Date Point 10y4m1w2d AV
Etsicitty house, North Clearwater County, Minnesota, USA, Earth
Julian Etsicitty
“Um… Allison fell asleep.”
Julian glanced down and to his right. Allison had indeed fallen asleep, curled up next to him on the bed with her head down on one arm.
He brushed some blonde hairs out of her face. “So she did. It is midnight…”
“…Oh.”
Xiù glanced at the wall clock guiltily. “I’d better let you sleep too.” she suggested.
“I guess… I mean, you don’t have to.” Julian told her.
They’d spent eight hours together just hanging out. Sitting and lounging around on the bed, discussing everything from current world politics to all the Disney movies that had been released in their absence. There was an elephant in the room that hadn’t been touched on at all, but at the same time, not touching on it had seemed… right, somehow.
“Yeah…” Xiù began to scoot off the bed, then paused and turned back. “Um… thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not freaking out.”
Julian chuckled quietly, and looked back down at Allison. “Freaking out… I’m more worried about pinching myself and waking up.”
That earned one of Xiù’s biggest, prettiest smiles. “Two females who’re into you at once. Every male’s fantasy?”
Julian diplomatically ignored the unconsciously Gaoian way she’d phrased herself and kept playing with Allison’s hair, acutely aware that there was honestly a ’yes’ in there, but there was something more important underneath. He shook his head. “Not that.” he said.
“Are you sure? I can see your ears going pink.” She teased. He laughed, but it faded quickly and he stopped playing with Allison’s hair and took a thoughtful breath.
“I don’t want to wake up and find I’m still on Nightmare.” He said. “All alone.”
He swallowed and fidgeted into a more traditional cross-legged position, feeling suddenly vulnerable, and tried to turn it into a weak joke. “Kinda suck, wouldn’t it?”
Xiù’s smile had faded a little, but she nodded understanding. She opened her mouth to say something, then a thought seemed to occur to her and she darted forward to give him a stinging pinch on his forearm. He clutched at the spot reflexively and blinked at her.
“Still here?” she asked.
He paused, then shut his eyes and nodded, grinning. “Yeah. Still here.”
She offered him her arm. “My turn.”
Rather than pinching it, he took her hand and studied the three ragged scar lines that ran from her elbow to her wrist and up the back of her hand to the knuckle. Hunter teeth were scalpel-sharp, and would have cut cleanly if they had sliced across her arm rather than raking along it. As it was, the marks were there to stay.
She hesitated and bit a lip. “Please… don’t.”
He let go of her hand again. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, I just… don’t like them.”
Julian looked at her arm again. “If it helps.” he replied. “I like them.”
Xiù studied her scars as if wondering whether they were looking at the same things. “How can you like them?” She asked.
“If you didn’t have them we’d never have met.”
“I don’t, um.” She frowned. “What?”
“Well, think about it. You only have them because you survived getting them. And, here you are. If you’d never got those… who knows where you’d be?”
Xiù swallowed and looked at her arm, as if seeing the marks there in a slightly new light.
“So… yeah. I like ‘em.” Julian finished. “‘Cause you’re here.”
“My God, Julian.” They both jumped as Allison chimed in. “That was fucking romantic.”
“Well, I mean, uh…” Julian cleared his throat awkwardly and never made it as far as a coherent thought.
“Sorry.” Xiù apologised.
“S’okay.” Allison sat up and thrust an arm up into the air, stretching. “Just…”
“Don’t kiss him.” Xiù nodded, looking a touch crestfallen. “I know.”
Allison laughed a little and gave her a hug. “Actually… I’m warming up to the idea.”
“You are?”
“You are?”
“If you both want to.” Allison nodded. “Yeah. Though, uh… maybe get my permission first? I don’t think I’m ready for… not yet.”
“Small steps.” Julian agreed. He looked to Xiù, though he was pretty sure the moment was wrong.
Xiù backed off the bed and perched on the edge “Not… right now.” She said.
“Yeah. Not yet.” Julian agreed.
Xiù stood up and aimed a thumb over her shoulder toward the other bedroom. “I’d better… and let you…”
“You sure?” Allison asked. “It’s a big bed, and he’s warm…”
Xiù shook her head. “I need some time to think.” she said. “It’s okay.”
It was Allison’s turn to seem disappointed. “Okay…Sweet dreams, babe.”
Once he’d heard both doors click shut, Julian stood, pulled his shirt off over his head, threw it into the laundry hamper and turned out the light. Near-pitch darkness marched straight into the room and set up shop like it had never really left.
He undid his belt, let his jeans fall to the ground, and climbed into bed. Beside him, Allison finished squirming out of her own clothes, and she snuggled up to him. “You okay?” she asked.
“…You’re warming to the idea?” Julian asked her.
Allison kissed him on the cheek by way of a reply.
“Al…”
“What? I said it, and I meant it. If that’s what you want…”
“This is starting to sound like you want… I dunno, like some kind of a poly thing?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
She kissed him in the dark. “What do you want? Be real, baby, what would you like?”
