Date Point: 4y 9m 2w 6d AV
Hierarchy Communications Relay
Session 18262577319
++0018++: This is an unmitigated disaster.
++0004++: I fail to see how. The operation was a failure, yes, but there was no repeat of Six’s capture.
++0018++: Eighty-Four killed a human child.
++0084++: And? The child would have died anyway had the operation succeeded. You can’t possibly be suggesting that the humans would be motivated more by the isolated death of a single juvenile female than they would have been by the destruction of the entire colony.
++0018++: I am suggesting precisely that.
++0084++: That is the most abjectly irrational thing I have ever heard.
++0018++: Then you are not considering how evolution on a deathworld must affect a species’ decision-making process. Consider: you live in a world in which you are surrounded by mortal threats. Which do you prioritise?
++0084++: The most dangerous one, obviously.
++0018++: On a Class Twelve? When your available tools are sticks and sharpened rocks?
++0007++: You prioritise the ones you can actually do something about.
++0018++: Precisely.
++0084++: I don’t follow.
++0007++: Consider: Anything capable of killing hundreds or thousands of individuals at once is not something that can realistically be defeated with spears and thrown stones. Erupting volcanoes, virulent plagues…the humans have a word, “Tsunami”.
++0084++: “Harbor wave?”
++0007++: The term refers to several million tonnes of water travelling at two hundred meters per second.
++System log: no activity for [30 seconds]++
++0004++: This is a…common phenomenon?
++0007++: They have killed an average of seven thousand human civilians every year over the last 40 years. This in an era of early-warning systems and the resources available to an Information-Age civilization. Do you see the logic? How are creatures barely more intelligent than an animal supposed to deal with a threat like that using primitive tools?
++0018++: They aren’t. And impotently worrying about such events would lead to neuroses and paralysis. But a smaller threat—one that picks off individuals, directly threatening you, or your genetic heritage in the form of your children…One that you can gather your spear and fight…
++0007++: Precisely.
++System Notif>cat?on: User ???? h■s j!!ined the <error: undefined exception>++
++0025++: Again?
++0004++: Seven, I thought you said you fixed this.
++0007++: No, I said I’m fixing it. The software is a tenth of a galactic rotation old, identifying exactly why it should start to misbehave now is my priority for now. Once I know that, patching the issue should be trivial.
++0025++: How long will that take?
++0007++: How many terms are there in an equation? It takes as long as it takes.
++0004++: Prioritise it. Eighty-Four, you are reassigned to the question of what the Discarded are up to. See if you can get in touch with Twenty.
++0084++: Yes, Four.
++0004++: Terminating session
++System Notif■■■■■■■ <Error>
<Error>
<Redirecting: Subnet Mask ????????? Port ?????>
++System Notification: Welcome to the Cabal.++
++????++: I think Eighteen is starting to get it.
++????++: Shall we bring him in?
++????++: Vote.
++System Notification: Vote now.++
<…>
++System Notification: All votes have been cast. The Ayes have it.++
++????++: Good. Make it happen.
++????++: And Four?
++????++: Don’t worry about Four.
++????++: Six will handle her.
++System Notification: Session Terminated.++
Date Point: 4y 9m 3w AV
Folctha Colony, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Gabriel Arés
Doctor Mark Tisdale was a large man, known to regularly deadlift nearly six hundred pounds.
Gabriel Arés, by contrast, had always been a small man who couldn’t have matched that even at his peak. Hampered as he was nowadays by lingering femoral nerve dysfunction as a result of being shot in the lower back, the physical disparity between them was huge. Tisdale’s deadlift was nearly triple Arés’ bodyweight.
Fortunately for him Tisdale was, to the core of his soul, a totally nonviolent man. But everybody had their limits, and in one sentence, Arés had transformed himself from a sympathetic authority figure doing his best for the sobbing wreckage of a grieving father, into the focus of that grieving father’s disbelief and anger.
“No charges?”
