Date Point: 15y6m1d AV Hell, Hunter Space
Captain Anthony “Abbott” Costello
The sky was boiling.
Costello had never seen northern lights before, and now sheets of silent fire were coiling languidly across the heavens far faster than he’d imagined they would, shifting hue like some fibre-optic Christmas tree or something. One minute turquoise, the next orange shading to green, or bright red…
All thanks to that goddamn bomb. He’d tried to follow the explanation of how it worked, really he had, but really it had just driven home to him that the Gao were an alien species with a few centuries of technological ground separating them from humanity. They knew things about physics that just didn’t fit Costello’s meagre scientific education.
Like how you fit four orders of magnitude more energy than the San Diego blast into something that a man could carry around. Sikes was adamant that Daar’s big bomb should have weighed more than fifty metric tonnes.
Daar had shrugged that off. “Reality gets angry when ‘ya fuck around with it in the right ways,” he’d said, and that had been more than enough to scare the HEAT into thoughtful silence.
He’d been proven right, though. They’d shafted the laws of physics good and hard, and the result was… well, frankly, a spectacular and unforgettable view. Aurora from horizon to horizon, as dense as comb teeth and vivid beyond the wildest fever-dreams of television advertisers.
All hanging silently over a landscape eerily reminiscent of Colorado in midwinter.
“Two hours, sir.”
Firth pulled him out of his distant thoughts just by reporting the time since detonation. Their best estimate said the Ring would shatter under its own shear forces once cut at ground zero, and to judge from the endless rain of shooting stars that process was well underway. The big bits wouldn’t be coming down for months, but tiny ultra-high-velocity fragments were being sprayed into the upper atmosphere as the Hunter megastructure tore itself to pieces.
He took a sip of his drink and cleared his throat. “Connection?”
“Still down.”
“Not impossible that the generator could survive on a big chunk with its own power supply, I guess…” Costello mused as he turned his attention skyward again.
Firth grunted. “We got a plan for that eventuality, sir?”
“Get our asses somewhere sheltered before the big bits start landing on our heads,” Costello replied.
Titan, who’d been watching their wormhole links suddenly lowered his tablet. “Looks like it won’t come to that. I have green lights for Minot and Sharman. Door’s open to go home.”
“Right.” Costello stood up. “Get the Great Father offa this rock. After that, we jump out in reverse arrival order.”
“Got it.”
Around their makeshift little camp the resting HEAT troopers and First Fang Brothers hauled themselves upright and grabbed their gear. The field Array had been up for nearly forty minutes, fully charged and ready.
Daar, predictably, did not agree to be made safe first. Instead he was setting up a kind of tube that one of his Brothers had been carrying. It looked a heck of a lot like a mortar.
“Sir, we really need to get you back—” Costello began.
“I heard.” Daar aimed his snout skywards and inclined his head slightly. There was a thoomp! and a silver-grey blur shot out the tube’s end much faster than any mere mortar round had ever gone. There was a brief blue flash of Cherenkov radiation.
“…What was that? A warp-based ground-to-orbit weapon?”
“Drone launcher. Figger if the spike an’ suppressor are down, I’m gonna do what I said an’ blow the whole fuckin’ Ring to bits. An’ I ain’t trustin’ nobody else with that. Sarry.”
More flashes in the sky.
“That right there were seven more bombs like the first one. We should prol’ly get outta here now.”
Costello turned to Firth. “Master sergeant—”
He needn’t have bothered. Behind his mask, Firth looked outright alarmed and was already turning to start shouting.
“Captain wants erryone’a you cocksuckers dick-to-ass on that platform right now!”
It worked. By this point such “gentle” ministrations by Firth had become well-known, familiar displays of his concern.
Daar did at least allow himself to be removed from Hell in the first wave, alongside Fiin and the largest part of First Fang. The familiar jump-thump heralded the arrival of a set of charged power cells so that the Array’s turnaround time was no longer than it took Titan, Sikes, Moho and Kiwi to efficiently grab a cell each and swap out one on each pylon.
Costello was promptly squeezed in the middle of the second jump, as close as close got. Japanese commuter trains weren’t so densely packed.
Another thump, and the anticlimax was complete. He got himself off the jump platform, making room for the third and final load to come through. Techs in hazmat gear were shepherding them through a decontamination shower.
For something so immense to pass so… correctly just felt wrong, somehow. It had been a fight, yes. A serious one. And the consequences were incalculable: Billions dead, and the war was just beginning.
