open with a half formed response. When was the last time I even thought about Earth as more than an abstract concept? It hadn’t been [six months] since I left but…
I didn’t feel anything.
The last year I lived on Earth, it was like being a ghost. I saw people, I even talked to people, but it was like a thick plate of glass all around me. Today I felt color, and life, and things, but that last year on Earth?
Like radio static.
I looked at Ka’tel, and their expression was one of controlled neutrality. Why was I not freaking out?
I had a sensation of the room spinning. I asked, “No, I don’t really feel anything about Earth, is that normal?”
“I don’t know Klein, by most sentient standards what you went through was unusual, and from what little I know about humans that isn’t propaganda, it’s unusual for humans as well. What I do know is right now you seem happy and healthy, and that’s my top priority.” Ka’tel said as they stood and offered me a stiff plastic card with their contact details on it.
“We will be chatting every other week to see how you are adjusting. I might ask to visit you at the youth auxiliary depot, the gym or at home. I really am glad to see you are doing just fine, but if you ever need a way out, that card has an emergency signal function, just pull the plastic tab.” Ka’tel told me, and was about to open the door before I spoke up.
“How should I refer to you?” I asked, and once they realized, Ka’tel gave me a genuine, toothed, smile that was both menacing and goofy at the same time.
“Most people don’t learn enough Hydrean biology to ask. Her, that’s how everyone in the office sees me, and it’s more convenient socially.” She said, opening the door to an anxious looking Itaro standing next to a serious Ruhal and Reqellia.
“I need to speak to you Ruhal, and Reqellia, you should join us for this conversation as well.” Ka’tel said as she ushered me out.
Cee led us into a gaming room with a long table on one side, and a set of couches facing the wall to wall display on the other. She handed me an overloaded plate of cookies with bottle of water, and stepped out, closing the door behind us. “Eat those, your stomach has healed, but it’s going to need calories to fuel the recovery.”
Only then did I realize I was salivating at the smell of warm sugar, and flour made of Kasan grain, if I was identifying the green color correctly. I put the plate of cookies on the table, and snarfed them as I sat down.
After swallowing the fourth cookie semi-whole, I looked up to see Itaro’s face fighting a war between impatient, apprehensive, and hopeful. I stopped, realizing what I was doing, and sipped some water to stall for time.
I was about to pull my omni-pad out from my pockets when Itaro suddenly put her hand out to stop me. “Wait! Klein, I need to tell you something…”
She was silent for a long moment, what was she worried about?
“I… Like you, as, I find you…. Attractive, and I may have gotten a little…. overprotective when you got hurt.” Itaro said, her voice stuttering.
‘Oh, that makes things easy.’ Squirrel brain was for once, right.
“I like you too.” I said as I leaned over and kissed her.

///// Author’s Commentary

Wow! I couldn’t find a good stopping point so I just kept writing and writing and… It turned into something over 5 thousand words. I spent the last day trying to figure out clear up a few parts. This week I have some time off! So there will probably be another chapter sooner rather than later.