Tisdale stood and leaned forward onto the desk, which creaked. The sentence seemed to wind up around his dropped jaw, taking seconds to finally force its way out, weakly, as he pointed out the door. “My…” he panted “my little girl is dead!” his voice broke on the word. “And you’re saying no fucking charges?!“
“He’s being shipped back to Earth for questioning. If they decide to charge him there…”
“Fuck you Arés! I don’t want to hear you passing the buck! I want my daughter back!”
All of that impressive strength failed, and he sagged down, weeping freely all over Gabriel’s desk. “Or just…just hold her, just…just…Anything! God…”
He looked up and speared Gabriel with a gaze that was more a tear-soaked desperate plea for understanding than it was actually angry. “Why, damn you?”
There was a professional line that could not be crossed, but not crossing it broke Gabriel’s heart right down the middle. Every fear that had erupted in him on the two occasions now where Adam had been in harm’s way were realised in Tisdale’s shaking shoulders, but he could not give in. It was all the Folctha Colonial Police Authority could do to stop the mass of colonists outside from turning into a lynch mob and storming into their flimsy jail to drag the man inside it to his death.
The part of his soul where Adam lived wanted to let them. But he knew what they didn’t—that the poor bastard in the cells was completely innocent.
The dilemma before him was how to let Mark Tisdale know that without actually telling him. If Sara’s death proved anything, it was that the Hierarchy was as active among Humanity and as dangerous as ever. If they would shoot a teenager in cold blood to accomplish their objectives, then any edge, no matter how tiny, had to be carefully shepherded, and that included the certain knowledge of the Hierarchy’s existence.
Which meant that he would have to hate himself for the rest of his days for doing this.
“Doctor Tisdale.” he said, feeling his face adopt that cold, blank expression that it had to when he would allow no emotion to reach it. There was nothing he could do about the threat of his own barely-restrained tears, and try as he might he just could not look the man in the eye. “Your…Sara’s…the accused is…”
He gave up, and started over. “You need to know. I understand. Really, I do, Mark, I’m a dad myself.” He finally found the strength to look Tisdale in the eye while he said the next. “So I know what I’m asking of you by this, but I need you to swear to me that you can take this secret to your grave.”
“Secret?”
“I can’t and won’t even drop a hint without that solemn promise, Doctor. That’s how deadly serious this is.”
It was a gamble. If Tisdale wanted to he could walk out of the office, incite the mob, and Gabriel would be in serious danger of swinging alongside the poor puppet in the lockup. Assuming they weren’t just kicked to a pulp in the street.
Fortunately, Tisdale was a peaceful man who was naturally inclined to look for the best in everyone. Gabriel was relying on that.
Still. Tisdale thought long and hard about it, and his reply when it came was quiet and defeated. “I have to know, Arés.” He said. “If promising something like that will get you to tell me…”
It was good enough.
“Sara’s death is…related to other recent incidents. Recent serious events, in which a great many people have died.” he said, glancing up at the Chargers scarf pinned to the wall above his desk to ram the point home. “And to the recall of cybernetic implants issued last month.”
”…That’s it? That’s all you’re giving me is a fucking hint?“
“Doctor.” Arés said. “I know. But I am talking about an ongoing investigation here that, if it’s not handled properly, could mean that Sara will be only one of the first victims. There are lives at stake here, a great many of them.”
“This is the worst thing I have ever done to a man.” he added. “And…God willing some day I’ll be able to tell you the whole truth and you’ll understand why. But if that day’s ever going to come, then this secret needs to stay kept, and a hint is all I can give you. I give it in the hope that an educated man like yourself will be able to decipher it.”
Tisdale was an intelligent man. He may have been a hopelessly idealistic ultra-liberal with the appearance of a death-metal viking warrior, but he was also a scientist with well-honed powers of deduction. It didn’t take him long to mull over the hint.
“you’re saying there’s…okay, so, the implants connect to the brain so…God, are you talking about some kind of mind control conspiracy?”
“I can’t say.”
“Is that why you’re just going to shuffle this guy off to Earth rather than charge him? Because you think he’s under alien mind control?”
“I can’t say.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
Gabriel choked on his next I can’t say, and instead picked his words with great care.