He was cleansed thoroughly before being escorted through into the suit hangar to get his MASS off, a procedure normally full of banter and the release of pent-up adrenaline. Energy bar, recovery drink, clean clothes… hotwash.
Nobody was celebrating this one.
Date Point: 15y6m1d AV
Builder brood-barge, Hell system, Hunter Space
The Builder Alpha-of-Alphas
There were challenges to its authority, of course there were. A new Alpha-of-Alphas always faced them. But the Eaters were caught in a trap that had been generations in the making and had actually been triggered early and opportunistically. Every last one of them depended on the Builders for their cybernetics. It had been trivially easy to abuse that trust.
The challengers had all slumped to the deck, immobile and helpless, the instant they attacked. Incapacitated… but not dead. The wasteful days of unnecessary execution were over. Humiliation would keep the Alphas in line. Each had been left with a brand, a scar, something to remember the new Alpha-of-Alphas by. They would, perversely, be far more loyal than the unscarred who had simply stood back and apathetically allowed the throne to pass from one claimant to the next.
Losing the Hive was… a shame. But the blame had fallen on the former Alpha-of-Alphas, which had paid appropriately: Its skull now hung above its replacement’s throne.
Now came the strategic analysis, as the Alpha of the Steelfang Brood was reporting.
+< Grim > Nearly all broodships are destroyed. Nine out of every ten swarmships also. Slave stock loss is total. Manufacturing loss is—+
The Alpha-of-Alphas tapped one of its legs sharply on the floor.
+< Interruption > It will not presume to educate me about our manufacturing capabilities.+
+< Contrition > Of course. The overall strategic analysis is that we have suffered a terrible wound. The loss of the breeding pools alone—+
The Alpha-of-Alphas almost vocalized a frustrated hiss.
+< Sharply > What we have lost is irrelevant. Tell me what remains, and what we need.+
The Alphas looked around at each other, before the Alpha of the Gnawing-Brood spoke. It was one of the newly scarred, the mark on its throat a permanent reminder that it owed its continued existence to the Alpha-of-Alphas’ generosity.
Finally, however, it started answering questions to its new master’s satisfaction.
+< Calculating > Without the Hive’s population of meat-slaves, starvation will quickly finish what the Humans started. We have six of the sport worlds: the one below the Hive will shortly be scoured and dead. Each is sparsely populated and only a single slave transport remains. Populating them to sustain us is not feasible: We must raid.+
One of the others broadcast amusement.
+< Smug; scorn > You act as though the idea alarms you.+
+< Reminder > Raids are most effective when the Prey are vulnerable and their guard is down. The more we raid, the more well-prepared the Prey will be and the more casualties we shall suffer. < Observation > And in our weakened state, it will not take many casualties before raiding becomes unsustainable.+
The Alpha-of-Alphas stood from its throne.
+< Command > Raid infrequently against large targets, taking as many alive as possible. The Steelfang Alpha shall direct operations. Low-value Omegas and Brood are acceptable losses: Broodships, Builders, Betas and Alphas are not. If necessary, the lowest echelons will feed the upper. Meanwhile, the Builders will restore our industry.+
It stalked toward the exit, then paused and turned back.
+< Lecture > Fix this in your memories: Nothing is unassailable, everything can be broken. There will never be another Hive: From now on, we rely on redundancy. Each of you will find a home base for your Brood and I do not care whether you choose an asteroid, a moon, a station deep in interstellar space. We shall make each one self-sufficient.+
There was unanimity.
+< Fervor > It shall be as the Alpha-of-Alphas commands.+
+< Grudging satisfaction > Good.+
It left the chamber and returned to its sanctum, where the cybernetic wreckage of its predecessor still occupied the augmentation cradle. There would be time to modify that later: Remove the weaknesses and flaws that the Builder had exploited in its coup. It would not end as its predecessor had, helpless and immobile without so much as a twitching manipulator.
For now, it had more important concerns. The consolidation of its power, the security of the Swarm-of-Swarms…
And the secret behind those bombs.
Date Point: 15y6m2d AV
HMS Sharman (HMNB Folctha), Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Lieutenant-Commander Kieran Mears
Letter for notes,
RE: Mr. Damian Joseph Spears;
Dr. Holly Marie Chase;
Dr. James Choi;
Dr. Benjamin Richard Cook
These four individuals entered my care on an emergency basis following their recovery during Operation LOST CUB. They are employees of the Moses Byron Group, who will doubtless be handling their care going forward.