“…Lots’a different bits of me are all saying ‘both of you’, and for all kindsa different reason.” Julian told her, honestly. “But…”
“But?”
“I’m kinda scared there’d be a loser, if we went that way. Like, one of us’d wind up being the spare wheel. I don’t want that to happen to any of us: you, me or her.”
His night vision was coming in, and he could just make out how Allison rested the side of her head in her hand and thought about what he’d said. “…God, that’d really hurt her, yeah.”
“How would we avoid that?”
“We’d be real.” Allison said. “That’s the key to any good relationship.”
“…True…”
“Right. So, why should that change just because we’d be three and not two?” she pointed out. “One-on-one relationships can have a loser too.”
“You really want to do this, don’t you?” Julian asked.
Allison put her head back down on his shoulder. “I don’t know why exactly, but I do.” She agreed. “I don’t want to spend my life stuck in other people’s’ comfort zones. Yeah, if we do this, maybe one of us gets hurt. And it won’t be Xiù. I won’t do that to her.”
“But…?” Julian asked.
She nuzzled into his shoulder. “So maybe we get hurt. I’ve been hurt before, and I don’t think it’s so bad next to never trying.”
“So… are we going for it?”
“I want to.” She said, simply. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s up to Xiù.” Allison kissed him again, then rolled over. “Be the big spoon?”
Julian smiled to himself, and cuddled up behind her, infiltrating his arm over her waist. “Yes ma’am.”
“Mmmm…” she issued the hugest, most content sigh and wriggled back into him. “I love you.”
“What, no ’good boy’?”
She nodded sleepily. “They mean the same thing, dummy.”
He smiled, kissed her just below her ear, then put his head down and let her fall asleep. “…I know.”
Date Point 10y4m1w2d AV
London, England, Earth.
Regaari
Any being who travelled from planet to planet needed to get used to sleeping according to what their body demanded, rather than according to the local diurnal rhythm. When travelling from Gao to Gorai could mean landing at a completely different time of day and in a day/night cycle that was nearly a third longer. It never paid to try and adjust to local time unless you were intent on staying for a while. The difference was even more pronounced on Earth, with its too-short day.
Hence why Regaari was awake at 5am.
The other three weren’t. Warhorse and Baseball, in true deathworlder fashion, seemed to have learned a skill that Regaari wouldn’t have thought possible, in being able to just sleep, wherever and whenever they were, for as long as they needed.
What was even more impressive was that Regaari knew that should he make the smallest noise of alarm or distress, both men would be awake and alert immediately.
They seemed to have discovered a quirk in Ayma meanwhile. After their nightly ritual of shampooing, rinsing, conditioning, rinsing again and then blow-drying, she went completely berserk. The moment the blow-dryer was turned off and she was able to escape the ordeal of being bathed, she would flit restlessly around the room, cleaning up every object that was even microscopically out of place, flipping TV channels, asking questions about every subject that crossed her mind, and even on one occasion pouncing from the bed onto Warhorse’s shoulders and imitating a human cry of “Giddyup!”
After about an hour of this she would, quite suddenly, crash and sleep until somebody woke her.
This had left Regaari to occupy himself for several hours a night every night, and so he had discovered the Internet.
Data networks were easy. Every species had one, and each was a reflection of the minds of its creators. Which, when the minds in question were human, meant that the Internet was anything but easy. Being almost completely illiterate in English only complicated matters.
Still, after some trial and error, Regaari had eventually managed to navigate the prickly shibboleth maze of in-jokes, references and running gags, some of the more enduring of which were as old as Warhorse. Beyond them was an opportunity.
Regaari was an older and much wiser male than he’d been in the days when he had first criticized his Fathers for cozying up to the Dominion. Gone was the earnest, naive young Whitecrest, and in his place was the kind of warrior who didn’t have too many scars not on account of staying out of fights, but on account of winning them. And for all that he was a skilled agent of conflict in the real world, when it came to data and intelligence Regaari knew he was among the rarified stratum of the very, very best.
Compiling a script to trawl assorted translation sources for probable meaning and then convert the written English into the specialist, high-density code that his implants could read was almost trivial. English may have been a context-heavy and intricate language, but the Corti had excelled themselves when they had created the universal communication medium that was the intermediary through which all translation took place. It was believed to be capable of communicating every possible nuance of meaning, including detailed descriptions of sensory experiences in senses that no known species possessed or could conceive of.
Still. The word “fuck” gave it trouble. Perhaps due to their own bias towards orderly and logical systems, the Corti had never considered that an innocuous monosyllable could carry such a titanic freight of varied meaning. It wasn’t that the word specifically had a nebulous meaning, but that the ‘formal’ meaning, so to speak, was just the root of the most hideously tangled snarl of colloquialism that Regaari had ever heard of.
Somehow, he just knew that he’d be debugging the algorithm that decided which particular “fuck” was being used in a given context for as long as he tried to use the script. But, it would do.
What it would do, was allow him to read English and, haltingly, write it too. This was important, because Regaari’s opportunity had three components.