“Five years ago, if somebody had claimed they’d been abducted by little grey aliens, I’d have thought they were crazy.” he said. “Since then I’ve met those little grey aliens myself.” He cleared his throat. “I really can’t say any more than I have, but I promise you—nothing I’ve said to you has been misleading.”
Tisdale finally found the strength to stand up, and he advanced around the desk. “Alien mind control.” He growled. “Alien fucking mind control. THAT’S what you’ve got for me?”
Gabriel stood his ground, and managed to keep himself from shaking, but it was an effort, especially when Tisdale’s fist left a dent in the wall by his head.
“Give me one good reason why I should believe you, Arés. Go on.” he said. his voice was unnervingly level.
Gabriel could think of several. But the answer was out of him without conscious thought.
“Adam.” He said, simply.
Tisdale blinked at him, then retreated a little.Then there was a blur of motion, and Gabriel was crushed against the huge man’s chest in a bear hug, which moments later turned into him trying to support Tisdale’s weight as the big scientist broke down crying again.
He just hoped that meant that he’d won Tisdale’s support.
Date Point: 4y 9m 1w 3d AV
HMS Caledonia, Cimbrean Space, The Far Reaches
Captain Rajesh Bathini
“Signal from HMS Myrmidon sir. Captain Manning welcomes us back to Cimbrean space and asks to come alongside so he can come aboard.”
“Respond that we did and grant permission. Have the galley prepare a meal for the officer’s mess, all senior staff who are able, to attend. And…yes, invite some of our Gaoian guests as well.”
“Sir.”
“That blight’s got bigger.” one of the officers said. “Look, it’s nearly at Folctha now.”
“I’m sure Captain Manning will have a full update for us in due time. Heave to in a stable orbit and throw out our WiTChES.”
“Aye Aye.”
Date Point: 4y 9m 1w 3d AV
HMS Caledonia, Cimbrean Space, The Far Reaches
Gyotin
If there was one thing that Gyotin really liked about humans, it was their approach to food. The meal served to them was a succulent white meat in a kind of piquant red fruit sauce, served alongside crisp orange root vegetables that sent a delightful crunch through his head as he bit them, and delicately scented powdery tubers that glistened with some kind of spiced oil. It was all delicious, and making a show of appreciating the food gave him the excuse he needed to watch the Deathworlders.
Bathini seemed to be in a more relaxed mood than at any time he had been over Gorai. He was making inconsequential conversation, enjoying his meal, and recounting a humorous interlude from when he had been a Midshipman on shore leave for the first time in some place called New Zealand.
The concept of paying to mate with a female was a very alien and shocking one to all three of the Gaoian males there present. Bathini had not, apparently, ever done so himself, but had been called in to discreetly extract a colleague from a compromising position at an establishment providing exactly that service. The story was crammed with innuendo but seemed to be going down very well among the Deathworlders, even the female officers, and Gyotin had to admit, himself. Bathini was an engaging storyteller with an excellent sense for comedy that seemed to transcend species barrier, and when it came to the part of having to deliver the crewman to the ship’s doctor past a suspicious Lieutenant, even the Gaoians were chittering along with the human laughter.
The story finished, the laughter cleared up, and there was a general looking around and then, as if prompted, one of the humans—an Ensign, if Gyotin had learned to read their rank insignia correctly, stood and raised her glass. All of the others picked theirs up.
“To the King, Great Britain, and Earth.” she announced.
The humans murmured what sounded like agreement and sipped their drinks.
“And to our spouses and lovers.” the Ensign added.
“May they never meet.” somebody quipped, prompting general smiles as the drinks were sipped again. This seemed to complete the ritual, and the whole affair relaxed considerably.
“So, what news?” Bathini asked of Manning, who looked suddenly more grim.
“There’s been a murder in the colony.” he said. “One of the children.”
Shock and dismay rippled around the room, though the few officers from Myrmidon seemed to already know the news and just nodded. “There’s only a handful of kids down there!” McDaniel protested.
Manning nodded, solemnly. “It’s been a huge blow to morale.” he said. “When they shipped the guy back to Earth rather than charge him here, a few of the original colonists quit and went home in protest.”
“Who was it?” Bathini asked.
“Sara Tisdale. Fourteen years old.”
