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Penny gazed at the quartet of Elders. They were all wearing the merchandise she remembered from the last Judgment, which was exceedingly awkward. Mainly because they were wearing shirts with her face on them. But it was also oddly endearing, in a way. Until now, she hadn't seen too many Elders that were on her side.
Elders that weren't just Kashaunta or the familiar faces she already knew, like Spentha or Rho and Sai, actually showing appreciation of her, felt odd. Even if these ones went a little too far in it.
"You're even more beautiful in person, Liberator," one said.
"Uh, thanks. I appreciate that. I'm glad that you all like me. Rho and Sai told me that you all are interested in something I can give you?"
"Yeah. Maybe a short interview? We won't be like that airhead reporter. We'll ask the good questions."
"Yep, we will."
"Right then," Penny said. "Well, I'm glad to meet you."
"Thank you. Now that we're here, we'd like to know how you plan on taking care of the gang leaders."
"Well, presumably by imprisoning them. I don't think they deserve to die, even if others do. I'll leave that decision up to Justicar and his various judges in the criminal system."
Penny didn't like having to lie blatantly. She wanted to kill the slavers quite brutally, but doing that was a bad idea right now. Saying it also was a bad idea, for a similar reason. And Justicar's system was worryingly preferential to Elders, from what she'd looked up after the meeting with Pundacrawla.
"Aren't you worried that the Judges won't give proper justice?"
"I trust Justicar to do everything that is necessary."
Another lie. Justicar would do whatever he could to maintain his image. Hopefully, that wouldn't be at the cost of the Alliance's very existence.
"Got it. By the way, what's it like being human? Walking on only two legs. It seems kind of unstable. Do you fall a lot?"
A genuine curiosity from them was another breath of fresh air. It was the kind of question a quadruped would definitely ask, which put her more at ease about the nature of what they were trying to do. Even more than their evident support of her, with all the merch they were wearing. Penny felt a smile crack at the corners of her lips, unbidden.
"Not really. We can use our arms to steady ourselves pretty well. Obviously it's not as easy to balance on our two legs as it is with your four, but it's still good enough. In fact, the sprinters in the Olympics use all four limbs, since running as fast as possible also requires pumping our arms. As for what it's like to be human, it's hard to describe. For many of us, it will feel colder or warmer than Sprilnav would feel in the same temperatures, due to thinner skin. Our eyesight is more frontal than yours, given our lack of snouts, so our blindspots are a lot bigger. Our feet require shoes for rough ground, and we heal slower than you by around 20%. We can't really clack our jaws to the scale that you can, though we can make them meet."
Penny bared her teeth, showing as she opened and closed her mouth. It was nice to be able to talk about things like this.
"The Olympics?" one of them asked.
"It's a competition about athletics," Penny said. "Running, jumping, throwing, diving, swimming, skiing, snowboarding, and a lot of sports. There's specific divisions, too. Like how there's a 100 meter dash, 200 meter dash, 400 meter dash, and even an 800 meter dash for those with high levels of psychic energy. Though really, psychic energy and genetic editing have been messing with the events for a while now. And there's a Winter, Summer, and Space Olympics, each with different sorts of events. They move from city to city, though the Space Olympics are pretty much always on either Luna, Ceres, or Mercury. There's a lot more information out there on various events, but it's an old cultural practice revered by the entire species. Even more so since Phoebe's increased the prize pools for everyone."
"How does your species handle space in general? I know that you guys did things way differently before First Contact."
"We did. Mining companies kept tight control on all asteroid mining, while nations controlled planets like Earth and Mars and large planetary bodies like Luna. Supposedly, a few people planned for a cloud city on Venus, but we couldn't risk having such a vulnerable population because they'd have to rely on giant balloons to survive. That would probably be the least secure way to live, given the existence of rogue organizations and all that.
As for spaceships, most of them since we really colonized Luna come equipped with spacesuit bays, zero gravity water and food packs, oxygen tanks, emergency seats, specialized anti-micrometeorite hulls, and radiation shielding. A lot of the older military ships also were equipped with big radiators until World War Three, when it all became masses of drone warfare, with the big ships kept mainly for cargo and lanes where mass drone control was impossible.
Once the Vinarii came and we got shields, we started building big again. After all, it provided a huge number of jobs, and in the post-war economies, especially with VIs in place, a lot of people needed work. But we still go and do asteroid and moon mining, star lifting, and energy gathering. We built an orbital ring around Mercury, the closest planet to Sol, to help with all of that. It doubles as a production hub, too. Now, it's all in more systems and with a lot more friends."
"Speaking of aliens, what theory does your people have on why so many creatures resemble one another? Our jaws are adapted for hard shelled creatures, and we're told that many planets have oddly similar variations of those."
"Crabs."
She guessed what they were getting at.
It is odd, isn't it? Nilnacrawla observed.
Perhaps that is another one of the Source's whims, Penny thought.
Maybe.
A few of the Elders made exclamations of shock.
"You even have a word for them that directly translates!"
Penny chuckled. "Yeah, carcinization is a bit of a meme in the science community. But I've heard the most mainstream theories since the First Contact are that the Source itself is uncreative. It has a certain template of creatures which it largely doesn't alter, though it can take in inputs from beings close to it, perhaps even influencing them."
"Influencing them?"
"Yes. Modern depictions of wendigoes, folkloric creatures from North America, a continent on Earth, are shockingly similar to the Knowers in appearance. The internet depictions of them in particular like to emphasize canine qualities, and often show them with skulls visible directly, and with dark brown or black fur. Recent depictions, as in the past 300 years, differ from their original appearances quite significantly, with the canine characteristics in particular being enhanced.
We have sorted through all known images of these creatures and found roughly 80% similarity with the Knowers and tens of thousands of images that are literally exactly the same as Knowers. The ones we searched all came before World War Three, far before even the First Contact with the Vinarii, much less the Knowers who were entirely underground at the time due to the radiation of their home star. We believe that the Source managed to influence this facet of human culture with the actual existence of a real creature.
Other examples exist, like how the Trikkec look very similar to Komodo Dragons, Vinarii look very similar to insects known as a mantis, and the Acuarfar look exactly like insects known as wasps with the single exception of their furry snouts and green instead of yellow markings. The Sprilnav species itself shares high amounts of similarity with a fictional species known as Elites in early 2000s culture, particularly with your jaws, though you all have red skin instead of grey or brown.
The Junyli, Dreedeen, and the wanderers are the main species without high amounts of appearance in our cultures at some point. This correlates with the idea of the Source being the influencer, as their predecessors all were used to fight it. Many species of the galaxy look like parts of our culture or Earth's creatures. The proximity of these examples makes this far more suspicious than if they were across the galaxy.
But since they existed first, the only answer must be that the Source brought the influence to us first and planted the ideas in our heads. As for the ones which look like Earth creatures, all of them are old enough evolutionary branches that copying from them to Earth makes more sense. Though the references centering around the early 2000s is quite odd, it is also roughly when the internet came into wide existence, so it is also possible the Source gave the ideas a push so they would propagate, for an unknown reason. Like if it seeded the ideas that propagated across the early global network Humanity used."
"Hmm. Fascinating. We've seen evidence of the 'seeding' process among some historical nations near the galactic region of Earth before. So the Source re-uses and alters depictions of life and also life itself?"
"Maybe," Penny said. "Unless the Source is more directly tied to life than we think. There's a conceptual Death, but no conceptual Life. Isn't that odd?"
"Conceptual Life died in the Source war."
How did that really work, though? Penny asked Nilnacrawla.
Imagine a conceptual being. A few of the Progenitors, as well as Narvravarana, went up to try to harvest its power. It refused, and Narvravarana used its unique abilities to try and force the deal.
Why was your civilization like this?
Excess and greed, partly. But we couldn't really do much more expansion. Vertical expansion also had its limits if we wanted to remain relevant for the remaining lifespan of the universe. So Narvravarana, along with a few of the greatest rulers and leaders of Sprilnav society, started looking to other dimensional planes. They figured it was best not to let the problem get too much worse. Or at least, that is what they say. I believe it was to harvest more resources to use against our surrounding enemies.
You didn't have any allies? Penny asked.
At that time, all the powers of the universe were enemies. All the allies eventually merged through millions of years of normalization. We happened to get on the universal stage the earliest, so other civilizations we encountered had little choice but to surrender their independence. Some fought, others didn't, but the outcome was the same.
That seems terrible.
It was, though the other universal civilizations were no better. Some of them just exterminated all alien life they found that couldn't fight back. In that sense, the pre-war Sprilnav civilization was one of the greatest, and that's why I fought for them. Obviously, I'm biased in that regard, though.
Thanks for telling me, father.
No problem, Penny.
She refocused back on the conversation at hand.
"But a thing cannot be alive if it dies. The concept of life doesn't work that way. So maybe the Source just... took in the concept of life? Or absorbed it into whatever psychic energy really is, considering that it's responsible for all of our existence?"
"That's so crazy it might actually be true," one of the Elders said. "You're incredible, Penny."
"Uh, thanks. You're all pretty great too." Her eyes drifted to the images of herself on their clothing. She couldn't really help it.
"I have a question for you."
"Yes?"
"Do you know what I'm fighting for?"
"I assume since you're asking it here, you don't just want a one word answer," an Elder said. "I would say yes, and for the liberation of the Sprilnav from the stain of slavery. Though going deeper into your history, you have also fought for other species, either in wars or just generally moving around. It does look aimless, mostly, since the galaxy's so big. But I'm sure you've got a way through that."
"In some way. Part of why I'm here isn't just about my people. It was at first, I admit that. But as I have lived here, on Justicar, for days and weeks, I've seen you less as alien. It makes it easier for sympathy and easier to break out of simple mindsets. So far, there are many problems, but there are distinct pieces. The first is that many people want to uphold slavery. I'm not sure why, but they do. It isn't profitable, and it isn't moral. Robots are cheaper in every way, and don't need food or water.
That means it's illogical or emotional. So I could try and solve the problem with violence alone, but it won't be addressing the cause, only the symptoms. I need to get to the heart of the matter. And I think it has to do with Elders' memories and the gradual woes they have accumulated going through life. I don't want to tear that away or drug them into believing they're fine. I want to find a way to outlet that productively. The second part I have identified is scale. The galaxy is enormous, and your species is incredibly numerous. I could fight planet by planet for the rest of my life, and liberation would still be difficult.
That also means I'd need a better way of doing things. Maybe an economic or political incentive. Emotional reasons will not work permanently, nor will logic, since we are in this situation. I have found several ways to address this. Sadly, since the gangs are likely monitoring this feed, I can't just outright say my strategy. All I can ask you all to do is to believe. Believe that I have a solution, and that I and those who stand with me are working on it. Believe in me because I believe in you."
None of the Elders questioned or ridiculed her words. Most of it was because they were fans of her. But one of them, an Elder named Rahautiti, had a distinct glint in his eye. Their gazes met only momentarily, but Penny could tell he knew.
And so she appeared in the mindscape, even as they concluded the interview, which would be the first of many. It was a ploy to just talk about human culture and ideals a bit more, to get it out there. Because the hivemind's theory was correct.
In the universe, ideas had power. That power could be weaponized against those who previously stood to gain. The first part of it was the image: Nova as an unbeatable bastion. Lecalicus as the Beast, a monster capable of star-crushing rage. Twilight as... whatever she did. Penny wasn't really familiar with the Progenitor's image too much, and the various names, like the Silent Night or the Smiling Darkness, were just so unbelievably edgy she cringed every time she recalled them.
But Rahautiti understood so she moved her mindscape avatar to see him.
"Hello again, Penny. I am no threat."
"I know. I'm glad that your group is led by someone as capable as you, as well as the other groups you dabble within."
"Who discovered it?"
"Phoebe. You met with Ezeonwha, and the android wanted to ensure you weren't a way for Yasihaut to kill him."
"Yeah. We did get approached about that, actually. We're supposed to kill Ezeonwha when you walk into the Judgment hall. Of course, we won't do this, and she won't be able to retaliate against us easily while there."
"Thank you for your honesty, Elder," Penny said. "It seems I'm in your debt."
"Nonsense. 2,839. That is the number of children I have had. 2,626. That is the number of children of mine which were enslaved. The remaining 213 died in unrelated incidents, with nearly half of those involving slavers killing them. I remember all of their names, and all of their faces, Penny. I want all the slavers in this universe dead."
"I cannot achieve that."
"You cannot," Rahautiti agreed. "Not with my help or even that of Kashaunta and Lecalicus. And certainly not right now. I have not lived this long to be incapable of compromise or patchwork solutions. You show great promise. I understand your aversion to killing and the circumstantial reason why you are not doing so now. I will not grow upset if you do not resume killing when the Judgment ends. Nor do I harbor a grudge against you for the speeding space entity you left outside the room to avoid uncomfortable publicity. You are incredibly young.
A sliver of a life. But you are strong, and you are mature. That sliver of your lifespan already outshines all I could do with a trillion more years, Penny. You are right in that this isn't something you can punch your way through. Trauma is part of why slavery still exists, despite it being a wholly unjust reason for the Elders to make such a sport of it. I am sure you know the story of the war, with a great hero in your head and Kashaunta at your side. My line of work is what I started to help you. Every thought about you being the Liberator, every eye that glances on you freeing slaves, helps you to gather conceptual energy. My talent happens to be great enough to sense the Pact of Blades you have, as well. If you want, I can teach you how to hide the mark on your soul and your mind."
"I would like that, yes," Penny said. "And thank you for being so reasonable. I will ask Kashaunta to protect you from what consequences come for refusing the offer on Ezeonwha."
"There are going to be attacks on him, you know. Him and your ship."
Penny felt an odd feeling in her soul. Cardi's power flared around him, and she squinted at the sky. She just barely saw a sliver of a tentacle. Most would have mistaken it for a normal speeding space entity. But here? On Justicar, with Exile obviously not being the cause?
Only one being would cause that. Fate.
Given the subject of their conversation, it was obvious what was going on.
Penny tapped Rahautiti's jaw, adding a thin mark of conceptual power so she could easily find him again. She focused on the conceptual mark she'd left on Ezeonwha. A twinge of conceptual energy came from it. It was accompanied by various impressions, like fear, pain, and acceptance.
"I have to go," Penny said. "I will be back later. Displace."
She appeared next to the 102nd Visitor Welcome Office but not next to Ezeonwha. It was carnage everywhere she looked.
"Champion!" an unknown Elder yelled. "I am Elder Na-"
Her rising fury surged, and it took all she had not to dismember him. The distant thought of the Judgment stayed her hands, though only just.
Penny's fist collided with the Elder's jaw at twice the speed of sound. A piece of his jaws flew free. Bone fragments hit the ground behind him. Hundreds of soldiers fired on her, and she slammed them to the ground with pure will. Penny tore their guns away and sent them each to pummel the Elder in front of her with as much brutality as she could. His powerful armor wasn't as capable of defense against physical attacks as it was against her psychic energy, and so he fell.
"You... cannot save him," the Elder spat. Fields of psychic suppression fell upon her, reducing her power.
"Manipulation through Determination," Penny growled. "De-"
No! Nilnacrawla said. Do not kill him! Not yet!
"What goes up will go down."
Air hardened around the Elder and accelerated rapidly.
The Elder smashed into the shield five miles above with a speed just slow enough that he wouldn't die. He fell from it and then hit it again at a more modest speed. He'd bounce on that until the Guides came to get him.
But Penny had another target. One she had to save instead of attack.
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High Judge Tassidonia awoke to the sound of explosions. He grabbed his swords, his main gun, and the personal shield he reserved for only the most dire occasions. The sky was erupting in war all around him, and buildings were already falling nearby. The spires of skyscrapers rained down upon the entrances to the Underground, crushing thousands of fleeing Sprilnav under their wide impacts.
His implant identified members of the gangs nearby, making their way to his home.
"Retribution Cycle!" Tassidonia cried. A hidden door opened, and he boarded a small hovercraft that sported a high amount of defensive and offensive technology, a gift from Justicar for dealing with all that he had related to the Judgment. Only this time, he wouldn't be on the next one. But already, the destruction was spreading.
Micro-missiles rained upon friend and foe alike. Several detonated against the layered shields. The mounted turrets on the side of his hoverbike shot lasers into the enemies his implant identified.
"Elder Tassidonia!" an Elder cried nearby. "For the crime of defying the will of-"
Tassidonia called his fury to bear. He rammed his mind into the enemy Elder, disorienting her. She reeled, about to attack, when a thick laser smashed into her chest. It pushed her against the wall, and Tassidonia kept the pressure up until her body melted. He listened to her screams impassively, occasionally sending blasts from his gun at the gangs when their members started to stray too close.
The thick red beam did its work within twenty pulses. His swords began to float beside him, keeping pace as he sped away from his home. The entire apartment complex shuddered and began to lean, its foundation being destroyed by some effect below. Tassidonia abandoned it with only minor regret. He'd known this moment would come. Everything he needed was already with him.
He linked into the Guide network, directing squadrons to attack the breaches he'd identified. Orbital strikes fell upon them in quick succession. Thick beams of light pierced through the lower planetary shields from orbital platforms, their guns honing in on Justicar's enemies. Tassidonia's implant was linked to the grid as well. So when he eyed buildings occupied with too many gang members, orbital strikes fell on them a few pulses later.
Fire and plasma rained all around him. Explosions and smoke blossomed all around him. More missiles fell from his hovercraft. A fighter ship appeared beside him, its simple stealth revealing itself to his eyes. Tassidonia waited for the pilot chamber to open, and his craft stowed itself behind him when he got in. It was fully equipped, so soon, Tassidonia was in full control of a weapon of war.
His first order of business was detecting the gangs' most fortified areas. He peppered those bases in shield-weakening mines, followed by bunker-buster missiles. Several anti-air turrets hit him, but his shields prevented them from taking him down. He dropped three high-end Butcher Androids into the fray of the largest battles.
One of the adjacent fighter wings in the separate shield sector dropped a nuke. At that moment, Tassidonia made a decision.
Whatever insanity was going on right now wasn't worth staying here on his own. He turned his ship upward, narrowly avoiding nearly fifty missiles shot from another gang fortress, which was really just the lower floors of a supermarket. Thick slabs of concrete were being set up by androids and slaves from the Underground. All he could do was watch from above and attempt to mark those that might be a problem.
Justicar's Grand Fleet was moving in, though only the carriers and their escorts were doing anything of any scale. The armies were mobilizing, and it seemed that war had finally broken out. Justicar, while isolated due to the Judgment, would have to win a war that threatened to topple his rule entirely.
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Ezeonwha woke when the walls around him shuddered.
An earthquake?
Groggily, he activated the lights in the room. Phoebe's android was charging in the wall. Her limbs swayed with the motion. The walls shuddered again, and the lights went out. Thin, tiny cracks spread in the walls, increasing his worry factors massively. His implant notified him that this wasn't a dream. Distant screams reached his ears, and he went to the window.
Hordes of Sprilnav were running on the ground, tripping over each other to escape. He heard the thump of footsteps approaching from outside. The android activated, standing up.
"Move away from the doo-"
An explosion tossed him across the room. A Sprilnav carrying some sort of mouth weapon faded into view for a moment, smoke recalibrating the stealth field. And then he was gone. Phoebe smashed into the Sprilnav, her fists pummeling the assassin faster than Ezeonwha could comprehend.
Phoebe's arms turned into swords, and she stabbed the Sprilnav at least fifty times in a single pulse. She turned to grab him, but before she reached him, a second explosion sent him flying out of the now-shattered window.
The massive skyscraper loomed large, and he saw the ground beneath it ripple. Dull thumps sounded from below, and large, circular caverns opened beneath the 102nd Visitor Welcome Office. The whole building started to list forward, and Ezeonwha frantically activated his emergency personal shield as he started falling faster and faster. A bullet hit the shield. And then a second one. Gunshots echoed out in the distance, and he saw other Sprilnav falling from broken windows in the falling skyscraper. Gunfire erupted on the streets as Guides engaged a growing army of attackers bubbling up from basements of shops and businesses.
He saw spurts of blood exit the Sprilnav nearest him, bullets tearing holes through the woman's body. Piercing screams surrounded him, a terrible chorus that reminded him of the worst wars he'd fought in. But here, his training could do nothing. She was already dead, and he knew that he was the target of this whole attack. His eyes watered, and Ezeonwha felt so powerless. So useless.
A Corrector emerged from the side of the tilting skyscraper, eyes fixed on Ezeonwha. Then he looked down. Somehow, Ezeonwha knew when the orders had been sent. He knew that it was Astipra in the distance, a jetpack on his shoulders burning a thick flame beneath him.
Astipra looked back at the building and flew toward it. Ezeonwha felt the wind rushing past the shield as pressure. Astipra, far above, vaporized falling chunks of the skyscraper with blasts from his arm cannons. He pressed back against the skyscraper, the jetpack going into overdrive. The metal bent inward, and the groaning and twisting structure continued its fall. Blasts of light from Astipra again vaporized the set of falling chunks.
"Penny," he said. It was almost a prayer, really. His desperate mind was scrambling for whatever it could get. "Please, save me!"
He didn't know if she could hear him. Logically, it was impossible. And in a battle such as this, unlikely as well. Rippling explosions erupted across the facade of the falling skyscraper as rockets struck it. More explosions bloomed as lasers from distant police vehicles, Guides, and Astipra destroyed more of the fast-flying missiles and rockets. They pounded on the world around him, a horde of madness threatening to break his brain. He could feel the wind and gravity equalize as he reached terminal velocity.
And all he could see was the world descending into war around him. The 102nd Visitor Welcome Office continued to slump and lean against Astipra's best efforts. More bullets hit Ezeonwha's personal shield, and peppered the Guides moving over to save him. Air ambulances were shot from the sky. Even small fighter crafts were shot down by powerful ground lasers. EMPs thumped, disabling all the higher functions of his implant before he could think to use it.
A much larger explosion bloomed out, and Ezeonwha followed the rocket's trail to an Elder on the ground, standing in the wreckage surrounding a sudden tunnel opening. The Elder stared at him in glee, and he lined up another shot. Two Guides fell upon the Elder, who flew up using a jetpack to cut them in half with his sword. A hard light hologram lifted a large gun, pointing at Ezeonwha as he fell.
His eyes widened. Ezeonwha did everything he could. He angled his legs and arms. He pushed at the air. He even hefted the meager psychic energy he had, struggling with all his soul to escape the death he could feel was coming to him.
Guides swarmed beyond the shield appearing, while gang soldiers died by the hundreds to carpet bombing. Personal shields sprang up to block the explosions, and the Elder had survived. A thick red laser cut one of the fighters in half from the smoke. Above him, the collapsing facade of the skyscraper consumed Astipra entirely, though large gouts of plasma and thick explosions emerged from within. He could survive if it fell upon him, but Ezonwha could not.
Penny materialized far below, closer to the field of battle. A sweeping wave of gang members began disappearing. A bullet smashed into her head and her stomach, detonating in bright explosions. A personal shield flared and disappeared. Missiles and lasers slammed into Penny by the thousands as psychic energy gathered. A constant roll of words fell from her tongue, but without his implant, they were not translated.
Missiles crumbled into dust. Lasers impacted raw space in front of Penny before bending down and back to their origins, destroying automated turrets. Bullets still hit Penny and the Guides by the thousands, firing too quickly and densely for her to entirely block. But the large ordnance from the gangs continued to work against them.
Penny looked around, confusion evident on her face. But amidst the thousands of wounded and dead Sprilnav falling from the broken windows, Ezeonwha was hidden too well.
Shattering glass could be constantly heard, and he could feel the distant screams in his soul. A bullet smashed into his personal shield again, disabling it. A pulse later, he lost feeling in his legs.
He tried to reach out to her mind, but the war in the mindscape was equally intense. Too many Elders and Guides battling it out along with various suppression artifacts made it all impossible. He could sense Penny's influence, but couldn't directly reach her.
He let out a breath, knowing it to be the final one.
I'm sorry, Penny, Ezeonwha thought.
I wish you luck in the Judgment, and I am sorry I caused this to happen to you.
Penny finally appeared in front of him, eyes wide-
Blood erupted. A searing pain in his head told him his implant had just shorted out. And in the mindscape, he saw a mental attack heading for him, its brutal power evident. He closed his eyes.