The first was simple intelligence-gathering. Not that he would gain anything classified or sensitive this way, but that didn’t matter. Simply an insight into what humanity’s informed civilians, retired veterans and armchair strategists thought of their species’ position was edifying enough. What he found there impressed him – short on specifics though they might be, a hard core of amateur analysts were busily assembling a dossier on humanity’s strategic position that was every bit as thorough as Regaari’s own, and often rather more informed.
It made for mixed reading. The innate superiority of humans as warriors was ultimately badly outweighed by the logistical superiority of the rest of the galaxy. On the other hand, nobody could think of a way in which the planet Earth itself might be vulnerable save through technological possibilities so outlandish as to be pure fiction.
Part two was more fun than part one. Humans were already well-disposed toward Gaoians. Annoying instincts vis a vis dogs and cute fluffy animals aside, Sister Shoo was substantially better-known to the Internet than she probably suspected. Adopting and protecting her had done Gao an enormous favor, there.
So, part two was further cementing that relationship. Which led to part three – mischief.
Baseball and Warhorse weren’t remotely shy about their affection for each other, and on this particular occasion were asleep and rumbling spooned up close, with one of Base’s hairy arms resting gently on Horse’s waist.
Picking up Base’s phone, logging into a social media app that allowed new photos and video footage to be uploaded directly to the Internet was trivial. Making it seem innocent would have been equally easy – just a curious Gaoian accidentally activating a device he didn’t know how to stop – but that wasn’t the point. The point was to humanize himself and, more importantly, to humanize the SOR.
He mimed the “shush” gesture that he’d learned and played the camera around the room, taking care to capture as good a view as he could of the two Protectors. Ayma got a little screen time, curled up with her nose stuffed into her fur and an ear twitching slightly as she dreamed, then back to Regaari for a wave to the crowd and… done.
Too bad for one staff sergeant John Burgess that his social media profile was set to ‘public’ by default. Less than a minute after it was uploaded, the video had leaked.
Less than ten minutes later, the footage was on Youtube.
By the time, two hours later, that Warhorse stirred in his sleep ahead of waking up for a bright new day and Regaari had to close all the browser tabs, ‘#SleepyBeef’ was trending across the planet and Regaari himself had secured the affection of tens of thousands of humans.
Not bad for five minutes’ work.
Date Point 10y4m1w2d AV
Planet Perfection, The Core Worlds
Mwrmwrwk
“I have a bounty to claim.”
The creature manning the desk was a Mjrnhrm, and a long way from home. The acid-etching on the brow-plate of its chitinous head made it clear that this particular one had been exiled for some unspecified crime, and somewhere in its travels some misadventure had cost it a limb. Rather than going for cybernetic prostheses, the creature had opted to receive cloned (or, possibly, donor) organic transplants instead. The replacements were slightly paler shade of mottled dark verdigris.
“The wanted person boards are on the left.” it said, communicating clear impatience and disinterest.
Whether or not its misadventures had robbed it of a sense of manners or whether all Mjrnhrm were like that, Mwrmwrwk couldn’t guess. She’d never met a Mjrnhrm before.
“It isn’t a person.”
“A bounty on something that is not a person.” It put the tablet it had been reading down and its vestigial wings buzzed briefly, signalling clear and naked derision. “Please, do regale me, o brave explorer. Which fabled lost planet have you uncovered? A deathworld full of sapient trees? A city built entirely of platinum? Mrwrki Station?”
“Yes.”
It buzzed again. Some subtle shift of pitch and frequency that was inaudible to Kwmbwrw ears was enough to communicate the difference between derision and confusion. “What?”
“I have found Mrwrki station.” Mwrmwrwk willed her translator to broadcast sincerity and irritation in equal measure.
The Mjrnhrm tilted its head, studying her skeptically and with no small sign of cautious avarice. Mwrmwrwk could hardly blame it for that – given the size of the finder’s fee on Mrwrki, even the small percentage that bounty officers took from each contract would translate to a healthy lump sum in any currency. “…Prove it.”
“What kind of fool do you think I am?” Mwrmwrwk asked it. “Open the transaction and log my report. Then I prove it.”
With an air that suggested it would have preferred to be grumbling aloud, it did so. Mwrmwrwk promptly uploaded her identity information, and the sensor records she had discreetly copied from Negotiable Curiosity’s memory.
The Mjrnhrm studied the proof in front of it for nearly a full two Ri’.
“It pays to be skeptical in my line of work.” It declared, and opened a few tools and programs that, within the protected environment of the transaction, dissected her file in search of evidence of forgery. “But, I can find no evidence that this is a fake…”
“So?”
“You present me with a gamble.” It said. “Mrwrki is a myth. No serious being believes it did anything other than explode. And the size of the reward… I can only just afford to pay out.”
“You sound very much like the last three bounty officers I went to.” Mwrmwrwk told it. “All of them have missed the opportunity of earning, by my estimation, forty-four Dominion Development Credits.”
Its vestigial wings thrummed as it thought long and hard.
Then, very slowly and carefully, it poked its pincer to the large blue accept button.