“Just a girl…” somebody muttered, emotionally.
“God. I never would have expected it here…” Bathini said. “Do we know the motive?”
“I couldn’t tell you.” Manning said. Some unspoken communication seemed to pass between the two men and not for the first time Gyotin wondered if humans weren’t a little bit telepathic. Such a thing was supposed to be impossible but then again, so were sapient Deathworlders.
“The cleanup project attracted the help of a billionaire from Earth, one Moses Byron.” Manning continued. “He’s brought in a lot of his own contractors, invested a lot of his own money. It was one of those contractors who…” he tailed off.
“So not one of the first wave, then.”
“No.”
Bathini sighed. “I suppose we were going to bring our shit with us to the stars sooner or later.” he mused, unhappily.
Manning glanced out of window. Parked as they were in geosynchronous orbit above Folctha, the creeping brown stain across the continent was clearly visible, and there was definitely a tendril of sickly yellow-green in the waters south of one of the major river estuaries.
“In more ways than one.” he said.
Gyotin was surprised to find himself chiming in. “You can’t blame yourselves for that.” he said.
This attracted the surprised attention of every human at the table, which was enough to flatten his ears in discomfort for a second. “You aren’t responsible for the way the universe made you.” he said, pressing forward. “That-” he pointed at the planet “-is not your fault.”
Manning nodded. “I suppose naivety and inexperience aren’t crimes. But they can get people killed. We need to start being more cautious.” he said.
“How much more cautious can we be?” Bathini asked. “We fill our ships with biofilter fields we didn’t design, use an alien-made medicine that we barely understand to try and regulate our diseases, and it all seems to work but the fact is that none of the things keeping the rest of the galaxy safe from us are of our own making.”
“Well, what’s the alternative? Wrap ourselves up in airtight suits with breathing masks?” McDaniel asked.
“The alternative is that you kill all of us.” Tagral said, putting it so bluntly that the humans blinked, flinched, glanced at each other, or shifted in their seats and made some kind of coarse noise in the back of their throats.
“Tagral…”
“No, Gyotin, they need to understand this.” Tagral pressed. He stood up and pointed out at the planet again. “Gyotin’s right, that is not your fault. It’s a lesson, and the galaxy is going to be holding your species to account for how well you learn it.” He sat down again. “If you aren’t willing to take every necessary measure to limit the harm you cause, up to and including sealing yourself up in containment suits and using medicines and technology you don’t understand, then you have no business leaving your homeworld.”
Manning gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “Hear, hear.” he said.
Date Point: 4y 9m 1w 3d AV
UmOraEw-Uatun, Planet Aru, Elder Space
Knadna
“I have to admit…it is a very good disguise. If I didn’t have detailed metrics on her calorie intake and the environmental settings in her quarters, it might even fool me.”
Knadna had to agree. “I learned first-hand not to underestimate humans, Lesry. But you’re right. Her cover story is so well-researched, and she has so many of those little Gaoian mannerisms down that you’d think she spent years living among those bleeding-heart furballs.”
Lesry inclined his head curiously. “First-hand, you say? You’ve had an encounter with Deathworlders before?”
She gave him a thin smile. “Surely you must have speculated on my reasons for moving from Zoology to Archaeology.” she said.
“It occurred to me to wonder about that, yes.” Lesry admitted. “But I prefer not to speculate ahead of my evidence, and so had made no assumptions. Did you have a bad experience with an escaping Deathworlder?”
“Well, I’m still alive so I’d say the experience was relatively pleasant.” She retorted. “Specimen Four seemed to be genuinely delighted to have been collected, for some reason. He described himself as ‘nerding out’, whatever that means. Very docile, very compliant. He seemed almost eager to receive detailed and uncomfortable-sounding investigations of his lower gastrointestinal tract.”
She paused and thought about it. Four really had been strangely obsessed with the idea of having a probe of some description inserted into his anus. “I suspect he was mentally stunted.” she added.
“I can see why you would switch fields.” Lesry agreed.