Initial assessment: All four are in a fragile state of mind having endured a decade of constant stress, not to mention witnessing the deaths of two of their colleagues and the grievous wounding of a third during their eventual escape. In addition, they resorted to consuming the meat of sapient aliens in order to survive. In the absence of a more accurate word, and in reflection of their own feelings on the matter, I shall refer to this as cannibalism from now on.
All four should therefore be considered highly likely to develop Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in the near future, and should be treated appropriately. Depression, anxiety and other conditions also seem probable.
Doctor Cook is unquestionably the worst case. Although his colleagues report that he held together well during their exile and escape, now that he is safe among humans he has lapsed into a catatonic daze. His attention can be briefly gained but is difficult to hold. Unfortunately, he has also twice now become violent and assaulted base staff. He is therefore currently sedated and it is probably worth keeping him on a sedative regime for the time being. I have started him on lorazepam. He violently rejected the assistance of our base chaplain.
Doctor Chase is superficially in a good mood but she is evasive with regards to the status of her colleague Doctor Wheeler, who is in intensive care, and changes the subject quickly whenever Doctor Wheeler is mentioned. Of the four, she spent the longest with the chaplain and requested a rosary, which seems to comfort her greatly. Although this is a welcome development, she should be monitored for signs of obsessive behaviour and I have prepared a script for fluoxetine should it become necessary.
Mister Spears is quiet and solemn, and was eager to escape from our infirmary when I spoke to him. Despite his malnourished and exhausted condition he seemed anxious to get out of bed and explore, or at least to have some activity to distract him. I started him on a low dose of Diazepam, which seemed to help, but he remains restless and finds it difficult to concentrate on anything for long. I am told that he threw a book across the room at one point, but he readily calmed down and apologized to the nurse. If his restlessness persists, he may need stronger diazepam.
Doctor Choi is objectively in the best condition both physically and mentally. He describes his mood as “both high and low” but his emotions and mood seem to be largely appropriate considering his recent history. He was very eager to be reunited with his parents, who are en route to Folctha at the time of writing. He spoke at length with the chaplain and me about what he should tell his parents and what he should leave out, especially vis-a-vis cannibalism. He was quite concerned over what their reaction might be, but did not strike me as inappropriately anxious. To be on the safe side, I have prepared a script for sertraline which I hope will not be necessary.
I do not anticipate that they will remain in my care beyond this letter.
-Lt Cmdr K. Mears
Counsellor, HMS Sharman
Date Point: 15y6m2d AV
Folctha, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Martina Arés
Diego was asleep and Marty, like any remotely sensible parent, was trying to sleep at the same time. In a couple of hours he’d be awake and hollering for a breast again.
What she achieved, sadly, was to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling with nightmare scenarios flashing through her brain. Heavy footfalls on the stairs and, rather than a knock, it’d be a liaison officer come to give her the bad news. Or maybe the phone would ring, or…
It had to be hormones, or something. She’d endured him being away on missions before without feeling half this nervous. Yeah. Just maternal hormones, making her anxious.
…Or just the reality of the tiny life asleep in the crib four feet to her left.
She gave up on sleeping and got out of bed. It was still early evening after all. Maybe she’d catch up on some reading she’d meant to do.
It worked. With a tablet in one hand, a hot chocolate in the other and the baby monitor on the table next to her, she quickly got lost in and soothed by a few highlights from the scientific journals she followed. There was an especially interesting paper titled “Long chain hydrocarbon interactions with forming stasis field boundaries” that she read twice.
After that, she finally got round to some poetry her dad had sent her.
”History, with its hard spine & dog-eared
Corners, will be replaced with nuance,
Just like the dinosaurs gave way
To mounds and mounds of ice.
Women will still be women, but—”
The stairs on the first floor made the unmistakable groan they always did when several very large men stepped onto them, followed by an almost alarming squeal as Adam began his climb.
It was a genuine relief to hear his footsteps but…they were slow and heavy. More often than not he flew up the stairs in a few bounding, tectonic leaps. Not now. He was either exhausted, or had a lot on his mind.
Or, as it turned out, both.
He showed up at the door in a tank top and a pair of comfortable gym shorts. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Still got my shield.”
