Date Point: 13y4m1w AV
Chiune Station, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Kevin Jenkins
“So…good news first, or bad news first?”
“…The good. I kinda suspect I know what the bad news is anyway.”
“Alright. So, good news number one: AEC are firm in their support for the Ten’Gewek and your return mission to Akyawentuo. Bad news…they have somethin’ else to do first.”
“…Ayup.” Julian crossed his arms and sighed. “Kinda figured the big fellas were gearing up for something.”
“It ain’t the big fellas. I don’t know the details, but Good News Number Two is that to make up for leavin’ us sittin’ on our asses, the three of you get to train with the big fellas.”
Allison raised her hand. “Uh…that’s good news?” she asked with a half-smile.
“I am told there will be guns.”
Allison grinned and lowered her hand again. “I love my job sometimes.”
Dane took his opportunity to interject with the evil smirk of a health and fitness instructor about to unleash a beneficial torment. “And weights, Julian. I paid a visit to the Dog House gym down in Folctha and got to talking with Warhorse. I think you’d benefit bigly from his attentions.”
“Aw, come on!” Julian groaned. “What the hell’s wrong with me that you need ‘Horse to fix me up?”
“Over the course of that first tour you lost twenty pounds while gaining bodyfat.”
Julian cleared his throat. “I’m almost back up to weight…” he said.
“It’s all sloppy rebound, though. All that work we put in and you ended up worse than when you started. That’s not necessarily your fault, I’ll admit, but it’s you that’s gotta pay the price.”
Julian’s face screwed up and he clenched his teeth. “He’s gonna have me picking things up and putting them down again, isn’t he?”
“Yup. But trust me, you need it. Remember when I taught you kettlebells?”
“Yeah?”
“Free weights are way more fun.”
“Clara, your husband’s a sadist.”
Clara giggled at that. “He’s a personal trainer,” she corrected him.
“Same thing.”
“Ah, get over it,” Dane told him warmly. “You’ll thank me later on.”
Kevin cleared his throat. “It ain’t exactly gonna be puppies an’ ice cream for you two either,” he said, addressing Allison and Xiù. “Allison, you’re expected to expand your academic and technical training. And Xiù, Mister Williams has concerns over how when that gunfight broke out on Akyawentuo you had to be p rotected rather than contributing.”
Xiù suddenly looked uneasy. “…I’m getting tutored by Firth, aren’t I?” she predicted.
“Is that a problem?”
“…No…No. It’s just…he’s an expert in some pretty dark things.”
Kevin nodded softly, and noted with approval the way Julian’s hand slipped quietly into Xiù’s in a no-fuss way that was far more supportive than any more overt show of comfort would have been.
“It’s dark out there,” he said. “We all know it. Could be the advice of an expert is what’ll make the difference for you and your loved ones.”
“Don’t worry about Firth, bǎobèi,” Allison advised. “He’s a huge teddy bear underneath all that.”
Xiù shook her head. “He really, really isn’t,” she said.
Julian nodded. “I like Firth, I respect him and I trust him. But there ain’t no ‘underneath all that’ with him—his violent streak goes all the way down, even if he’s got it well controlled.”
Xiù sighed. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Williams is right.”
Kevin tried to restore some levity by chuckling. “He always is. Anyway, that’s all the bad news. As soon as the ship’s fixed you go on intensive training regimes and stay there until go time.”
“And when’s that gonna be?” Allison challenged him.
“…Months. Half a year or more.”
“…That wasn’t exactly ‘all the bad news’ then, Kevin,” Julian pointed out mildly, though the muscles of his jaw clenched as he said it.
“True. Fair. Uh…” Kevin cleared his throat. “Look, this is the shit we deal with when the big movers and shakers get involved. I wish I had a fuckin’ roll of good news to give you, but I figure we get only one shot at doin’ this thing right. Right?”
The trio nodded solemnly.
“Right. And there’s more good news. You, uh…you meet with the JETS guys?”
Allison nodded. “Yeah. Nice guys. Also, uh…Actually, I been meaning to ask. You know the exception list?” she asked of Julian and XIù.
“Yeaaah?” Xiù asked slowly, while Julian nodded.
“Can I put Coombes on it?”
Xiù shook her head. “Celebrities only, Shǎguā.”
“Aww.”
Julian laughed, “C’mon, what’s he got that I don’t?”
“Some gray hairs? I dunno. He’s…never mind.” Allison cleared her throat, having spent several seconds going increasingly crimson around the cheeks and ears.