Chilly as their exchange sounded, compared to the usual antagonistic dynamic between two Corti of equal rank working on the same project—Knadna as its lead researcher, Lesry having provided the ship, funds and hired help—their conversation was positively warm, bordering on the flirtatious. Knadna was beginning to find that she quite liked Lesry, and she suspected that the liking was reciprocated.
“So why are we keeping our “Gaoian” chef’s secret?” she asked. “Surely she would be much better used doing the heavy lifting?”
“Have you tasted what she cooks?” Lesry asked. He delved into a hip satchel and produced a little foil parcel, which, when opened, turned out to contain a number of shrivelled, wrinkly, translucent dark pink lumps.
Knadna accepted one and popped it into her mouth. “It’s…familiar. But I can’t place it.”
“MuAku grape.” Lesry said. Knadna expressed surprise—the fruit, an Aru native perennial, was unpalatably tart when freshly picked, and disintegrated into emetic watery mush very swiftly. The sweet spot in the middle where the grape’s disintegrating chemical structure was deliciously piquant without puckering the mouth lasted barely a few hours. “She takes the freshly-picked grape and heats it in an oven for some time at a low temperature, drying it out and preserving it—as you can no doubt taste—at the pinnacle of its palatability. The discovery of this technique alone might be the most valuable thing we find on this expedition. It would turn MuAku into a viable export crop.”
That was another reason to like Lesry. His imagination wasn’t sadly limited to his field like so many Corti’s were. He saw the opportunities.
He was right, too. Prestigious and highly-paid though this expedition to the OmoAru homeworld was, neither Knadna nor Lesry foresaw discovering anything which might finally shine light into the mystery of elder species decline. The Corti, as the oldest extant civilization, were doomed to begin their own decline at some point in the next few thousand years, and the Directorate was keen to learn what, if anything, could be done to avert, or at least delay, that fall.
So far no such expedition had yielded anything useful, and both of them were too experienced and comparatively modest to truly believe that theirs would be the one to stumble upon the great secret. Anything at all which would earn them some money and prestige was therefore welcome.
“Ah, yes.” She agreed. “I can see now that she would be quite wasted on manual labor, especially when we have the hover-palettes and drones to do all the heavy lifting.”
“Quite so.” Lesry agreed. “And after all, the other laborers need their exercise.”
Knadna was beginning to entertain the idea of exchanging DNA with him. “As you say.” she agreed.
They left the “Gaoian” cook to her work and strolled away from the camp around their ship, towards the city proper.
The planet Aru was a class nine, baked by the UV-rich output of its star, which it orbited closely. The land was largely arid, shading to temperate only very close to the polar oceans, which never cooled enough for ice caps to form.
That same heat lashed the planet’s wide oceans, giving Aru a regular hydrological cycle. The effect was endless desert, punctuated here and there with rich, sluggish emerald rivers and vast freshwater seas absolutely choked with life, and it was on these waterways that the OmoAru themselves had, naturally, built their cities during their ancient prehistoric expansion from their evolutionary habitat at the south pole.
Hence the city of UmOraEw-Uatun. Built around a huge oxbow lake where the great three kilometer wide river Uatun had once described a loop with a radius of several miles, it was a city of glass and white stone buildings that made alien eyes ache unless they wore protection. Here and there across the river, great bridges, engineering masterworks that looked far too delicate to even hold up their own weight, and yet were wide, flat and strong enough for a starship to land on—as indeed Lesry’s “History Paradox” had done.
It was a slightly odd ship, but Knadna quite liked it. Lesry had clearly put some thought into the design, reasoning that any archaeological dig effectively boiled down to heavy lifting and meticulous filing, and that the easier the former job was made, the more likely the latter job was to be done properly by the hired labor.
The Paradox was therefore built around a cylindrical hold, divided neatly into six storage segments around the central column which housed the largest of the ship’s five kinetic thrusters. The other four were mounted on outriggers, well above the head height of even the tallest species where they sprouted out of the rest of the ship—the sleeping quarters, galley, recreational room, nanofactory, the hydroponics ring which ran completely around the circumference of the ship, and the bridge blister mounted on top.