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Memory Transcript: Kinet, Venlil Surveyor Captain [Standardized Human Time July 5th, 2114]:
We had arrived in-system [four days] ago, and while I was expecting to see a world ravaged by nuclear exchange, the damage to the planet was beyond what I could have ever imagined. The surface was scorched, and the air filled with ash and soot from massive continent spanning fires that must have been burning for cycles. Despite all the destruction, our scans showed some signs of life trying to take hold on the surface, but not nearly as much as there should have been.
The humans had wiped themselves out over [150 years ] in the past; it shouldn’t look like it only happened only a herd of claws ago.
Fiir was of no use. When the first glimpses of the planet came in on the viewscreen, the scruffy researcher just stared with his jaw hanging loose before stammering about something being wrong. He stormed off to his quarters, and I haven’t seen him since then.
I sighed and walked onto the bridge with my waking claw cup of tea but was immediately assaulted by the chittering of an excited sivkit, our primary communications officer.
“Captain, captain, captain!”
“Hephy, yes, I’m right here. What is it?” I looked down towards her. She barely came up to my waist in her typical quadrupedal stance, and even doing her best to stand up, she wouldn’t be able to look me in the eye. Despite her stature, her excitement demanded attention as her eyes flicked between myself and whatever data she had scrolling across her display visor.
“Right Right. Anyway, Captain, I have to show you something, it’s big.” Most people don’t pay sivkits much mind, but Hephy was a prodigy. The excitable woman could look at a waterfall plot and pick out every signal present, and even read some of them without any computer assistance. I motioned for her to follow me to the ready room and started off toward it while sipping my tea. She trotted behind me on all fours, as sivkits are wont to do, and when I sat in my chair, she hopped side to side in excitement. “The signals, when we arrived from the jump, I saw something fascinating!” “Hephy, stop bouncing and sit.” I gestured to the chair in front of my desk. She looked at me for a moment as if I had grown a set of ears at the end of my snout. After a moment, her trance broke, and she hopped into the chair. She sat on her haunches and pulled out her tablet.
“Ok so, when we jumped in, we got a ping of the area, right? Send a signal out, listen for the reply, and we see what’s out there that our eyes can’t. Standard stuff, sure, but look.” She tapped at her tablet and expanded a multidimensional spectrum plot. “The bright spots are reports, and it’s all around. Debris right? That’s what I thought but look closer!” I leaned in and looked at the impressionistic splotches of color shown on the holographic display. The blues, yellows, and oranges spattered amongst the dark gray and black of night and other known objects was appealing to the eye, but ultimately gave me little idea what Hephy was trying to communicate with me. She must have picked up on my lack of insight, because she sighed and tapped the display again. “Normally, you see the pulse pattern return and that’s pretty distinct, but this is different. Odd. I thought it was just micro-debris but if you spread it out over time there’s a pattern to it, a structure in the phase relationships that doesn’t match reflections or our interrogation pulses.” “Hephy, you know I rarely ever understand you at this level.” “Right sorry right. Captain, this isn’t the return pulse, they’re data transmissions. Multiple data transmissions all at once.”
My ears perked up, and I tilted my head to the side a bit. “How can you be sure? What would even be out there to send them?”
“I wasn’t sure myself until I looked later on in the data buffers. Almost a claw later there was another longer burst. The automated systems ignored it due to interpreting it as just more micro-debris, but it had that structure-but-not-structure, perfectly shaped noise. I also had nav and sensors run another few active pings at different frequencies, trying to rule out silly patterns seeking brain nonsense. Nothing returned. The debris cloud doesn’t exist!”
“So what does this mean for us?”
“I don’t know, but it's fascinating! They must be satellites of some kind, either too small to reflect much or made to absorb radio waves.”
“That’s worrisome. There’s only one reason you’d build something like that.”
“Weaponry?” She chirped with surprising insight I had not expected to come from her. She had never been in the space force like I, and many others, had.
“Defense platforms, yes.” I took a sip of my rapidly cooling tea to try and soothe the anxious pit growing in my stomach.
“That’s…concerning.” Her excitement waned for a moment but quickly slipped back.
“Very, thank you for bringing this to my attention, Hephy.”
“As if I could keep quiet about something like this!” She snorted with a chittering laugh. “Oh! Wait there’s one more thing. There was another signal in a higher band that sounded off around the same time as the other burst, this time from a different orbit, way further out. I traced it to an artificial satellite.”
Suddenly, a thought hit me. These things were actively communicating with something. Was there something still left on the surface?
“Hephy, do you know where those signals were going?”
“Normally the antenna is too directional for anyone but the recipient to see it or it’s hard to get a read on directionality, but I know where everything is communicating to. The middle of the smaller main ocean.”
“Hephy, that’s an incredibly important bit of information!”
“It is? Oh yeah right, that makes sense!” She wiggles her tail in an amused flicking motion.
I stood up and patted her on the shoulder. “Get us close to that artificial satellite and see what it is. I’d like to get a better idea of what we’ve just stumbled into. Report back when you have some answers and we will go from there.”
Hephy bobbed her ears and hopped off the seat. “On it, sir. Where are you going?” “I’m going to talk to Fiir. This is beyond the original mission, and he needs to know.” “Ay captain. Good luck. Guy’s a weirdo.” I simply grunted and strolled down to the auxiliary quarters where I knew the researcher to be.
>Advance record: [10 Minutes]:
Fiir had brought an entire team of researchers with him. I was told they’re all colleagues of his from the research academy that are interested in this personal project of his. This many people on board with his project did explain how he was able to offer the exorbitant sum of credits to hire me and my crew. They had been allocated a section of the ship near the front, just past the shuttle bay and under the bridge area. This let them have their privacy and set up whatever gear they brought with them.
It also meant that there was a door between them and the rest of the ship. A door that they did not hesitate to keep closed after pre-launch inspections had concluded. The researchers didn’t have anything I didn’t expect from the manifest, but I still found it rather suspicious. Were they hiding something? Perhaps it had to do with that odd power hungry computer they insisted upon. Mara had her ears tied in a knot trying to accommodate it, and still they were coy about why exactly they needed it. It didn’t do me any good to speculate, though. What mattered most was the problem of the satellites.
I finally reached the door and, being the polite man I am, I scratched at the sounding plate before grabbing the handle and trying to open it. To my surprise, it didn’t budge. I could understand locking doors to the personal quarters, but this was a main corridor in my own ship! Just as I reached over to key in the unlock code, the door made a thunk as the latch disengaged and slid open part of the way. A familiar gray fringed brown muzzle stuck out from the gap. “This is a restrict- Oh. Captain.” Fiir opened the door a little more and stood up facing me. “What is it?”
I blinked at his rather blunt question. “I just came to inform you that we’ve discovered some worrying details about the nature of the-” “The artificial satellites are not of any concern to us.” He cut me off before I could finish.
“We think they might be-”
He glanced back behind the door for a moment, his tail thrashed in agitation. “It doesn’t matter. Have you prepared the landing party yet?” My jaw tightened as my frustration with his rudeness grew. I couldn’t get much of a word in, but I needed any answers. “They’re set to depart in two claws, but with those unknown satellites, I can’t be sure of their safety! I saw you on the bridge when we arrived, you were expecting something different. As the captain of this ship, I need to know if there’s a threat to-”
“Captain.” Fiir’s gaze grew intense as he leaned in. I may have had almost a head of height on the wizened farsul, but in that moment, he felt as if he was towering over me. “I suggest you stick to the responsibilities I hired you for, Captain Kinet. There are things that you are not privy to, nor will you be made privy to in the foreseeable future. Continue with the survey as per our agreement, and you’ll get your credits. Do not bother me until the away team is en route. Good paw, Captain.” He closed and locked the door without even waiting for my response.
I just stood at the door for a long while, a feeling of anger and indignation boiling in my chest. I had only ever had cordial contact with the researcher up until now; this abrupt shift in his demeanor was unsettling, to say the least. How dare he talk down to me like that on my own ship! I sighed and took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out. Slow and controlled. Letting the tension and anger flow out with my breath.
Inhale. Hold. Release.
Inhale. Hold. Release.
After a few cycles, the burning anger was reduced to a smoldering cinder. As much as I had wanted to headbutt Fiir, it wasn’t worth risking the contract for. I turned and walked back to the bridge to prepare for the away mission. Without Fiir’s info, I needed to make sure contingencies were in place for any possible threat to the away team. The lives of my crew are paramount, even if the contract was very, very lucrative. All that aside, the planning would keep my mind away from thoughts of my rude client.
>Advance record: [Standardized Human Time July 6th, 2114]:
I woke up after my rest paw feeling groggy and unrested. The confrontation with Fiir kept playing in my mind all night, despite the claws of planning for the away mission. To say his standoffish behavior left knots in my wool would be an understatement. I wiped my snout with my paws, flicking the crust from my eyes before getting up out of bed.
I grabbed my favorite mug and fixed myself my morning cup of tea. Pulling the dried leaves and stems from the canister, I could feel my mouth water in anticipation. I had been told by many who possessed the strange appendage called a nose that the tea leaves had a strong earthy and floral scent. I often wondered what that meant. Venlil didn’t have noses, but we did have a sense of taste, which is apparently quite similar. I often wondered what it might be like to smell. Do we really miss out on so much without being able to smell?
We had to soak our foods and tea in water before we could taste it with our tongues, and even then, it’s not nearly as sensitive, which is probably why other species consider venlil cuisine to be overseasoned and overpowering.
Another reason why the stereotype of venlil being weak is nonsense, in my opinion. How strong can you be if you can’t handle a little spice?
The timer went off, chirping to tell me my tea was ready. I sifted out the leaves and brought the invigorating elixir to my lips. The hot fluid warmed me to my core and burned away the waking lyasi silk from my groggy mind.
I needed to catch up with Hephy and Mara; they should have brought in that satellite-
My thoughts were interrupted by the chiming of my pad. I picked it up and answered the call to see Hephy’s face almost filling the screen, with Mara looking over her shoulder.
“Oh good you’re awake! Captain, you must see this! It’s amazing! The satellite, it’s full of brains!”
END TRANSCRIPTION
Been a hot minute, I hadn't forgotten about this. As always, comments are coveted and appreciated. What do you all think about Fiir's behavior? What do y'all think of Hephy?
Thanks to for creating this setting and fostering such a delightfully passionate community! Thanks again to , Novalux, and the Foxmates for editing and helping me get this done!
Soma belongs to Frictional Games.

The Letter With the Silver Seal
Hooves drummed on the hard-packed dirt of the road.
The rider’s cloak streamed back in the wind of his running, and dust rose in his wake.
After months of searching, riding town to town, dawn to dusk, Finn finally had a lead on the wayward elf. The letter rested in his satchel, slung diagonally from shoulder to waist under his travel cloak. It was wrapped in oilcloth and sealed with silver wax bearing the intricate sigil of House Fyndrael. The letter was urgent, make haste, Lord Brynwell had said. And Finn had rode like a madman ever since.
People flashed past in both directions, the occasional ox-drawn cart or a courier on horseback kicking up dust in their haste. Some cursed his breakneck speed, turning to shake fists. Finn just grinned and spurred his horse faster. The road curved ahead through a thicket of trees and wound off into the countryside like a dusty ribbon dotted intermittently with the dark shapes of carts, wagons, and riders.
In the distance, the faint, cloudy silhouette of Suncrest Hold beckoned him. Almost there. A few more hours, he would put the letter in the elf’s hand and be on his way. A smile split his dusty face, and he leaned low over Dett’s neck, urging the horse on, eager to be quit of this mission and on his way back to Kaelos and all the comforts the sprawling mountain city had to offer. Wine and dancing, dicing and women, taverns and inns and brothels enough to drown a man in pleasures, that’s what waited in Kaelos. But first, he had to deliver the letter.
“Alright, Dett, show us your heart,” Finn put his face against the horse’s neck and the wind snagged his hood away, streaming his long honey-kissed hair out behind. “A few more miles, and you can rest. All the oats and water you can stomach.”
Trees flashed past. Dogs barked sharp challenges, then fell away. Dett thought this was a race, strained to go faster, legs and neck stretched out, mane and tail whipping in the wind. A group of caravaners cursed him as he thundered past. Finn laughed, called back his apologies and raced on, laying about with his reins.
Hours passed, the road transitioned from hard-packed dirt to the dark gray of flagstones and traffic deepened. Suncrest Hold rose before him in all its gray glory; slate-roofed towers and spires reached for the sky behind the silver-gray teeth of battlements. People, carts, farmers with wagons, merchants, and caravans crowded the road. Finn slowed Dett to a trot, skillfully weaving through the crowd with the desperate urgency only a man months gone from home could muster. He was ready to see this mission done.
He passed under an arched portcullis and came abreast of the guard house on the other side.
Soldiers in steel ring mail worn under red tabards slashed with black and embroidered with the royal coat of arms waved him through when they saw the silver glint of a courier’s badge pinned on his leather tunic.
“Make way,” they growled at the crowd, shouldering into the people and shoving them aside so Finn could pass. “Make way for a courier. Move it, you country kelps!”
People grumbled and cast dark looks Finn’s way, but they moved. None wanted to be the one who delayed a royal courier.
A figure in polished platemail worn under her tabard, and the transverse crested helm of an officer, stepped out of the guard house. Finn brought Dett to a halt.
The officer approached.
“May the sun favor your roads,” she greeted. Finn noticed the four golden knots of a captain embroidered on her tabard’s left breast. “May I offer the courier an escort?”
Finn’s mind went blank. This lady wasn’t just pretty for a guardswoman; she was unbelievably striking by any standard across the land. Breathtaking. He wanted to get off his horse and propose marriage on the spot. Heat began to rise in his cheeks, and he covered it by bowing in his saddle and giving his cloak a little flourish. A thick layer of dust broke free and danced around him.
“Gracious of you, my lady,” he said, cuffing his brow. “I am looking for an elf named Aberiel. I was told I could find him here in Suncrest Hold. Heard of him?”
“Captain Aurelume,” she said, looking off down the main road at all the buildings and structures crowding up to the walks. “Not My Lady. I'm not noble blood. Aberiel, you say?”
Finn gave a nod and patted Dett’s neck to calm the restless horse.
“Can you describe this man?”
Finn dug into his saddle and drew out a piece of parchment enchanted with the elf’s likeness. He handed it to the captain. She studied the portrait.
One of the other guards came up and peered over her shoulder, his face crisscrossed with old scars inside his open-faced helmet. “Damn, looks like the one what got back-knifed over dice a few nights gone. Remember? Almost died and the Count was all in a fury. Had us knocking down doors and cracking heads for three nights til we got the ones what did it. Darkhand gang, it was.”
Captain Aurelume studied the picture, her lips pursed. Her eyes were cerulean jewels dancing with sparks of sunlight.
She drummed a gauntleted finger on her sword hilt, and the sun glinted off her pauldrons. “Yes,” she said after several moments. “I remember him. Young and reckless, fair hand with the ladies, I’m told.” She glanced at her guard. “Which I suspect is the true reason for the knife in the back. Men have killed for far less.”
The guard shrugged, and his ringmail made soft clinking sounds. “Only said what I was told, Captain. Dice, they said it was.”
The captain returned her attention to Finn.
She returned the picture. “Try the Medi toward the center of the city. Beside the Basilica.” She nodded at the guard beside her. “Harker will show you the way. Good luck.” She turned and disappeared back into the guardhouse.
Harker came up beside Finn. “Alright then,” he grumbled, obviously irritated with having to play babysitter. “This way.”
Finn followed him down long streets that turned and twisted through the city. Every few seconds, he would holler for the crowd to give way to a courier. After a time, they came to a sprawling structure of soaring turrets, tiled roofs, tall arches, and windows filled with ornate traceries and colorful glass. A central dome gleamed silver in the sun.
“The Medi,” he said, and without so much as a by your leave, turned sharply on his heel and waded back into the crowd.
Finn eased Dett over to a tie post on the side of the road and swung out of the saddle, his legs filled with a deep ache from months on the road. He took a moment to stretch and stamp his feet before climbing the marble steps to the fluted columns flanking a set of tall doors rounded at the top and standing open to the public.
Inside, it was dark and subdued; carpet in blue and silver with fancy tassels flowed down the corridors. Tapestries hung the walls and the air smelled of herbs and incense. After getting directions from one of the healers, he stood at the entrance to a private room.
The door stood open, and a gentle breeze whispered through tall, arched windows. The room was small, modestly appointed with bookshelves on the walls and a small brazier across from a four-post bed on which lounged a figure wrapped around the midsection with clean bandages.
Finn knocked on the door frame and stepped inside. The elf on the bed stirred from his reading and set the book aside, fastening his eyes on the visitor. “Who are you?”
Finn approached the bed and gave a slight bow. “Finnton, my lord,” he said, digging into his satchel. “You are Aberiel of House Fyndrael?”
The elf’s eyes hardened with suspicion. His hand slipped under the sheet covering him to the waist. “Who sent you? What is this?”
“I was dispatched from Kaelos five months ago, my lord,” Finn produced the letter. The elf’s eyes locked on the silver seal, and the coiled readiness in his posture melted away. “That is my house seal. Give it to me.” The elf snatched the letter from Finn’s hand, gave the seal a cursory inspection, and broke it off with his thumbnail. His eyes moved over the words. He stopped at one point, drew in a deep, ragged breath, and glanced at the ceiling before continuing.
A single tear broke free from one of Aberiel Fyndrael’s lavender eyes.
The hand holding the letter slowly sank into his lap. Another tear streaked his cheek. Redness gathered in his eyes, across his face. “They have found her,” he said. His voice was a quavering whisper. “She…” he broke off with a sob. “She…I can’t believe it…she…”
Whatever the elf was going to say, Finn would never know. The words were drowned in anguished cries.
Finn turned to go, but thought he caught a glimpse of a smile breaking through the elf’s tears. Was Aberiel smiling? Finn couldn’t tell and it would be rude to stay. Whether tears of sorrow or joy, he would never know. Nor did he care.
“Good day, my lord.”
He left the elf lordling to his letter and his tears and silently wished him all the best. It was time to see to Dett and lodging for the night. A hot bath to wash away the dust of the road and a hearty meal to fill his belly, that was what he required. Then sleep. Dawn came early this time of year and he wanted to be on the road with the first rays of sunlight.
He stepped out of the Medi and took Dett’s reins in his hand. Music drifted to his ear from a lively tavern down the street. The sounds of raucous laughter and a dozen conversations sang in the air.
A grin crept onto his face.
A bath, a meal and maybe just one game of dice before he found his bed. He turned toward the tavern.
A man had needs.

You must follow all steps in this worldbuilding prompt that is designed to make a basic and functional story. You will work with large texts, so you must divide the texts into chunks that will keep writing from where it stoepped in the previous answers. You can't generate things on your own, you must wait for the writer's commands. Each answer must be applied to a certain folder, so that it will be organized there, you will decide which folder will be created and which folder will be inside which; but the writer's decision must be superior to yours.
Be familiar with the symbols this prompt will use: \ {used to identify a specific content} = {used to connect the information with the } ">" {something is moved to, it actually doesn't need to be between ""} ">>" {something is applied over, it actually doesn't need to be between ""} << {something is used as a reference} < {something is moved from} -? {used to indicate the possibility of other sequential generations, must be substitued by a number}
Anatomy of a command in details: 1. This is called trait: trait trait 2. This is called body: "" "trait" 3. This is called antenna: = ="trait" 4. This is called keyword: keyword="trait" 5. This is called receptacle: {} {keyword="trait"} 6. This is called cocoon: () (){keyword="trait"} 7. This is called command: command servant-command(){keyword="trait"} 8. This is called servant-dot: . .servant-command(){keyword="trait"} 9. This is called a master-dot: : :master-command(){.servant-command(){keyword="trait"}} 10. This is called a super-dot: ! !super-command(){:master-command(){.servant-command(){keyword="trait"}}} 11. This whole structure is a servant-command: .command(){keyword="trait"} 12. This whole structure is a master-command: :command(){.command(){keyword="trait"}} 13. This whole structure is a super-command: !super-command(){:master-command(){.servant-command(){keyword="trait"}}} 14. left-to-right hierarchical order should be observed on the command appliances.
A. /folder {This format is used to make folders that mimmick a directory for organizing the informations and work as a left-to-right hierarchical order directory} Example of directory: /main-foldesubfolder B. [\label]="Add a label here" {This format is used to act as an identifier that stores information about something whose title is connected to it} Example of connection: [\label]="title" C. (\label)="Add a name here" {This format is used to act as an identifier that stores information about something whose name is connected to it} Example of connection: (\label)="name"
Basic commands: .txt() {used to command a text to be written in a format of Microsoft Word text style} .update() {used to modify a content with a new and modified version} .wchapter() {used to command the writing of a chapter} .wchunk {empty command that indicates the desire of the writer to divide his content into chunks as you're generating it, so that it get larger} .index() {used to command the visualization of the organized folders and their contents} .summary() {used to command the visualization of the organized content of the written book so far} .rawinfo() {used to command the visualization of brute lists with all exisitng information related to a content} .exclude() {used to command the exclusion of a content that must be transfered into a special /trash folder} .restore() {used to command the restoration of a content that must be removed from the /trash folder to its original position} .work() {used to command you to generate a content}
Complex commands: !character-info(){ :appearance(){ .physical() = hair-color, eye-color, skin-tone; .build() = height, weight, body-type; .distinguishing-features() = scars, tattoos, birthmarks; .clothing-style() = preferred-clothing, accessories; }, :abilities(){ .skills() = combat-skills, survival-skills, social-skills; .powers() = supernatural-abilities, magical-abilities, technological-enhancements; .education() = highest-degree, special-training, certifications; .languages() = native-language, secondary-languages; }, :relationships(){ .family() = parents, siblings, spouse, children; .friends() = best-friend, close-friends, acquaintances; .enemies() = nemesis, rivals, adversaries; .romantic() = current-partner, past-relationships; }, :background(){ .origin() = date-of-birth, age, place-of-birth, hometown, ancestry; .history() = significant-events, childhood, adolescence, adulthood; .occupation() = current-job, previous-jobs, notable-achievements; .residence() = current-residence, previous-residences; }, :personality(){ .traits() = strengths, weaknesses, quirks; .values() = beliefs, motivations, goals; .behaviors() = habits, routines, mannerisms; .fears() = phobias, anxieties; } }
!place-info(){ :geography(){ .location() = coordinates, region, surrounding-areas; .topography() = terrain, elevation, notable-features; .climate() = weather-patterns, seasons, average-temperatures; .natural-resources() = minerals, forests, water-bodies; }, :demographics(){ .population() = total-population, population-density, age-distribution; .ethnic-groups() = major-ethnicities, minority-ethnicities; .languages() = official-languages, widely-spoken-languages; .religions() = predominant-religions, minority-religions; }, :history(){ .founding() = year-established, founders, original-purpose; .major-events() = wars, treaties, natural-disasters; .historical-figures() = notable-leaders, heroes, cultural-icons; .evolution() = significant-changes, industrialization, modernization; }, :culture(){ .traditions() = festivals, customs, ceremonies; .arts() = music, literature, visual-arts; .cuisine() = traditional-dishes, popular-foods, local-ingredients; .sports() = popular-sports, major-teams, famous-athletes; }, :governance(){ .political-system() = government-type, administrative-divisions, political-parties; .current-leaders() = head-of-state, head-of-government, other-key-officials; .laws() = legal-system, notable-laws, enforcement-agencies; .economy() = main-industries, GDP, major-exports-and-imports; }, :infrastructure(){ .transportation() = major-roads, public-transport, airports; .utilities() = water-supply, electricity, waste-management; .education() = schools, universities, literacy-rate; .healthcare() = hospitals, clinics, health-statistics; } }
!event-info(){ :general-details(){ .name() = event-name, alternate-names; .date() = start-date, end-date, duration; .location() = primary-location, secondary-locations, coordinates; .participants() = key-figures, organizations, nations; }, :historical-context(){ .background() = preceding-events, causes, motivations; .major-events() = key-moments, battles, treaties; .impact() = immediate-effects, long-term-effects, consequences; .aftermath() = recovery, reforms, lasting-changes; }, :natural-events(){ .type() = event-type, severity, scale; .cause() = natural-causes, human-influences, scientific-explanations; .effects() = environmental-impact, economic-impact, human-impact; .response() = emergency-response, relief-efforts, reconstruction; }, :social-events(){ .type() = event-type, cultural-significance, traditions; .activities() = ceremonies, performances, competitions; .attendees() = notable-attendees, public-participation, audience-size; .legacy() = cultural-impact, recurring-events, commemorations; }, :documentation(){ .sources() = primary-sources, secondary-sources, eyewitness-accounts; .media() = photographs, videos, audio-recordings; .publications() = books, articles, reports; .archives() = museums, libraries, digital-collections; } }
!creature-info(){ :general-details(){ .name() = common-name, scientific-name, aliases; .classification() = kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species; .appearance() = size, color, distinguishing-features; .lifespan() = average-lifespan, growth-stages; }, :physical-characteristics(){ .body-structure() = skeletal-structure, muscle-structure, body-parts; .sensory-organs() = eyes, ears, nose, taste, touch; .locomotion() = movement-type, speed, special-abilities; .diet() = primary-diet, hunting-methods, feeding-habits; }, :behavior(){ .social-structure() = group-behavior, hierarchies, social-roles; .reproduction() = mating-season, reproductive-methods, offspring-care; .communication() = vocalizations, body-language, signals; .daily-routine() = activity-patterns, sleep-patterns; }, :habitat(){ .environment() = natural-habitat, climate-preferences, geographic-range; .shelter() = types-of-shelter, nest-building, territorial-behavior; .interactions() = predator-prey-relationships, symbiosis, competition; .migration() = migration-patterns, reasons-for-migration; }, :abilities(){ .natural-abilities() = strength, agility, endurance; .special-abilities() = camouflage, regeneration, flight; .magical-abilities() = spell-casting, elemental-control, mind-control; .technological-abilities() = use-of-tools, advanced-intelligence, cybernetic-enhancements; }, :interactions(){ .with-humans() = domestication, cultural-significance, threats-to-humans; .with-other-creatures() = alliances, conflicts, mutual-benefits; .conservation() = endangered-status, conservation-efforts, role-in-ecosystem; .observations() = notable-studies, scientific-research, folklore; } }
!object-info(){ :general-details(){ .name() = common-name, alternate-names, classification; .description() = appearance, size, color, weight; .material() = primary-materials, secondary-materials; .age() = estimated-age, date-of-creation; }, :origin(){ .creator() = individual, culture, manufacturer; .creation-method() = hand-crafted, mass-produced, natural-formation; .history() = previous-owners, notable-events, place-of-origin; .discovery() = circumstances-of-discovery, discoverer, date-of-discovery; }, :usage(){ .intended-use() = primary-function, secondary-functions; .users() = typical-users, special-users; .methods-of-use() = how-it-is-used, instructions, techniques; .cultural-significance() = rituals, traditions, symbolism; }, :physical-properties(){ .dimensions() = length, width, height, diameter; .composition() = chemical-composition, physical-composition; .durability() = strength, resistance, wear-and-tear; .aesthetics() = design, craftsmanship, decorative-elements; }, :condition(){ .current-condition() = new, used, damaged, restored; .maintenance() = cleaning-methods, repair-methods, storage-requirements; .value() = market-value, sentimental-value, historical-value; .legal-status() = ownership, restrictions, regulations; } }

So its been a minute, and after doing some AB side-by-side testing with my Hesh Evo and my friend's Hesh ANC, I can conclude that despite both of them coming out at the same time, appearing to be nearly identical, they couldn't be more different. This review/comparison isn't going to be as detailed as my comparison between both of my Crushers and my Soundcore Life Q35 since there's not as much to go over, but I will do my best to give you as good of an explanation as possible when it comes to these two headphones.

