Stories in Contact Procedures Series

Date point: 15y 4m AV Planet Akyawentuo, The Ten’Gewek Protectorate, Near 3Kpc Arm Chief Special Warfare Operator Daniel (Chimp) Hoeff The Ten’Gewek—well, the surviving forest race, anyway—preferred to live in small tribes of about a hundred or so, each about a half-day’s travel apart at a minimum, and each with very carefully-delimited and scrupulously respected hunting grounds between them. The details of all that were very complex and from what they had heard were a major part of what the Given-Men managed between each other. Usually it was peaceful, sometimes there was a good-natured tussle. If they failed to keep the peace there was the constant, lingering possibility of breathtaking violence, where Given-Men tore tribes apart both figuratively and literally. They were definitely a people who believed in good fences making good neighbors, even if they hadn’t bothered to invent the concept of fences yet. Or what a neighbor was, exactly. That was how things were most of the time. Ten’Gewek were territorial and any unexpected meeting between tribes could be tense, especially if one tribe might have poached prey off the hunting grounds of another, or if the tribes hadn’t recently traded daughters. Tribal diplomacy was complex and often involved symbolic, insanely physical “war” between the Given-Men, even if it all usually ended in friendship and shared fires. But not this time. It was spring on Akyawentuo and the Ten’Gewek were fizzing with energy. The Given-Men had returned to their tribes from their annual Lodge and apparently had decided on a huge Gathering, so damn near twenty thousand of ‘em had gathered over the last week—pretty much everyone left in the species. After some wary meetings they had all pitched their camps in a rugged patch of the woods about ten klicks square. By Ten’Gewek standards that was practically right on top of each other and it set them all on edge. In Hoeff’s mind that was probably ‘cuz of how the tribes usually had lots more space to hunt and gather. It was frankly stunning how much meat the Ten’Gewek needed to eat in order to sustain their physiques, and he wasn’t exactly ignorant to that reality; he was a military athlete himself and strong as shit for his size, but that meant he had always been a bit of a glutton, even moreso now that Julian and Walsh were double-teaming him with their Hanz and Franz routine.

Date point: 14y 9m 2w 1d AV Trail hiking, Lakebeds National Park, west of Foltcha, Cimbrean Hayley Tisdale Julian had been quite firm that he wouldn’t do a sweat lodge or anything like that. She understood, there was some controversy about cultural appropriation and all that nonsense, and Julian seemed like he’d rather not be stuck right in the middle of it. What he wanted was something…safe. Relaxing, perhaps. Something familiar. With a man like Julian, that could only be a camping trip. Hayley and Marc frequented a spot that was not very well known by others, and which afforded a certain degree of privacy that was important in a moment like this. He was nervous, and he was entirely unafraid to admit it. His partners were, if anything, moreso on his behalf. Allison was the only one of the three with any relevant experience at all, and that had come at a…difficult…time in her life. Xiù was entirely innocent of anything like what he was about to undergo. Both of them needed… Well, they needed some proper sympathy. Hayley gave in the best way she knew, with good tea and better hugs while the boys were discussing what Stuff needed to be taken with them. “Well, he’s a happy drunk and a playful soul otherwise. I always believed that something like this shows a person as they truly are. What kind of a man is Julian?” “A good man!” Allison was a little more defensive than was strictly helpful. “I know! It takes a good man to win and keep a woman’s heart. He’s managed two, both decent and wonderful women each. I don’t think he has anything to fear.” They looked at each other, then giggled softly. They were clearly in love with each other which made Hayley smile; it was a proper thing, the three had. “What will it be like for him?” “I can’t say for sure. It’s different for everyone. The most important thing is going to be his support, he’ll need us to be there. That’s the difference between a good and bad trip, I’ve found. Good trips are founded in love.” Allison really wasn’t into the ‘hippy nonsense’ and made a slightly unconvinced laugh. “I’ve seen one too many bad trips, Hayley. You sure your source is clean?” “It’s legally obtained and pure. We’re not fools Allison, and this isn’t the black market.”