Landed, each outrigger deployed an elevator to ground level, and the six cargo bay doors opened outwards like a flower, meaning that the ship was theoretically stable enough to endure deployment to some of the more atmospherically violent deathworlds. Simple enough, but some of the engineering solutions involved in making the configuration both spaceworthy and serviceable by some of the stupider species who would be crewing it, had been strokes of genius on Lesry’s part.
There was an OmoAru at the dig site, watching the laborers strip neglected furniture, abandoned electronics and discarded art pieces out of an apartment building. It—while OmoAru had sexes, there was effectively nothing in the way of gender dimorphism for Knadna to be able to commit to a “he” or “she”—didn’t seem to be more than passively curious about the ransacking of its ancient city. It wasn’t that they didn’t understand—the ones Knadna had tried to converse with had turned out to be perfectly eloquent and intelligent beings who knew full well why the expedition had come—they just didn’t seem to care. Events simply unfolded around them, and while they watched and understood and could even be drawn into discussion about it, they just shrugged off any possibility of their getting involved. You could literally have stripped the bond-pairing jewelry from their ears and they would have neither protested nor helped.
The two Corti ignored it. The OmoAru themselves never had anything useful to say.
All of the junk being stripped out was just being taken so as to turn a profit on the mission of course. all of those things would find their way into the hands of private collectors and wealthy fashion hounds, none of it was relevant to Knadna’s research. That was where the books came in.
It was a near universal constant—a trend bucked only be the Allebenellin—that every species invented the book, which never again fell entirely out of fashion. Of course, come the information revolution any given civilization might find that more and more of its literature was being read in a digital format on whatever portable electronics they may invent, but the book never went away. It became a status symbol, a declaration of passion. Books were the physical embodiment of an interest in the archiving of knowledge and fiction, and there wasn’t a sapient race in the history of the galaxy, that Knadna knew of, that didn’t have a hard core of bibliophiles.
It was for this reason that there even were books in the building, and every single one had—with meticulous care—been entrusted to the most expensive, precise and sturdy cargo drone they had.
“Things are going well, it seems.” Lesry commented, looking sidelong at her, allowing a subtle hint of amusement to show. Knadna stopped rubbing her hands together and returned them to a more professional posture at her side.
“Yes. Quite well.” She agreed. She grabbed one of the newest books from the top and glanced at a page, taking in every feature of that page instantly. Her translation implant did the rest, decoding the OmoAru written language and converting it into useful concepts, remaining as faithful as possible to the linguistic subtleties it found.
“Cookbook.” she grunted, dismissively, and put the book back. “Thirty meals to help you keep a nice fat tail.”
“Look at this one.” Lesry said. “The top fifty holiday destinations in North UluUaba Province.” He turned a page. “Hmm. Actually this mineral mud spa sounds rather good.”
“An autobiography.” Knadna said, identifying her next one. “Contemporary with the start of the Decline, too. Potentially useful.”
Lesry was about to reach out for the next book when he paused, tilting his head slightly as if listening to something only he could hear.
“Ah. I think I shall have to leave you to catalogue these on your own.” he said. “You would think that simple instructions such as a cataloging system would be easier to follow for species capable of inventing space travel, wouldn’t you?”
“Hmm?” Knadna looked up from the book. “Oh. Yes. I’ll be quite happy here, thank you.”
She pretended not to notice the admiring way that Lesry looked at her before he left. Today was shaping up to be a good day.
Date Point: 4y 9m 1w 3d AV
Starship Sanctuary, Deep Space
Julian Etsicitty
“Ice cream? God, I don’t remember, I went without it for so long…I guess…Chocolate Fudge Brownie. Okay, uh….hmm….What was the first band you saw live?”
“Oh. Uh…I’ve never been to a live show.”
“What, never?”
“Nope. Maybe I should? Uh…Okay, did you have a pet growing up? I had a hamster called Mr. Mopes.”
Julian smiled. “Oh yeah. Sidhe. He was this huge black dog. Like, part labrador, part Dobermann, part…I don’t know, part tank. Mr Mopes?”
“Hamsters sleep a lot, right? But I was six, I thought he was just sulking, but he sulked all the time, so…yeah. Mr. Mopes.”
“That’s adorable.”