“He is pretty…” Julian agreed.
“Guys.” Kevin clicked his fingers jokingly in front of their faces. “Here and now, please. You’re getting the full team…I take it you know them?”
“We spent a couple of weeks being looked after by the SOR,” Allison said. “We know them. Hell, seen a bit more of them than I’d like in some cases. What do they call those tiny shorts again?”
“Ranger panties,” Dane supplied helpfully. He and Clara were wearing identical grins over her mounting discomfort.
“Ah,” Julian chuckled. “The plot thickens.”
“Shut up, babe,” Allison told him, affectionately.
Julian grinned at her. “Yes ma’am…so, not to knock on the big fellas, but how is this gonna work? Misfit ain’t exactly expansive. And in fact, what are they there for in the first place?”
Kevin shrugged. “All I got was a cryptic ‘it’s covered,’ so I’m just gonna take them at their word. As for why they’ve been forced on you, well…Coombes is a Green Beret. They’re there in case we need to train the People up in survival and guerilla tactics. And if the shit hits the fan, they’re to get you off that planet.”
“And Daar?”
“He’s a part of the team and they work well together. Plus he’s…an ambassador of sorts.”
“That will be…interesting…” Xiù mused. “Ten’Gewek are…They have a pretty clear line in their heads between People and Beasts. A Gaoian might really confuse them.”
Kevin shrugged again. “You’d need to ask Daniel what the logic is there,” he said. “It’s his contact and development plan we’re following after all. If he says they need to meet non-human aliens, then I ain’t arguin’…That’s about all the business I brought from Earth, anyhow. Had a complaint from Levaughn about how much space you’re takin’ up and how much noise you make…”
Xiù glanced at her feet, Julian looked awkward, and Allison tucked her thumbs into her pockets. Three variations on the theme of mild embarrassment.
“There’s nothing we can do about how much space the project takes up,” Clara told him. “Just leaving a corner of the landing pad free for others to use is a pain in the ass. This isn’t the Triple-AF, we’re more crowded here.”
“I hear ya,” Kevin reassured her. “But they do make bitchin’ headphones these days, kids. An’ it probably won’t pay off so well if the hosts don’t like you. There’s other folks here besides Levaughn, and for most of them it’s home.”
“That’s…yeah. Okay. We could be better guests, I guess,” Julian acknowledged.
“Sure as shit make my life easier,” Kevin said, then remembered Levaughn’s unerring instinct for making a useful nuisance of himself. “…probably,” he corrected himself.
“So. The SOR’s got our back but we’re gonna hafta wait fuck-knows-how long but at least half a year before they’re ready, we need to be more considerate to our hosts, and once *Misfit*‘s all patched up we’re gonna get our asses busted in training every day of the wait,” Allison summed up. “That about cover it?”
Kevin nodded, but decided a little avuncular advice wouldn’t go wrong “…Look, I lived and worked at SCERF for a few years, you know that. An’ the thing about these military motherfuckers is they like game. Just show ‘em you’re willing to try your hardest and you’ll never have better friends, right? They’ll suffer right along with you. But the worst and dumbest thing you kids could do is make them think they’re wasting their time. They sniff laziness on you, then they will come down on you hard if they think you ain’t a lost cause. And if they think you are a lost cause then you’ll fuckin’ know it by the way they go all polite and formal and agreeable.”
With that warning out of the way, he treated the three of them to a grin. “But you’ve already done tougher,” he added. “This won’t be a cakewalk, but you can handle it. Just…don’t take it personal.”
“Take what personal?” Allison asked.
“Oh,” Kevin grinned. “You’ll see…”
Date Point: 13y4m1w AV
Mercenary ship Howl At Nothing, The Irujzen Reef
Thurrsto
Thurrsto duck-nodded to himself on the satisfaction of a job well done and clapped his paws together like he was dusting them off. Garuuvin had big and easy buttons to push, trivially so. Any remotely competent Whitecrest could have played him like a game of Pounce, and Thurrsto prided himself that he’d got where he was on merit far more than on genetics.
He slipped through the opening doors into the cargo bay and took a second to appreciate the probe his Brothers were programming in the middle of the floor. It was as big as a car and looked for all the world like a chunk of dirty water ice.
All under Regaari’s watchful eye. Thurrsto was a betting man, and he’d shave himself to the skin if Regaari wasn’t going to find himself becoming a Father of the Clan sometime in the not too distant future. He’d have to contend the machinations of the many and jealous rivals he’d managed to make even inside his own Clan’s ranks…but he had Genshi’s backing and anybody with a working brain for politics in the Clan knew where things were headed. All the smart ‘Crests were already on Regaari’s side.