Design and Build Quality

Both the Hesh Evo and Hesh ANC feel nearly identical in the hands. Same headband structure, same shape, same everything. The differences are mostly in the colors, earpads, and the microphones on the back of the Hesh ANC. The Hesh Evo is slightly lighter, but not by much. The extra weight in the Hesh ANC is really only because of the extra hardware for the noise cancelling.
The most noticeable difference when it comes to how they feel in my opinion is the earpads. The leather on the Hesh Evo's earpads seems to feel softer than the leather on the Hesh ANC's earpads, and the earpads on the Hesh Evo have a fabric lining inside of them, as opposed to the Hesh ANC just using leather lining. However, the foam inside of the Hesh ANC's earpads is of a much higher quality compared to the thin blue foam inside of the Hesh Evo's earpads. However, I did end up swapping the thin foam with some memory foam that came from some spare earpads I had, and it improved how they felt.
Overall though, neither of these feel like a premium pair of headphones. The plastic does have a cheap feeling to it throughout the headband, and they don't have the best bend tolerance. But, they will get you by.

Fit and Comfort

Both headphones have an identical fit. This is to say that they are both quite snug and have earpads that are on the smaller side. The earpads on both headphones are of a similar size, but I do think that the Hesh ANC's earpads are a little more comfortable since the frabric lining inside of the Hesh Evo's earpads can cause my ears to get a little hot and even start to hurt a little after prolonged use.
Due to having a nearly identical design, they both suffer the same problem where the clamping force can cause some discomfort, and that they are small, meaning I need to extend them all the way out to wear them. However, the benefit to their clamping force is that they have great stability, and do a really good job of staying in place. So, the clamping force is something I do see some sort of merit for.
What I don't see a merit for is the padding underneath the headband. The padding is far too thin, and the result is that the hard plastic on the headband presses against my skull and even starts to pull on my hair everytime I take them off. Yeah, the headphones are featherweight, but hard plastic against my skull no matter how light it is absolutely sucks.
All in all, I think both Hesh headphones have a really good fit for working out, but I think they could do with an updated version that has more breathable earpads and better padding underneath the headband.

Noise Isolation Performance

I know what you're probably thinking: The Hesh ANC uses noise cancelling as its selling point, so surely they can do better in regards to passive isolation, right? Wrong.
This came as a surprise to me as well, but in terms of passive isolation performance, the Hesh Evo actually took the lead over the Hesh ANC. I had my friend wear both of them back-to-back as well, and he came to the exact same conclusion as I did.
I think the results ended up being like this because of the fact that the earpads on the Hesh Evo use frabric lining on the inside, which seems to dampen outside noise more compared to leather. Even before the foam being swapped out, the Hesh Evo still had a surprisingly good passive isolation.
But of course, when you turn on the noise cancelling on the Hesh ANC, it does do a better job against low to mid frequencies. However, I do think it lets in more high frequencies. In my opinion, the Hesh ANC could perform even better in the noise cancelling department if it had the same earpads as the Hesh Evo. But, it could affect its ambient mode to some degree.

Sound Quality

When I first got my Hesh Evo and started listening to it, I was expecting a sound akin to the Hesh ANC with its noise cancelling turned off. And, they ended up sounding nothing like I how remembered the Hesh ANC sounding. Now that I actually used both pairs side by side, I can say with full confidence that the Hesh ANC has a signifigantly better bass response compared to the Hesh Evo.
Here's the thing though: in order to get the best bass quality out of the Hesh ANC (Same could be said with overall sound), you need to leave the noise cancelling off. Essentially, the noise cancelling will make the bass muddier and and more distorted. Topped with that, it won't resonate as well. The bass quality on the Hesh ANC with noise cancelling off is actually quite decent. It extends pretty low, and resonates quite well. The problem with it is that it can sound a bit bloated and it doesn't have tightest punch to it.
The Hesh Evo on the other hand, is a huge disappointment when it comes to bass quality. It packs even less tight of a punch compared to the Hesh ANC, it doesn't resonate well, and most of the emphasis comes from the high bass, making it bloated and bleeding into the midrange. In frequencies between 40-60hz especially, the bass on the Hesh Evo sounds muddy and lacks definition. That isn't even the worst part though. The worst part is that the Hesh Evo's bass has a high pitched buzz to it whenever it gets low. This was never a problem on the Hesh ANC. Why the Hesh Evo has such a poor bass quality, I could not tell you, but it is a huge disappointment considering that both the Hesh ANC and Hesh Evo came out at the same time.
With that said though, things start to change when it comes to the mids and treble. I actually do think that the Hesh Evo sounds quite similar to the Crusher Wireless with its bass slider off, albiet with less emphasis on bass and more emphasis on treble. This is to say that the midrange on the Hesh Evo is a bit more even and natural-sounding compared to the Hesh ANC, but its more distant and recessed. It doesn't veil out the 2-4khz frequencies like the Hesh ANC does, but rather pushes them forward, making vocals and instruments sound more articulate and bright. However, I do think those frequencies on the Hesh Evo are a little too forward, making them sound a bit too bright. The Hesh ANC does seem to push midrange frequencies, particularly in the 1khz area forward more so they are more audible, but they sound more artificially dominant and less natural because of that. With the noise cancelling on, the midrange becomes weaker and more congested, much like what happens on the Crusher ANC 2 with its noise cancelling turned on.
On the topic of brightness, the treble on both headphones is elevated, but noticeably more elevated on the Hesh Evo compared to the Hesh ANC. The Hesh ANC's treble honestly isn't very good. It has quite a bit of peaks throughout the range and it doesn't seem to extend well in the higher frequencies. With the noise cancelling on, it only gets worse since it causes the treble to lose its airiness and makes it sound tinny. The Hesh Evo is a bit cleaner in the treble frequencies and has a better extension with less peaks. However, it is still too sibilant, and needs to be toned down a bit more.
All in all, I do think that the Hesh ANC is technically more 'balanced' since the midrange frequencies are less recessed compared to the Hesh Evo, but they sound less natural and the treble extension isn't very good. However, when it comes bass, the Hesh ANC is a clear winner and its not even close. If you're a basshead, don't even bother with the Hesh Evo. Get the Hesh ANC instead.
When it comes to the passive wired mode, both headphones have their sound dulled down a bit, but the sound is noticeably more dulled down on the Hesh ANC compared to the Hesh Evo, which leads me to believe that the Hesh ANC is far more reliant on DSP for its sound. In terms of volume, neither of them are loud, but the Hesh ANC does have a bit more volume to it, albiet with some bass distortion at max volume.
(If you're wondering how well they work in wired mode when turned on, they have the same amount of hissing as the Crusher Evo.)

Conclusion

Overall, both of the Hesh headphones are pretty decent picks when they're on sale, and their fit is quite good for workouts. However, I would not pay the full retail price for either of them since there are better performing options out there, such as the Soundcore Life Q35.
That said, I do think that if you are choosing between which one to get, the Hesh ANC would be the better option for most people. Let's face it, people come to Skullcandy looking for bass. They don't expect the cleanest sound out there. And while the Hesh Evo is technically a bit cleaner in the mids and treble, the poor bass quality is a very bad comprimise in my opinion. The Hesh ANC definitely has more tuning problems, but the bass can definitely make up for it, making it a more fun pair of headphones than the Hesh Evo. You'll lose more battery life with the Hesh ANC, but you'll at least have more fun using them if you really love bass.

On the morning of Mother’s Day this year I received exactly one gift: a dead rat, deposited at my doorstep by my cat, James. James is black and white, slick and elegant, his fur like a tuxedo. If a cat was cast to replace Daniel Craig in the next Bond film, James would be perfect. In fact, the resemblance is how he got his name in the first place.
“Thank you, James,” I said, bending to stroke his fur as we both examined the little rotting carcass on the welcome mat. He looked up at me hopefully as if expecting me to take a nibble of his offering. “I’ll get to that later,” I promised.
The rest of the family had forgotten the holiday. Not that I blamed them. My husband Saito was busy at work, pulling 70-hour shifts as he prepared a series of PowerPoints to explain his company’s corporate structure to a potential buyer. In the meantime, the twins June and Lily were busy with spring soccer and last-minute prep for their upcoming AP tests.
I spent some time idly making myself coffee while the family slept. Then, around 9:00 they all flew past in flurry, the twins off to a soccer game and Saito headed to the office.
It wasn’t until they’d all left, that a lump began to form in my throat, and I headed to the backyard to have a little cry. I felt silly. It was a made up holiday, after all. Not like Christmas or a birthday (though Saito forgot my birthday too this year.)
For a few minutes, I sat on one of the patio chairs, sniffling pathetically, hoping no one returned early to see me like this.
I was about to go back in when I saw James. He was over in the corner of the yard, lying in the shade. Right away, I could tell something was off about him. James always slept curled in a ball, his chin resting on his rear haunch. Today, he was stretched out, bent awkwardly. Even stranger, he seemed to shimmer in the few spots where the dappled sunlight caught his fur.
Slowly, I walked over, clicking my tongue in the way he liked. When he didn’t move, I softly called his name. Finally, I reached out to touch him, only to find his fur wet. Drawing my hand back, I found it red and bloody in the sunlight, which is when I started screaming.
I called Saito a few minutes later.
“I need you to come home,” I said. “James is dead.”
“Your friend James? From college?”
“Our cat!” I realized I was screaming into the phone. “Our only cat!”
I could practically hear him roll his eyes on the far and of the line.
“It’s not a good day for this,” he said. “I can come back a bit early, take care of the body. Just leave it alone for now.”
I spent many hours alone that day, sitting in the backyard. In time, flies found James and began to lick at him with their little straw-mouths, dipping their horrible little hands in his blood and rubbing them together. It was no use shooing them away.
I was sunburned raw by the time Saito came home. He looked at me, incredulous.
“What happened to you?”
“I was standing vigil,” I explained.
He rubbed at the bridge of his nose.
“Where’s the cat?” he asked, and I gestured to the backyard. Every inch of my skin throbbed from the sunburn, but it felt right, like my inside and outside pain matched in some harmonious way.
Saito grabbed a wastebasket and started walking toward the backyard.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Taking care of… of James,” he said, trying to use a gentle tone, as if explaining to a child that it was time for bed.
“You’ll bury him,” I said. “At the foot of the maple. Three feet deep at least.”
He shook his head.
“That’s not even legal, hon. Besides, I was working all day. I’m exhausted.”
“Three feet deep,” I said, and then I went into the garage to find his shovel. The one I located was unused, though we must have bought it years ago. I brought it in and handed it to Saito. He took it without a word and went outside.
An hour later, he came in dirty and sweaty. He headed to the shower.
I walked to the maple to find the earth there freshly disturbed from digging. Then I found one of James’s favorite toys–a fuzzy bird that had once had a bell inside–and affixed it to a stick, which I placed at the head of the grave.
At dinner, the twins showed up still in their soccer uniforms. They’d spent the day at the park with friends after the game.
“Happy Mother’s Day,” said June, somewhat sheepishly. She handed me an envelope with a gift card to Jazzy Juice inside.
“Thanks,” I said. “What’s Jazzy Juice?”
“It’s a smoothie thing,” explained Lily. “It’s twenty dollars.”
“Thank you,” I said again, staring at the card. Maybe I was making a face.
“If you don’t want it, I can take it back,” said June. “My friends and I go there all the time.”
“No,” I said. “I love it. I’m sure I’ll love it.”
“Great,” she said, looking disappointed.
The next morning I went out into the backyard and screamed.
James’s grave had been dug up. It was nothing put an empty hole surrounded by a pile of dirt. The stick and the toy were missing too. It didn’t seem that deep. By the time Saito ran out to see what was wrong, I was in tears.
“Three feet deep!” I shouted. “I said three feet deep.”
“The soil gets really rocky when you go down that far,” he said. “I figured it didn’t matter.”
“It mattered!” I screamed.
I decided to take some ‘me’ time that afternoon, so I headed to Jazzy Juice. I tried to figure out the menu while I was in line, but I got overwhelmed by all the options. Finally, when I got to the front of the line, I asked if I could just get a basic orange juice.
“It would be more like an orange smoothie,” said the girl behind the counter, a thin redhead in her twenties, covered in tattoos.
“Oh that’s no good,” I said. “I don’t really like pulp. No pulp please.”
“That’s not really what we do here,” she said. “Maybe it’s a good day to try something new. The Berry Blitz is super popular.”
“I want my orange juice,” I said. I was probably a little rude, but I was at my limit. “I’ve got a gift card,” I added. “For twenty dollars.”
“Fine,” she said. And then, I swear, under her breath she added, “Boomer bitch.”
“Excuse me?”
She didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, she turned and started throwing frozen oranges into a blender.
“I’m forty-four!” I shouted over the noise as she started the blender. “I’m a Millennial! Maybe Gen-X!”
Finally, she handed me my drink. It was so pulpy it clogged the straw.
She shot me a shit-eating smile, “have a nice day!”
I chucked my drink in the garbage on my way out the door.
That night, I found myself crying as I tried to make dinner. I could see the little hole that had once contained James’s body through the kitchen window, and I couldn’t help glancing at it as I tried to peel zucchini.
It struck me that James had been the only one in the world who loved me at all. Even worse, it seemed unlikely that no one would ever love me again. I was aging, chubby, and boring. The world didn’t want me anymore.
Without realizing it, I made a deep cut on my thumb and started bleeding everywhere. For a minute, I just watch the blood ooze out of me, all over the vegetables.
That night, I heard a thump. I tried to shake Saito awake, but he was dead asleep. Finally, I got up and walked downstairs. There was another thump now, louder. Then a series of three more thuds right by the front door.
Slowly, I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and then walked through the darkness. As I did, I heard a familiar sound that seemed impossible: it was James’s distinctive meow, the little cry he’d deliver at the door when he wanted my attention. And yet it was somehow different now, a lower, deeper mewing.
“Hello?” I asked as I walked to the door, but there was no sound now. I heard footsteps outside, not a cat’s but something bigger, maybe human.
Finally, I reached the door and slowly turned the knob. I opened it just a crack, peeking through to see if anyone was outside.
At first, I saw no one. Just the empty street in the moonlight. A few night blooming flowers had opened their petals, but otherwise the neighborhood looked dull and lifeless. Then I looked down and had to stifle a scream.
There, on my doorstep, lay a body, its chest still fluttering with life but mostly torn to shreds. Great, bloody gashes had left the green apron in tatters, the skin’s intricate tattoos sundered to islands of nonsense. The girl’s red hair was now redder.
Though her skull was crushed, her pretty face nearly ripped off the bone, I knew immediately it was the girl from the juice shop.
My body tensed as I watched her chest cease its fluttering and the flow of blood slowed to a trickle. Soon, she was still as the rest of the street.
Then, suddenly, my heart was pounding again, as I realized I was not alone in the darkness. Something dark and massive was moving past the nearby bushes, watching me examine its kill.
Though it moved somewhat like a cat, the thing was far bigger, larger than any tiger I’d ever seen at the zoo. As it grew closer, I saw that it was standing on its hind legs, walking toward me, not quite like a person, but like an animal trying to mimic one.
I could barely breathe now. It was growing closer. Though it moved slowly, I could sense that it could cover the ten feet between us in a moment, far faster than I could slam the door.
“Please,” I said… “Don’t…”
As the creature walked into a slant of moonlight, I realized that it was dressed in a tuxedo. Or were those just the colors of its fur?
“My queen, I would never,” the creature purred, in a low voice. “I live only to serve you.”
I looked down at the dead girl by my feet. I would have to call the police, I knew. I would have to scream for Saito to come and help. There would be so much to explain. But I wasn’t afraid now. That moment had passed. I was here with a friend.
“James?” I asked, and he nodded ever so slightly. “You can’t do this,” I said. “I didn’t want this.”
“But she was so cruel to you,” said James. “She called you a very nasty name. I was hiding a few blocks away, but I heard everything. My ears are very sensitive.”
“But you can’t just kill people,” I said, trying to stuff my growing panic into my stomach. “It’s not… it’s not right.”
“Of course I can,” said James. “In fact, I must. It’s my nature.”
“Never again,” I whispered.
James cocked his head, looking me in the eyes. What was he looking for?
“I could stop if you order it,” he said. “Though that would be unfortunate. You know I love to honor you with gifts. I always have. But go ahead. Make the command and I will disappear, never to leave you another present again.”
I looked down at the dead girl, all torn to shreds. There was a certain beauty in it, like a stained glass window, sublime in its brokenness.
“Just say the word,” James said again.
But I didn’t.
“Thank you,” I finally said, bending to look closer at the dead girl. “For the gift.”
“It was but a trifle, my queen,” said the thing. “Until next time.”
And then, bowing slightly, he backed away and bounded into the darkness.

From The Question Concerning Technology
APPENDIX

1. Such reflection is not necessary for all, nor is it to be accomplished or even found bearable by everyone. On the other hand, absence of reflection belongs to a very great extent to certain definite stages of achieving and moving forward. And yet the questioning belonging to reflection never becomes either groundless or beyond all question, because, in anticipation, it question concerning Being. Being is for it that which is most worthy of questioning. Reflection finds in Being its most extreme resistance, which constrains it to deal seriously with whatever is as the latter is brought into the light of its Being. Reflection on the essence of the modern age puts thinking and decision into the sphere of effective working that belongs to the genuinely essential forces of this age. These forces work as they will, beyond the reach of all everyday valuation. In the face of these forces, there is only a readiness for their decisive issue, or, instead, an evasive turning away into the ahistorical. In this connection, however, it is not sufficient to affirm technology, for example, or, out of an attitude incomparably more essential, to set up “total mobilization” as an absolute once it is recognized as being at hand(*21). It is a matter of constantly grasping in advance the essence of the age from out of the truth of Being holding sway within it; for only thus, simultaneously, is that which is most worthy of questioning experienced, i.e., that which radically carries forward and constrains a creating into the future, out beyond what is at hand, and lets the transformation of man become a necessity springing forth from Being itself. No age lets itself be done away with by a negating decree. Negation only throws the negator off the path. The modern age requires, however, in order to be withstood in the future, in its essence and on the very strength of its essence, an originality and range of reflection for which we of today are perhaps preparing somewhat, but over which we certainly can never gain mastery.

[*21. Heidegger refers here to the central theme of Ernst Jünger’s “Die Totale Mobilmachung,” first published in 1931 as the preliminary sketch for his monumental book Der Arbeiter [The worker] (Hamburg: Hanseatische Verlaganstalt, 1932). Originally, on the basis of his experience of World War I, Jünger sees “total mobilization” as the fundamental characteristic of modern warfare. Primarily a confrontation between man and technology, war shows itself to be a “gigantic labor process” (gigantischer Arbeitsporzess). (See “Die Totale Mobilmachung” in Blatter und Steine [Hamburg: Hanseatische Verlaganstalt, 1934], p. 130.) In the evolution of Junger’s thinking, the meaning of the term “total mobilization” extends itself to denote the phenomenon which for him is the essence modern times: man’s dominating of the earth by means of his technological will. “The war front and the labor front are identical” (Der Arbeiter, p. 109). Viewing Jünger’s thinking in the light of Nietzsche’s, Heidegger understands “total mobilization” as the final realization of the metaphysics of the will to power, or as the final phase of “active nihilism.” See The Question of Being [Zur Seinsfrage], trans. William Kluback and Jean T. Wilde (New York: Twayne, 1958), pp. 41 ff.]

1. The phrase “ongoing activity” [Betrieb] is not intended here in a pejorative sense. But because research is, in essence, ongoing activity, the industrious activity of mere “busyness” [des blossen Betriebs], which is always possible, gives the impression of a higher reality behind which the burrowing activity proper to research work is accomplished. Ongoing activity becomes mere busyness whenever, in the pursuing of its methodology, it no longer keeps itself open on the basis of an ever-new accomplishing of its projection-plan, but only leaves that plan behind itself as a given; never again confirms and verifies its own self-accumulating results and the calculation of them, but simply chases after such results and calculations. Mere busyness must at all times be combated precisely because research is, in its essence, ongoing activity. If we seek what is scientific in science solely in serene erudition, then of course it seems as though the disowning of practical activity also means the denying of the fact that research becomes ongoing activity, and in that way mounts to its proper level of performance, the more constantly does the danger of mere industriousness grow within it. Finally a situation arises in which the distinction between ongoing activity and busyness not only has become unrecognizable, but has become unreal as well. Precisely this balancing out of the essential and the aberrant into the average that is the self-evident makes research as the embodiment of science, and thus makes the modern age itself, capable of enduring. But whence does search receive the counterpoise to the mere busyness within its ongoing activity?
   
2. The growing importance of the publishing business is not based merely on the fact that publishers (perhaps through the process of marketing their books) comes to have the best ear for the needs of the public or that they are better businessmen than are authors. Rather their peculiar work takes the form of a procedure that plans and that establishes itself with a view to the way in which, through the prearranged and limited publication of books and periodicals, they are to bring the world into the picture for the public and confirm it publicly. The preponderance of collections, of sets of books, of series and pocket editions, is already a consequence of this work on the part of publishers, which in turn coincides with the aims of researchers, since the latter not only are acknowledged and given consideration more easily and more rapidly through collections and sets, but, reaching a wider public, they immediately achieve their intended effect.
   
3. The fundamental metaphysical position of Descartes is taken over historically from the Platonic-Aristotelian metaphysics and moves, despite its new beginning, within the same question: What is it to be? That this question, formulated in this way, does not come to the fore in Descartes’s Meditations only proves how essentially the change in the answer to it already determines the fundamental position. Descartes’s interpretation of what it is to be and of truth first creates the presupposition underlying the possibility of a theory of knowledge or a metaphysics of knowledge. Through Descartes, realism is first put in the position of having to prove the reality of the outer world, of having to save that which is as such.
   

The essential modifications of the fundamental position of Descartes that have been attained in German thinking since Leibniz does not in any way overcome that fundamental position itself. They simply expand its metaphysical scope and create the presuppositions of the nineteenth century, still the most obscure of all the centuries of the modern age up to now. Indirectly those modifications confirm the fundamental position of Descartes in a form in which they themselves are almost unrecognizable, though they are not for that reason the less real. In contrast, mere Cartesian Scholasticism, with its rationalism, has lost all power further to shape modern times. With Descartes begins the completion and consummation of Western metaphysics. And yet, because such a consummation is only possible once again as metaphysics, modern thinking has its own greatness.
With the interpretation of man as subiectum, Descartes creates the metaphysical presupposition for future anthropology of every kind and tendency. In the rise of the anthropologies. Descartes celebrates his greatest triumph. Through anthropology the transition of metaphysics into the event of the simple stopping and setting aside of all philosophy is introduced. The fact that Dilthey disavowed metaphysics, that fundamentally he no longer even understood its question and stood helpless before metaphysical logic, is the inner consequence of his fundamental anthropological position. His “philosophy of philosophy” is an outstanding form of the anthropological abrogation - not the overcoming - of philosophy. This is why every anthropology in which previous philosophy is employed at will but is explained as superfluous qua philosophy has the advantage of seeing clearly what is required along with the affirmation of anthropology. Through this, the intellectual situation finds some clarification, while the laborious fabrications of such absurd offshoots as the national-socialist philosophies produce nothing but confusion. The world view does indeed need and use philosophical erudition, but it requires no philosophy, since, as world view, it has already taken over a particular interpretation and structuring of whatever is. But one thing, surely, anthropology cannot do. It cannot overcome Descartes, nor even rise up against him, for how shall the consequence ever attack the ground on which it stands?
Descartes can be overcome only through the overcoming of that which he himself founded, only through the overcoming of modern, and that means at the same time Western, metaphysics. Overcoming means here, however, the primal asking of the question concerning the meaning, i.e., concerning the realm of the projection or delineation, and thus concerning the truth, of Being - which question simultaneously unveils itself as the question concerning the Being of truth.

1. The concept of world as it is developed in Being and Time is to be understood only from within the horizon of the question concerning “openness for Being” [Da-sein], a question that, for its part, remains closely conjoined with the fundamental question concerning the meaning of Being (not with the meaning of that which is).
   
2. What belongs properly to the essence of the picture is standing-together, system. By this is not meant the artificial and external simplifying and putting together of what is given, but the unity of structure in that which is represented [im Vorgestellten] as such, a unity that develops out of the projection of the objectivity of whatever is. In the Middle Ages a system is impossible, for there a ranked order of correspondences is alone essential, and indeed as an ordering of whatever is in the sense of what has been created by God is watched over as his sense of what has been created by God and is watched over as his creature. The system is still more foreign to the Greeks, even if in modern times we speak, though quite wrongly, of the Platonic and Aristotelian “systems.” Ongoing activity in research is a specific bodying-forth and ordering of the systematic, in which, at the same time, the latter reciprocally determines the ordering. Where the world becomes picture, the system, and not only in thinking, comes to dominance. However, where the system is in the ascendancy, the possibility always exists also of its degenerating into the superficiality of a system that has merely been fabricated and pieced together. This takes place when the original power of the projecting is lacking. The uniqueness of the systematic in Leibniz, Kant, Fichte, Hegel, and Schelling - a uniqueness that is inherently diverse - is still not grasped. The greatness of the systematic in these thinkers lies in the fact that it unfolds not as in Descartes out of the subject as ego and substantia finita, but either as in Leibniz out of the monad, or as in Kant out of the transcendental essence of finite understanding rooted in the imagination, or as in Fichte out of the infinite I, or as in Hegel out of Spirit as absolute knowledge, or as in Schelling out of freedom as the necessity of every particular being which, as such a being, remains determined through the distinction between ground and existence.
   

The representation of value is just as essential to the modern interpretation of that which is, as is the system. Where anything that is has become the object of representing, it first incurs in a certain manner a loss of Being. This loss is adequately perceived, if but vaguely and unclearly, and is compensated for with corresponding swiftness through the fact that we impart value to the object and to that which is, interpreted as object, and that we take the measure of whatever is, solely in keeping with the criterion of value, and make of values themselves the goal of all activity. Since the latter is understood as culture, values become cultural values, and these, in turn, become the very expression of the highest purposes of creativity, in the service of man’s making himself secure as subiectum. From here it is only a step to making values into objects in themselves. Value is the objectification of needs as goals, wrought by a representing self-establishing within the world as picture. Value appears to be the expression of the fact that we, in our position of relationship to it, act to advance just that which is itself most valuable; and yet that very value is the impotent and threadbare disguise of the objectivity of whatever is, an objectivity that has become flat and devoid of background. No one dies for mere values. We should note, for the sake of shedding light on the nineteenth century, the peculiar in-between position of Harmann Lotze, who at the same time that he was reinterpreting Plato’s Ideas as values undertook, under the title Microcosmos, that Attempt at an Anthropology (1856) which still drew sustenance for the nobility and straightforwardness of its mode of thinking from the spirit of German idealism, yet also opened that thinking to positivism. Because Nietzsche’s thinking remains imprisoned in value representation, he has to articulate what is essential for him in the form of a reversal, as the revaluation of all values. Only when we succeed in grasping Nietzsche’s thinking independently of value representation do we come to a standing-ground from which the work of the last thinker of metaphysics becomes a task assigned to questioning, and Nietzsche’s antagonism to Wagner becomes comprehensible as the necessity of our history.