Date point: 14y 9m 1d AV Planet Akyawentuo, The Ten’Gewek Protectorate, Near 3Kpc Arm Meeting of Given-Men Yan Given-Man “When will Jooyun return and take the Rite of Manhood?” Yan mopped some of the sweat from his crest and loosened up his crushing grip on his challengers. “Soon,” he said confidently. “Soon.” Fall was almost upon them and the signs were everywhere. The werne were growing restless and some had already begun migrating south for better feeding grounds. The days were shorter and the warmth from the sun had started to fade…it was time to finish preparing for winter. The year’s final Rites of Manhood were well underway and all the Given-Men had grown boys in their tribes to guide through the Hunt, the Singers were helping their girls cross over into Womanhood… But the Hunt was the most important thing. It was when the tribes drew the line between the good times of spring and summer, and the upcoming harshness of fall and winter. This winter would probably be easier since they had much food ‘canned,’ which all of the tribes had worked hard to make. Or, was it ‘jarred?’ Maybe ‘potted?’ That felt better since they mostly used their little clay pots—now ‘glazed’ which was a nicely buzzy word…[buzzword] maybe? Was that right? It sounded right. He’d have to ask Jooyun because ‘English’ words could twist in strange ways. ‘Potting’ food wasn’t potting because that meant a different way to save meat, which wasn’t ‘canning’ like Jooyun insisted they were doing, even though they were using pots… Strange Sky-Tribe magic. Useful, but strange. Nobody was quite ready to trust themselves to this ‘canned’ food because of that. Not yet. Let it prove itself over a few winters, like every man needed to prove themselves. None of that changed the other problems of winter, either. Boys needed to become men to face their first winter without the strength of their parents, and in any case, hunting was a much harder thing when the werne were migrating; the need for fresh meat wouldn’t go away even with all the smoking and ‘canning’ they’d done, so the tribes needed every strong and healthy hunter they could get. The nearby Given-Men had gathered as they regularly did, but this meeting was special. It was the last before fall began and was the time when the last plans were laid, and when boys

Date point: 14y 9m 1d AV Total Combat Fitness, southwest Folctha, Cimbrean Mid-morning Dr. Marc Tisdale Marc was, at heart, a gentle man. He had love for most everyone he met and refused to hold anger for anyone or anything unless they had truly, irrevocably earned it. That said, he was still a man and had all the competitive instincts any man should. He was a successful scholar with serious post-doc research under his belt. He was a competitive powerlifter flirting with a super-heavyweight classification, and had co-founded Folctha’s first dojo. He’d even seriously considered joining Cimbrean’s olympic teams in all those events, if he only had time left to commit to it. But no matter. He had Hope, he had Hayley, he had important work, and he had the kids and adults in the gym scene all looking to improve themselves. All of them were special. Some of them were brightly-shining stars, destined for great things if they truly desired it. And a couple were genuine heroes in a very real sense of the term. Like little Adam Arés, who didn’t remain little for long. At the ripe old age of fifteen he discovered the gym, became an iron rat pretty much on the first day, found Marc by the squat rack repping out ten plates on the bar and more or less idolized him right off the bat. Then, in what seemed like a blink of an eye, he grew. In less than a year the boy had turned sixteen and was matching Marc lift for lift despite being a head shorter and a solid twenty five kilos lighter. Within a month he was edging past, in another he was firmly ahead, and by the time he had any interest in the military, the boy was so far ahead of Marc both under the bar and on the scale it was legitimately intimidating. Then he went off to join the Air Force, which Marc tried not to judge…and came back a hero. Too much of one to really get. And it wasn’t like Marc had stopped or anything. Marc never stopped, never stopped thinking, never stopped lifting, never stopped helping out with the school plays and the volunteer litter-pickers and patrolling downtown on weekends with cheap raincoats and plastic slippers in a bag to help drunk people get home safe, and the Gaoian refugees… He was always working