That still left a depressingly large number of stupid ‘Crests, even after accounting for Hierarchy infiltration.
None of which spoke well of the coming campaign they’d need to wage among their own ranks. Things were moving into place at once too quickly and too slowly. Regaari had said there would be blood, and Thurrsto knew he was right.
He set the thought aside and bent down to check how his Brother was doing. Senior though he might be, Regaari’s experience of being undercover as a starship repair technician was proving invaluable in sorting out a last-minute technical problem with the probe. Something arcane to do with the control module for the sensors.
“Shipmaster’s getting itchy paws,” Thurrsto reported.
“He’s a smart one,” Faarek commented. “He’d passed the first round of selection for Association with Clan Ironpaw before that explosion.”
“As much as I love a smart Gaoian…” Regaari grunted as he finally managed to work his claws behind the offending module and yank it loose “…right now, we need him to be dumb.”
“Taken care of,” Thurrsto promised.
His Brothers duck-nodded. They didn’t need any elaboration to trust his judgement there.
Regaari made a thoughtful growling noise as he opened the control module and ejected the circuit-threaded crystalline Silicon wafer that functioned as its CPU, which he slotted into a diagnostic tool.
“You never did tell me how this thing works,” Thurrsto reminded him, while activating his portable privacy field. The walls had ears, and this was the first chance he’d had to ask without being surrounded by curious eavesdroppers.
“It’s simple enough,” Regaari told him as he swiped through the tool’s troubleshooting screens. “We attach it to the iceball then nudge that iceball in-system. It’ll detach during the trip when the comet starts to form a tail.”
“Should look like the comet disintegrating naturally,” Faarek explained.
“And then our probe plunges into the target planet’s atmosphere and explodes twenty kilometers up,” Regaari finished. “It should look exactly like a natural impact.”
“All that stuff with the simulated reactor breach is just in case Big Hotel have sensors that can see out this far,” Faarek added. “It’ll look like we used the iceball for emergency repairs and disrupted its orbit. A coincidence, but not an impossible one.”
“Also, to misdirect the crew,” Regaari added.
“And we used this ship rather than one of our own for reasons of deniability,” Thurrsto deduced.
“Exactly. …There.” Regaari ejected the control wafer again and reinstalled it back in its module.
“It’ll take months for useful intel to come back to us,” Thurrsto pointed out.
“Templar wants it that way.” Regaari plunged into the depths of the probe again to reinstall the module, and his voice echoed hollowly inside its shell. “He told me a story about a human sniper who spent a whole day crawling two kilometers over open ground one time to take a single shot. Then three days crawling back while being hunted.”
Faarek chittered darkly. “If that story was about any other species, I’d consider it a myth,” he snorted.
“It’s considered an impressive feat even by their standards,” Regaari said, and backed out of the probe. “But Templar’s intent in telling it was clear. We don’t care how quickly this mission happens, so long as it’s successful.”
Faarek and Thurrsto grabbed the access panel and held it in place for him. It snapped in easily and with only the faintest hairline crack on the surface to hint that the “comet” was anything other than natural.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
Faarek chittered, and deployed a single careful word of English: “Outstanding.”
Regaari growl-chittered and playfully swiped at him. It was a mark of how far they had come while training and serving among the SOR that such naked sarcasm was now a harmless joke among them, rather than a grievous show of disrespect.
They didn’t have time for play so Faarek settled for an amused kilter of his ears, promising good-natured retribution at a later date. They ran one last check while Thurrsto deactivated the privacy field and generally tidied up, and their “comet” was ready to deploy.
“I hear Sister Myun is going back to Gao with the Mother-supreme,” Thurrsto observed, turning to harmless gossip as soon as the field was offline. “A real shame. Who knows when she’ll be back.”
“You don’t stand a chance with her, Brother.”
“Hey!” he chittered along, “I’m big and strong! And smart!”
“And she’s…picky.” Faarek deployed a masterfully apt turn of phrase to speak the truth without giving offense as he lifted the “comet” on its trolley and wheeled it toward the airlock.
Thurrsto was in a playful mood. “And I’m ambitious. If it weren’t for my crest I’d be pretty, too!”
Regaari hit the airlock door. “Brother, the crest is the prettiest part of you.”
“That’s okay, I have a secret weapon. Something that really impresses the Females when they see it.”
Faarek shook his head and chittered. “Whatever you say, Brother.”