A notification in Mwrkwrki’s field of vision informed her that she was now many hundreds of times wealthier. It was an absurd sum – enough to buy a fleet of ships the size of Negotiable Curiosity. There was no use – or any real point – in trying to conceal her delight, so instead she reared up to her full height, thrust her forepaws into the air and cooed a long and loud trill of Kwmbwrw triumph.
Then she dropped back to all fours.
“A pleasure” she told the Mjrnhrm, which had covered its auditory organs “to do business with you.”
“If I come to regret it, I swear by the etchings of my kin that I will spend the last of my funds on somehow finding the Human Disaster himself and hiring him to come after you.” it replied, though there was a note of amusement and confidence that it would need to do no such thing.
Fighting to preserve a semblance of dignity, she exchanged gestures of respect with the odd creature, shuffled around and ambled out of the bounty office, fantasizing about being able to finally get out from under Bedu’s skinny thumb, of not having to spend an attosecond longer tolerating Hzzkvk, of being able to return to Kwmbwri, get in good with one of the Great Houses, maybe even become a Matriarch herself.
She effectively died in mid-stride.
Nobody noticed. At most, if they were paying attention they would have seen a slight stumble and the way she stopped, took her bearings, and kept walking. To an outside observer, there was no hint at all that anything was seriously amiss.
On the inside, Eleven took stock of the situation, and set about her mission.
Date Point 10y4m1w2d AV
Etsicitty house, North Clearwater County, Minnesota, USA, Earth
Xiù Chang
The vendors on Itrian station are selling gluten-free tigers, buy two and get a third free. It sounds like a healthy option, so Xiù buys three and wanders away to watch the spaceships docking.
Toss.
One of the docking ships smiles at her. Its face splits like pavement cracking, and what it produces is less a smile than a hungry rictus. She throws it a tiger, which it snatches down like a shark snatching a passing fish.
Turn.
Freaked out, she turns away and runs off between the trees. Knee deep snow and needled boughs slow her down, and behind her she knows beyond doubt that Death is gaining. Despairing of escape, she turns at bay and raises her hands to fight, unsheathing her claws and baring her teeth. If she’s about to die, she’s going to die like a Gaoian.
Night and oblivion sweep down upon her and she woke up, flailed and thrashed at the blankets for a second, cast wildly about the unfamiliar room and the dream is still real. A Corti’s face sneers at her in the dark and she scrambles across the bed away from it, fighting for room, only to fall off the other side and hit her head on the wall.
Clarity returned. The Corti turned out to be a framed picture on the wall, or something similar.
Twisted up in the sheets as she was, it took her some effort and quite a lot of soft swearing to eventually struggle to her feet and, rubbing the sore spot on the back of her head, inspect the picture.
“Derek and The Dominos…?”
She sighed and sank onto the bed, resisting the urge to yank on her own hair to chastise herself. That way lay a degenerating spiral of self-loathing that she’d been caught in far too many times over the years.
Instead, she crossed her legs under herself, wriggled her spine straight, and settled into a ritual that had got her through so many dark days. Metta, also known as Loving-Kindness meditation, was directed first at herself to build up a positive frame of mind, and from that foundation she could project the same energies towards her friends and her loved ones.
Nowadays, she had a long list of loved ones. That was worth remembering: It helped her love herself and forgive herself for the nightmares and intrusive ideas.
By the time she finished, the overcast sky outside her borrowed window had a blue-grey cast to it that hinted at imminent dawn. She threw on a T-shirt as she listened to the house and decided that nobody was awake yet. Time to fix breakfast.
She had nearly finished mixing the crepe batter when Julian emerged from his and Allison’s bedroom and plunged straight into the bathroom. He wasn’t in there long – apparently he was an efficient showerer – and he emerged wearing his cargo shorts, scrubbing at his hair and kicking his prosthetic foot to shake the water out of it.
“Hey, you.”
She beamed at him. “Hey.”
“You’re in a good mood this morning.” he observed. “Whatever that squeal of delight was, it woke me up.”
She grimaced. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, I’m a light sleeper.” He sat down on one of the bar stools at the island worksurface, and Xiù pretended not to notice the very welcome attention he was paying to her legs. “What was that, anyway?”
“I, um…” She sighed and blushed. “I found the maple syrup.”
Sure enough he laughed. “Yup, you’re Canadian.” he confirmed, fondly.
She laughed with him. “Shut up!”
Grinning like a retriever with three ducks in his mouth, he nodded. “Yes ma’am.”
“Ooh, do I get to say ’good boy’?”
He chuckled, and rested his jaw on his fist. “If you like.”
“Then get some plates warmed up.”
He stood and she was gratified to see that even he had to go on tip-toes to reach the cupboard that she’d had to jump slightly just to open. “Yes ma’am.”
Xiù giggled. “Good boy. Oh, and put some music on.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Oh, I could get used to this…”
He paused in filling the sink with hot water, waiting, and she laughed silently through her nose. “Good boy.”
The bacon was sizzling, the plates were nice and hot and Norah Jones was singing ’Sunrise’ when Allison surfaced. She greeted Xiù with an affectionate hug from behind and Julian with a light kiss. “Something” she declared “smells AMAZING.”