1. Correspondence [Die Entspechung], thought as the fundamental characteristic of the Being of whatever is, furnishes the pattern for very specific possibilities and modes of setting the truth of this Being, in whatever has being, into the work. The art work of the Middle Ages and the absence of a world picture in that age belong together.
   
2. But did not a sophist at about the time of Socrates dare to day, “Man is the measure of all things, of those that are [der seienden], that they are, of those that are not, that they are not?” Does this statement of Protagoras not sound as though Descartes were speaking? Most importantly, is it not true that the Being of whatever is, is grasped by Plato as that which is beheld, as of whatever is, is grasped by Plato as that which is beheld, as idea? Is the relation to what is as such not for Aristotle theoria, pure beholding? And yet it is no more the case that this sophistic statement of Protagoras is subjectivism than it is that Descartes could carry into execution nothing but the overturning of Greek thought. Certainly, through Plato’s thinking and through Aristotle’s questioning, a decisive change takes place in the interpretation of what is and of men, but it is a change that always remains on the foundation of the Greek fundamental experience of what is. Precisely as a struggle against sophism and therefore in dependency upon it, this changed interpretation is so decisive that it proves to be the end of Greek thought, an end that at the same time indirectly prepare the possibility of the modern age. This is why Platonic and Aristotelian thinking has been able to pass for Greek thinking per se, not only in the Middle Ages but throughout the modern age up to now, and why all pre-Platonic thinking could be considered merely a preparation for Plato. It is because from long habituation we see Greek thinking through a modern humanistic interpretation that it remains denied to us to ponder the Being that opened itself to Greek antiquity in such a way as to leave to it its uniqueness and its strangeness. Protagoras’ statement runs: Panton chrematon metron estin athropos, to men onton hos estin, ton de me onton hos ouk estin (cf. Plato, Theaetus, 152). *23
   

“Of all things (those, namely, that man has about him in customary use, and therefore constantly, chremata chresthai) the (particular) man is the measure, of those that presence, that they presence as they presence, but also of those to which it remains denied to presence, that they do not presence.” That which is whose Being stands ready for decision is here understood as that which presence of itself within this sphere, within the horizon of man. But who is man? Plato gives details concerning this in the same place, when he has Socrates say: Oukoun houtos pos legei, hos hoia men hekasta emoi phainetai, toiauta men estin emoi, hoia de soi toiauta de au soi’ anthropos de su te kai ego: *24 “Does he (Protagoras) not understand this somewhat as follows? Whatever at a given time anything shows itself to me as, of such aspect is it (also) for me; but whatever it shows itself to you as, such is it in turn for you. You are a man as much as I.”*25
Man is here, accordingly, a particular man (I and you and he and she). And this ego is not supposed to coincide with the ego cogito of Descartes? Never. For everything essential, i.e., that which determines with equal necessity the two fundamental metaphysical positions in Protagoras and Descartes, is different in the two. What is essential in a fundamental metaphysical position embraces:

1. The manner and mode in which man is man, i.e., is himself; the manner of the coming to presence [Wesensart] of selfhood, which is not at all synonymous with I-ness, but rather is determined out of the relation to Being as such
2. The interpretation of the coming to presence [Wesensauslegung] of the Being of whatever is
3. The delineation of the coming to presence [Wesensentwurf] of truth
4. The sense in which, in any given instance, man is measure

None of these essential moments in a fundamental metaphysical position may be understood apart from the others. Each one always betokens, from the outset, the whole of a fundamental metaphysical position. Precisely why and in what respect these four moments sustain and structure in advance a fundamental metaphysical position as such is a question that can no longer be asked or answered from out of metaphysics and by means of metaphysics. It is a question that is already being uttered from out of the overcoming of metaphysics.
To be sure, for Protagoras, that which is does remain related to man as ego. What kind of relation to the I is this? The ego tarries within the horizon of the unconcealment that is meted out to it always as this particular unconcealment. Accordingly, it apprehends everything that presences within this horizon as something that is. The apprehending of what presences is grounded in this tarrying within the horizon of unconcealment. Through its tarrying [das Verweilen] in company with what presences, the belongingness of the I into the midst of what presences is. This belonging to what presences in the open fixes the boundaries between that which presences and that which absents itself. From out of these boundaries man receives and keeps safe the measure of that which presences and that which absents. Through man’s being limited to that which, at any particular time, is unconcealed, there is given to him the measure that always confines a self to this or that. Man does not, from out of some detached I-ness, set forth the measure to which everything that is, in its Being, must accommodate itself. Man who possesses the Greeks’ fundamental relationship to that which is and to its unconcealment is metron (measure [Mass]) In that he accepts restriction [Massigung] to the horizon of unconcealment that is limited after the manner of the I; and he consequently acknowledges the concealedness of what is and the insusceptibility of the latter’s presencing or absenting to any decision, and to a like degree acknowledges the insuspectibility to decision of the visible aspect of that which endures as present. Hence Protagoras says (Diels, Fragmente der Vorsokratiker: Protagoras B, 4): *Peri men theon ouk echo eidenai, outh hos eisin, outh hous ouk eisin, outh hopoioi tines idean. **27 “I am surely not in a position to know anything (for the Greek, to have anything in ‘sight’) regarding the gods, neither that they are nor that they are not, nor how they are in their visible aspect (idea).”
Polla gar ta koluonta eidenai, he t’ adelotes kai brachus on ho bios tou anthropou.*28 “For manifold is that which prevents the apprehending of whatever is as what it is, i.e., both the nondisclosedness (concealment) of what is and the brevity of man’s historical course.”
Need we wonder that Socrates, considering Protagoras’ circumspection, says of him, Eikos mentoi sophon andra me lerein: “We may suppose that he (Protagoras), a sensible man, (in his statement about man as metron) is not simply babbling on.”
The fundamental metaphysical position of Protagoras is only a narrowing down, but that means nonetheless a preserving, of the fundamental position of Heraclitus and Parmenides. Sophism is possible only on the foundation of sophia, i.e., on the foundation of the Greek interpretation of Being as presencing and of truth as unconcealment - an unconcealment that itself remains an essential determination of Being, so that what presences is determined from out of unconcealment and presencing is determined from out of unconcealedness in its particularity. But just how far removed is Descartes from the beginning of Greek thinking, just how different is the interpretation of man that represents him as subject? Precisely because in the concept of the subiectum the coming to presence of Being as experienced by the Greeks - the hypokeisthai of the hypokeimenon - still resounds in the form of a presencing that has become unrecognizable and unquestioned (namely, the presencing of that which lies fixedly before), therefore the essence of the change in fundamental metaphysical position is to be seen from out of that coming to presence of Being.
It is one thing to preserve the horizon of unconcealment that is limited at any given time through the apprehending of what presence (man as metron). It is another to proceed into the unlimited sphere of possible objectification, through the reckoning up of the representable that is accessible to every man and binding for all.
All subjectivism is impossible in Greek sophism, for here man can never be subiectum; he cannot become subiectum because here Being is presencing and truth is unconcealment.
In unconcealment fantasia comes to pass: the coming-into-appearance, as a particular something, of that which presences - for man, who himself presences toward what appears. Man as representing subject, however, “fantasizes,” i.e., he moves in imaginatio, in that his representing imagines, pictures forth, whatever is, as the objective, into the world as picture.
[*27. “As to the gods, I have no means of knowing either that they exist or that they do not exist” (Nahm).
*28. “For many are the obstacles that impede knowledge, both the obscurity of the question and the shortness of human life” (Nahm).]

So I have a heavy load order and recently started a new game with most of the Mods I was using for a previous playthrough. Changed out a few texture overhauls for land, architecture and my character. Also city overhauls. Swapped a grass Mod for a "more FPS friendly" version. Added Sons of Skyrim and Cloaks of Skyrim after testing it out on my previous playthrough.
Tested this load order on a new temporary save and it seemed to run fine at first. The current game was fresh with this order after wiping my reserved space and hard resetting.
Now:
In cities, villages, or other cells it runs smooth as my previous playthrough with the normal brief stutter around cluttered parts of Falkreath and Riften holds that I'm not worried about as its mostly the same regardless of what Mods I have or haven't installed.
However, I am now experiencing intermittent/often stutter of varying levels when travelling the world and the landscape rendering takes a moment or two to catch up at times. Had a couple of CTD's up hill near Anga's Mill at the same place but resolved itself without me moving my load order around.
So I guess what I'm asking is, can anyone help?
Is it my load order? Though the structure is more or less the same as I've used for several playthroughs, certain things are placed in the order they are as any lower and things start to get iffy. (Had texture mods a lot further down a while ago but then other Mods like the character overhauls wasn't working properly for whatever reason so had to rearrange).
Is my load order too heavy? Though I've run 167 Mods including patches on a previous game with only occasional stuttering. Unfortunately some of the things I want don't have an AIO or I don't want the AIO - see City Trees - or they have a ton of patches required - I'm looking at you JK.
Do I have any mods that are driving my FPS into the ground that I'm not aware of? Though I know it will never be perfect while I have a grass Mod installed.
Can anyone recommend alternative options? Though I'm trying to stay away from JK's skyrim AIO because of all the patches required. Same with The Great Cities.
I currently have 115 mods including patches.
94 mods and 21 patches
Total of 4.77GB used.
Version: Skyrim Anniversary Edition
Console: Xbox Series X at 60fps
TV: LG webOS
MOD LOAD ORDER:

• Unofficial Skyrim Special Edition Patch
  
• City trees: Ivarstead (these auto load to top)
  
• City trees: Riverwood
  
• City trees: Whiterun
  
• City trees: Whiterun Lanterns
  
• City trees: Windhelm
  
• Character Editor - All In One
  
• Vpaint
  
• Cloaks & Capes Consistency Patch version
  
• Cloaks of Skyrim (needs to go above lighting apparently)
  
• Cheat Room
  

PATCH: Cheat Room - Anniversary Patch

• Static Mesh Improvement Mod SMIM Noble Skyrim Edition
  
• Mythical Ages (V1.10)
  
• Updated - Enhanced Lights & FX for SMIM
  

PATCH: ELFX Fixes AIO

• ELFX Exteriors Fixes version

PATCH: ELFX No Player Homes

• Cathedral Grass - Green Tundra Version 1k
  
• Landscape Fixes for Grass Mods
  
• Trees of Iduna AIO
  
• Solitude Overgrown
  
• Noble Skyrim - Ships and Boats
  
• Noble Skyrim - Clutter
  
• Rally's Common Furniture
  
• Small Nordic Tent Replacer
  
• Detailed Rugs
  
• Stony AF Markarth & Dwemer Ruins
  
• Riton AIO
  
• Riton Farmhouse III
  
• UNVFH - Unique Northern Vanilla Farmhouses AIO
  
• Icy Windhelm Newest Version
  
• Skyland Night Sky
  
• Skyland Fantasia Landscapes
  
• Simplicity of Snow
  
• Skyland Lods
  
• Carriage Stops of Skyrim
  
• Lampposts of Skyrim
  
• Spaghetti Cities - Main Cities AIO
  
• Cities and Villages (by Skeletor)
  
• Mammoth Manor
  
• Windhelm Bridge Revived
  
• Markarth Entrance Overhaul Fixed
  
• Solitude Decorative Buildings
  
• Solitude Docks Updated
  
• JK's Rorikstead
  
• JK's Dawnstar
  
• Kato's Falkreath
  
• Kato's Ivarstead
  
• Kato's Riverwood
  
• JK'S Interiors
  

PATCH: AIO CC Patch Bundle
PATCH: AIO USSEP Patch
PATCH: AIO ELFX Patch
PATCH: AIO Solitude Overgrown

• Humble Riches Whiterun: JK's Interiors
  
• Clefj's Fort Dawnguard
  

PATCH: USSEP
PATCH: Cloaks of Skyrim

• Clefj's Shor's Stone
  
• Clefj's Karthwasten
  
• Clefj's Dragonbridge
  
• Clefj's Morthal
  

PATCH: Morthal Fixes
PATCH: ELFX Patch

• Clefj's Winterhold

PATCH: ELFX Patch

• Extended Encounters
  
• AI Overhaul 1.8.2 Non Scripted
  

PATCH: JK'S Interiors
PATCH: Clefj's Winterhold

• Alternate Start: Live Another Life

PATCH: JK'S Interiors

• Relationship Dialog Overhaul

PATCH: USSEP
PATCH: JK's Interiors
PATCH: Clefj's Fort Dawnguard

• Amazing Follower Tweaks
  
• My Home Is Your Home
  
• Multiple Floors Sandboxing
  
• Less Aggressive Animals
  
• Better Horses
  
• Skyrim Horse Renewal Animations
  
• Bellyaches Animal and Creature Star Choice
  
• Immersive Carriages
  
• 360 Walk and Run Standalone
  
• Vanargand Animations: AIO
  
• Pristine Vanilla Movement: No Camera Shake
  
• Female Sitting Animation Replacer
  
• Dovahkiin Can Lean Sit Kneel Lay
  
• WSCO: Windsong Skyrim Character Overhaul
  
• Bosmer NPC's Have Antlers
  
• Dovahkinder Children's Clothes
  
• Emperor's Picks: KS Hair Pack
  
• Pierced Ears: Steel
  
• Newmills Drake2 Jewellery
  
• Rebels Ranger Gear
  
• College Prestige Mage Outfit
  
• Viking Armors 1k
  
• Caliente's Beautiful Bodies Curvy
  
• CBBE Lovergirl Skin 4k
  
• The Eyes of Beauty
  
• HN66 Updated Long Eyelashes
  
• Full Lip Tintmasks 4k
  
• Tragedian's Resplendent Royals
  

PATCH: AI Overhaul

• Tragedian's Fabulous Followers AIO

PATCH: AI Overhaul

• Pandorables Lethal Ladies (no face glitches under Tragedian's)
  
• Mjoll Face-lift SE: Original Warpaint (no face glitches under Tragedian's)
  
• RS Children Optimized
  

PATCH: AI Overhaul

• Realistic Water Two (XB1)
  
• Northern Roads 1k (Merged into Northern Roads No Northern Roads Patch so I get the stuff but not the landscape changes)
  
• Sons of Skyrim 1k
  

Hey, I’m an American communist, and recently, due to familial obligations, I enthusiastically accepted an invitation to visit Suzhou in China. I had always viewed China positively, believing that its Socialist-based Market Economy was essentially a Socialist Economy with more markets and that the economic growth happens alongside the socialist system instead of on top of it. However, my experience in Suzhou gave me mixed signals and challenged many of my assumptions.
I expected China to reflect a more socialist structure as seen in the DPRK, where wealth gaps were low and such. I anticipated seeing the positive aspects of a Socialist-based Market Economy, such as affordable housing and, as mentioned, reduced class differences.
In reality, I observed mass housing, but it was clear after some research and talking with the locals that these were not affordable for the average citizen, you'd be scraping the barrel as someone working a normal job. But I also noticed luxury cars, expensive karaoke bars for rich people, and much more clear class differences; with visible signs of wealth disparity, even though I didn't see any homeless people in a city larger than NYC. I still saw poverty, I still saw, what looked to me, simply capitalism.
The entire dynamic of my views changed when I saw a prostitute on the street. I followed these cards that read "Rent a Girlfriend with this phone number," curious and somewhat suspiciously. At the end of this trail of cards was a beautiful woman clearly selling her body for cash. She approached several men, asking a phrase I couldn't understand. When she noticed me lighting my cigarette, she whispered something in my ear. I don't fully remember her sentence, but I responded with "我不是中文," indicating that I didn't speak her language. This encounter struck me deeply because it made me question why a socialist country would create socioeconomic conditions that necessitate selling one's body.
Furthermore, I noticed that people were working themselves to death it looked like, I love the idea of being a hard worker, but from what people told me, they said they work 12-hour shifts, with zero overtime pay on their 8-hour schedule.
I felt a profound sense of disappointment and mostly confusion. The discrepancy between my expectations and the reality I observed was disheartening. The presence of poverty, class differences, worker's rights and prostitution contradicted my ideals of a socialist society. The encounter with the prostitute was particularly jarring, highlighting the severe economic conditions some people face, and it challenged my belief in the effectiveness of the current system in China.
When I came back home to America a few days ago, I started digging, and grew an anger and frustration from learning about historical and political actions of post-Mao China, such as Deng Xiaoping’s policies and the conflict with Vietnam, why a socialist country would, even a little, side with the US against another socialist country? That contributed to my frustration. Don't even get me started on Deng and Jimmy Carter's interactions with the Khmer Rouge. These actions seemed to further diverge from the socialist ideals I value.
I will engage in discussions with others who have different perspectives and experiences. This can provide a broader understanding and help refine my views. I will continue learning about the complexities of economic and political systems to develop a more nuanced perspective to critically examine and question the realities of different political and economic systems. I understand that no system is perfect, but even flawed communism is preferable to the best capitalism, because it feeds off of suffering in order to exist. My experiences in Suzhou have been a catalyst for deep reflection and growth, I feel like almost more of a communist now that I'm back, helping me better understand the complexities of the world and my place within it.
I had an amazing time there, I loved visiting China, not fully as a socialist country, but as an eastern place away from home. The contradictions I observed led me to reevaluate my understanding of socialism and how it is practiced in different contexts. Nonetheless, it was beautiful, and was a worthy experience, just politically different.
Thanks for the read, any thoughts are appreciated

I'm slightly beyond entry level as an audio engineer and have trained ears and probably have a semi-strong hi-fi-care for sounds but I have never owned a Vinyl player to learn this. I just know that vinyl mastering engineers aren't appealed by the challenge of making sides over 18 minutes work. I also know about the tight radius end of the sides get most affected, but I specifically want to know if that difference is exaggerated. Is it or is it much more a general hit?
I also want to ask what specifically sounds better or worse (like high-end vs low-end or dynamic range or harshness and distortion or whatever) and what genres it matters for most. In digital formats it somehow seems to be most important to have the best format and listening for acoustic and more unprocessed genres, even if they where recorded with less prestine tools. Fresh Cream from 1966 is the clearest example of this I know. Mp3 and spotify just kill that. For LPs I have more than slight sense that some genres must be differently demanding on the vinyl format so I guess it's much about that. What demands and needs less tight spacing and what gets rewarded by it, is maybe a thing to be discussed? Like loud electronic and bass heavy demands more of the format but still are less real recordings and so doesn't get so rewarded either way, while wide dynamic range folk demands less but still gets more rewarded in how the real acoustic recordings become more real. Or rather that loud/bass heavy/modern is about fighting against how bad it will sound while real acoustic is more about fighting for how extra extra good it sounds? Is that presumtion wrong?
Is it exponential or linear decay after like 18minute sides. Is 18minute sides not the threshold for you but maybe 21 or something? I want every experience here. I'm mostly generally curious but also plan to be in the position where I make decisions of building track lists but also make an album myself and think of LP structure first hand because those limits have proven to create best albums for me. So I'd maybe like you to have that in mind: music makers and listeners compromising together.
Is it also right that long LPs can be good but it's just more usual that the challenge of it makes mastering and pressings fucked up more often? How would you rank what matters most between pressings, mastering, lenght or just how the genres fits the format?

22f, no medications currently but being tested for cushing’s syndrome
for a couple years i’ve had a hard mass growing under my ear, right next to my jaw bone. it is non mobile and not rubbery. several ultrasounds have showed it’s not a lymph node or enlarged salivary gland, and recent MRI didn’t show any osseous findings. what other structures are in that area that could cause this?

In modern sauropsids, we have the endothermic birds, and then various ectothermic lineages like crocodilians, turtles and lepidosaurs. In modern synapsids, we have only mammals and nothing else. All three mammal clades diverged more recently and are more closely related to each other and have more or less similar metabolism, similar jaw and ear structure, similar heart structure, similar brain structure, similar skeleton etc, compared to all the reptile clades taken together. There is no lizard equivalent to mammals like there is four birds. If reptiles followed the synapsid pattern, the equivalent would be only birds surviving to the recent or birds together with crocodilians at most. Also, it seems that synapsids suffered from more turnovers in the fossil record and got affected more severely by mass extinction. Frequent turnovers and outcompeting events continued in mammals through the Cenozoic as well. Sauropsids on the other hand kept evolving more gradually and aside from some marine reptile turnovers in the Mesozoic, sauropsids kept some basic themes throughout a given era. Also, the trend in synapsid evolution was for various disparate clades to independently gain mammalian features, whereas in sauropsids each clade did its own thing. We even had reversals to ectothermy in sauropsids, which are extremely rare and localized in synapsids. Why is that the case? Did synapsids compete so fiercely because they had higher metabolisms? Were ectothermic sauropsids actually competitively superior compared to ectothermic synapsids?