“Carnitas tacos,” Thurrsto said proudly. “Never failed me yet. ‘Horse taught me the secret: You have to toast the spices.”
“Aargh, you had to mention tacos.” Regaari hit the button again and they watched the ‘lock cycle. The last ghost of pressure left inside was enough to gently push the probe out towards the comet, and they all stood back with the sense of a job well done. “They’re my favourite Human food.”
“We know, Brother,” Faarek looked upward at the ceiling and his ears drooped sideways patiently.
Regaari ignored the implicit jab. “…Deployment complete. Go tell the shipmaster to give our iceball a nudge.”
‘Iceball’ was a woefully inadequate way of describing a frozen aggregate of water and rock that dwarfed the Howl At Nothing several times over, but Thurrsto duck-nodded and turned away.
“Oh, and, Brother?” Regaari added.
“Yeah?”
“Myun’s favourite is lo mai gai.”
Thurrsto twitched his ears gratefully, duck-nodded again and headed out.
It was good to have Brothers he could rely on.
Date Point: 13y5m3w AV
Chiune Station, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Dane Brown
The staff of Chiune Station had fallen into some bad habits, living as they did in an isolated little enclave of private property a long way from Folctha’s oversight. A few of the permanent residents were technically guilty of tax evasion, in fact—they’d been exaggerating their exercise reports to squeeze another percentage point or two off their income tax under Folctha’s fitness incentives.
Dane had come down on that practice hard and called out the perpetrators as what they were: Morons. If caught they’d wind up paying back far more than they’d saved, and in any case the fitness incentives were there for their own benefit. Cimbrean’s native gravity was twenty percent less than the Earth’s, and failure to exercise in subgravity environments had nasty health consequences.
Blitzing through the whole of Chiune’s staff and bullying them into getting their fat asses in gear was his way of keeping up the same relentless pressure that seemed to be driving Clara at the moment. She’d changed since her father’s death: Less bubbly. Fewer smiles. More crying in his arms at night.
More resolve, though—everything had taken on the importance of a mission of personal salvation for her. It was kinda hot, but also saddening. He missed just being able to relax with her. She didn’t shoot off on her adorable tangents so much, like wondering why people could be called “Brown,” “Green” or “Black” but you never ran into a Mr. Purple, or a Mrs. Yellow.
He had a lot of terrible things to say about the Alien Protection Army terrorists…but perhaps the worst and most personally hateful was that in small ways they’d taken his wife from him.
He was beginning to think he understood the Misfit crew a little more, though. He’d never have said a negative word against the three of them, but Xiù, Julian and especially Allison packed more intensity into their lives than Dane was entirely comfortable with. It was part of what tied them so closely together—nobody else could keep up.
And it sure as hell was making the repairs to Misfit run ahead of schedule. All of the armor plates were attached, the pantry extension was complete and the new engine modules were installed. Allison and Julian had swapped their welding gear for full-face painting respirators and were diligently giving their ship a fresh coat of paint in Byron Group Interstellar’s luxuriant silver, white and red livery.
Clara had a sixth sense for her husband’s presence, and she turned to give him a smile and tucked her tablet under her arm, leaving Julian and Allison to their painting.
“Hey.”
She smiled. “Hey, yourself.”
“Busy?”
She draped her arms over his shoulders. “Yeah. But I should probably take a break, huh?”
“Let me know if you’re gonna work yourself into an early grave so I can update your life insurance,” Dane grinned. He was rewarded with a playful swat to the chest.
“It’s just a couple more days” she promised. “Then I release them fully to the tender mercies of the SOR and we can get started on EV-Twelve.”
Dane nodded, and put down the sports bag he’d brought in with him. “I brought lunch,” he said.
Allison stood up. “I heard ‘lunch’…” she declared, muffled through her painting mask.
“You heard right!” Dane called, and knelt to unzip the bag. “Just enough for three, ‘cause I heard Xiù’s in Folctha, right?””
Julian turned off the air compressor and stripped off his mask. “Yup,” he nodded. “Gaoian business.”
“Yeah, explain that one to me,” Dane requested as the pair dropped their gloves and sauntered over. “She’s a Gaoian?”
“Legally, yeah.” Julian shrugged.
“Dominion law is really dumb about some things,” Allison added. She sat down cross-legged and opened her lunch pack when Dane handed it to her. “Aww, come on. Quark and grapes for dessert again?”
“We’re two hundred miles from anywhere on an alien world that’s the wrong climate to even grow grapes, and you’re complaining?” Dane retorted.