Date point: 14y 8m 2w 2d AV The Dog House, Folctha, Cimbrean Late afternoon Julian Etsicitty Agony. If Adam had a singular talent that stood out, it would have to be his supernatural ability to give his training victims some very dramatic results by inflicting insane amounts of pain. Julian both dreaded and eagerly anticipated his sessions with the big slab of a fella, because every time he thought he knew what he could do and where his limits were, Adam showed him how wrong he was. And sometimes he did it by being a complete asshole, too. Like today, where the lifting was mostly giant sets in an order chosen specifically to make them as hard as possible and drain all his energy. Which was why at the very end of the day, after intervals, high-rep work, heavy work, combatives, wind sprints, more lifting…Julian found himself about to do heavy squats. And that wasn’t even his finishing lift. That was going to be yet another giant set of high-rep burnout squats that would most likely have him feeling sick to his stomach and fighting back tears of pain in his eyes. As part of a circuit with heavy calf raises. And lunges. The sadistic motherfucker. “You ready for that bar, bro?” Julian looked at it, and silently gulped. The bar was bending a little under the weight even with the rack supporting it close to the plates, which were themselves stacked on all the way to the bar’s ends. But still. If there was one thing Julian had learned through everything, it was that Adam never challenged him with something he wasn’t able to do. If Adam had decided on that much weight at the end of a day filled with torment, then Adam knew what he was doing. And if that was what they were about to do… Julian nodded. “Let’s do this.” Getting settled under the bar was telling. It didn’t budge at all. Julian took a few deep, practiced breaths, shook his head out, growled, settled himself in and straightened his back— Up. Pain. The bar was so fuckin’ heavy. Down. Almost too fast but Adam was there and wouldn’t let him fail. Up. Slooowwly. Legs kept bent at the top because at weights that high, an accident could tear his knees apart if they decided to bend the wrong way. Down again. More controlled. Up.

Date point: 14y 8m AV Residence of the Great Father of the Gao, Folctha, Cimbrean Sister Naydra The months on Cimbrean had been…therapeutic. She found herse lf greatly appreciating the Female presence on the Human’s first colony world, and everything it stood for: stability, acceptance. Survival. The Humans had done so much to support the growing Commune. And along with the Great Father and Mother-Supreme both backing its existence as an independent polity, her sudden involvement with the new Commune’s construction and all of that…somehow, the opportunity to be productive and useful did wonders for the soul. A strange concept really, one she’d learned from now-Champion Gyotin. It was even stranger then she first imagined once she realized that Gaori already had a word for the idea, even if it had fallen into disuse as archaic language. Why did they have the concept? Why didn’t they now? Gyotin constantly posed such questions to any who would listen, and it was having an impact. The implications of such ideas were a struggle for another day, however. Right then, her struggle was eating enough for the growing cub in her belly. That had been therapeutic too, and not just for her. If anything, the terrible wrong that had been inflicted on her had seemed to distress the Great Father more than herself. He made regular visits to check in on her and the other females who had been so grievously assaulted, listened to their stories and their pleas. He didn’t quite know what to do, didn’t know what to say or how to make it better, but he seemed determined to Help however he could, no matter what it might cost. And it was costing him, deep down where he tried and failed to hide it. They could all see it. She fell in love with him. He was, contrary to everything she had ever heard about him, an absolute gentleman about everything. He had at first insisted she find some young, innocently cute male, that he’d “sired his share”—a nigh heretical thought for a male, also a word she’d learned from Gyotin—that he didn’t want to take advantage of anything and all that…he tried to Protect her to the very end, perhaps afraid on some level that her infatuation was borne of trauma and little else. But that wasn’t what she needed. She needed to be loved like only a male

Date point: 14y 2m 3w 4d AV SOR barracks, HMS Sharman, Folctha, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches Meanwhile… Brother Faarek (Southpaw) of Clan Whitecrest–SOR “Are you sure you want to do this, Brother?” “Yes,” Thurrsto said with absolute conviction. “She’s the most beautiful Female I’ve ever seen and she’s hurting. I can’t bear doing nothing.” Faarek ignored the accidentally implied insult to his honor and instead focused on Thurrsto’s needs. “Father Regaari would be proud of you. You’ll do fine. Just be sure you know your heart, and remember: Females are fickle.” “I know, Brother. This is not my first proposal.” Faarek bit his tongue and duck-nodded along. “I understand, Brother. Did you get your package back from Ironclaw?” Thurrsto chittered and flowed over to his wall cabinet in the hallway next to the kitchen. “Got it in yesterday, said it’s balanced for someone of her stature.” Thurrsto retrieved a well-made box and handed it to Faarek. “What do you think?” Faarek peeked inside and admired the gift’s craftsmanship. “She should like this!” Thurrsto chittered happily, “Good! Now, I just need to find my nice stasis box…” He bustled off, singing an old Clan tune to himself, and shooed everyone out of the kitchen so he could make his dual masterpieces in peace. That was good. Faarek was glad to see him happily occupied and feeling more positive. Like everyone in Clan SOR he’d taken their sidelining in the War on Gao pretty harshly—more than the rest, actually—and he’d needed some distraction in his life for months now. Faarek just hoped it would go well for him. Thurrsto’s luck with Females had always been…tricky. And Myun was an intimidating beautiful goddess of a prize, being the only living daughter of the Great Father, the personal savior of the Mother-Supreme, and having battled and lived through more than all but the most capable males in martial Clans could manage. Faarek couldn’t imagine himself braving the whims of someone that impressive… And that, in its own way, made Thurrsto the bravest Whitecrest he knew. Faarek chittered to himself, and pitched in with the cooking. Date point: 14y 2m 3w 5d AV Office of the Mother of the Guard, the Clan of Females, Folctha, Cimbrean Mother Myun of the Clan of Females Myun sat at her desk doing paperwork, a half-hour before lunch and, like every day lately, about ready to bounce off the