“Breakfast crepes!” Xiù explained.
“Ooh, what’s in them?” Allison backed off as Xiù aimed a playful slap at her hand.
“Sit down and you’ll find out.”
Allison raised an eyebrow at Julian, who just shrugged. “…Yes ma’am!” she said.
“Hmm…” Xiù produced her cheekiest smile. “Good girl.”
Allison pantomimed shock – her jaw dropped, but the rest of her face was thoroughly amused. She sat next to Julian. “…Okay, that’s actually kinda fun.” she conceded to him.
“Isn’t it?” he agreed.
Beaming to herself, Xiù finished her preparations and soon had three steaming hot crepes plated and served, each one wrapped around a solid portion of bacon, cheese and a sunny-side-up fried egg, with a drizzle of maple syrup and a couple of blueberries and raspberries for decoration.
“Dear God, this looks like it belongs in a restaurant.” Allison commented, as it arrived in front of her.
“Or a fancy hotel.” Julian agreed. “This is home cooking to you?”
Xiù just grinned and picked up her fork. “Don’t let it go cold.” she admonished them.
They looked at each other, then picked up their own cutlery and tucked in. Xiù took one mouthful and almost put her fork back down as the taste made her close her eyes in delight.
“Are you allowed to react that powerfully to your own cooking?” Julian teased.
Xiù play-glared at him. “Giff’me a break. I’ff not had thefe in yearff.”
“She’s allowed.” Allison agreed, and swallowed. “Babe, these are divine.”
Glowing internally, Xiù accepted the compliment with a smile, and dived right into her next mouthful.
As always with good food, their plates were empty far too soon, and Julian and Allison soon turned the tables on her by not letting her do any of the cleaning down and washing up.
“So… How long do we have until Jenkins is back?” Allison asked.
“He said ten o’clock or thereabouts.” Julian replied. “Annoying. An hour or two later and I could get the beaver pipe installed before he arrives…”
“You were gonna take that Aspen down.” Allison pointed out. Julian snapped his fingers and nodded. He put the last plate away and headed for the bedroom.
“Beaver pipe?” Xiù asked.
“There’s beavers up in the back woods.” Allison explained, wiping the skillet dry. “Julian says it’s a good thing we got back when we did, ‘cause a year or two more and they’d be threatening to flood out the road. So, he’s installing some kind of a drain pipe to control the water level.”
“And the Aspen?”
“Quaking Aspen coming up by the garage. It needs to come down before it grows any bigger and damages the roof.”
“Wow. This place really is country…” Xiù looked around. “Um, what are you doing?”
Allison hung up the skillet on the rack by the window. “There’s the other truck to have a look at, but I think that one’s beyond repair.” she said. “Julian says the last time he remembers it running he was just a kid. But, you never know.”
“Oh.” Xiù looked around. “I could, uh, tidy up in here?” she suggested.
“You don’t have to…” Allison told her.
”Yuosha’.”, Xiù replied, unconsciously using a Gaoian phrase that served the same purpose as ‘bullshit’. “I can at least throw a duster around.”
Allison raised her hands. “Knock yourself out, babe.” she said. “Go ahead and take all the ornaments down, too.
After getting dressed, Xiù didn’t need long to find the dusters and furniture polish in the utility room, along with a cloth to cover her hair. She flung open the windows and screen doors, put on some louder music that she could hear it over the sound of Julian’s chainsaw, and declared war on anything resembling dust, dirt or grime, no matter where it hid around the house.
The house had clearly gone for years without being dusted, and she quickly had to find another cloth to cover her mouth and nose – every unused surface, door jamb, high shelf, the backs of the appliances, and especially all the remaining wall ornaments and paintings were caked in the stuff.
The end result was that when Julian came back in some unconsidered interval later, his reaction was to sneeze violently. “Jeez!”
Xiù grimaced. “Sorry, sorry…”
He coughed and waved a hand to try and clear the air. “Maybe let it settle before Jenkins gets here.” he suggested, heading to the front door and opening both the inner door and the banshee screen door to let the air properly blow through.
Xiù nodded. “…Right.” she agreed. “…I got the place cleaner though!”
“Yeah you did.”Julian waved the door a few times to try and fan some air through, then gave up and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “You did a great job!”
“Xièxie!” she beamed at him and sat on one of the barstools.
“So, uh…” he began.
“Yeah?”
“Speaking of Jenkins…” Julian sat down opposite her. “You never actually said whether you’re coming with us.”
Impulsively, Xiù got up to get herself a water as well – dusting was thirsty work – but she gave him a happy kiss on the cheek on her way past. “I’m considering it.” she teased as he put a surprised hand to his cheek. “Isn’t being a starship pilot on the cards? Wei would be so jealous.”
“Didn’t you want to be an actress?” he asked, as she grabbed the drink.
She sat down again. “That’s not likely, these days.”
“Less likely than being a starship pilot?”
Xiù was giving a wry shrug by way of an answer as Allison came back in.
“Yeah, the Ford’s dead.” she announced. “What’re you two up to?”