“I’d appreciate the miracle more if you didn’t have us eating this every mealtime,” she grumbled, and set the little tub aside to dive eagerly into the tupperware full of Moroccan chicken and lentils.
“There’s puffed spelt and kiwi fruit in it this time.”
“I stand by my earlier complaint that you’re a sadist,” Julian told him.
Dane chuckled and took his own lunch pack. “For real? I make you nice healthy food, pack it with flavour and texture and everything a body needs…”
“Sometimes what the body needs is deep-fried,” Allison declared. “Just sayin’.”
“Aw, man…” Julian threw his head back and gazed off into the infinite heavens, lost in remembered gastronomic rapture. “When I got back to Earth that first time…”
“What’d you have?” Allison asked him.
“KFC. You?”
“Arby’s. And Xiù basically was sat down by her mom and had a funnel shoved down her throat, the way she tells it.”
“Yeah, but you’ve tasted her mom’s cooking, right?” Julian asked.
“Oh, fuck yeah. Her mom’s food is orgasmic.” Allison drifted off into a culinary daydream of her own, and Clara covered her mouth to giggle.
“Guys. No fantasizing about junk food,” Dane grinned. “We’re supposed to be getting you mission ready.”
“With spelt?”
Dane sighed. “Okay, okay. I’ll talk with Warhorse, let him know I’m giving you one ‘clean cheat’ meal a week, but only if you’ve earned it.”
Julian grimaced. “That guy’s gonna turn me into another meatslab…” he predicted.
“Yeah-huh. I’m sure the girls will hate the results…” Dane snarked. “Also, you wanna beat Vemik don’t you?”
Allison grinned, and Julian tidied his hair back with a face that said he knew he was being played but didn’t object enough to…well, object.
“So how ‘bout it?” Dane asked. “I’ll give you fried chicken tomorrow, Aunt Irma’s secret recipe. With collard greens done the right way.”
“I’m down,” Allison agreed. “Julian?”
“…Meatslab.”
Dane chuckled and shook his head. “Word of advice?” he suggested, knowingly, “This is for your benefit so you set the rules, but you’d be smart to listen to him. He knows what he’s doing. How’ve you been finding my rehab program so far?”
“…Not as bad as I thought it’d be…” Julian admitted.
“See? I’m not so sadistic after all.”
Julian sighed, but it was clear the offer of fried chicken had worked its magic now that the meatslab thing was off the table.
“…Fine. I’m in,” he agreed, and opened his lunch. “Besides,” he added, “It’ll be nice to maybe hold my own against Vemik, y’know?”
Date Point: 13y5m3w AV
Planet Akyawentuo, Unclaimed Space, Near 3Kpc Arm
Vemik Sky-Thinker
For the third time in a hand of days Vemik’s branch broke. If he’d been climbing a Ketta it wouldn’t have mattered so much, but Forestfather bark came away easier, so when he grabbed for a handhold to save himself all he got was a loose handful of bark and enough time to curse.
“Godshiiit—!”
Falling out of a tree was never dignified. Wrapping himself around a thick limb on the way down before sliding off it and landing flat on his back in the leaves, even more so.
He lay there for a while as he recovered his breath, reflecting that the time had probably come to admit to himself that he’d never swing through the high branches again. That had come to him faster than he’d expected, probably because of all the good meat and fruit they had on this side of the mountain.
Yan, of course, was no help at all. He appeared upside-down in Vemik’s vision with a cheerily gruff expression on his face. “You got bigger.”
“…Yes.”
“Good! Means you can do more work and pound out your own iron! Anything broken?”
“Just my dignity.” Vemik winced as he sat up. In fact his ribs were feeling very tender and his breath hurt, but nothing was broken.
“Sky-Thinker, you weren’t using it anyway.”
“Very funny.”
Yan’s trill had some sympathy in it. Of course, he must have taken his share of plunges out of the trees when the Change had come and the gods had Chosen him to be a Given-Man. His teasing was just…Yan being Yan. “Well, rest up for a day or two. I’m sure the women would take care of you…”
“I’m only with The Singer, Yan.”
Yan made an amused harrumphing sound in his chest. “Be that way then. How many more melts do we need?”
“Three more for the knives and spear tips. I wanted to do another for *‘tinkering’*…”
Tinkering was Vemik’s absolute favorite sky-word. There was something metal-sounding about it, and it just felt like a word that meant trying different things to see if they worked.
“Fine. I’ll do all the melts and hammer them out. Or, I’ll shout at our apprentices while they do it. Same thing.”