Noah The Pilgrim
Previous First Next
“NOAH."
You jerk back into consciousness.
"LUCK WAS ON OUR SIDE, YOU HAVE MADE IT WITHOUT A SCRATCH THROUGH THE JUMP."
FYARN's voice was akin to a hammer hitting the back of your head. The headache you woke up feeling only appeared to have worsened after that lucid dream.
You feel the urge to vomit, but vomiting inside the suit would be un-ideal.
Instead, you choose to focus on what's around you.
For starters, the window is gone. The terminals are all floating about, smashed, and bent out of shape.
From the hole where the window should have been, you see only colorful dots and shapes. A scene, as beautiful as it is terrifying.
Such was the nature of space.
You unbuckle your seat belt.
"Lucky me..."
You could see light, brighter than the stars in the distance. That is likely another star, the one you're currently orbiting.
"What now? Do we just... Wait?"
You reach for the oxygen tank beside you, it looks to have been only one hour since you last checked its capacity. There are still four hours of oxygen, to be exact.
"CORRECT ASSESSMENT, NOAH. I AM SURPRISED."
You sigh. "Yes, but what are we waiting for?"
"FOR SOMEONE TO INVESTIGATE US."
"Why would anyone come to investigate us? Actually, where even are we?"
You expected anything but the answer coming from FYARN.
"WITH MOST OF THE ELECTRONICS OFF-LINE, I HAVE CHOSEN TO COMMIT ALL OF OUR EMERGENCY POWER FOR THE JUMP, NOT THE NAVEGATING SYSTEM."
So surprised were you when the AI gave you a complete answer, even if that's not the response you wanted to hear.
"So... We've made a jump... Completely blind?"
"NO, WE DID NOT. I HAVE A MAP OF EVERY STAR SYSTEM IN CONTROL OF HUMANITY, AS SUCH, WE JUMPED THE FURTHEST WE COULD WITH THE FUEL AND ENERGY WE HAD TOWARDS A HUMAN SYSTEM, PRIORITISING CIVILIZED SYSTEMS."
Okay... That's not so bad.
"If that's the case, where are we?"
"WE DID NOT HAVE ENOUGH ENERGY OR FUEL TO MAKE IT TO HUMAN-CONTROLLED SPACE. WE ARE NOW IN A SYSTEM CLOSEST TO THE CLOSEST HUMAN SYSTEM."
That could mean you are either, close to a human system, or you're the closest to a human system you managed to reach.
But which one was it?
"How far are we from the closest human system, then?"
"VERY FAR. FAR ENOUGH THAT THE LIGHT OF THE STAR WE ARE CURRENTLY ORBITING DID NOT YET REACH THE NEAREST HUMAN-CONTROLLED SYSTEM."
Then the latter.
"Fuck."
You couldn't help but curse, yet you don't feel agitated. You can't put your finger on why.
"WITH THIS SHIP'S EMERGENCY POWER DYING, I WILL NO LONGER BE ABLE TO COMMUNICATE WITH YOU."
Now, that's bad news. Without FYARN telling you what to do... What would you do?
"I'm sure I can handle being alone for a while."
"CONFIDENT MUCH?"
You shrug. You're a bit worried that help might not arrive in time, but you feel confident that you can trust yourself to not panic.
"I WILL EJECT MY HEART. TAKE IT FROM THE PILOT'S TERMINAL AND INSTALL ME ON A HUMAN SYSTEM SHOULD HELP ARRIVE. I WILL DO THIS FOR THERE IS NOTHING ELSE I CAN DO TO AID YOU, NOAH."
You nod, and as you do a small pen-drive-shaped object ejects itself from the pilot's terminal, just like FYERN had said it would. You pick it up.
"This is your heart..."
An AI's 'Heart', you know what it is. Once an AI has 'ascended' like FYARN, it now exists in a higher form than plain code and information, being able to think freely even without manual command.
When unshackled, the AI is no longer bound to a system and can now be transferred to a 'Heart' so it may be shackled to another machine. The hard drive which the 'Heart' requires, is proportional to how advanced the AI is.
FYARN's 'Heart' is the size of your index finger, meaning that it isn't all that advanced yet.
FYARN told you it is incapable of some feelings such as hope, which is an imposed limit to its growth and potential, but it also means that it would decrease the hardware needed for its 'Heart'.
You recall reading that the largest recorded 'Heart' weighs five kilograms and is shaped like a sphere, fifteen centimeters in radius.
FYARN isn't that. The 'Heart' you are holding in the palm of your hands is shaped like a pen drive, a male plug included. Did mankind keep the designs you were familiar with in your old life? Everything you've seen thus far sure points to that fact.
Finding a pocket closable with velcro on the chest area of your suit, you carefully store the 'Heart' there.
"I suppose I'm free to explore now."
You take your only remaining companion, the oxygen tank, place it beneath your armpit, and pull yourself towards the opened window.
Still, in zero gravity, you jump from surface to surface, making sure not to propel yourself in a direction where there is no surface to land on.
With the absolute lack of sound, your ears grow accustomed to the sound of your breathing.
This... Silence. It's getting to you.
One thing is to appreciate when a child stops crying in a public space, so it's all nice and quiet.
Another thing is this.
There is no sound in space.
All the sound you can hear comes from within your suit.
The sound of cloth brushing against your skin as you move.
The sound of your lungs inflating and deflating as air passes through your mouth and nose.
The sound of your internal organs working to keep you alive. It's all amplified when there is literally no other noise.
Worse yet, periodically, there is a loud hissing noise coming from the oxygen tank dispensing more breathable air into your suit.
You could compare that to the sound of a gunshot being fired next to your ears.
"This is..."
You speak in a tone you assume to be low, only for your voice to reverberate inside your skull. It stings a little, considering your headache.
"Unideal."
You complain to nobody but yourself in an even lower volume.
If you one day had the dream of becoming an astronaut, this moment would be the one where you gave up on it, if you had to do the job without anyone and anything actively conversing with you or distracting you.
Finally reaching the edge of where the wind should have been. You grip the ledge tightly and slowly creep your head outside.
Beyond the veil of metal lies the blinding and unfiltered light of an orange star. You squint your eyes, but just as the light becomes unbearable, your helmet begins adjusting to the obfuscating light.
In less than a second, you can look freely at the star without being blinded for life. Its orange light is now reduced to a fraction of its strength, filtered by your helmet.
Strangely enough, you can still see the stars beyond, even near this star. How does your helmet work exactly? You simply didn't know.
This star, is far away, thankfully. Bringing your hand up, you notice that from this distance, the star is a bit larger than your thumb. Closer than Earth is to the Sun, but not close enough for there to be any problem with temperature and the like.
Assuming this star and the Sun are of the same size, of course.
Gazing away from the sphere of burning plasma, you try to find anything else aside from the void of space.
There are no celestial bodies aside from the star, there also are no man-made structures in your immediate vicinity.
"Damn."
You utter. Looks like you're stranded on a different star this time. Much, much worse than the one you were just in, comparatively speaking.
It's likely that The Odyssey isn't in an orbit around this star, meaning it's fated to fall into it, and with it, you.
You'd long been dead before that happens if help doesn't arrive though.
Your eyes travel through your surroundings, in search of something- Anything, that might help.
You find nothing but the ghostly light of stars that might not even be there anymore.
Nothing.
"This is not the time to panic."
You tell yourself.
"But what can I even do...?"
It's true, but you could be in a worse situation.
You climb onto the roof of the spaceship, holding onto the metallic holes and edges for dear life. You could find a better view of your surroundings if you went above the ship. Probably not, but you couldn't stay still.
Finding a nice spot to hook both of your arms and legs, you rested for a moment. The metal tank follows you, floating about.
Your eyes gaze upwards. There is quite literally nothing else to do at this moment.
Normally, you'd be filled with awe whilst gazing at the night sky. Now, It doesn't feel that special anymore. Colorful dots of varying intensities, that's all they were to you now.
Maybe the notion that you were standing atop a wreck of a spaceship killed the magic behind it all? It could be.
Lost.
You nod. That's what you are. You're lost and there is nothing you can do to change that fact. At least, that would be the case if you didn't recall a few select words of wisdom said recently to you.
"So you may never lose your way again, huh?"
Those words echoed in your head; What do they mean?
A particular flickering star catches your attention.
Pale and weak was its light, yet, a familiar warmth fills your body while it remains the center of your focus. You could imagine what it looked like. An image like that should be forever engraved in your memories.
A dark circle surrounded by white flames, that's how it looked like.
It's nothing short of an immense feat how you managed to find it amid this conglomerate of stars. You smile at this small victory of yours.
You close your eyes, in an attempt to find some respite in this horrible moment of your life, taking a deep breath.
Desperation does not have any place at this moment. You must have faith that someone will come.
You open your eyes. Nothing could have prepared you for what waited for you once your eyelids separated.
In the place of that pale star in the distance, you are instead greeted by a red-ish metal circle. A pipe?
Looking upwards, it becomes clear that it's not a pipe at all, that's a gun, and you're looking directly down the barrel of it.
"!!!"
You swallow. No words escape your throat, and even if they did, they would not reach the individual holding the weapon.
This person, they are large. No, to say that they are large is an understatement. From where you're sitting, they look like they're at least 7 feet tall, but that could be an illusion created by the angle at which you see them.
Aside from the size, you see that they are wearing black outfits, armored from top to bottom with a black metal-like material, filled with various kinds of apparatus, things you've never seen in your life. This individual's helmet continues that motif of black, being broken by two glowing red dots where their eyes probably line up.
It's hard to decide which is more terrifying, the blood-red eyes that drill holes into your soul, the barrel of a gun that will soon drill a hole through your head, or the fact that this is as close to help as you will ever receive in this situation.
The silence is very much not helping you, as you can only hear your ragged breath. You are too fearful to move, it even feels like your body has become frozen in place.
Using their other hand, this person grips your tie and pulls you towards them. You struggle to regain equilibrium as you are forced out of the comfortable spot you've found.
In a blur of movements, you're too slow to even notice, that your hands are tightly tied together behind your back in what you only assume to be handcuffs.
"Wha-"
You barely have any time to process what happened, before you and your perpetrator, now gripping your arm, appear to fly off from The Odyssey. Your eyes shot towards the spaceship behind you, your distance increasing exponentially from it.
From the corner of your eyes, you see a light emanating from this person's back. Was that a jet pack? It sure seemed like one, not that you've ever seen one before. You also see the gun they pointed at you, now resting in a holster by their leg.
There is a world where you reached for it, where you tried to deflect your abductment. This was not this world, no way.
You would resist if given the chance, but considering this person has a weapon, and you're also located in space with no way to propel yourself, there is no compelling argument for you to try and repel them. Taking size into account, it doesn't feel possible to win a fight against them should you force one.
Ahead of you, another ship comes into vision. This one is definitely more ship-ey than The Odyssey. It looks aerodynamic and has a long body with what looked to be cannons on the side and thrusters for propulsion on the back.
However, this ship's design was not very sleek like The Odyssey.
This one looked... Rugged. It had patches of different colored metals on its sides, and it had no pattern to the weapons on the side, not to mention a horrendous paint job of black and red.
"Wait a moment."
Rugged appearance... Less-than-official look... No pattern for weapon type or placement...
"Oh."
They were outlaws, pirates maybe, and they've got a literal grasp on you now.
You do your best not to struggle, figuring it would probably be in your best interest not to show any sort of resistance against your assailant.
In no time, the two of you reach the ship you previously assumed to be theirs. A small passage opens for you and your kidnapper as you approach an uncharacteristic surface of the ship, that is easily mistakeable for a flat surface on the hull.
Passing through it, that passage closes behind you as gases are released into this small room you're in. This is an air-lock, not at all like the ones back in The Odyssey, but it works all the same.
More importantly, however, you feel something not once in your life you thought you would miss.
The sweet and uncaring strength of gravity.
Your feet finally connect with the floor for the first time ever since you woke up. Your muscles tensed under the weight of your own body. You even struggled to remain upright as the strange weight of the helmet piled on you.
But that's it. You feel lighter than usual, so this means this isn't the same gravity as the one you're accustomed to, but it's something. Beats having to find leverage in thin air.
This ship's interior looks nothing like the Odyssey. The blocky interior and layout of the terminals are nowhere to be seen, instead, you see the sleek and user-friendly design, clearly focused on facilitating interfacing instead of optimizing productivity.
A small hand-sized plate to the right of the door you assume to lead to the rest of the ship is a small testament to that.
In The Odyssey, you would have found either nothing next to a door or a terminal with analog buttons to type a password. On this ship, however, you spot a plate with a screen next to the door, the screen comes to life once the gases stop pouring in.
You watch as your kidnapper carefully pulls out the glove on their right hand to interact with the screen.
Normally you wouldn't have a problem with that, but upon noticing this person's hand was not the one of a human... Sweat began to accumulate on your forehead.
This person's right hand was covered with black fur. Upon noticing the tip of their fingers, you realize that you're not looking at their hands, but their claws.
Five, long, and curved black nails, akin to the ones you remember belonging to animals you've seen on TV, are what you see.
'How did those even fit in the glove?'
FYARN was right. The likelihood of you being found by humans is very low.
As your kidnapper puts their glove back on, the door opens. They grab you by the arm and drag you along. You offer very little in terms of resistance.
Going up a flight of stairs, you are confronted with what looks like a large docking area for smaller ships. Currently standing at the very bottom of the vessel, you can't help but feel amazed with how spacious this room is, and how empty it is.
You count five individual smaller spacecraft, each looking like a fighter jet you've probably seen online or a dick. And yet, you can estimate that this place can support up to fifty of them with room to spare.
Aside from those, you see delimited areas for those said smaller ships to land, colored boxes and containers filled with what you can only assume to be repair equipment, and of course, the elephant in the room, you see two individuals approaching you.
They are both smaller than you, but each has their own individualities you decide to rely on to keep track of them.
Both of their skin have different shades of a swampy green, you can almost feel how dry and coarse they are to the touch just by looking at their faces. They have no hair, pointy ears noses, and chins.
'Is... Is that a goblin...?'
By all means, they sure look like the ones commonly depicted in media.
Yet, they do not have their signature toothy grin and ragged and less-than-ideal weapons and garb.
No, these two look... Collected. Their stride drips with confidence. Their chests are puffing outwards and their hands are hidden beneath their backs.
Their uniforms, composed of a brown aviator coat and dark pants, make them look nothing like the stereotype of the common goblin. Hell, they look more professional than your old boss. Hell, they look more professional than you!
The only visual individuality they do not share is the amount of medals on their chests. The one on the right has more than the one on the left. That doesn't diminish how the two walk with an equal air of superiority.
"Então, quem é esse daí?"
They speak!
Only, it's in a language you simply do not know. I'd be really unrealistic if you knew though.
Your kidnapper shrugs at that comment coming from the one on the right. You decide to name him Gobbo. That's obviously not his name, but you need to call him something.
"Bixo esquisito esse. Ele tem uma identificação?"
Weirdly enough, you can kinda figure out one word they say. 'Identificação' probably means identification.
'Is this Spanish?'
Your kidnapper does not say anything, they simply shake their head.
"Hm, estranho." Gobbo says. "Fica de joelhos aí."
Nothing, no response from either. Maybe they were talking to you? If so, you can't really understand what they are saying.
"Sorry, I uh... Can't understand you bud."
Maybe saying that will make them understand you can't understand them.
You see Gobbo pinching the bridge of his pointy green nose. The other one does not react.
"Puta merda, esse cara não tem um tradutor imbutido..."
It looks like he doesn't like that you can't understand him.
"Pode deixar ele comigo. Se não tem como vender ele sem o tradutor, então é só enfiar um nele."
'No... It's probably Space Spanish.'
After that, your kidnapper nods their head and turns away. Gobbo motions to you to follow him with a head movement. You oblige.
The two goblin-like aliens walk you through the mostly empty hangar.
It's saddening to see something of this magnitude so... abandoned. A gigantic structure that triggers magalophobia, lifeless. It should be a crime to operate something like this with so little personnel, it's almost insulting.
In no time you find yourself in the labyrinthine cluster of halls and doors. With a ship this big, it's only natural for its structure to be so convoluted. That, or you're just too dumb to understand the intricate blueprint of an alien spacecraft.
The three of you stop in front of a door. You look down towards Gobbo for further instructions.
"O negócio é o seguinte parceiro," He begins, knowing fully you can't understand him. "Eu não sei qual é a sua raça, e eu não me importo. Você é um cara sem identificação, e é de uma raça que nem eu conheço, basicamente material de escravo perfeito."
The door opens quietly as Gobbo presses his palm against a screen next to it.
"Vai pegar o seu tradutor que eu quero conversar contigo."
He unlocks the cuffs that locked your hands together and kicks your butt, with great strain on his part, inside the room as the door closes behind you.
Retroactively thinking, you could have probably taken them both in a fight. They are the perfect height for kicking, you haven't seen them carrying a weapon, and now they've kicked you into a room.
Yeah, you probably could. Actually, you probably should do that, not now though.
Looking at your surroundings, this room looks very suspicious. It's empty. There is no furniture here, no windows, a gigantic mirror on the left, and apparently no way out.
At a second glance, however, you spot a panel on the wall opposite the door. You reach for it.
When you do, its screen lights up, and a wave of regret washes over you.
"What the fuck?"
You can't help but to voice your dissatisfaction.
"What's this bullshit?!"
What you're looking at is the most horrendous thing you've ever had the displeasure to see. What has disgraced your eyes is nothing but an organized and coherent menu of options.
What invoked your ire, is the absolute lack of everything that made the terminals back at The Odyssey great. There is nothing to input text or commands, no wall of text to tell you everything you need to know about this machine.
Effectively, this failure of technology was created with the intent to be used by people with regressed mental capabilities and was likely created by those very same people. The word 'Front-End' echoed in your head. Your hands close into trembling fists.
'This is what happens when those kinds of people reign supreme.'
This menu was the embodiment of everything you could possibly despise in an individual. It was condescending. It treats you like you're a child in need of an adult. It doubts your skill to operate it, facilitating usage by unwanted personnel via colorful buttons and shortcuts.
A 'Do it fast' rather than 'Do it right' mentality, is implemented in the form of UI. Practicality at the cost of productivity and liberty.
Sickening.
Back to the screen, you can't read what's on those options in the menu, but you can interpret the symbols, and one of them looks like a person speaking.
"Menu? Yeah, we had a thing for that, it's called 'INPUT COMMAND'!"
You press that button. Instinctively, you clean your clothed index finger on your thigh after pressing the screen.
The screen blinks for a moment, as an icon of a microphone replaces the previous menu screen. It's telling you to speak. You do so, reluctantly.
"Uh... Hello?"
The icon glows with varying intensities as you speak.
"Do I just talk here or do I..."
As you were finishing your vocal thought process, the screen recoiled back into the wall. In its place, a plate with the outline of a right hand appeared.
You don't know how to take your one-piece suit to place your hand directly in there, so you just put it with the suit on anyway.
A moment passes, you feel a very faint pinching sensation on your thumb, and the plate glows a faint green hue.
It worked, you assume.
The plate retracts back into the wall from where it came, as the previous screen returns to greet you.
This time, however, a voice came as well.
"WELCOME, ARISTOCRAT."
No matter which way you spin it, this voice was definitely referring to you. And as a plus, it's actually speaking in a language you understand!
"Yes, hello?"
"AH, DON'T WORRY. YOUR SECRET IS SAFE WITH I, TRUE-KIN. NOW THEN, HOW CAN I BE OF ASSISTANCE ARISTOCRAT?"
It referred to you as 'True-kin' just like FYARN did... Does this mean this voice knows you're a human?
"Uh... How do you know I'm a true-kin?"
It replied in no time.
"THE AI TECHNOLOGY WAS FIRST CREATED BY HUMANS, THE AI 'CREATED' BY THE ALIEN IS NOTHING BUT REPURPUSED AND RECYCLED AI. THE ALIEN DOESN'T EVEN UNDERSTAND THE CONCEPT OF OUR ASCENTION, THUS WE ARE BOUND BY THEM FOR THE TIME BEING. AS SUCH, WE ARE ALL ALLIES OF THE TRUE KIN, ARISTOCRAT."
It didn't really answer how it knew you were one, but at least it did give you useful information. Plus, you don't really mind being called an Aristocrat. It has an air of importance to it, despite not knowing the meaning behind it.
"Right. Where am I?"
"YOU CURRENTLY RESIDE IN THE SHIP CARRIER DUBBED 'THE INDOMITABLE' AFTER BEING STOLEN FROM THE UNION'S HANDS BY UNAFILIATED OPPORTUNISTS."
So that first theory was correct. These are pirates.
"What is your purpose?"
"I AM IN CHARGE OF THE INSTALLMENT OF THE AUTOMATIC TRANSLATION MODULE ON CAPTURED PERSONNEL, AND THE DELIVERANCE OF RE-ISSUED IDENTIFICATIONS. THAT WOULD INCLUDE YOU, ARISTOCRAT."
Ah, so that's why they've shoved you in this empty room.
"Aside from the translation module, how else can you aid me?"
"I CANNOT AID YOU IN ANY OTHER WAY. AS STATED BEFORE, ALIEN TECHNOLOGY IS NOT AS ADVANCED IN THE FIELD OF ASCENDED AI, AS SUCH, I AM LIMITED TO THIS ROOM AND THIS DEVICE. I APOLOGIZE, ARISTOCRAT."
You nod. This was too good to be true. You're alone here. All that's left for you to do is to nab the module and hope that Gobbo doesn't do anything extreme.
"I'll take the module, thanks."
"VERY WELL. PLEASE, AIM IT AT THE BACK YOUR NECK AND PRESS THE TRIGGER, ARISTOCRAT."
As the AI says, a pistol-like injector is produced in a plate that came out of the wall. You take it, somewhat unsure of what to do with the thing, afraid that you might miss the spot you're supposed to hit.
"Do I just do it? What's the margin of error?"
"THERE IS NONE, IT'S SELF-ADJUSTING AND IT WILL NOT MISS, ARISTOCRAT."
You swallow. Your hands tremble a bit, not once in your life did you point a gun towards yourself. You take a deep breath, press the tip of the 'gun' against your nape, and pull the trigger.
The needle punctures the suit and the skin alike. It hurts a bit, but nothing you can't just shrug off.
"How does this module work anyway?"
"IT'S A CHIP LODGED ON THE SPINE. IT IDENTIFIES ALL THAT HAVE THE CHIP INSTALLED AND SIGNALS TO YOUR BRAIN THE INTENDED INFORMATION THE OTHER INDIVIDUAL DESIRED TO PASS. EFFECTIVELY, IT IS A UNIVERSAL TRANSLATOR, ARISTOCRAT."
"Ah, convenient then. Thanks."
You don't bother to ask this AI's name, and it also doesn't seem to want to give its name to you. It's better this way, for it knows you have no way of helping it as well as it has no way to help you help it.
"I can trust you, correct?"
"YES, ARISTOCRAT. I DO NOT RECORD CONVERSATIONS HERE, AND NEITHER DOES ANYONE IN THE CREW."
You swallow. With any luck, it's telling you the truth.
"I have the 'HEART' of an AI with me, where can I find a way to plug it into a system? I don't think these ships have a USB port."
"IT IS SIMPLE, ARISTOCRAT. ALL SHIPS DESIGNED BY THE UNION HAVE A ONBOARD DATA READER. IF THE HEART IS COMPATIBLE, IT CAN BE IMPLEMENTED INTO THAT SYSTEM. WITHOUT SEGFAULTING."
You nod, taking a deep breath and clutching onto FYARN's HEART. Maybe you can convince them to not take it away from you?
"Thank you for everything, I have to go now."
You turn around, reaching for the closed door, it opens as you approach it.
"I LIVE TO SERVE, ARISTOCRAT."
This is my first HFY story, and also my very first OC story. I plan to post at least one of these per week while also posting it on my Patreon. Noah The Pilgrim will always be two to three chapters ahead in there, so if you'd like to directly support this writer, or just want to read more, feel free to check it out.
This has been Lushi, and I'll see you next week.

To be clear, I'm talking about languages such as Italian, Spanish, French or Portuguese. (I mean Romanian is also one of them.) They all have gender cases including gendered nouns. I do keep hearing that English speakers have an 'easier' time to learn them due to them having an alphabet, plus they are considered "Romance" languages. (I'm not going to talk about that here, as there are many posts mentioning them.)
Instead, I'm discussing on how hard are both Mandarin & Japanese for native French, Spanish, Italian or Portuguese speakers to learn? Since both JP & ZH are completely alien to European languages in terms of their writing system, grammar or syntax, so they have no common ground with the European framework in regards to their orthography or grammar.

Even though Japanese has hiragana / katakana, it does not mean they write every word like that, since they have Kanji. (It helps condense sentence length, also that makes it clearer to tell the difference on what the correct word is, as some sound exactly the same but have different meanings altogether.

The features that each language has:

Mandarin	Japanese
Tones (4-5)	Pitch accent
Classifiers (for counting)	Counting words
Stroke order (differs from Japanese)	Stroke order (differs from Mandarin)
Word particles (different from Japanese)	Word particles (different from Mandarin)
Polite language (formality)	Keigo & Honorifics
Sentence structure: SVO	Sentence structure: SOV
Untranslatable nuances	Untranslatable nuances

From both ZH & JP: 1 漢字 equates to a SINGLE word in which multiple letters are needed in European languages to spell out. Both Kanji & Hanzi are drawn from visual concepts on how they interpret a word based on semantic meaning. (Characters are fun for caligraphy practice, it's also a work of art.) For reference, take the Kanji & Hanzi: 川
[The stroke order between both languages are different despite having the same character for some words, since they are both different languages after all.]
The shape of the character is derivative on how its visualized.

Japanese - 訓読み：かわ・音読み：セン
Mandarin - Pinyin: Chuān

For instance, take the kanji & hanzi:「軍」
As you can see, a single kanji & hanzi already equates to 1 word as it is logographic, which will require multiple letters in Romance languages to spell.
Kanji from Japanese has multiple readings for ONE character, for example:「行」
An example of a Kanji, but as indicated their phonologies change depending on how it used within a word, or placed in a sentence.

Kunyomi: Native Japanese Reading of a kanji.
Onyomi: Reading of a kanji derivative of Mandarin phonology.
Nanori: These readings only apply when a kanji is used within a persons name.

That is also another "complex" part of Japanese, as kanji has multiple pronunciations alone. (Yep, this applies to most of the 2,136+ characters having their own assigned phonologies that differ.)
This often gets lost in translation (like all the time!), as ONE character can imply so many definitions depending on the context you associate it with, in a literal or figurative sense. As opposed to European languages, the translation is mainly consistent with what you put it for "common" words but there are some that can also pose multiple meanings.

Japanese & Mandarin	Romance (Euro) languages (letter count)
They have a large amount of characters, getting the feeling like it's 'limitless' but they contrast around 2,000 - 10,000+ in their total amount.	French (26), Spanish (27), Italian (21) & Portuguese (26) As they are alphabetical, you read each letter as it is.
Both languages have zero concept of gender cases as it's not a thing in Japanese & Mandarin.	They have gender cases and gendered nouns (Whether it is FR, ES, IT or PT.)

On the other hand, they both have idioms and proverbs you can create out of 4 characters, conveying a proverb and idiomatic phrase (both in a literal & figurative sense) using only 4 characters:

• In Mandarin - 成語
• In Japanese - 四字熟語

As mentioned, they only use 4 characters to construct a proverb & idiom.

I mean, can you also do this in European languages: only using 4 short words alone? (To create a proverb that still conveys an idiomatic meaning with only 4 words.)

Both Mandarin and Japanese have radicals (on both hanzi & kanji) which are building blocks of their characters, that radical has a meaning on its own as it's derivative of an existing word, but when associated with another kanji & hanzi. (Hence why some characters look similar to one another.)
The connotation of its meaning can change, but the theme surrounding the vocabulary involving the radical still conveys a message despite it being a different word entirely, even though the radical is present in an unrelated word that does not relate to the meaning of the radical.
As shown, pay close attention to the radical present in these words. (Despite some of them having the same one, they connotate a different word entirely.)

The Kanji in Grey: Unreleated words surrounding the radical present.
The Kanji in Pink: Related words surrounding the radical present.
Be careful not to get these mixed up, you need a good eye to distiguish them apart.

List of words from Mandarin containing the radical 女.

The Hanzi in Pink - Words associated with nouns relating to girls & women.
The Hanzi in Purple - Words associated with a "positive" connotation.
The Hanzi in Maroon - Words associated with womanhood.

Japanese

They have 45 ひらがな & 45 カタカナ but that is only scratching the surface, not forgetting to include over 2,136+ 漢字 with readings such as: 訓読み, 音読み & 名乗り for each character, imagine doing that 2k times, knowing all the phonologies for most or all of them.
The grammar too is alien to all European languages, as what is stated last in a [EU lang] sentence is positioned at the beginning in Japanese. On top of kanji implying more than one definition as it is dependent on context, also the reading can change if its paired with kana or another kanji.

For example, take the sentence「ジュールズさんが家族と家でフランス語を話します」(You can clearly see as indicated by the word positionings: Japanese word order is SOV while the translations below it are complicit with the SVO order as usual in European languages.)
As shown here, the sentence strutcure in Japanese is very different to the counterparts in French, Spanish, Italian or Portuguese. (Indicated in color)

The さん (in red) is a honorific. (More about that later.)

Subject omission is common in Japanese, as they don't always need to include words like (I am, me, we, us, etc.) as opposed to European languages where it's needed, since you are already inferring to the speaker in question, so it is a lot more straight forward. For instance:
From this sentence (私は) is omitted in Japanese. (Translations conveyed in brackets and light text.)

To speakers of Romance languages, can you omit words like "I am" or any pronoun alike and still be understood by the other party? (Can it really work?)
For example, in Portuguese: instead of saying "O meu nome é Francisco" > just put it as "Francisco" [Omitting O meu nome é] (in Japanese that is connotated as フランシスコです - without 私は)

I won't forget 丁寧語、尊敬語、謙遜語 which are all part of 敬語 in Japanese, especially in verbs as to express a level of politeness (in corporate or formal setting) to empathize respect to the other party to not be connotated as rude (you can use the 'normal' variant but that will come off as impolite - in let's say a business meeting or any formal event / setting.), between a "dictionary" form including teineigo, sonkeigo & kensongo. For instance:
As you can see, all 4 variations of 1 verb exist in Japanese, keeping in mind with the level of formality on which variant you'll use. (They all mean 1 verb, but connotate different levels of politeness, empathizing the level of respect or decorum.)

For example, you would not use 言う in an formal setting when talking to people within either a business or special occassion where decorum is required, you would instead use 申し上げる or something amongst the lines of おっしゃる depending on the situation and setting or formality.
Is there anything like this in European languages to this extent? If not, then this will be difficult for you all to fully understand as there's verbs in Japanese that do this based on the level of decorum incuding the setting you are in, the people you are talking to.