Allison gave him a little playful punch, as she had done every time so far he used a word like “cute” “sweet” or “adorable” to describe her, and he was about to ask his next question when they were interrupted by an exclamation of “fuck’s sake, dude!”.
Lewis and Amir had taken over the common room couch to play a game of some kind. Superman and Green Arrow were beating the crap out of each other on the screen, with the surprising result that Green Arrow seemed to be winning, much to Amir’s dismay. That hadn’t been the cause of the outburst, though. The cause of the outburst had been Zane, wandering right across the screen and interrupting Lewis’ line of sight long enough for Amir to activate his special move and punch Green Arrow into orbit.
Zane just made an unconvincing noise that sounded like in somebody who cared it might have been an apology, and vanished in the direction of the galley.
“Fuuuck. That guy’s really starting to bug me.” Lewis complained.
“I hear ya.” Julian said. “Guy hasn’t said five words to me since he came aboard.”
“You’re not missing much.” Amir told them. “Every time he talks to me he’s checking up on whether our ETA has miraculously changed. It’s the only thing he’ll talk about, is finding this Shyoo person.”
“Xiù” Allison corrected him. “And yeah, that worries me. You said they only spent, like, a week on the same station, Lewis?”
“Eight days, total.” Lewis said, selecting Wonder Woman for their rematch. “She was there, he arrived, she left, he’s all like Xiu this Xiu that. Dude’s obsessed. “
“That sounds like…trouble.” Allison said.
“Yeah, but what’re we gonna do? Let the trail go cold?” Julian asked. “We owe it to her to find her and bring her home, if that means we have to deal with whatever happened between her and Zane…”
Allison fidgeted with her hands a bit. “I guess…”
He lowered his voice to speak privately with her as the guys started their rematch. “What?”
“Just…There are some kinds of trouble that guys will never get into, Julian. They only ever cause it.”
He frowned. “You think…?”
“I pray to God not.” she interrupted. “Can we drop it? It’s a subject I don’t like talking about.”
He hesitated, then gave her a little squeeze, watching the game. “Favourite superhero?”
”…Iron Man, I guess. I dunno, I never really got into comic books, but I liked the movies…Hey you didn’t tell me yours…”
Date Point: 4y 9m 1w 3d AV
Folctha Colony, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Adam Arés
“You were her best friends. I think she’d want you to be involved.”
“I…know. and it means a lot to me that you’re asking but…y’know, I’m Catholic.” Ava said at last.
“I’m sure your God would understand, Ava.”
“I guess. But…this is Sara, she taught me so much. I can’t lie at her funeral. I can’t say words I don’t believe. I’m sorry.”
Hayley Tisdale paused, then she nodded sadly and wiped away a tear. “You’re right. She wouldn’t want that.” she agreed. “Adam?”
He sighed. “I…look, I don’t know. I’m not sure I believe in anything any more.” he said at last. “So, I’m with Ava, I can’t do…this stuff here.” he tapped the printout they were going over. “but…I’d like to do this one here. If that’s okay?”
Hayley read it and smiled. “We were going to give that to Jack. But…yes. Please.”
“Thanks for asking us, Hayley.” Ava told her. “Really.”
She hugged them both and let herself out, leaving the pair of them to sit in silence for a bit.
“Did you mean that?” Ava asked. “About not believing any more?”
“It’s hard to.” Adam confessed.
“I know…” she sighed. “I just…I need this to all be happening for a reason, you know? I don’t think I could cope if there wasn’t a plan behind it all.”
He hugged her. “There’s something going on, I know that much.” he said.
“There is?”
“Oh yeah. There’s a pattern. Something behind it all. Mr. Johnson, back home, now Sara…it’s all connected, I just know it. I think my Dad’s in on it.”
“Are you gonna ask him?” She looked up. “I mean, I think he’d have told you by now if he could.”
”…Yeah. He would have.” Adam sighed. “But I’m still going to ask him. And if there is something going on, then I’m going to find out what.”
“How?”
He shrugged. “However I have to.”