Vemik trilled, then stopped himself. It hurt.
Yan did that thing again where he ignored Vemik’s discomfort in an affectionate, understanding sort of way that somehow made him feel better. “It’ll make them strong for that *‘Ww…l…’*“ he snarled and concentrated on saying it right. “‘Laminated’ bow of yours,” he said.
Yan was very diligent about the Sky-People words. The ‘Engwish.’ … No. The ‘English.’ He seemed better at them too, which Vemik found strangely infuriating. Why was that? Maybe it’d be easier now that his face was taking a more adult shape…
“About that,” Vemik straightened up and stretched. “I was thinking…maybe if I put small steel blades on the end of bird-spears. *‘Awwows.’*“
“Arrows.” Yan corrected him. He tried to be casual about it, but Vemik wasn’t fooled.
“That hurts your face every time you do it. Don’t pretend it doesn’t.”
Yan ducked his head and grinned. “Putting blades on them?”
“Yes. Maybe…I thought if I put a wide one on the front it’d make a bigger hole and maybe the prey would bleed more.”
“So…like our new spears. Just small.”
“Oh! Yes! And what if we put two kinds of…” Vemik gestured with his hands to try and show what he was thinking. “Kind of like branches sticking out on either side of the spearhead?! So when you skewer a Werne it can’t push up the spear and slice you.”
Yan scratched at his ear thoughtfully. “Could work…sounds like it might break easy, though. Spears are nice ‘cuz they don’t break like the bird-spears do.”
“It’s still worth trying,” Vemik said. Even if his ribs were hurting, he wasn’t about to let Yan wound his hunger for new things.
Yan trilled. “Fine, fine. But for now you go and let my niece look at those ribs. Maybe she’ll talk some sense into you and send you off to visit another hut!”
“Yan!”
“Fine, fine…”
Date Point: 13y5m3w AV
Quarterside Park, Folctha, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Ayma
Father Gyotin had come as an enormous surprise. He readily admitted to a wild and disreputable history that was just…it didn’t fit at all with who he was now.
The Humans of course had a perfectly witty phrase for this: “He’d sown his wild oats.”
Nowadays he was composed, serene and thoughtful. Yulna’s duties and responsibilities had forced her to place Starmind quite low on her list of official engagements, but Gyotin had waited his turn patiently and had met the Mother-Supreme as graciously and warmly as if she’d seen him first.
There was none of the passive-aggressive obsequiousness some males might demonstrate at a perceived snub, nor any wheedling self-serving blather, either. He was simply pleasant, and introduced Yulna to “hot chocolate.” His gift to her—a selection box of sachets of the powder to make the sweet-tasting Human beverage—was modest without being insulting. Ayma had seen more experienced and important Fathers handle their first meeting with a Mother-Supreme far less adeptly.
“Of course, a Clan must have a role,” he agreed. They were strolling around Quarterside park, where Cimbrean Colonial Security had made a clear space for them and Yulna was listening to him with more than just the polite interest that her position demanded. Ayma knew her old friend’s ears very well, and a hair’s-width made all the difference.
“And yours is?”
Gyotin adjusted his robes slightly and his ears moved expressively as he picked his words. “…I remember when I was very young, Mother Sanyi told us Keeda Tales. Crazy, silly stories about the trickster Gaoian who did impossible things.”
“I always liked the story of how we wound up with brown-furs and silver-furs,” Ayma joined in.
Gyotin duck-nodded. “Tripping the big strong males so they fell in a mud hole. Yes, that was one of my favourites…It had just the right mix of silliness and violence for a cub.”
“I heard a different story,” Yulna mused.
“Oh yes. There are many Keeda Tales, and some of them contradict each other,” Gyotin agreed. “But they point to something interesting. In the past, we told stories about the universe and put ourselves in them. Narrative mythology was how we recorded our wisdom. Not the facts, of course, but the skills a cub needed to grow up and thrive. They gave us a sense of…place.”
He gestured toward the Female Commune and its gabled rooftop just visible above the high wall that penned in the Alien Quarter. “And that mythology gave way to writing, history, philosophy, mathematics, and science,” he said. “But then writing, history, philosophy, mathematics and science slowly strangled mythology to death.”
“Are you suggesting that it wasn’t obsolete?” Yulna asked.
“Facts are true. But they are not the truth, not the whole of it. A person’s life is spent living inside their own head and very little of what happens in there is subject to objective truth,” Gyotin said. “Empirical evidence just isn’t the right shape to slip into a person’s mind and pass along important messages. But a story about tripping a big brute so that he falls in a mudhole? That story is exactly the right shape to teach a cub about the value of finesse over raw strength.”