“We’re just discussing how flying spaceships is my most plausible career option.” Xiù joked.
Allison made an amused noise and sat down with them. “I bet it beats acting anyway.” she said. “No paparazzi, no gossip, no interviews and cameras… So you’re coming with us, for real?”
What neither of them knew, was that Xiù’s mind had been made up since last night. Home, after all, was wherever she wanted to be.
“Yes.” she said. “I’m coming with you.”
Date Point 10y4m1w2d AV
Military transport plane, somewhere above the arctic circle, Earth
Owen Powell
“They’re all over t’ fookin’ Internet! All over it! Here I was thinking your objective in comin’ ‘ere was to prove yer a reliable an’ trustworthy sort an’ build a foundation for an alliance an’ that, and then you go and violate the privacy of two of my lads?”
“I think you’ll find, major.” Regaari was holding his ground, for which Powell had to give him grudging credit. ”That my little act of mischief was carefully calculated.”
“Careful-? Oh, aye? Alright. Let’s fookin’ hear it. Come on.” Powell produced his best ferocious glare which, to his consternation, seemed to have no effect on Regaari at all.
Regaari smoothed down a loose tuft of fur. Thanks to his nightly bathing at Arés’ thorough hands, his fur was glossy, light and refusing to behave itself. “Have you been following your own unit’s reputation on social media, major?” he asked, lightly.
“I’ve been too busy wi’ actually runnin’ the unit, mate.” Powell said.
“You should. Prior to our arrival, the SOR was…” Regaari paused, selecting his words carefully. “…the subject of some concern. Accusations of inhumane and unethical surgery, concerns of genetic manipulation, rumours that they’re the product of a Corti research program. The propaganda footage you put out of the action on Capitol Station has only fuelled the concern.”
“Not a one of us is stronger’n a human can get naturally.” Powell said. “Not even Arés.”
“As you say.” Regaari duck-nodded. “But your species tend to underestimate yourselves, major. I think most of you don’t believe that Earth really is a deathworld. Many on the Internet are saying that everything that has happened in the last ten Earth years has been an enormous hoax.”
Major Jackson made a pained noise. “Oh, those fuckwits.” she groaned.
“Human nature.” Powell said.
“Yeah, but I still can’t wait for the day when I can punch people like that consequence-free, like Buzz Aldrin did.” She said. “But Regaari’s right, Powell. Your ‘lads’ scare people just by existing. Didn’t you hear about China complaining to the UN about the, quote, ‘western supersoldier program’?”
“I musta been too busy bein’ part o’ that program.” Powell grumbled. “So, what, you’re saying we’ve got some public image to make up?”
“You’ve got a fuck of a lot of public image to make up.” Rylee said. “Or did you forget that’s my second job? I’ve not been hanging around with you and the lads just for your charming company, I’m on duty here.”
“And how exactly does shootin’ footage of my two youngest and least experienced men in a state of undress and uploadin’ it to the Internet help our public image?” Powell asked.
“It makes them more relatable.” Regaari explained. “Just in this short trip, Baseball and Warhorse have gone from being two anonymous examples of exactly the kind of extreme physicality that has so badly unnerved your species’ commentators, to being ‘the Beef Brothers.’ Now, people are saying ‘they sleep just like everyone else.’”
“My lads aren’t that scary.” Powell said, dismissively.
“Hah!” Jackson smiled incredulously at him. “Hell yes they are! If I didn’t know them so well they’d scare the crap out of me. You too!”
Powel blinked at her, surprised. “…Really?”
Jackson raised a hand to her mouth and called down toward the two enlisted men, who were playing Poker with Ayma. “Hey! Warhorse!”
His head snapped round. “…Ma’am?”
“How big d’you reckon you’d be if you’d stayed PJ instead of going SOR?”
Arés thought about it. “‘Bout… five-eight? Two hundred or two-twenty-five pounds?”
“How big are you now?” She asked.
“Much bigger’n that, ma’am. ” his trademark dopey grin put in an appearance.
Jackson nodded to him, and lowered her voice. “Between you and me? That boy’s a freak.” she said. “A cute, goofy and lovable freak with about the best service ethic I ever saw, but a freak nonetheless. But overnight he’s gone from being a freak in the public eye to having fans. Fans who don’t even know him for the great guy he is, who don’t have a reason to see past the muscles.”
Powell directed a calculating frown at his young charge, and said nothing.
“That sounds like quite a public relations coup.” Regaari noted. His ears were up defiantly, and he folded his arms in imitation of the human gesture, which was awkward for a Gaoian.
“It is.” Jackson agreed. “One that I doubt we could have pulled off. About the only person who could was Regaari, in fact. Protocol forbids us from doing something like this, but Regaari? When he does it, that’s just mischief, you know?”
Powell took a deep and resigned breath. “Fine. Okay. Let’s say I concede that maybe this is a net positive. A big one, even. I’m still not happy at all that you did this wi’out at least consulting me, and wi’out my lads knowin’ you had it planned.”
“Wouldn’t have worked.” Jackson told him. “It’s the whole candid thing that gives it the magic.”