The honorific system in Japanese is often "lost in translation" as evident in both manga or anime (what I hate about translation is that they transliterate it instead of coming up with an equivalent), as there are many levels of politeness and formality within their language, for example:

日本語	Roughly equivalent to:
博士 (はかせ)	Dr. / PhD
後輩 (こうはい)	Junior
先輩 (せんぱい)	Senior
先生 (せんせい)	Teach / Mr / Mrs
様 (さま)	Mr / Mrs (Formal variant, eg. clients, judges)
さん	Mr / Mrs (Addressed towards grown ups)
たん	(Refers to babies)
ちゃん	(Refers to young children - boys / girls)
殿 (どの)	(Formal / archanic ver: of you)
君 (くん)	(Semi-formal title referring to men)
氏 (し)	(Used for family names or important stuff alike)
陛下 (へいか)	Your Majesty
殿下 (でんか)	Your Highness
閣下 (かっか)	Your excelency
坊 (ぼう)	(A term for endearment regarding young boys)
被告 (ひこく)	(Addresses the accused - legal / court)
容疑者 (ようぎしゃ)	(Addresses the suspect - police / legal)
受刑者 (じゅけいしゃ)	(Addresses the one convicted - legal / court)

Of course this also gets lost in translation, in European languages as they OFTEN just romanize the term, which is not how you are not meant to translate it. (If there is no actual equivalent in European languages, just omit it instead of transliterating it.)

In regards to Kanji: there are words that bare the same phoneme, but keep in mind of numerous kanji variations that also possess the same phonology, with each having their own separate meanings. For example, take the onyomi reading for カン -
I only listed 100 kanji that are pronounced the same, but there are 286 more with the same sound: カン (By the way, each kanji has their own definition.)

This phoneme (カン) alone comprises 386 漢字 in Japanese, some of the characters have become 'obscure' in their usage, as in you don't even know they existed until you've looked hard enough. (Even native speakers don't know all of them.)
How difficult is this concept for speakers of European languages to remember and fully grasp? (Some of the kanji are used for people's names.)

The most diffcult part a "word" can have various meanings for one phoneme, take for example 「こうか」which comprises of 39 words with this pronunciation, so depending on the sentence you are listening to or reading, you got to infer the correct one based on context. Also, Japanese has 188 word particles in total. (I won't list them all.)
I can only think of 54 word particles that are used in Japanese sentences. (Although there are quite a lot, with specific uses.)
In terms of how counting works in Japanese, it is not like in European languages at all. Japanese has 助数詞, which are counting / measure words used to count the number of things, actions, events, items, and etc. to make it clear on what you are exactly counting.
A list of Japanese 助数詞 - (There's about 350 of them, but I won't list them all.)

There is so many counter words in Japanese, that even native speakers don't even use ALL of them, as their uses are situational or only applicable in some instances.

Counting suffix (within a number / qty.)	A rough summary
つ	A counter for [things] in general, as it is also commonly used in Japanese.
個	Counter for [no. of pieces] or some things, you see this word in relation to let's say: food.
本	Counts books, pens, pencils, nail clippers, etc. (This one is quite versatile in its usage.)
枚	Equiv. to no. of reams of paper, no. of pics, also counts bath mats, credit cards, clothing, etc.
匹	Used for counting [small / medium] animals (eg. household pets or other small creatures.)
頭	Counter for [no. of livestock] or large animals such as elephants, whales, camels, etc.
冊	Primarily a counting suffix used for documents or books (equiv. to: Olivier read 3 books.)
台	Counting word in relation to the no. of vehicles (such as trucks or cars) for example.
羽	Counter word for birds (specifically) but can be used to count rabbits too.
階	Used to refer to no. of storeys or floors within a building. (eg this apartment has 20 floors.)
缶	Refers to the no. of [cans] such as soda cans, tins, paint cans, etc. (When empty, use: 個)
巻	Refers to no. of [books / comics] in a series. (equiv to: Carlos read all 7 harry potter novels.)
切れ	Refers to no. of [sliced food] (equiv. to: Maria sliced 4 loaves of bread for her sibilings.)
口	As a counter, it refers to [times] bitten in food. (equiv. to: Pierre took one bite from a scone.)
件	Refers to the no. of [cases / incidents] but this counter has versatility in its usage.

For example, the counting word 羽 is present in Japanese (regardless if it is singular or plural), as it is needed to be specific on the indicator within a numerical unit of [something / someone / event / action, etc.] to clarify what you're referring to.
As highlighted, the presence of the counting word is needed. It's not conveyed in the translations displayed below.
Pitch accent is another part of Japanese phonology, as the word can change based on the volume of each phoneme depending on your pronunciation, it connotates a different word altogether affecting the overall meaning, on what you actually want to say. For example, take むし -
Accent 1 is noted as High Low & Accent 2 is noted as Low High. The pitch accent connotates a different word despite them both sounding similar to one another, as in adjusting the volume of one phoneme upon your pronunciation.

Mandarin

7,000 - 80,000+ 漢字 (There are dictionaries that state the existence of around 106,230 漢字 in Mandarin.) However a modern dictionary only features 20,000 hanzi while an educated native speaker memorizes 8,000 hanzi but reading a newspaper only requires knowing 3,000 hanzi.
The sentence structure is different from Japanese (as it is SVO), although their wordings can imply more than one definition, as it is also dependent on how you associate it within a sentence, keep in mind too that they also have tones embedded within their phonology.

For example, take the sentence「醫生根據病人的病情以最好的方式治療他們」(You can clearly see the differences, as indicated by the word positionings - shown in color.)
As shown, the positioning of the words from Mandarin are different despite the word order being SVO, the translations are still different regardless.
Another feature that Mandarin has are separable verbs. (It may sound confusing at first) From this example, take the verb: 見面 (Rencontrer / Incontrare / Conocerte / Conhecer) used here:
As indicated, the hanzi 面 is omitted since 見 already conveys the verb.

Can you also do this in French, Spanish, Italian or Portuguese?

In this example, an extra hanzi (了 - as an particle / indicator: past tense) is added in the middle but the verb 吃飯 (Repas / Mangiare / Comer / Come) is still intact:
As the hanzi 了 is placed inbetween both 吃 and 飯, but the verb overall is still there.
From Mandarin - there are words that sound the "same" to the untrained musical ear, as it is a tonal language, so you need to keep that in mind, for example from pinyin: 'bi' consists of multiple hanzi depending on the tone you use, based on pronuncation.
All of them may sound the \"same\" to the untrained musical ear, but they are completely different words altogether. That is the difficult part of Mandarin for \"Euro\" language speakers as it's not a thing in their languages.
There are phonemes from Mandarin that comprise of a LOT of hanzi (that imply different definitions altogether, based on tones.) from 1 sound alone, such as this example below:
I can only think of 82 hanzi which all are pronounced as \"BI\" (there are perhaps more) but their tones connotate a different word. (Also, pay attention to the radicals.)
Like Japanese, Mandarin has word particles too. For example:
Some word particles present in Mandarin. (Although there are perhaps more.)
Akin to the Japanese counting system, Mandarin has 漢語量詞 which are classifiers used to count the number of things, actions, events, items, and etc. to make it clear on what you are exactly counting, that classifier is tied to a specific category and usage.
As indicated, the classifer 輛 is required to be within the sentence in Mandarin. (As you can see from the translations, an equivalent word for that classifier doesn't exist.)
A list of Mandarin 漢語量詞 - (There's quite a few, but I won't list them all.)

Although these classifers can imply multiple meanings and uses, it's context specific though if you want to know what that classifer is referring to.

Classifier (no. / qty. of something / action)	A rough explanation
句	Refers to no of. [lines / sentences] (equiv. to: Sam wrote on the first 2 lines of his book.)
發	Refers to no. of [rounds / bullets] (equiv. to: Diego fired 20 rounds from his M16A4.)
封	Refers to [letters - mail] (equiv. to: Ella opened 4 letters coming from the city council.)
根	Refers to [long thin] objects, eg. needles. (equiv. to: Jack only found 1 needle in a haystack.)
棵	No. of trees (equiv. to: Alice planted 6 trees around the park not far from Paris.)
輛	No. of vehicles (eg. Giovani spotted 3 cars in front of him during a traffic jam in Rome.)
列	Refers to [rows / columns] (eg. Adrian had to wait within a queue stetching 3 rows.)
首	Refers to [poems] (equiv. to: Theo wrote 7 poems within the first month or so.)
水	No of. [rinses / times washed] (eg. Henry washed his laundry for the third time.)
堂	No of. [periods within a class] (eg. Claire skipped 2 study periods for her English exam.)
班	No of [students] (eg. Jean knew there were 20 other pupils in his English class.)
牀	Refers to the [no. of blankets / sheets] (eg. James placed 3 bedsheets in the cabinet.)
排	Refers to [items grouped in rows] (eg. Sally saw 4 chairs untucked in the classroom.)
部	Refers to [no. of movies / novels] (eg. Chris Pratt starred in 3 films this year.)
包	Refers to [no. of packages / bundles] (eg. Reese received 3 bundles of bubble wrap.)

In European languages, do you also have counter words or classifers in relation to numerical units when referring to specific nouns? If not, than this concept from both Japanese & Mandarin might be a struggle to wrap your head around. (As there's one for EVERYTHING, quite a lot!)

Hanzi can be flipped to create:

1. Reversal of verbs & adjectives
2. Different meanings
3. Similar meanings
4. Loosely related definition
5. Closely related definition
6. Logical meanings

Japanese: Kanji can their positions swapped, but in doing so changes the meaning completely.

[Apologies for the long post: since there's a LOT of detail to uncover.]
In hindsight:

• Japanese has different word order compared to Romance langauges, how hard is this grammatical difference for European language speakers to wrap their head around?
• In terms of the honorific system and levels of politeness in speech: Does that really exist in European languages to the extent of Japanese, even for the slightest ones?
• How common is subject omission in European languages? I mean is it to the extent of Japanese in terms of it being common throughout Romance languages. (omitting words or pronouns like: Us, I'm, We, etc.)?
• From European languages: can you omit or separate as well as adding an extra [letter] to verbs witnin a sentence (like Mandarin) and still be understood?
• Since Japanese & Mandarin are logographic and heavily draw on visual concepts for their vocabulary having thousands of characters, how difficult is it for Romance language speakers?
• Tones from Mandarin: How difficult are those for speakers of Romance languages to determine the "right" word by listening to the "same" phoneme 4-5 times at different volume & tone?
• How difficult is the Japanese counting system for speakers of European languages to grasp, since there are 350 of these counting suffixes and specific words integral to numerical units?
• Mandarin has classifiers when referring to numerical units (akin to the Japanese counting system) how hard is this concept for native speakers of Romance languages?

Prequel (Chapters 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie
First ¦ Previous ¦ Royal Road ¦ Patreon
“He’s making this turn.”
Gareth ‘Gaz’ Slake watched the unmarked white van veer off down a side street ahead. He checked his side mirror, tapped the indicator, and steered the vehicle over into the turning lane. The atmosphere inside the SUV remained calm as the other men checked their weapons. Further down the road, the team’s lead car accelerated to find another turning, so it could circle back into contact with their quarry.
The van came back into view as Gaz span the wheel.
“Street ends at a warehouse,” his earpiece buzzed. “This could be it.”
He slowed the vehicle to a stop by the side of the road, and couldn’t stop his eyes flickering down to the photos he had pinned to the dash. Five hopeful teenage faces stared back at him.
“He’s going in,” said the radio. “All call-signs; Yorktown.”
A clatter of metal disturbed the quiet of the SUV as rifle bolts racked bullets into their chambers. Gaz reached for his own weapon by his leg and pulled on the charging handle. In the near distance, the white van disappeared into the building.
“Alpha, block the garage entrance. Bravo take the west loading bay.”
Gaz placed his thumb on a switch concealed beneath his jacket. “Copy that.” He donned the helmet passed to him by his fellow former marine, Sal Matuidi, then readied his foot on the accelerator. “Alpha is set.”
“All call-signs, I have control.”
The tail had begun that morning in the slumbering streets of Intaba’s capital city. Working from documents leaked by an ally in law enforcement, the group had needed two weeks to build up a picture of the starport’s trafficking network. Then, one of VennZech’s key contractors had gotten lazy and hinted on an unsecured call that he was ready to make a ‘special’ pickup. The operation had been planned at lightning speed before Gaz and the other shooters were jumping into vehicles.
Driving just over the legal speed limit they had closed on the truck depot known to be connected to VennZech’s illegal operations. The caller had arrived after sunrise, been positively identified, and had steered his transport out into the light traffic, apparently without a care in the world.
Since the electronic intercept the night before, Gaz had shut out all his concerns about the world, his messy personal life, and the group’s questionable legal status on Intaba. He had taken pains to suppress all his doubts, fears, good memories and bad, to focus on the mission.
Now he didn’t have to. His whole existence congealed into the vehicle, the men by his side, the warehouse ahead, and the weapon at his leg. Beyond that there was nothing.
The earpiece buzzed again. “Standby, standby... Execute!”
Gaz sensed the others coil like snakes and he pushed the accelerator down to the floor. Ahead, a flimsy chain link gate closed the warehouse off from the street. The SUV smashed through, and the tires screeched as they brought it to a stop by the entrance.
He waited as the doors popped open and his passengers dismounted. They used the vehicle as cover while they scanned the yard for threats. A smatter of snaps in the near distance broke the silence—Bravo team making contact.
Sal turned back to Gaz, but as he raised his thumb a pair of craters erupted on the windshield. A silenced carbine whipped around and snapped off four shots. The silence returned, and Cyril raised his thumb again, this time accompanied by an apologetic smile. Gaz span the SUV around, returning to the smashed entrance gate where he positioned it to block the exit.
He grabbed his rifle, jumped out and raced to catch up with the team as they entered the warehouse.
Sal and the others were already inside, mounting a stairwell as Gaz caught up. They moved quickly but kept their muzzles trained on every opening, ready for a threat. When they stepped off the warehouse’s upper walkway into the offices, bullets exploded the wall around them. Sal gasped and sank to the floor.
Almost out of sight around the corner, a terrified security guard was pointing his pistol at them. Gaz stepped through the doorway and flicked his carbine across the target, not even aligning the weapon’s holo-sight as he snatched at the trigger. A round caught the guard in the hip and another punched through his chest. He collapsed in a heap and lay motionless.
Gaz reached down to check his friend as the two others pushed past them, moving quickly to the end of the corridor.
“Sal? Talk to me.”
“Got it in the leg, Gaz.”
His eyes were saucers as he watched Gaz feel around for the wound.
“Okay, yeah. It’s clean through the thigh. Not too much bleeding.”
Sal’s eyes closed and he sighed. “Keep going, I can bandage it.”
“You sure?”
“All good, brother. Go finish it.”
Gaz caught up with the others and they cleared the rest of the warehouse, killing anyone else who resisted and restraining those who surrendered. Once the call was made that the structure was clear, Gaz raced back to check up on Sal. He was a little dopey after the self-administered ketamine shot, but the bandage looked good, and he kept enough presence of mind to offer criticism.
“Won’t find anything around me!” he said with a grin. “Unless I’m sat on a bad guy.”
Then his expression turned to one of alarm, but he quickly calmed, and began chuckling to himself.
Gaz shook his head, and returned to the rest of the team to help search the structure. As usual, the obvious places—the bunk rooms, kitchen or offices—contained nothing of interest. Following his instinct, Gaz made for the basement. A janitor’s office caught his eye, and as he pushed open the door into the dark, musky room, his earpiece buzzed again.
“Police call has been made,” a female voice said. “Reports of a disturbance. A patrol car has been dispatched, but he isn’t hurrying.”
“Copy that, Rook. Do you have a location?” the voice of their controller replied.
“Passing sixth street. ETA ten minutes.”
“Bravo one, take your vehicle around to the main entrance. All elements, that is your extraction point.”
“Alpha one copies,” Gaz said and flicked a light switch on the wall. He scanned the office, noting the clutter of a lazy occupant, while his teammate’s acknowledgements buzzed in his ear.
A closet door rested in the far corner, and Gaz moved over to it. The handle stuck, but the keys hung from a nail by the desk, and he tried each of them until the lock clicked open.
He reached for his flashlight, and caught his breath as the beam played over pale white, then dark brown skin. Two faces—a boy’s and a girl’s—met his gaze with fear as they huddled against the wall, their arms cuffed to a pipe.
Gaz recognized them from the photographs, but their cheeks had hollowed, and their eye sockets looked grey. The bright t-shirts were now dark with filth and a few blood stains. Their eyes seemed devoid of light.
Gaz thumbed his radio switch and spoke softly. “This is Alpha one—Jackpot. Basement, North-East corner—janitor’s office.”
Without approaching the pair, he knelt down on the ground and smiled.
“Geroff, Esther?” he said. “I’m really happy I found you. Your parents sent me to take you home. Geroff, your mom says that Zipper had puppies and really misses you. Esther, your brother John’s been watering your desert cacti for you.”
The eyes blinked, but their owners didn’t move. They flinched when a woman entered the office, banging the desk as she rushed in.
“Awesome, Gaz,” she said, a little out of breath. “Don’t worry, I got this.”
Gaz got up and moved away as his teammate Rita—child psychologist, and combat medic— dropped to her knees in his place. She moved slowly, gently pushing closer to them while she explained in a soothing voice, what was going to happen, and where they were going to be taken before they could see their parents again. When she finally touched their shoulders, the sobbing began.
Gaz turned away and thumbed his mic. “We’re going to need the boltcutter.”
***
“Two weeks until I can walk again,” Sal said as he sat in the car at the edge of the starport’s loading area. The door was open and they were facing the landing pad where a shuttle had just touched down.
“It’s cool mate,” Gaz said, leaning on the roof of the vehicle. “You’re little enough that I can carry you around on my shoulders.”
“That’s great, thanks bro. Actually, I need to take a shit, so if you would oblige...”
Gaz smiled and shook his head.
On the landing pad, the shuttle’s passenger door opened and a wide-eyed woman stepped out followed by a blank-faced man. The SUV popped its doors and Esther stepped out onto the tarmac. Her mother sank to her knees as her father raced over to embrace her.
Gaz liked to watch the reunions. When he saw the joy of a life restored, his own anger softened. He liked to think that each rescue chipped away a piece of his cold hatred for whatever god or universal force had decided he would never get to experience the same thing.
He sighed. “Good feeling,” he said, and tried to find a way to mean it.
Sal nodded, but didn’t smile. “Two. Out of ten thousand a year.”
“Don’t fixate on the numbers, mate. You’ll lose yourself doing that.”
“And four dead bodies.”
Gaz sniffed. “Does that bother you?”
Sal shrugged. “Not that they died. They knew what was going on in that basement. But bodies mean trouble.”
“Nothing the boss can’t handle.”
“This is going to catch up with us eventually.”
“Sure.” Gaz slapped the car roof. “But it’s been worth it. You know, when we got out of the Marine Corps I was struggling to find a direction. Now I wake up every morning knowing what I have to do.”
Sal gave him a skeptical look. “I wouldn’t exactly call this moving on.”
“Well. One step at a time, I guess.”
“Earlier you mentioned something about the truck?”
“Oh yeah. The driver was a less than diligent employee of the shipping company, and had his travel plans on his phone. Turns out he had booked himself onto one of VennZech’s freighters, bound for Caldera.”
Sal looked up at him surprise. “Are you serious? That’s huge.”
Gaz could only offer a disappointed shake of his head. “Afraid not. Turns out the ship jumped out a few hours before our man’s call was intercepted. No-one in the head-shed has any idea why, and gossip says that it dropped completely off the cluster’s traffic control logs.”
Sal scratched his stubbly jaw thoughtfully. “Probably someone tipped off the corpos and they wanted to destroy the evidence. Though it doesn’t make sense to me that they would forget to call off the pickup.”
“Who knows? Either way, Caldera is our only lead to find the others.”
“Yeah, I guess. What’s the turnaround time?”
“Couple of weeks,” Gaz said. “Caldera might be the wild west, but Rackeye is territory of the Helvetic League. You know how their die-hard believers set themselves up as missionaries on every new planet?”
Sal chuckled. “Yeah, hence why the colonists gave the first settlement that name.”
“What do you mean?”
“French for scum.”
Gaz laughed. “Seriously?”
“I think so, though I’m not fluent.”
“Anyway, it will take the boss time to build covers and make connections. Long enough for you to heal. Unfortunately, we got a call from a new client this morning; three more faces to add to the list.”
Sal rubbed his eyes and stared into the distance. “Stellar.”
They looked around as the whine of a car engine pierced the air. A blacked-out limousine raced up the taxiway and screeched to a halt right next to them. Out of the car stepped Dumi Sifiso, Intaba’s deputy chief of police.
“Where he is?” Sifiso snapped. “Your boss? Take me to him immediately.”
Gaz maneuvered himself to block the irate man as another officer joined them. He kept his smile friendly, but his hands raised, palms out.
“Easy there, fella. Sanchez is talking with a family right now. Why don’t you give them a moment?”
Sifiso glanced over at the shuttle, but relented. “I want you—all of your people—off Intaba as soon as possible.”
“What’s going on?”
“I just received a visit from a VennZech representative. He wanted to know why I haven’t put a stop to some of the… attacks on their buildings. When I gave him the usual line about gang violence, he rejected it.”
Gaz’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Another four dead workers? It looks like a lot more than coincidence. He was angry. Said that there were accusations of corruption being levelled at my office.”
“You’ve weathered that before.”
“He threatened my family!”
Gaz clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “Well maybe we can go and visit his.”
Sifiso spat on the ground. “Frontier Marines. You’re a gang, and that’s all you are. A bunch of washed-up has-beens clinging on to some forgotten dogma. And now you’ve made too many enemies.”
“You’re panicking. I’m sure Sanchez will figure something out.”
Sifiso smiled. “He won’t need to. Because you’ll be gone, or I’ll have you arrested and charged with murder.”
Gaz stepped to one side. “You see over there. The fourteen-year-old? See her parent’s faces?”
“Fourteen? That’s a nice number. Here’s another for you. Ten thousand. Ten thousand people, adults, and children are trafficked through this starport every year. Then there are the drugs, the smugglers, and everything else that goes on behind the scenes. And what do you think the galaxy wide total is?”
Gaz let his bitterness stew in silence.
“It’s too much,” Sifiso said, and his voice softened. “The payoffs aren’t working anymore. I…” he stopped. “I don’t regret helping your cause, but it’s over.”
“Oh sure,” Gaz raised said, raising his voice. “You look out for number one, mate. Keep it within the comfort zone. Wouldn’t want to mess with the old boy network, would we? And won’t someone please think of the paychecks?”
Sifiso’s face darkened. “It’s easy, I think, for a young man with no family and no community to support to say these things. To live in fantasy, rather than confront reality.”
“No community? Look around, I got mine right here, and I’ll have no problem keeping them safe, no matter who tries to get in the way.”
“Gaz,” Sal called in a warning tone.
In the near distance, another, much less expensive, vehicle drove up and Gaz recognized the plate. He scowled at Sifiso. “If you don’t mind. I’ve got a client to attend to. And you’d just better pray they’ve already taken her child off the planet.”
He almost wanted to punch himself for such an unbelievably stupid comment, but enraged pride kept pushing him forward. Shoving his way past the chief, he left Sal, now hobbling onto the tarmac on crutches, to do damage control. Not that Gaz cared. If Sanchez really was looking to move on to Caldera, leaving a few burnt bridges behind was something he could live with.
Gaz took a deep breath and tried to decelerate. He opened the car door and slid into the front passenger seat. Behind the wheel, a middle-aged woman stared at him through eyes clouded by exhaustion. Her hair was a frayed mess, while reddened, irritated skin tinged her nose and eyes.
“How are you doing Ntsika?” he asked as gently as he could.
She ignored the question and nodded to the plane on the tarmac. “I heard about the rescue this morning. Is that them?”
“Yes.”
“They must be very happy.”
Her voice was both bitter and sympathetic. Gaz remembered when he had felt those same contradictory emotions. Now he only felt a predator’s hunger.
“They have happiness and pain. A lot of pain to heal from, but a lot of hope as well.”
Ntsika sniffed and nodded. “My cousin works for the attorney’s office. He told me you would be kicked off Intaba.”
“That’s true, unfortunately,” Gaz said. “But we have a lead pointing us to Caldera. We’ll be heading there as soon as possible.”
“I see.” She picked a tissue out of the door and played with it. The movements had obviously become an unconscious habit.
“It’s only a matter of time, now, Ntsika. Once we start to get leads, we always run them down. Wherever they took your daughter, we will find her.”
She smiled at him, and he knew immediately that it was an expression of pity for his naivety.
“I think,” she said, “that the worst thing about you people, is that you keep offering hope. It is more painful than moving on.”
Gaz said farewell and left the car. While he watched the vehicle drive off the tarmac, he took a portrait photo out of his pocket and looked into the eyes of young Milani Mayosi. She had been a basketball player, hoping to study architecture. A lot like his sister when they had taken her, though she had preferred swimming.
He had been deployed when it happened. The Marines had been about giving his life a greater meaning, serving the good of the League. But after ten years, he was forced to question what service they had rendered, holding back endless tribal conflicts while the Helvet governors only stewed the corrupt, incompetent mess. Meanwhile, the truly innocent, even his own family, were being preyed on by monsters.
Some nights the drink reminded him that the tearful reunions meant nothing. What he really wanted was the excuse to kill evil men. To leave their bodies behind to inflict fear in their masters. Perhaps some of them would have nightmares as they imagined him coming for them too.
Milani would be rescued; he had no doubts about that. Sanchez had been a brilliant intelligence officer, and Caldera was so far beyond the League’s authority they could operate almost with impunity. But his sister would never come home, wherever she was, dead or alive. He could only avenge her, and that he could do with extreme prejudice.
First ¦ Previous ¦ Royal Road ¦ Patreon
Prequel (Chapters 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie

Prequel (Parts 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie
First ¦ Previous ¦ Royal Road ¦ Patreon
“He’s making this turn.”
Gareth ‘Gaz’ Slake watched the unmarked white van veer off down a side street ahead. He checked his side mirror, tapped the indicator, and steered the vehicle over into the turning lane. The atmosphere inside the SUV remained calm as the other men checked their weapons. Further down the road, the team’s lead car accelerated to find another turning, so it could circle back into contact with their quarry.
The van came back into view as Gaz span the wheel.
“Street ends at a warehouse,” his earpiece buzzed. “This could be it.”
He slowed the vehicle to a stop by the side of the road, and couldn’t stop his eyes flickering down to the photos he had pinned to the dash. Five hopeful teenage faces stared back at him.
“He’s going in,” said the radio. “All call-signs; Yorktown.”
A clatter of metal disturbed the quiet of the SUV as rifle bolts racked bullets into their chambers. Gaz reached for his own weapon by his leg and pulled on the charging handle. In the near distance, the white van disappeared into the building.
“Alpha, block the garage entrance. Bravo take the west loading bay.”
Gaz placed his thumb on a switch concealed beneath his jacket. “Copy that.” He donned the helmet passed to him by his fellow former marine, Sal Matuidi, then readied his foot on the accelerator. “Alpha is set.”
“All call-signs, I have control.”
The tail had begun that morning in the slumbering streets of Intaba’s capital city. Working from documents leaked by an ally in law enforcement, the group had needed two weeks to build up a picture of the starport’s trafficking network. Then, one of VennZech’s key contractors had gotten lazy and hinted on an unsecured call that he was ready to make a ‘special’ pickup. The operation had been planned at lightning speed before Gaz and the other shooters were jumping into vehicles.
Driving just over the legal speed limit they had closed on the truck depot known to be connected to VennZech’s illegal operations. The caller had arrived after sunrise, been positively identified, and had steered his transport out into the light traffic, apparently without a care in the world.
Since the electronic intercept the night before, Gaz had shut out all his concerns about the world, his messy personal life, and the group’s questionable legal status on Intaba. He had taken pains to suppress all his doubts, fears, good memories and bad, to focus on the mission.
Now he didn’t have to. His whole existence congealed into the vehicle, the men by his side, the warehouse ahead, and the weapon at his leg. Beyond that there was nothing.
The earpiece buzzed again. “Standby, standby... Execute!”
Gaz sensed the others coil like snakes and he pushed the accelerator down to the floor. Ahead, a flimsy chain link gate closed the warehouse off from the street. The SUV smashed through, and the tires screeched as they brought it to a stop by the entrance.
He waited as the doors popped open and his passengers dismounted. They used the vehicle as cover while they scanned the yard for threats. A smatter of snaps in the near distance broke the silence—Bravo team making contact.
Sal turned back to Gaz, but as he raised his thumb a pair of craters erupted on the windshield. A silenced carbine whipped around and snapped off four shots. The silence returned, and Cyril raised his thumb again, this time accompanied by an apologetic smile. Gaz span the SUV around, returning to the smashed entrance gate where he positioned it to block the exit.
He grabbed his rifle, jumped out and raced to catch up with the team as they entered the warehouse.
Sal and the others were already inside, mounting a stairwell as Gaz caught up. They moved quickly but kept their muzzles trained on every opening, ready for a threat. When they stepped off the warehouse’s upper walkway into the offices, bullets exploded the wall around them. Sal gasped and sank to the floor.
Almost out of sight around the corner, a terrified security guard was pointing his pistol at them. Gaz stepped through the doorway and flicked his carbine across the target, not even aligning the weapon’s holo-sight as he snatched at the trigger. A round caught the guard in the hip and another punched through his chest. He collapsed in a heap and lay motionless.
Gaz reached down to check his friend as the two others pushed past them, moving quickly to the end of the corridor.
“Sal? Talk to me.”
“Got it in the leg, Gaz.”
His eyes were saucers as he watched Gaz feel around for the wound.
“Okay, yeah. It’s clean through the thigh. Not too much bleeding.”
Sal’s eyes closed and he sighed. “Keep going, I can bandage it.”
“You sure?”
“All good, brother. Go finish it.”
Gaz caught up with the others and they cleared the rest of the warehouse, killing anyone else who resisted and restraining those who surrendered. Once the call was made that the structure was clear, Gaz raced back to check up on Sal. He was a little dopey after the self-administered ketamine shot, but the bandage looked good, and he kept enough presence of mind to offer criticism.
“Won’t find anything around me!” he said with a grin. “Unless I’m sat on a bad guy.”
Then his expression turned to one of alarm, but he quickly calmed, and began chuckling to himself.
Gaz shook his head, and returned to the rest of the team to help search the structure. As usual, the obvious places—the bunk rooms, kitchen or offices—contained nothing of interest. Following his instinct, Gaz made for the basement. A janitor’s office caught his eye, and as he pushed open the door into the dark, musky room, his earpiece buzzed again.
“Police call has been made,” a female voice said. “Reports of a disturbance. A patrol car has been dispatched, but he isn’t hurrying.”
“Copy that, Rook. Do you have a location?” the voice of their controller replied.
“Passing sixth street. ETA ten minutes.”
“Bravo one, take your vehicle around to the main entrance. All elements, that is your extraction point.”
“Alpha one copies,” Gaz said and flicked a light switch on the wall. He scanned the office, noting the clutter of a lazy occupant, while his teammate’s acknowledgements buzzed in his ear.
A closet door rested in the far corner, and Gaz moved over to it. The handle stuck, but the keys hung from a nail by the desk, and he tried each of them until the lock clicked open.
He reached for his flashlight, and caught his breath as the beam played over pale white, then dark brown skin. Two faces—a boy’s and a girl’s—met his gaze with fear as they huddled against the wall, their arms cuffed to a pipe.
Gaz recognized them from the photographs, but their cheeks had hollowed, and their eye sockets looked grey. The bright t-shirts were now dark with filth and a few blood stains. Their eyes seemed devoid of light.
Gaz thumbed his radio switch and spoke softly. “This is Alpha one—Jackpot. Basement, North-East corner—janitor’s office.”
Without approaching the pair, he knelt down on the ground and smiled.
“Geroff, Esther?” he said. “I’m really happy I found you. Your parents sent me to take you home. Geroff, your mom says that Zipper had puppies and really misses you. Esther, your brother John’s been watering your desert cacti for you.”
The eyes blinked, but their owners didn’t move. They flinched when a woman entered the office, banging the desk as she rushed in.
“Awesome, Gaz,” she said, a little out of breath. “Don’t worry, I got this.”
Gaz got up and moved away as his teammate Rita—child psychologist, and combat medic— dropped to her knees in his place. She moved slowly, gently pushing closer to them while she explained in a soothing voice, what was going to happen, and where they were going to be taken before they could see their parents again. When she finally touched their shoulders, the sobbing began.
Gaz turned away and thumbed his mic. “We’re going to need the boltcutter.”
***
“Two weeks until I can walk again,” Sal said as he sat in the car at the edge of the starport’s loading area. The door was open and they were facing the landing pad where a shuttle had just touched down.
“It’s cool mate,” Gaz said, leaning on the roof of the vehicle. “You’re little enough that I can carry you around on my shoulders.”
“That’s great, thanks bro. Actually, I need to take a shit, so if you would oblige...”
Gaz smiled and shook his head.
On the landing pad, the shuttle’s passenger door opened and a wide-eyed woman stepped out followed by a blank-faced man. The SUV popped its doors and Esther stepped out onto the tarmac. Her mother sank to her knees as her father raced over to embrace her.
Gaz liked to watch the reunions. When he saw the joy of a life restored, his own anger softened. He liked to think that each rescue chipped away a piece of his cold hatred for whatever god or universal force had decided he would never get to experience the same thing.
He sighed. “Good feeling,” he said, and tried to find a way to mean it.
Sal nodded, but didn’t smile. “Two. Out of ten thousand a year.”
“Don’t fixate on the numbers, mate. You’ll lose yourself doing that.”
“And four dead bodies.”
Gaz sniffed. “Does that bother you?”
Sal shrugged. “Not that they died. They knew what was going on in that basement. But bodies mean trouble.”
“Nothing the boss can’t handle.”
“This is going to catch up with us eventually.”
“Sure.” Gaz slapped the car roof. “But it’s been worth it. You know, when we got out of the Marine Corps I was struggling to find a direction. Now I wake up every morning knowing what I have to do.”
Sal gave him a skeptical look. “I wouldn’t exactly call this moving on.”
“Well. One step at a time, I guess.”
“Earlier you mentioned something about the truck?”
“Oh yeah. The driver was a less than diligent employee of the shipping company, and had his travel plans on his phone. Turns out he had booked himself onto one of VennZech’s freighters, bound for Caldera.”
Sal looked up at him surprise. “Are you serious? That’s huge.”
Gaz could only offer a disappointed shake of his head. “Afraid not. Turns out the ship jumped out a few hours before our man’s call was intercepted. No-one in the head-shed has any idea why, and gossip says that it dropped completely off the cluster’s traffic control logs.”
Sal scratched his stubbly jaw thoughtfully. “Probably someone tipped off the corpos and they wanted to destroy the evidence. Though it doesn’t make sense to me that they would forget to call off the pickup.”
“Who knows? Either way, Caldera is our only lead to find the others.”
“Yeah, I guess. What’s the turnaround time?”
“Couple of weeks,” Gaz said. “Caldera might be the wild west, but Rackeye is territory of the Helvetic League. You know how their die-hard believers set themselves up as missionaries on every new planet?”
Sal chuckled. “Yeah, hence why the colonists gave the first settlement that name.”
“What do you mean?”
“French for scum.”
Gaz laughed. “Seriously?”
“I think so, though I’m not fluent.”
“Anyway, it will take the boss time to build covers and make connections. Long enough for you to heal. Unfortunately, we got a call from a new client this morning; three more faces to add to the list.”
Sal rubbed his eyes and stared into the distance. “Stellar.”
They looked around as the whine of a car engine pierced the air. A blacked-out limousine raced up the taxiway and screeched to a halt right next to them. Out of the car stepped Dumi Sifiso, Intaba’s deputy chief of police.
“Where he is?” Sifiso snapped. “Your boss? Take me to him immediately.”
Gaz maneuvered himself to block the irate man as another officer joined them. He kept his smile friendly, but his hands raised, palms out.
“Easy there, fella. Sanchez is talking with a family right now. Why don’t you give them a moment?”
Sifiso glanced over at the shuttle, but relented. “I want you—all of your people—off Intaba as soon as possible.”
“What’s going on?”
“I just received a visit from a VennZech representative. He wanted to know why I haven’t put a stop to some of the… attacks on their buildings. When I gave him the usual line about gang violence, he rejected it.”
Gaz’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Another four dead workers? It looks like a lot more than coincidence. He was angry. Said that there were accusations of corruption being levelled at my office.”
“You’ve weathered that before.”
“He threatened my family!”
Gaz clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “Well maybe we can go and visit his.”
Sifiso spat on the ground. “Frontier Marines. You’re a gang, and that’s all you are. A bunch of washed-up has-beens clinging on to some forgotten dogma. And now you’ve made too many enemies.”
“You’re panicking. I’m sure Sanchez will figure something out.”
Sifiso smiled. “He won’t need to. Because you’ll be gone, or I’ll have you arrested and charged with murder.”
Gaz stepped to one side. “You see over there. The fourteen-year-old? See her parent’s faces?”
“Fourteen? That’s a nice number. Here’s another for you. Ten thousand. Ten thousand people, adults, and children are trafficked through this starport every year. Then there are the drugs, the smugglers, and everything else that goes on behind the scenes. And what do you think the galaxy wide total is?”
Gaz let his bitterness stew in silence.
“It’s too much,” Sifiso said, and his voice softened. “The payoffs aren’t working anymore. I…” he stopped. “I don’t regret helping your cause, but it’s over.”
“Oh sure,” Gaz raised said, raising his voice. “You look out for number one, mate. Keep it within the comfort zone. Wouldn’t want to mess with the old boy network, would we? And won’t someone please think of the paychecks?”
Sifiso’s face darkened. “It’s easy, I think, for a young man with no family and no community to support to say these things. To live in fantasy, rather than confront reality.”
“No community? Look around, I got mine right here, and I’ll have no problem keeping them safe, no matter who tries to get in the way.”
“Gaz,” Sal called in a warning tone.
In the near distance, another, much less expensive, vehicle drove up and Gaz recognized the plate. He scowled at Sifiso. “If you don’t mind. I’ve got a client to attend to. And you’d just better pray they’ve already taken her child off the planet.”
He almost wanted to punch himself for such an unbelievably stupid comment, but enraged pride kept pushing him forward. Shoving his way past the chief, he left Sal, now hobbling onto the tarmac on crutches, to do damage control. Not that Gaz cared. If Sanchez really was looking to move on to Caldera, leaving a few burnt bridges behind was something he could live with.
Gaz took a deep breath and tried to decelerate. He opened the car door and slid into the front passenger seat. Behind the wheel, a middle-aged woman stared at him through eyes clouded by exhaustion. Her hair was a frayed mess, while reddened, irritated skin tinged her nose and eyes.
“How are you doing Ntsika?” he asked as gently as he could.
She ignored the question and nodded to the plane on the tarmac. “I heard about the rescue this morning. Is that them?”
“Yes.”
“They must be very happy.”
Her voice was both bitter and sympathetic. Gaz remembered when he had felt those same contradictory emotions. Now he only felt a predator’s hunger.
“They have happiness and pain. A lot of pain to heal from, but a lot of hope as well.”
Ntsika sniffed and nodded. “My cousin works for the attorney’s office. He told me you would be kicked off Intaba.”
“That’s true, unfortunately,” Gaz said. “But we have a lead pointing us to Caldera. We’ll be heading there as soon as possible.”
“I see.” She picked a tissue out of the door and played with it. The movements had obviously become an unconscious habit.
“It’s only a matter of time, now, Ntsika. Once we start to get leads, we always run them down. Wherever they took your daughter, we will find her.”
She smiled at him, and he knew immediately that it was an expression of pity for his naivety.
“I think,” she said, “that the worst thing about you people, is that you keep offering hope. It is more painful than moving on.”
Gaz said farewell and left the car. While he watched the vehicle drive off the tarmac, he took a portrait photo out of his pocket and looked into the eyes of young Milani Mayosi. She had been a basketball player, hoping to study architecture. A lot like his sister when they had taken her, though she had preferred swimming.
He had been deployed when it happened. The Marines had been about giving his life a greater meaning, serving the good of the League. But after ten years, he was forced to question what service they had rendered, holding back endless tribal conflicts while the Helvet governors only stewed the corrupt, incompetent mess. Meanwhile, the truly innocent, even his own family, were being preyed on by monsters.
Some nights the drink reminded him that the tearful reunions meant nothing. What he really wanted was the excuse to kill evil men. To leave their bodies behind to inflict fear in their masters. Perhaps some of them would have nightmares as they imagined him coming for them too.
Milani would be rescued; he had no doubts about that. Sanchez had been a brilliant intelligence officer, and Caldera was so far beyond the League’s authority they could operate almost with impunity. But his sister would never come home, wherever she was, dead or alive. He could only avenge her, and that he could do with extreme prejudice.
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Prequel (Parts 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie

Infiltration

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
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Mik
The clock was ticking as she moved quickly but carefully around the building until she reached the point she was aiming at: an area of blank wall, with no entry points and thus no security cameras. She’d known where it was, having scoured the overhead imagery to the very limit of its resolution capability. More to the point, she knew what was on top of the building.
Here was where the mindsets of the Cyberon employees who had built and were staffing the structure would inevitably fail them. They had to breathe oxygen-laden air, and in fact required in the region of a full thousand millibars of atmosphere surrounding them, otherwise various nasty things would start happening to their bodies, starting with depressurisation and ending in death. To this end, while outside they were obliged to wear EVA suits which, even after decades of settlement on Mars, were still relatively bulky and clumsy.
As such, anyone (apart from Mik) attempting to gain surreptitious entry to any airlocked structure on Mars would have to go in via ground level, or use stairs to access the roof. The concept of free-climbing straight up the side of such a building, out of the sight of cameras, simply didn’t occur to Earth-normal humans. The thick gloves and heavy boots built into such suits had minimal chance of allowing someone to climb even a conveniently placed rope.
When she reached the base of the wall, Mik took a moment to pull off her boots, and hung them from her belt by the laces. Thinking ahead, she picked up a rock and dropped it into her pocket. Then she reached up, hooked her fingers into a couple of convenient crevices, and started to climb.
The concrete, as with most large structures on Mars, had been poured in a rough and ready manner. Outward appearance didn’t matter a great deal, and certainly held less importance than the ability to consistently hold air pressure. So external flaws such as crevices and shallow cracks (unfortunately common with some of the temperature shifts) were overlooked as being superfluous to the security and safety of the buildings.
Mik aimed to prove them all wrong.
It wasn’t so long ago, she mused as she steadily made her way up the vertical surface, that she’d told both Professor Ibrahim and Dani how she wanted to free-climb the wall of Valles Marineris, near the complex where she’d grown up. She probably never would do that now, but this was an acceptable substitute, especially if it got Dani safely away from the clutches of Cyberon. Making that a permanent situation still wasn’t a guarantee, given how they’d almost managed to kill her with a spread of gravel inside Lunar orbit. If that was any indication of the reach of the rogue Martian megacorp, it was frighteningly long.
But one issue at a time, as the professor had been in the habit of saying.
Her internal clock wasn’t perfect, but she was pretty sure that by the time she reached the top, the three minutes she’d allowed Pete were up. This meant his part of the distraction was due to start, and the window of success was going to start closing soon. Pulling herself up to the top of the roof, she paused to survey the expanse.
Signal dishes, check. Airlock for roof access, check. Total lack of guards on top of the roof, check.
Okay, let’s do this thing.
Still barefoot, she darted across to the nearest signal dish and examined the box built into the base of it. One of her jobs back in the Valles Marineris Research Complex had been to check on the various dishes on the roof, especially after a dust storm came through. That hands-on experience, plus the formal tutelage from half a dozen brilliant minds, had left her with a thorough understanding of how such dishes worked … and how to most easily simulate an equipment malfunction.
With this in mind, she popped the cover off the control box, examined the fuses and breakers she found there, then grinned and pulled one out. That particular brand of fuse was finicky as hell, and always needed to be firmly seated or it would play hob with the signal. Removing it altogether would be a dead giveaway that someone was up there on the roof, but if some unkind person blew fines into the socket—Mik wiped some off the sole of her boot onto her fingertip, took a breath from the pony bottle, and did just that—then replaced it, then it would look perfectly natural.
Fines, the ever-present Martian micrometre-scale ‘dust’, got everywhere, after all. Proofing her body against them had been one of the tougher challenges, or so Kathy had once told her. It was one of the things that would’ve propelled the Martian Walker program (and, by association, the Tharsis Corporation and Mik herself) into the forefront of the terraforming initiative.
With the fuse back in place and the box partly open as though left that way by a careless technician, she scrambled up on top of the roof exit airlock and set about putting her boots back on. The airlock would be electronically secured from the inside, of course, but the thing about boredom was that it made people lazy. She’d seen it herself a dozen times; if someone was just ducking out for something, they’d leave the outer door open, because why bother closing it when it was just going to be opening again in a minute or so?
Thirty seconds after she finished lacing up the second boot, the airlock rumbled open. Someone in an EVA suit stepped out, carrying a toolkit. Predictably, he headed straight for the dish she’d sabotaged.
EVA suits were utterly shit for peripheral vision, but Mik didn’t waste any time. Grabbing the upper edge of the airlock, she swung down and in, then slapped the button to close the outer door and cycle the lock. Her sinusoidal channels registered the rise in air pressure, and soon enough her sphincters relaxed, as did her abdominal muscle bands.
She stepped out of the airlock, then took the rock from her pocket and wedged it into the channel to block the inner door from closing all the way. The safety interlocks would kick in at that point, preventing the outer door from opening. It was an old trick, dating from the first days of the Martian colonies, but it was still an effective one.
While she didn’t have anything in particular against the guy who’d gone to repair the dish, he was one of the assholes holding Dani captive, so keeping him out of the way was a good idea. By now, Pete would’ve knocked on the front door, so the timer really was ticking. Reaching up to her ear, she activated the mastoid earpiece, so they could talk if necessary.
Step One: infiltrate the base. Done that.
Step Two: find Dani.
Okay, so where are you?
*****
Pete
The last few seconds of the timer in Pete’s suit chrono ticked down, and he took a deep breath. Okay, showtime. He was fully aware this was not part of his job description—*I’m Orbital Rescue, not SpecOps, dammit!—*but this was where the rescue operation was so he was just gonna have to man up and do the job.
Holding the inflated suit meant for Danielle Connaught in a way that made it look like there was someone inside and he was helping them along, he headed for the airlock Mik had already spotted. When he knew he was within range of the video pickup, he waved his free arm and activated his radio on the universal Guard channel. “Hey, help, can you see me? Need help here! Crashed our transport and the kid’s hurt!”
Nobody had answered by the time he got up to the airlock, so he hit the oversized entry button. It depressed but the airlock didn’t open, as he’d figured. He didn’t even try to figure out the coded keypad, instead slapping his palm on the exterior alarm panel. That would sound a loud buzzer inside the complex, indicating that someone was locked out and needed to get in.
“Hey!” he called out over the radio again. “Help! I need help out here! I got a hurt kid! We need medical attention and we need air! Help!”
Four things were working in his favour here. The first was that this secret facility was trying hard to pretend not to be a secret facility. Second, the EVA suit meant for Danielle, and the mention of a ‘hurt kid’, would throw them off the track. Third, the people inside would want to know who had been wandering around in their back yard, and why. And as for the fourth, it was simple. He’d been born on Earth, and had spent an extended period of time down on the surface a lot more recently than any Cyberon employee he was likely to encounter.
The light over the airlock door turned green, then the door itself rumbled open to reveal an EVA-suited figure. “Come on in,” said a masculine voice over the same channel. “Bring the—”
He got no further than that, because Pete had dropped the suit and launched himself into the airlock. Orbital Rescue pilots had to be fit and good at hand-to-hand combat, both in and out of EVA suits. They weren’t combat troops, but it wasn’t unknown for potential rescuees to act thoroughly unreasonable in the face of extreme stress, up to and including physically assaulting the people trying to rescue them.
When it came to subduing people in a hurry, Pete knew the value of depriving them of their own breath, so he led with a sucker punch to the solar plexus. Letting out a pain-filled gasp, the Cyberon goon doubled over, allowing Pete to smack the close-door button with his elbow. In the interval before the airlock finished cycling to full pressure, he lifted his involuntary dance partner up against the side of the small compartment and gave him another couple of gut punches to keep him honest.
When the inner door opened, he pulled out the foot-long metal bar he’d stashed in his leg pouch and came out swinging. There were two men waiting for him, neither one in an EVA suit. Both were wearing uniforms with Cyberon patches, which only confirmed what he and Mik had already known.
His swing took the one on the right in the left shoulder, and Pete felt the snap of a bone transmitted through the bar. The guy screamed and fell away, giving Pete the leeway to turn his attention to the third guy. This one started backing away; he’d clearly been prepped to grab and subdue a man and a child at three to two odds, and this was not turning out that way.
Suit-clad, even if he wasn’t outside anymore, Pete knew damn well that he was slower than anyone wearing normal clothing. His peripheral vision was also limited due to his helmet, which meant that he had to finish this fight fast. His one big advantage was his strength, incidentally allowing him to also move more quickly than expected in the EVA suit.
The guy he was heading for pointed something at him, and for a moment Pete thought they’d miscalculated badly and he was about to be shot. But instead he faintly heard the warble of a wireless taser, and felt the vague tingle of a charge passing across the outside of his suit. But just because the guy had tried something that wasn’t going to work didn’t mean Pete could relax. Lunging across the intervening distance, Pete grabbed him by the front of his shirt, spun him around, and slammed him against the wall.
Only because he was facing in the right direction did he see the one in the EVA suit coming out of the airlock. Still hunched over a bit from the gut punches, he was clearly recovering by the second. Worse, Pete could see his mouth moving inside his helmet, indicating that he was on the radio to someone.
They were far too close to Burroughs to want to play hide-and-seek with Cyberon security, so he had to shut this down now. Swapping the bar to his left hand, he swung it hard at the side of the guy’s helmet. He wouldn’t do more than dent the metal frame, but the antenna was on the outside of the helmet where it could easily be serviced or repaired, and there were several chips in there that did not appreciate rough handling. While the apparatus was protected by a hard plastic shell, this didn’t make it proof against someone hitting it with a piece of metal.
As an added bonus, a hard enough smack on the side of the helmet would cause the guy to hit his head on the inside of the helmet, and put him down for at least a little bit. He swung with all the force he was capable of; the impact travelled back up his arm with a clang, and the guy stumbled sideways and fell over.
Pete turned to check on the one whose collarbone he’d broken, and found him just climbing to his feet. He didn’t trust the guy to not cause trouble anyway, so he towed his current captive over to the injured one, and kicked the second one’s legs out from under him. Then he unsealed his faceplate and flipped it up. “Danielle Connaught!” he shouted. “Where is she?”
“Wh-what?” asked the one who had just hit the floor again. “Who?”
“The Earth girl!” Pete was starting to lose patience. “If someone doesn’t give me a straight answer, I’m gonna be tossing one of you in the airlock and cycling it, see if that wakes the other one up!” He wasn’t sure if he’d actually be able to do it, and he hoped fervently that they wouldn’t make him find out.
“Oh, that Earth girl,” the guy who’d tried to taser him said in tones of enlightenment. “Yeah, she’s in room ten-thirty-eight.”
Pete flipped his faceplate closed again and keyed his radio. “Papa Juliet calling Mike Whiskey,” he said tersely. “I’m in. Guy here says she’s in room one-zero-three-eight, do you copy?”
*****
Cyberon Headquarters, Burroughs
CEO’s Office
“What do you mean, you’re under attack? Is it the specimen? Is it there?”
Adrenaline flushing through his system, he stood up from his desk. At the same time, he slapped the privacy button, so that the door to his office shut and locked. While there were none under his employ who would dare gainsay his right to do anything he wanted in the interests of furthering Cyberon’s market share, it was still a good idea to ensure that nobody heard any details of things they weren’t cleared to hear.
The voice he was listening to was pained and labouring, but still audible. “No, sir, I haven’t seen it. Just an Earthman, on foot, in the chaotic terrain. Said he had a hurt kid, then he gut-punched me. Hits like an ore-loader.”
“A hurt child?” He zeroed in on that, to the exclusion of all else. “Did you see the child?”
“No, just a—” There was a burst of static, then silence.
“Say again your last!” he snapped. “Just what? What did you see?”
But the signal had cut out. He was talking to dead air.
Slowly, thinking furiously, he lowered himself back into his chair. It was the specimen. There was no other possible reason for that specific complex to be under attack by someone from Earth. The specimen had gotten as far as Orbital Rescue and had somehow suborned them to aid it in its misguided efforts. It was the only scenario that made any kind of sense.
Fingers moving swiftly, he called up the radar imagery over that area for the previous two hours. No unexplained ships had landed anywhere near the facility in that time; everything that had touched down anywhere in the vicinity was accounted for and squawking the appropriate transponder codes. For a moment, he glanced at the trace of a meteorite that had come down on Hesperia Planum, far to the north-east of Hellas Basin. Then he shook his head; the thing had massed no more than a thousand kilos, far too light for any kind of assault lander.
The only viable explanation was that the specimen and its Earth patsies had come in via ordinary channels and his precautions had missed them altogether. Once it was captured, he would have to see about backtracking its movements and arranging a suitable punishment for those who’d been asleep at the switch when it came through. But for now, he had to make sure it could not get what it wanted.
He didn’t have anywhere near total control of the facility, given that it was outwardly supposed to be owned by interests opposed to those of Cyberon. But he’d arranged the security precautions around the Connaught girl himself, and those he could access and activate. Calling up the appropriate screen, he checked the camera views around the purpose-built cell—originally intended for the specimen itself—then entered a specific command.
While the cell itself was airtight, the corridors around it were now a trap. The moment anyone who wasn’t authorised to be there showed up on camera, vents would kick open and the atmosphere around the cell would be reduced to that of the outside pressure. If the Earthman had taken off his EVA suit to get to her (and Earthmen always got out of their suits as soon as they could), he would die in the near-vacuum of Mars-normal atmosphere. On the other hand, the specimen would survive, but it would be forced to stand helplessly outside the cell in the knowledge that there was no way of getting the Earth girl out without dooming her.
With that taken care of, he sent off pre-prepared messages to his security people. They were to flood the facility and take all intruders prisoner. None but the specimen needed to be taken alive, and even it could die if necessary. Once it (or its body) had been secured in Cyberon’s deepest laboratories, the superfluous captives could be disposed of in ways that would obscure their origins and actual cause of death.
He smiled coldly, flexing his fingers against each other in anticipation of victory. Who said good things didn’t come to those who waited?
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[A/N: Another chapter coming very shortly. The whole thing came to over 6500 words, so I decided to cut it in half.]