“So you see yourselves as…storytellers?” Yulna asked. Gyotin shook his head.
“I worry that over the years we may have missed valuable lessons about ourselves because we stopped using the right tools to find them,” he said. “Could our psychology be more sophisticated? What if we had kept our—a Human word—spirituality, alive and well? What insights have we possibly missed because we weren’t looking for them in the right way?”
He turned to Yulna “And what benefits might those insights have yielded for raising our cubs?” he finished.
Yulna had a totally unguarded moment where she duck-nodded with an obviously fascinated set of her ears. She only noticed the slip and yanked her professional aloofness back into place when Ayma chittered softly at her, but by then it was too late.
Gyotin, to his credit, didn’t comment or make any overt recognition, but Ayma could tell he was quietly delighted. He spread his paws wide and pricked his ears up. “That is the start of our purpose, at least. I find that a lot of what I do is help people with their problems,” he added.
“How so?” Ayma asked.
“Hmm…” Gyotin looked around, then shrugged. “She isn’t here. But there is a Human female, the one who first set me on this path. She visits me every week, and we talk. It seems to heal her. And she isn’t the only one. Jenny over there—” he indicated a shaven-headed and middle-aged woman in dark grey robes who was standing aside and watching their little procession with interest, “—became a nun to overcome anxiety and depression. Reverend White is not a Buddhist, but apparently the Faith Center helps people every day with similar problems.
“I became a mercenary out of desperation,” he said. “And I wonder if my youth might have been more wholesome if somebody had been there to talk to me and help me find a sense of direction and peace. That is what I hope to achieve.”
Yulna duck-nodded slowly. Rather than reply, however, she looked up at the sound of an air transport—a human model, sturdy and sleek and the only way to fly on Cimbrean—swooping low overhead to dip out of sight beyond the Alien Quarter’s walls. The biolfilter field dome over the Quarter fizzed gently as the vehicle sank through it.
Myun stepped forward, with her ear cocked as she listened to something via the communicator clipped to it. “…That’s Sister Shoo, Mother,” she reported.
“Ah!” Yulna duck-nodded. “Here to see us off. Would you like to meet her, Father Gyotin?”
“I would!” Gyotin agreed. “Things would be very different if not for her…”
Yulna duck-nodded solemnly, and gestured for him to walk with her.
Shoo was playing with a handful of cubs at the Commune when they arrived. No, Ayma realized—not playing. Teaching. Myun had been instructing the little ones in the basics of the modified Gung Fu she had adapted for Gaoian use, and Shoo was now showing them the original form and explaining some of the differences.
Ayma had to admit, she missed having her Human Sister around. Shoo had always been incredible with the cubs, even before she could speak Gaori…and it was impossible to forget that Shoo had literally saved her life, and Yulna’s, Myun’s…Things just felt safer when Shoo was around.
But it was obvious that the Shoo who had lived in the commune on Gao for all that time, and shared a ship with her, wasn’t quite the same person. Isolation and loneliness had taken its toll on her and there had been many tears hidden in out-of-the-way corners where she could try not to be a bother to anybody.
The real Sister Shoo was smiling, gregarious, talkative and maybe a little bit of a showoff. That trick where she raised one foot high into the air until it was directly above the other with her knees locked and her legs straight was physically impossible for a Gaoian, not to mention that it seemed to defy gravity. Ayma had never managed to figure out how Humans managed to hold that pose at all, let alone how Shoo could do it and become perfectly still.
The cubs were suitably awed, too. And so, from the soft sigh he made, was Gyotin.
“Physical poetry,” he murmured.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Yulna asked. “I always thought that strength meant lumbering size. I never appreciated that it could also mean grace.”
“You should watch their sport. It is…they almost fly.”
Ayma could only duck-nod mute agreement.
As they got close enough to overhear her Shoo turned out to be speaking flawless Gaori. Even her accent was right.
“—doesn’t mean fighting,” she was saying. “Gōngfu just means anything that takes patience, practice and time to learn properly. What I’m doing now isn’t a wǔshù, a martial art, it’s gymnastics. What Sister Myun is teaching you is how to fight well, and that isn’t the same thing.”
One of the cubs raised a paw adorably. “Doesn’t that hurt?” he asked.