“Major…” Regaari scooted forward in his chair so that his dangling feet could reach the floor. “There may be a cultural difference here. Among Gaoians, for one Clan to do unbidden what another Clan cannot do for themselves – or isn’t aware that they need to – is considered a sign of respect.”
“Fookin’ impudent is what I call it.” Powell groused, but raised a placating hand. “Fine. we’ll chalk it up to alien cultural differences. But do we really need that big of a PR boost?”
“…Regaari? Could you give us some privacy please?” Jackson asked. The Gaoian duck-nodded and picked his way forward to try and get back into Warhorse and Baseball’s good graces.
She turned to Powell. “Yes. Yes you do.”
He raised an eyebrow. “We’re doin’ a job out there. A fookin’ important one. You know what’s at stake. I couldn’t care less what some pimply Internet social justice warrior has to say, they know fookin’ nothin’, and they’re better off that way.”
“I don’t think you know what’s at stake.” she replied. “Powell, bad PR has killed units stone dead in the past. Those ’social justice warriors’ are voters, and while you’re folding your arms at them and keeping shtum, they’re gossiping and speculating and hurting your image so bad that young men are gonna shy away from you ‘cause their mommas warned them about genetic engineering, or whatever.”
“That bad?” He asked.
Jackson nodded, sadly. “Hashtag ‘BeefBros’ is about the best thing that could have happened to your unit, Powell. Without it, it was only a matter of time before some congressman started making nasty noises about you, or some firebrand talkshow host did his bit and skewered your reputation.”
He pointed an arm toward the rear of the aircraft. “There’s fookin’ extinction knockin’ on the door out there, and you’re telling me our strategy for fightin’ it exists at the whim o’ the kind of blithering wankers who couldn’t tip water out of a helmet with the instructions written on’t’ top?”
“That’s about right.”
“Jesus fookin’ Christ…” He rubbed a finger despairingly across the top of his nose, between his eyebrows. “If that’s the shape of it then we’re doomed, and rightly bloody so. We can’t build our survival on a foundation that dodgy!”
She reached out and put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Owen? Trust me on this. That’s not a fight any of us are gonna win. The only option is to play the game and play it well.”
He lowered his hand and glanced guiltily towards the young Protectors. “What happens to the lads if we don’t play it well?” he asked, quietly.
She squeezed his shoulder. “Trust me, and trust Regaari, and you’ll never have to find out.” she promised.
Date Point 10y4m1w2d AV
Byron Group Headquarters, Omaha, Nebraska, USA, Earth
Moses Byron
Rachael was extremely good at her job. She knew exactly which calls to forward to Moses when he was in a meeting, and he knew it. So, when his desk phone rang in the middle of a meeting, he had no problems at all in putting his guests on hold for a few moments.
“Ah, please, excuse me, gentlemen… Go ahead, Rachael.”
“Mister Jenkins on the line, sir.”
“Nice! I’ll take it, thank you.” There was a click and a change in audio quality that said the call was through. “Kevin! Still in Minnesota?”
”On my way back, boss man. Aaaand, EV-eleven is fully crewed. Three stellar explorers, as requested.”
“You even got Chang?”
“She talked herself into it.” Jenkins replied. ”I’ll give you my full impression when I’m back in the office tomorrow. Figured you’d like to know so you can start the ball rolling.”
“You figured right.” Moses agreed. “See you tomorrow.” he stabbed a button on the phone to go back through to Rachael. “Rachael, tell Ericson we’re good to go on Eleven, please.”
”Yes, Mister Byron.”
“Thanks Rachael.”
He clapped his hands and rubbed them happily, then turned back to his guests. “Please, forgive the interruption.” he said. “As you were saying-?”
Date Point 10y4m1w2d AV
Finchley, London, England, Earth
Ava Rìos
Simon Harvey chose about the worst time to call Ava’s phone – she had a basket of wet laundry held awkwardly on one hip and was trying to hang it up with her spare hand, and the phone was on her basket-holding hip pocket
She just about managed to fumble it out in time to answer, somehow. “Hey, Simon.”
“Ava! Glad one of you’s answering your phone.” Simon had the unmistakable rush of a car in traffic behind him. “Go tell my nephew to stop wanking, I’ll be along to pick you both up in twenty minutes. Have you got that travel bag I told you to pack?”
“Uh, yeah.” She cradled her phone against her chin and began taking the washing off the line to move it indoors instead. “Why, where are we going?”
“Cairo.” he replied. “I’ll explain when we’re en route.”
Not knowing how long they’d be gone, Ava made sure to hang the wet clothes up indoors after rousing Sean from whatever he’d been doing in his room and explaining what they were doing and where they were going.
“Cairo?” He asked, helping her get them laid out. Neither of them wanted to come back to moldy clothes.
“That’s what he said. Please tell me you packed that bag like he told us.”
Sean gave her a mildly offended look. “I did it first thing!” he told her.
“Right.”