Date point: 14y 2m 1w AV Planet Akyawentuo, The Ten’Gewek Protectorate, Near 3Kpc Arm Singer “So, if we salt the roots in boiling water with some herbs, and use a very tight…what was the word?” [“Jar,”] Julian said encouragingly. “—And then we boil the whole jar with the lid on loose, so the bad spirits can get out but not back in…” “That is a good way to think about it, yes. If the seal is very tight, then the, uh, ‘bad spirits’ will run away from the salt and the heat, and then they can’t come back in and spoil the food.” Singer stood in front of Julian and Xiù, who had some of his marvelous little warm-ice-pots he called jars. Some of the other Singers from nearby tribes were watching as well. “It’s important that you never break the seal once it’s on, Singer.” Xiù chimed in. “Not until you want to eat it. Because very bad spirits can creep in and make you sick if you ate the food.” “How long will this ‘jarred’ food last?” [“…Canned.”] Julian chipped in again, with a slightly embarrassed look. “But those are jars.” “Yeah. A Sky-Thinker found a way to do the same thing with metal cans instead. So now it’s called canning even though you can use any kind of pot that’s tight and can be boiled.” Sometimes, English words had a strange story behind them. It was always a bit amazing that they could have so many words, each with a story behind them. But that was probably because the Sky-Tribes had been telling stories to each other for a very, very long time. “Can we use our pots?” Xiù looked to Julian, who considered the problem. “You can but it’s important the pots be made very well. You’ll need to seal them with, uh, hardened ketta sap or stinger-wax maybe? Or you need melted fat to pour on top of the food as it cools. And the pots will need to be [glazed] too. That’s not very hard to do. You just need a ‘kiln’ which is a kind of furnace. Which…if you have that, you can also make glass, really.” ‘Glass’ was one of those English words that they’d adopted as their own. The tricky sound at the beginning wasn’t as hard to make as it could be in other words, and it was nice and

Date point: 14y 1m 2w AV “Clan Young Glory,” western unincorporated territories, Gao Sister Naydra Naydra and her fellow Sisters were slowly dying. The “Clan” that had “liberated” them from the clutches of what they now knew were biodrones had decided their honored guests needed “protection.” Their so-called protection consisted of imprisonment. Their “protection fees” came in the form of…companionship. That cruel euphemism meant they were forced to spend time in the company of the “Brothers,” whether any of the sisters wanted it or not. Some of the Sisters had resisted. They didn’t last long. Though the pretense of their situation meant their captors kept up the veneer of civilization…on the first night, faintly, their missing Sister’s howls of terror and pain could be heard. Naydra played along. Most of the brownies in this bastard Clan were large, stupid and aggressive, and she didn’t fancy her chances if any of them ever grew truly angry with her. They were violent too, much more than the love-fights Naydra had grown up reading about and then experiencing as a mother of cubs. No. This was something much darker. It hurt. Not just her body, and not just her feelings. It hurt her very being. That was particularly true with the supposed Grandfather of this gang of thugs. Koruum was a very large brownie, the biggest Naydra had ever seen. He was one who had worked in the fields all his life and had the gnarled, muscular build of a hard laborer to prove it. He was their leader through no cunning stratagem or personal charisma, oh no. He was their leader because he was the biggest, meanest and stupidest one of them all. And he was obsessed with Naydra. Day by day, his violent attraction was slowly killing her. Every day he would demand her company and every day there would be some brief pretense at a civilized relationship before he used his brute strength to take what he wanted. No Female had ever deigned to mate with him and it was easy to see why: he was stupid, crude, and cruel. He was Clanless and without legacy in the truest senses of the words, and was one of the few males Naydra had ever met that was truly beneath the privilege of fatherhood. The first week of her endless terror was surreal in its self-contradiction. Koruum had made a protracted attempt