“A little,” Shoo admitted. “But that doesn’t have to stop you. It’s just a warning, and you can choose to ignore the warning if you know what you’re doing.” She looked up and saw the procession of adults approaching and her leg described an interesting arc down to ground level as she returned to an upright posture.
“You remember how to show respect to your shīfu?” she asked the cubs, who tumbled over each other to stand up, line up, and bow low with one paw cupped in the palm of the other.
Ayma had to fight hard not to whine over how cute it was, and anybody who didn’t know her well would probably have missed the subtle tells that Yulna was having similar trouble.
“Very good!” Shoo beamed at them. “Now I want you to practice the first series like you showed me before while I speak with the Mothers, okay?”
There was an enthusiastic juvenile chorus of “Yes Sister!” and the cubs scrambled away. Ayma managed not to chitter—Shoo had simultaneously let them stay in earshot to sate their curiosity while giving them something to focus on so they probably wouldn’t hear much of the conversation anyway. She really would have been an excellent Mother.
Yulna didn’t stand on formality—she treated Shoo to an affectionate hug, and chittered when Shoo returned the hug with so much interest that it lifted her paws off the ground for a second. A few of the more stuffy Mothers from the Folctha commune watched with their ears at scandalized angles, but they didn’t know Yulna personally, nor how much she appreciated being treated, just for a second, as a Sister.
Ayma got the second hug, but it was longer and firm enough to give her a little trouble breathing. She didn’t complain—visiting on business as part of Yulna’s retinue had robbed her of a proper reunion with Shoo, or with Regaari for that matter. She returned the hug as well as she could.
“I think you may actually be stronger than before…” she observed once finally released.
Shoo duck-nodded. “I am,” she revealed.
“And you can fly a spaceship…”
“And you must be quite experienced at making first contact with alien species by now,” Yulna observed wryly. Xiù flushed a little red in the face and duck-nodded again.
“Only two,” she demurred.
“That’s more than most people,” Yulna observed. “But I’m being rude. Sister Shoo—Father Gyotin of Clan Starmind.”
Gyotin gave her an urbane pant-smile, the one that males who had regular contact with humans had developed that seemed to pass muster as an imitation of a human smile. It certainly went over well with Shoo, who shook his paw warmly.
“I heard about your Clan,” she said. “I would have visited but…”
“But you have responsibilities,” Gyotin finished. “Please, do not apologize to me. I understand you are a Buddhist yourself?”
Shoo managed the neat trick of moving her head just so to suggest an expression with the ears she didn’t have. “In my way. That’s how my parents raised me,” she agreed.
“You meditate?”
Shoo nodded. “Every day.”
“It would be nice to have a deeper conversation with you someday,” Gyotin told her. “Perhaps when you have managed to resolve some of those responsibilities, yes?”
“I’d like that,” Shoo smiled. She glanced at Ayma. “But…I’m sorry, I…”
“You wish to spend time with your Sisters,” Gyotin duck-nodded. “I understand completely. It has been a pleasure, Sister Shoo.”
“It has!”
Ayma chittered warmly and took Shoo by the arm as Gyotin made his farewells to Yulna.
“Charming, isn’t he?” she asked.
“You always did like the intellectuals,” Shoo grinned evilly.
“Oh, you’d be surprised…” Ayma chittered softly. “Come on. We need to leave in the morning. It’d be nice if we could just relax for a while…catch up properly at last. I think you have a lot to tell us…Did I hear correctly that people tried to kill you?”
Shoo’s expression fell, and she glanced around the commune until her eyes alighted on a patch of shadow that, when Ayma spent a second looking at it, turned out to be a big Human male—much smaller than Warhorse and Baseball, but still huge by any other convention—in a dark shirt and dove gray trousers. Not a handsome specimen of the species, she decided, but then again muscles had a value all their own. Quite how somebody that large had just managed to fade himself into the background like that was a mystery.
“He’s here for my protection,” she said.
“Oh, Shoo…” Ayma sighed. “You keep getting in trouble.”
“And I keep finding friends, family, loved ones…” Shoo smiled and took Ayma’s paw. “Don’t worry about me, Ayma. I’d rather be in trouble for doing the right thing.”
“Are you doing the right thing?” Ayma asked. “These new deathworlders you found…Even if it’s toothless and clawless, the Dominion has the Office for the Preservation Of Indigenous Species for a good reason…They might say you’ll do more harm than good.”
Shoo shook her head sharply, and not in the Gaoian way. “We’re doing the right thing,” she said, with total conviction. “And I don’t care what they say.”
“…I believe you.”
They moved on to happier topics.