Date Point: 4y 9m 1w 5d AV
Folctha Colony, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
“Legsy” Jones
“Intel package for you…sir…”
Anybody else might have said that Captain Powell’s office looked like a bomb had hit it. Legsy, being acutely aware of exactly what bomb damage actually looked like, tended not to use that phrase, but it would have very nearly been accurate.
The office doubled as Powell’s private space and sleeping area, and it was invariably pristine. One the one occasion that Legsy had seen Powell take his boots off, they had been lined up neatly under his camp bed with the laces tucked inside them. While the captain had once muttered a repetition of the old saw that any unit in battle-ready condition would fail inspection, he nevertheless was a stickler for keeping his own space immaculate.
Today was different. The filing cabinet was open, folders were strewn across the desk, the camp bed’s blankets were a bundle at the foot end, the captain’s kettlebells and weights were strewn across the floor rather than stacked, and a neglected ration pack on the table that had clearly been aborted halfway through preparation.
Powell himself was an even worse sight. He looked…rumpled. The skin around his eyes had gone dark, the eyes themselves were reddened, and he was sporting a fine crop of reddish and grey whiskers.
“On the desk.” he grunted, not glancing up from what he was reading. It looked like he was revising literally everything that Humanity knew about the Hierarchy.
That was hardly surprising. The captain had taken the girl’s death hard, harder than he let on. One of the obvious symptoms of that was obsession with her killers, though this was by far the worst case that Legsy had ever witnessed.
His terse response, however, was troubling. Only long experience of working with him had allowed Legsy to even tell the difference, but while Powell had never exactly been a cuddly personality, he was never usually rude or dismissive with his men. He’d gotten tougher since the girl died, demanding a full and complete inspection of every last detail of the rescue attempt, searching for anything that could have been done better.
Nobody wanted to be the one to voice the opinion to him that they’d done as well as humanly possible.
“Where on the desk, Captain?” He asked, unable to identify any spot that looked like it was more ready to receive the latest report than any other spot did.
“Fookin’ anywhere, do I look like I give a shit?” the captain growled.
“Yes sir.” Legsy put it down on top of what he hesitantly guessed might be the ‘in’ pile.
Powell didn’t react, just turning the page. He only glanced up when Legsy cleared his throat.
“Carry on.” he snapped.
“Sir…have you slept?” Legsy ventured
“I don’t see how that’s your fookin’ business, Jones.” Powell said, sharply. “You’re dismissed.”
Legsy saluted and turned for the door, deeply troubled, and then decided that he had a duty to perform.
He turned back. “Permission to speak candidly, captain?” he asked.
“Pretty fookin’ sure I dismissed you, Jones. So no, permission denied.”
That was a red alert.
Oh well. To borrow the motto of a sister unit: who dared, won. “I don’t fuckin’ care, sir, you’re gonna fuckin’ listen.” he announced.
The sheer audacity of it snapped the captain out of his revision and earned Legsy a trademarked Powell glare. “Look at this place!” he said, keeping the momentum up. “This isn’t like you sir, I’ve worked with you long enough to see there’s something fuckin’ wrong here. You’re not yourself.”
Powell lurched to his feet, face thunderous. “Sergeant Jones, if I have to order you out of my office again…” he began.
“Get yourself to counselling, sir!” Legsy told him. Powell froze, as shocked as if his subordinate had reached out and slapped him.
“I’m fookin’ fine.” he asserted. “And YOU are this fookin’ close to-”
“Psych’s a wound like any other!” Legsy recited desperately, interrupting him. “You get it seen to just like you’d get a bullet seen. Your own words.”
He swallowed, stiffened, and stared hard at the back wall. “Sir.”
There was a long, dangerous silence.
Finally, Powell spoke. He had always been a deep-voiced man—now the words practically rumbled out of him, as quiet and as full of smouldering danger as the voice of Vesuvius. “Sergeant Jones. I am ordering you to leave this office immediately. If you do not give me a perfect fookin’ salute and then fook off post fookin’ haste and without another fookin’ word, it will go fookin’ badly for you, am I crystal fookin’ clear?“
Legsy’s salute shook a little rain of dust from the ceiling, and he effected the speediest exit he had ever managed.
He just hoped that it would turn out to be worth it.