Date point: 14y 7d AV Planet Akyawentuo, The Ten’Gewek Protectorate, Near 3Kpc Arm Later that day Julian Etsicitty It was approaching mid-day and the day’s morning work had been taken care of. The scouts had come back and reported that the nearby werne had just calved and would need to be left alone for a time, which was an expected albeit slightly annoying development. Once they had calved, the men would need to drive them off so that a healthier, more mature herd would take their place and keep their tribe’s private hunting grounds properly sustainable. In the meantime they would need to rely on two shared hunting grounds with five nearby tribes. That needed a bit of diplomacy, since the other tribes had similar problems—it was mid-summer and their own herds would be suffering depletion as well. They in turn would need to rely on other shared hunting grounds, some shared with Yan’s tribe and some shared with others… It was a big, confusing patchwork of alliances, built on friendship, traded daughters, and occasionally adopted sons when the men of a tribe had begun to age. It was no wonder the Given-Men were generally patient people with a white-hot anger lurking underneath. …And that was also probably why they were so goddamned strong, too. The life of a Given-Man seemed to be one of endless travel between tribes, and that meant they always had to feed themselves, by themselves. On a world like Akyawentuo, only the Given-Men truly had the strength, toughness, and innate aggression to live alone in the wild and thrive. And lately so did Julian. Admittedly he relied much more on his tools, his wits and his unique experience than the Ten’Gewek could, but even that wasn’t enough to get him all the way there. He’d had to grow hugely strong to hunt alone in the Akyawentuo bush. That said something important about the world: it was demanding. By Julian’s reckoning it deserved its initial rating of a very high-end class twelve, not that the rating really meant anything—it was a bureaucratic, inflexible and relentlessly stupid way to try and measure the unmeasurable. But still, Akyawentuo was impressive and frankly there just weren’t many species out there that could physically survive it alone. The Ten’Gewek could obviously, along with fit humans and a handful of well-bred elite Gaoians. For anyone else, Akyawentuo was truly a Deathworld.

You may also want to read Pyrophytes in The Deathworlders series. Same story, different angles. Date point: 14y 7d AV Planet Akyawentuo, The Ten’Gewek Protectorate, Near 3Kpc Arm Professor Daniel Hurt “You want me to read it by next week?” Julian mopped the sweat from his face and bounced loosely in place. “What was it called again?” The big man had just finished his morning workout with Walsh and the boys, and still had the healthy and slightly euphoric glow of hard work about him. Daniel had found that was the best time to drag Julian into serious conversation. The trick was to grab him right before he had a chance to dip into the river and clean up, just before the day’s activities made him too busy for talk until late evening. Once he got going he would stay going until his second daily workout, right as the sun was going down. And once he was finished with that, the only thing on Julian’s mind was food, his bed…and his women. It wasn’t that Daniel was disrespected by anyone, Julian or otherwise, but he was under no delusion where he stood in the pecking order against a vigorous young man and his equally impressive ladies. Which was why Daniel resorted to strategic treachery and ambushed Julian while he was still happily dazed and eager to please. “Intuition Pumps and Other Tools For Thinking, by Dan Dennett,” he said. “And I want you to write a fifteen-hundred word essay about it once you’ve finished.” “…An essay?” Some of the blissed-out happiness drained from Julian’s face. “Yes.” Daniel couldn’t help but grin a little. “No pressure, no assigned topic. Just…write about it.” The look on Julian’s mug was absolutely unmistakable—schoolboys since time immemorial had pulled just such a face when they learned they might be required to sit still, digest some words, and think about them. Julian was definitely the type who preferred to think on his feet. “Oh, man up,” Daniel chided him fondly. “It’s not that many words. Some people write twice that many a day for fun…and in any case this is trivial next to the training you needed for Misfit.” “No no, I get that.” “Then why complain? You get to read an excellent book and call it work. And remind me, how much is your salary?” “Nah, it’s not that. Why am I writing essays?” Julian