Laundry cleared away they did a quick tour of the house, turning off the water, gas and electricity, checking the doors and windows were all locked, taking photos of each room in case they got back to find the place burgled and were outside, locked up and had their bags and equipment in hand when Simon rolled up in one of London’s rentable self-driving cars.
They piled in, buckled up, and he ordered it to Heathrow airport.
“So. Cairo.” Simon began, getting straight to business. “There was some kind of a gun battle down there last night, and LOTS of people reported a sonic boom. All by itself that’s unusual, but the very interesting part…” He opened his tablet and showed them Twitter. “…is that the locals are calling it a UFO.”
Ava and Sean glanced at each other. “Is that… enough to go on?” Sean asked.
Simon shrugged. “If nothing else, we can get a story out of the shootout. Something happened down there, and there’s a story in it, even if it’s not Ava’s Big Conspiracy.” he said. “But the skeptics really are at a loss for what else to call it, and nobody in the Egyptian government has said a word yet.”
Ava took a deep breath. This was a world away from shooting photos of the crowd during a visit by extraterrestrial dignitaries. “Cairo, huh? I always wanted to see the Pyramids…”
“Work first, tourism later.” Simon told her, but he was smiling. “I’m trusting you both on this one. Maybe if this goes smoothly, we’ll be ready to move on with chasing your conspiracy, Ava, but for now I have two inexperienced young journalists in my care. You appreciate how big the favour I’m doing for you is?”
“Yes, Simon.” Ava said. Sean just nodded.
“Right.” Simon swiped to a different app on his tablet. “Here’s what I have so far…”
Date Point 10y4m1w2d AV
Cairo, Egypt, Earth
Master Sergeant Roy Vinther
“Y’all packed?”
There was a round of nodding. Hotwash was done with – there really hadn’t been much to report, the op had been aborted too quickly for them all to do more than confirm that the Hierarchy had a ship on Earth and that it was creating biodrones. Beyond that, there were precious few in the way of learning points. As far as Vinther could tell, the whole mission had gone by the numbers, and now they were packing up and moving on.
Sergeant Walsh was the last in zipping his bag. “Yup. Where we going?” he asked
“Back to CONUS, unless something comes up last minute.”
Walsh grimaced at him. “Vinther, you ass, never say shit like that, you should know better! Now we-”
His phone pinged, and everyone in the room watched warily as he dug it out. Walsh’s shoulders dropped as he read the message. “There, you see what you did?” he asked.
“You’re shittin’ me.” Vinther frowned. “What the fuck’s come up now?”
“‘s from the CIA station chief. Gimme a….” Walsh wandered down the room, reading what had been sent to him with his hand on his chin.
“Way to go, Vinther.” Pavlopoulos congratulated him.
“Hangover, you look like you’ve got time to spare. Why don’t you go load the bags in the SUV?” Vinther told him.
“….yes, master sergeant.”
Vinther let him grab a bag in each hand and go. “Walsh?”
The so-called intel weenie looked up. “Persons of interest coming our way.” he said. “They just got on a flight in London.”
“Is this information just for our entertainment, or are we gonna actually do something with it?” Vinther asked.
“Covert surveillance.”
“Fuck that, we ain’t equipped!” Vinther protested.
Walsh scrolled down through whatever he was reading. “Chief says they’ll equip us.”
“Well that’s a red flag.” Coombes grunted. “Company never shares their toys.”
“Who are these POIs, anyway?” Vinther asked.
Walsh turned the phone around, showing him a photo of a stunning young woman with a heart-shaped face, wavy hair and a slightly haunted, intense gaze. “Ava Magdalena Rìos.” he said. “San Diego survivor, adopted daughter of the chief of Cimbrean Colonial Security, romantically involved with a member of the SOR and, crucially, a journalist. Working for our second POI…” he swiped across onto the next page. “…Mr. Simon Harvey.”
Vinther studied the slender, angular and painfully English features of the passport photo at the top of the page. “Who?”
“He’s a reporter, been poking around in Jeddah, Karachi and Qalqilya.”
“Fuck.” Coombes opined. “We got a leak.”
“No wonder the Company wants us on top of them.” Vinther agreed.
“They’re a step behind if they’re only coming down here now.” Walsh pointed out.
“Guess it’s our job to keep it that way.” Vinther said. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, the chief’s sent a call to Cimbrean, asking for a couple of SOR men. Courtesy, seeing as one of their guys is involved, you know?”
“Great, so we gon’ have a couple’a meat walls stomping around?” Coombes said. “Just great.”
“Eh.” Walsh shrugged. “If it goes FUBAR, I could stand having Superman for backup.”
“What’s gonna go FUBAR? It’s a couple of civilian journalists.” Vinther asked him wryly, acutely aware that all missions got complicated, usually sooner rather than later. “How wrong can it go?”
Coombes smacked a palm to his forehead. “For fuck’s sake Vinther…”
“Take your superstitious ass and go tell Pavlo we need everything back in here.” Vinther retorted, grinning.
Coombes chuckled and kicked his feet out to propel himself upright. “Yes, master sergeant…”
Vinther turned back to Walsh. “Okay.” he said. “Let’s plan this shit.”