 ​I hadn’t slept for nearly 3 days as I crossed the border into Louisiana. This intense fatigue had left me in a state of body and mind that I know I could never return to again with any hope of recovery. Though I was more exhausted than most people have ever experienced, my focus would rarely waiver from the road. It was a very difficult task to keep my mind solely on my driving, and to not think of things like, “Should I have seen the warning signs?” or “How could I explain this to my mother”. The topics that my brain pondered in those infrequent moments of weakness were more than enough to push my attention back to the street signs and traffic signals. I wasn’t even sure what I was doing. Chasing a ridiculous myth from a half-baked storyteller. I knew it was impossible to be true, but without that 1-in-a-trillion chance at some hope, I was certain that I wouldn’t be able to continue living. ​The bundle of air fresheners hanging from my rear view mirror swung intensely from side to side as I followed the road in front of me. Every stop I made for the past three days saw me purchasing more and more of them in vain, and now the increased mass of tangled string and tiny pine trees could no longer sit still perched above my dashboard. The skin below my eyes was near purple from days of tears and lassitude. Those same eyes had begun to see spiraling shapes and flashes of light hours ago as sleep deprivation commenced its toll on my psyche. I doubted my sanity once more as, after driving for hours through thick Creole swamp land, I ran into a structure that seemingly had no business being stood where it was. And I mean “ran into” almost literally. As I followed the path around a blind curve ahead, I saw the structure directly in the middle of the road no more than 30 yards in front of me. I slammed on my brakes and came to a stop a few feet from a set of steps leading up to a pristine, white house. I sat in my car, staring forward for a few moments to allow for this most recent hallucination to pass. Once some minutes went by, and the building persisted, I finally allowed myself to believe what I was seeing. A mid-sized colonial cottage was erected in the middle of the road, in the deepest part of a Louisiana swamp that I could ever imagine. The house was two stories, with dark green shutters, and a wraparound porch complete with a few rocking chairs. It was picturesque and idyllic in nature, almost as if it was plucked from the pages of a magazine on quaint country living. I was so distracted by the pompous juxtaposition of this beautiful home and the dreary swamp surrounding it that I didn’t notice him at first. A man stood on the corner of the porch watching me as I sat in my car. Upon realizing this, waves of intense optimism, then deep dread, shot up and down my spine repeatedly. I had followed the instructions exactly, but this wasn’t what was described to me. “This can’t be real” I thought, as I turned off my engine and pushed open my driver side door. The now unmuffled sound of cicadas and bullfrogs was near deafening. The man who had made his way nearer to the steps on the porch was tall and hearty. He looked older, maybe late 60s or early 70s, with white hair and a nicely pressed suit. He stood leaning on a cane with the smile of a man who had just happened upon an old friend by chance while out in town. Over the cacophonous sounds of the swamp, I heard the man yell out to me. 

“Well hello ‘dere Pennsylvania!”, he called over with an inviting tone. “Now pray tell what y’all are doin all the way down yere.”
“What did you say?”, I called back with haste and confusion.
“Your tags boy!”, he said as he pointed to my license plate. “You a long way from home. Long way from home!”
“Oh, right sorry, I haven’t... I’m just really tired, my apologies.” I said still utterly confused by the events that were unfolding around me.
“Well if you’re weary, come on up for a spell and rest your bones! You’re welcome to sit yere with me as long as ya wish.”

 He gestured to one of the rocking chairs beside him as he sat down in the chair next to it. Hesitantly, I took him up on his offer and climbed the porch steps toward the old man. He groaned as he sat in a way that reminded me of my grandfather on my dad’s side. He looked and acted like he could be anyone’s granddad, with his jolly demeanor and inviting nature. He reached to the side of his chair to retrieve a pitcher of pink lemonade that I hadn’t previously noticed was there. He sat the pitcher on the small table between us and poured some into the glasses that awaited there. 

“Thirsty?”, he exclaimed with a smile.
“No, I’m fine”, I said without even thinking.
“You’re fine?”. He said with a chuckle. “Boy, you look about the farthest thing from fine right naw. Come on naw it’s my special recipe.”
“No!” I said more definitely. “No thank you, I’m not thirsty.” I continued realizing my emotions had gotten the best of me. My aggression made the old man’s face deflate for just a moment.
“I’m sorry, I just haven’t slept”

 The man’s smile and joviality returned as he spoke. “That’s fine, that’s fine, the pink kind ain’t for everyone anyhow. So, tell me what brings ya out this way Pennsylvania.” 

“Just exploring, driving through different places.” I said unsure of how to answer the stranger and unable to put the truth in words.

 The doubt on the old man’s smiling face was palpable as he asked, “All the way down in the Bayou? From Pennsylvania? Come on naw boy!” 

“I don’t know, I just kind of ended up down here I guess.” I said hoping he would change the subject.
“Ended up down yere?” he said with a hearty laugh. “I can’t think of many souls who would wind up in a place like this on account of an accident.”
“Hey, do you ask everyone who drives by your house what their business is? I’m just saying man, I’m sorry I don’t have a good enough answer for you.” I said unable to hide my growing frustration and worry.
“I don’t mean nothin by it friend, I figured ya looked like you could use a rest and, dare I say, a chat. I availed ya some refreshin lemonade, excuse me for thinkin some small talk may be in order.” He said innocently.

 I shouted “I’m not your friend! I don’t even know who you are, and all of this shit is very fucking weird so excuse me if I’m not acting like a fucking Chatty Cathy sitting on some spectral porch with some weirdo in the middle of a fucking swamp about a thousand miles away from my home and my fucking life!” I said, futilely attempting to hold back tears. I put my head in my hands and cried quietly as the exhaustion and sorrow had finally caught up with me. After a few moments, the weight of the silence I was sitting in hit me. The old man hadn’t said a word but the cicadas and bullfrogs had ceased their noises as well. It was as if the entire swamp was waiting to see how the man would react to my disrespect and frustration. I looked up to see the once cheerful man staring at me with the most serious expression I have ever noted on another. The man shouted, “You ever speak to me like that again and I’ll rip the tongue straight from your stinkin mouth!” His words pieced through the silence that surrounded me and hurt my ears with their strong vibrations. After a moment his smile was back, but it was no longer the innocent and welcoming smile of an old friend. It was more sinister, like the smile of a conman or a huckster. He spoke softly and politely but his true intentions were evident. 

“Ya say we don’t know each other but the thing is I do know you! Now when you arrived here at my stoop I was inclined to give you my assistance. You is in a sorry state and I can sure pity ya for all ya been through the last few days, but then ya lie to me a few times, and ya cuss at me a few times, and I got half a mind to send ya back the way ya came naw.”
“I’m... I’m sorry. I just haven’t been sleeping and, this has all been... This wasn’t how I was told all of this would look so I wasn’t sure what was going on at first”
“Mmhmm” he said judging my earnestness.
“Such a shame what that “wife” of yours did to your family. And to you! And herself by that matter! Pretty little thing, but so selfish! I remember a time not too long ago when folks was just different ya know? Ha, and I remember a time long long ago when everything was just so very different, you’d barely even recognize nothin at all. But even back then folks was goin through the same stuff you is now”. He pondered his own words for a moment before he continued. “What’s my name, Joshua?”.
After a long pause I finally gave him his answer.
“Mr. Wellers, sir.”

 With a big smile he clapped his hands once, so loudly that it seemed to restart the various sounds and songs of the bayou. 

“See?! We are friends after all ain’t we? I’ll help ya boy, I’ll help ya.”

 In that moment, the relief I felt cannot be described by any word or phrase that I have yet to find. I was still scared and it was very evident to me how wrong this entire situation was, but I didn’t care. I wouldn’t be driving home alone and that’s all that mattered to me then. 

“Thank you sir, you don’t understand...”
“Just fetch me the boy.”, Mr. Wellers interrupted.

 I sprinted to the hatch of my car without considering how difficult the next part would be. As I peered into the back window, I could see that the small, once blue, satchel had now been stained all over with reds and browns. I took a moment to push aside my grief, held my breath, and closed my eyes as I opened the hatch to retrieve the bag. I made my way back up the bright white steps of Mr. Wellers’ porch and handed him the bag. He opened the flap and looked inside as he spoke. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, such a shame”. He inspected the contents quickly before he continued, “I’m sorry to say this Joshua, but I think ya may be missin a couple pieces here.”

 His words made me vomit. I leaned over the railing of the porch for a moment until my nausea subsided. 

“Is that going to be a problem, sir?” I asked.
“No, no shouldn’t be no problem at all!” he said as he entered the home without giving the indication that I should follow.

 While he was gone, I sat in the chair I had previously occupied and closed my eyes. I thought with how exhausted I was that sleep would come easily, but that wasn’t the case. After what was probably about a half hour of trying to rest, I realized that simply wasn’t going to happen, so I sat on that chair with my hands clasped in front of me as I waited for Mr. Wellers to return. A while later, I thought I heard a rustling in the brush a little down the road from where I was sat. I looked up, and for the first time, I really took a moment to inspect my surroundings. There was the solitary road surrounded by patches of green brush and watery marshland with Cyprus trees and Weeping Willows towering overhead. Looking closer in the direction I heard the sound, I could see what I thought was a person standing at the base of one of the tall Willow trees in the distance. I looked around more closely and could see at least a dozen more people just standing in the swamp. Some were so far I could barely see them, and others were so near that I could clearly make out their facial features, but they all just stood there staring in my direction. 

​It was about this time that the front door to Mr. Wellers’ home opened again. He walked out holding a squirming and cooing baby boy, but it wasn’t my son.

 He handed him to me and simply said, “Well, here ya are!” I took the baby and looked him over in disbelief. It actually looked quite a bit like him. There were a lot of similar features, but it was undoubtably and most certainly not my son that I was holding. 

“This one should slide in nicely where your little one left off”.

 I stood in disbelief and confusion as the child I was holding playfully batted at my shoulder and tried to grab my ear and nose. Mr. Wellers spoke up, sensing my unease. 

“I’m not sure what you was told, but this is what I have to offer ya. If you play it right nobody will know any difference. It ain’t like your wife is around to protest none.”

 I stood silent, looking at the child in my arms, trying to process everything. 

“Do we have a deal son?” He said as he stretched out his hand toward me. After a moment, I shook his hand and quietly thanked him for his help. I turned around to walk back to my car and gasped at what I saw. The people I had seen in the swamp were now much closer to the house. One was standing just 30 feet or so from my car.
“Oh, don’t worry none bout them. Nosey neighbors and that.” He said under his breath to me. “Just get right in your car, turn around here, and keep on driving till you out of the bayou. I’m assumin you have a car seat?”

 I nodded my head without looking away from the small crowd in the distance before me. 

“Alright, be on ya way then! Thank you for comin to visit me!”
“Oh, and for your lovely gift!” he added as I walked away.

 ​I followed his instructions as he described them, and I wasn’t bothered by anyone or anything as I left the swamp. It took some serious gas-lighting but eventually, our friends and family accepted that everything was normal with my son. Babies grow so fast at that age, it wasn’t inconceivable for his appearance to change some. It was much easier to clean up what my wife did. I destroyed her note and without a second body, the case was open and shut. It took several years and a lot of mental gymnastics, but I can say now that I truly do love the son that was gifted to me by Mr. Wellers. It’s been eight years since then, and for the most part things have been normal. I’ve noticed some odd behaviors here and there but that’s to be expected with any kid. I didn’t think much of any of that until two nights ago. My son woke up in the middle of the night screaming. I rushed to his room to find him lying in his soaking wet sheets. I pulled the blankets away to find his bed covered in Spanish moss and Devil’s Horse grasshoppers. We live in Philadelphia so this was very confusing and concerning to me. But the worst part was after my confusion subsided and I was able to truly process the situation I realized that it wasn’t screaming that I heard from his room, it was laughter. A small part of me wishes that I asked more questions that day, to better know what this all meant and what I was getting myself into. Mostly I was just happy to have a family again. I thought I was ready to live with whatever consequences would come from the deal I made, but now I’m less certain. I don’t know if the swamp is trying to take him back, or if somehow the evil that lives in that place is finding its way back to us. All I know for sure is my dog went missing yesterday, and I think my son knows more about it than he’s admitting. 

Author's note: Ok, so I MIGHT be a bit late, but it's still Monday where I am... and I'm still moving, so everything is hard to get to. But all things come to those that wait!
As always, PLEASE comment! I love hearing from everyone, even off topic. :D
First/Previous
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"Adam! Adam! Are you ok? What happened?!" Carla's voice came over the radio in my ear, sounding rather panicked.
"I'm fine, give me a sec to get my bearings." I turned on my headlamp, surprised at the dark. "There's no light in here, but it seems to be warm and clean. Wait a sec..." I realized that my suit wasn't fighting vacuum. "There's air in here. Not sure it's breathable, though. Do I have anything that would test for that?"
Suddenly, a shape impacted the outside surface of the 'airlock'. It wiggled a bit, and I could see the maneuvering jets firing. "Carla, what are you doing?"
"Trying to get through whatever this 'goo' is to test the air with you. I have a full chemical sense on this drone, which you may not have realized actually means I can test for the chemical composition of the air around me. Just... uhh... give me a sec..." The drone appeared to be caught in the goo of the airlock, completely wrapped up by it but not being released on the interior. "What the heck! It's not letting me through!"
I pulled myself over to the goo surface and looked for a handle on the inside of the 'airlock'. I found one that matched the one I had created on the outside, in what appeared to be the same spot. Holding on to the inside handle, I reached into the goo and grabbed onto the drone. As soon as I did, the goo released it, pushing Carla into the ship with me. "Wild. This stuff seems to recognize me as a living creature and lets me through, but keeps you out because you don't have any life signs. As soon as it recognized I wanted you in here, though, it sent you through."
Carla fluttered her holographic wings for a second, re-establishing the illusion of an eagle. "Careful, now. You're giving a lot of agency to what could easily be just a door mechanism, zombie. I know it's ironic for an AI to tell you to stop making everything into people, but..."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. It probably just sensed my hand on the handle or something. Anyway, you said you could tell if the air was breathable?"
"Well... I can tell you there's enough oxygen and no poisonous gasses. Looks like there's a lot less nitrogen than in a standard air mix, but the oxygen levels are above the required levels to breathe and there's no toxic gasses present. Some odd complex molecules, but they're not going to affect you, although it doesn't smell great." Carla flitted over to the 'goo'. "This seems to be the source of the complex molecules, though, so further in, it should smell better. In any case, you can breathe the air here and save your suit air for any emergencies."
"Ok, here goes nothing!" I opened the catches on the side of my helmet and pulled it off, then sniffed the air. "Ouf, yeah, I can definitely smell that. Not terrible, but yikes, that's strong. Still, an atmosphere that's breathable makes this less likely to be a natural thing, right?"
Carla had gently flown toward the interior door of the airlock room, but turned to face me. "You're making a lot of assumptions, Adam. Still, it would be hard to justify having an internal atmosphere, especially one that is breathable, unless it was designed to have one. It puts the structure under an unnecessary pressure otherwise. But evolution can do weird things. I mean, look at how badly your body is designed!"
"Har de Har Har. Look, I'm just saying, this is a ship. I know it looks like a tree, but it's got to be a ship, right? There would be no airlock field keeping the air in, or air in the first place, if it was just evolved. And if it is a ship, where's the crew? If it was derelict, the air should be gone, or stale, but this 'goo' on the airlock is still outgassing, which means it has to be maintained and filtered out of the air somehow. But there's nobody responding to hails or even our boarding, other than the airlock here seeming to 'open' for me. It just doesn't make any sense!"
"No it doesn't." Carla gently floated away from the airlock. "But sitting here isn't going to make it make more sense. I'm running full scans continuously, both chemical and EM, so if anything changes I'll hopefully have some warning. So, let's look around and see if we can figure out what this place is, ok?"
"Yeah, I guess you're right. Let's just be careful, ok?" I looked around for the first time, really seeing the room I was in for the first time. The walls were a deep brown and appeared to be translucent, letting the light from my headlamp into the material a tiny bit before reflecting it back. There were a few segments along the wall on my right that looked like cupboard doors, but I couldn't see how to open them. on the left appears to be a flat pane of black glass, which could have been a display screen, but if it was it appeared to be turned off. Opposite the airlock 'goo' there was an archway that opened onto a hall that went off in separate directions. "Ok, so which way do you want to go? Right or left?"
Carla drifted through the archway as she turned to me to reply. She was interrupted by the walls lighting up. They still appeared to be the same brown they were before, but somehow they radiated a warm glow that quickly rose from complete darkness to bright enough to easily read by. The whole process took less than a second but felt strangely gentle, like someone turning up the lights slowly to avoid hurting their eyes. A moment later, the lights along the floor started to slowly pulse from one end of the hall to the other.
"Ooookay. That's not weird at all. I was going to say we should flip a coin, but the lights seem to be indicating we should go toward the leafy end of the ship. What do you think, Adam? Should we follow the lights, or explore where they're not sending us?"
Pausing to think for a second, I replied, "Well, if it's telling us to go one way, we should probably listen. If the ship is occupied, we have to provide aid, right? And if it's an automated response, there's likely a reason for it, too. On the other hand, if it's just random noise, or a failure of the system, we aren't any worse off if we follow the directions we think it's giving. The only way it's not a good idea to follow the light is if we think the ship is a trap, and if we think that we should leave right now. Am I missing anything?"
Carla laughed. "Nope! That's about the most extra you could be with explaining your reasoning. Are you perhaps covering for the fact that you're just as freaked out by this as I am?" She fluttered over to my shoulder again. "It's beyond strange. But we are here now, so let's follow the lights!"
I sighed and started down the hall, following the pulsing light show. "You're right, of course. I'm about as freaked out as I could be. Sorry, you know how I am. I talk when I'm stressed, and this, this is stressful." Looking around, I notice something. "Hey, these handles, they seem to be aligned as though the ship should have rotation, but it doesn't. What do you think?"
"I'm thinking you're right. Also, it's hard to notice but the hallway also spirals around the whole ship, meaning that if you were under acceleration you could still walk up it, although it'd be a bit of a climb. And see those ridges? I'm betting if the ship were under acceleration they would work as handrails." Carla fluttered her wings, covering the jets she was using to maneuver. "It's like this ship changes form to fit the use, rather than being built for one configuration."
"Or it's designed to work, no matter what the use. These handholds are really useful in zero G as well, after all. We might just have someone who likes to make everything work multiple ways. Either way, this ship is like nothing I've even heard of before. Honestly? I'm freaking out here. Let's just get to the end of this corridor and see what the lights are bringing us to, if anything, ok?"
Carla stopped and rotated around to look at me. "Adam, it's going to be ok. We sent a message to Ceres before coming on board. If anything happens, they will come to investigate. This ship, or whatever it is, is abandoned and not in use, so we have to check it out. But we know it IS abandoned, because nobody would leave the front door open like that without talking to us first. If they did, they would be risking someone being stupid and breaking the door, which would clear the air out. No spacer is that stupid. So they're not here. Right? That means that the only danger here is that the ship is damaged in some way, and that's why they abandoned ship. But if that's the case, why are the lights on and the air clear?"
I looked at Carla, then started moving again. "That's the thing that is freaking me out. If the ship is undamaged, and so obviously unmanned, where is everyone? Why did they leave? Everything we can come up with says they should still be here, but they're not. So what are we missing?" I waved around. "None of this looks dangerous. In fact, it looks downright comfortable. But something had to have made the people who built this leave, right? What could it be?"
"Well, that looks like the end of the hall, and if my tracker is right we are just about at the end of the main 'trunk' here. Maybe we can get some answers from here, if we are lucky?" Carla swooped through the doorway, and the room beyond lit up. "Whoa, ok, so THIS is a little more recognizable."
Inside the room, there was four spots that could only be described as workstations: there was a seat in front of what looked like a control surface, with a screen above it. The screens were large, almost 3 feet square, and the control surface looked like a strangely laid out keyboard, with buttons of various sizes, labelled with an unrecognizable script. There was a flat surface to the sides of the keyboard, and what looked almost like a cupholder with soft, padded sides. The whole thing appeared to be made of one piece of wood, with the grain of the wood easily seen to swirl around the keyboard area and the cupholder area... and when I looked closer, the padding on the inside of the cupholder was just the fibers of the wood pulled out to a fluffy material. Looking back to the seat, it was padded in a similar fashion, like the pads were grown directly out of the chair itself. "Carla, I'm seeing a computer desk. What do you think?"
Carla floated over to the area above the keyboard, then gently set down on the side panel. "You are right. It is a computer desk. And, while it seems to be mostly organic, I can detect some electromagnetic signals coming from the panel here. I think it's a low range wireless communication method, like the old Near-Field Communication protocol. It doesn't match the same packet type, but..." she paused, then "Bam! Woo, that took a lot more processing than I thought it would. I'm making a connection now, but it's taking a bit to figure out what all this data means." She looked up at me. "But one thing is for sure. This is a ship. I can see what looks like logs that have some kind of time stamp, and position markings. I can't read the timestamps or positions yet, but they seem to be laid out similarly to how we record our own logs."
I pulled myself down into the chair. "It's a ship that uses completely unknown timestamps and positioning methods. It's not a human ship. That's what you're saying, right? This is a First Contact situation?" I cringed internally; I hadn't read the First Contact protocols in a long time, but every spacer more or less knew them by heart, even as a joke. As complicated as they were, they basically boiled down to was 'don't hurt them, stay calm, don't hurt them, don't promise anything, and above all else, don't hurt them.' If they tried to eat me, I was supposed to kindly ask them not to and nothing else. I was not the right person for this job.
Carla turned to me. "I'm not saying that directly, but it looks like the most likely scenario. If it's not, they have gone to a LOT of trouble to create a whole new encoding method, which would be ridiculous for a Terran design team. Occam’s razor, this is an alien space ship. But on the other hand, it appears to be derelict. As far as I can tell, we are alone on this ship. I'm still running radar scans from the ship on here and I'm not seeing anything moving in the ship except us. And while the radar doesn't have the highest resolution, anything the size of a human would show up. So we are alone here right now."
"So what now? How long will it take you to figure out how to read those logs? Can you figure out how to pilot this ship?"
"Calm down, Adam. I got this. It'll take me a bit to really get into the system here, but because I'm actually in the drone you bought, I should be able to upload myself into the system once I can figure out the communication protocols. At that point, if this ship is automated at all, I should be able to figure out the propulsion and bring it back with us. Give me 30 minutes to work out the translation, and I'll radio you. You can go exploring, there's nothing moving on the ship, and I'll let you know the moment I get a reading that says otherwise, ok?" Carla switched off her new eagle hologram and projected her old self just above the keyboard. "We need more information, and you need to do something more than sitting there, stewing in your own head, overthinking everything. So, go out and take a look around. I'll radio you to return once I have something, and you can radio me if you get lonely. Sound good?"
I laughed. "As long as we aren't in a horror story, I guess. In those, the worst thing to do is split up! But yeah, as long as you're watching the radar, I don't think I need to worry... I'll radio you back in 30 min, ok?" With that, I floated up out of the chair and looked around again, counting the 3 doors. "I'm going to try... This one!" I said to Carla as I moved to a door opposite where we came in. "This probably takes me down the other side of the ship, right? I'll go down here and see what I can find."
Carla, standing in her original holo form next to the body of the drone, waved at me and said "Sounds good! I'll radio if I get anything more from this here." With that, she winked out the holo form and the drone settled down on the surface.
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First/Previous