She smiled and kissed him, getting a one-armed rib-breaker of a hug in return, then watched as he tiptoed across the floor to check on Diego. The baby stirred softly but didn’t wake in response to the softest of gentle touches as Adam brushed a finger as thick as his arm across his cheek, then thumped—gently, so as not to wake Diego—over to the fridge in search of a beer.
Dad had brought along some of his ale the last time he visited and Adam decided now was the time to finish it off. He padded toward the couch with his beer, gently laid himself out and melted into it with a great sigh of relief. There wasn’t much pleasure in it.
“That bad, huh?” Marty sat down next to him.
“…Yeah.”
Marty sighed internally. She loved her Beefchunk but he was, as ever, not the best with his words.
She cuddled up to his arm and rested her head on his shoulder, glad for the familiar heat he gave off. “Knowing you, you already beat the crap outta the gym trying to work it through…”
“Yup. Bent the barbell. Uh…into a pretzel, sorta. Imma have to replace it.”
“That’s why we have a monthly equipment budget,” she prodded his side. “But seriously, if you couldn’t slab it out, maybe you need to talk it out.”
“I don’t… Corazón. Right now, I just want this.” He demonstrated by pulling her into a full-body hug.
She wrapped her arms as far around his chest as they could go, and snuggled into him. Things weren’t necessarily right with the world, but at least they were right at home.
“Okay,” she said. “I can do that.”
Lulled by the silence and his warmth, she soon fell asleep.
Date Point: 15y6m2d AV
Folctha, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Allison Buehler
Long day. Tired… but happy. EV-Twelve was in great shape and getting better by the day, and Allison’s fingerprints were all over her by now.
Of course, the work had been a little more… intense, today. Everybody knew about the Dauntless crew. It had been a stark reminder that things had gone wronger than wrong in the EV program’s early days. A lot of the guys on the ship engineering team felt personally responsible.
Allison of course didn’t have any share in that blame, whoever it belonged to. But it had done a lot to focus her mind. She knew that the crew’s lives depended on their good work, but today it had been visceral, written in her cells. She was certain she’d put in her best day’s work.
Hell, she’d only come up for air when Clara had literally dragged her off the ship and ordered her to go home.
She drove home in silence, underlined by the patter of Folctha’s nightly rains, the thup-thup of the wipers, and the tick-tick of her turn signals. Normally, she thought electric cars were too damn quiet but tonight she’d been glad of it.
“Allison!”
Her brothers came thundering up to her as soon as she opened the door. Ramsey and Tristan were blossoming now that their parents weren’t looming over them literally every second of the day: They’d been enrolled at Folctha Comprehensive, they were making friends their own age and both of them had grown enormously in confidence and self-expression. Allison, being the coolest possible big sister ever, had accidentally helped them, there.
There were concessions, of course. Both Amanda and Jacob had access to the boys and the right to take them places, the family spent a lot of time together down at the Multi-Faith center where they were integrating into Folctha’s tiny Mormon branch. Despite her best efforts, Allison hadn’t been able to avoid becoming well-acquainted with the branch president. She quite liked him, actually.
She knelt to give the boys a hug. “Shouldn’t you two be getting ready for bed? It’s late.”
“Xiù never said to,” Ramsey supplied.
“Where is she?”
“She’s upstairs. I think she’s taking a bath.”
“Alright. You two get dressed for bed, okay?”
They didn’t protest much. They never did, though they had learned they could get away with being a little more willful in this house. Allison was being careful not to let them turn into unleashed terrors, though. She hoped the discipline she imposed was reasonable and fair, rather than the sit-still-and-be-silent tyranny they and she had endured under their parents.
In fact, when Allison went upstairs, Xiù had gone all-out on the bath: lights off, scented candles lit, a bath bomb and flower petals that gave the water and therefore the room a lavish lavender atmosphere. She turned her head, opened her eyes and smiled a little when Allison opened the door, sitting up a little straighter in the water.
Allison knew that smile: It was the one Xiù used when things weren’t completely okay in her head. She crouched down next to the bath and they traded a slightly soapy kiss. “…How was it?”
Xiù sighed. “Harrowing. They went through… well, a lot.”
“I bet. Where the hell were they?”
Something seemed to darkly amuse Xiù for a second. She waved a water-pruned hand vaguely at the towels she’d neatly folded on the radiator. “Yeah. Where the hell.”
“Hey?”
“They called the planet Hell. It’s, uh, in Hunter space. I guess it’s kind of a hunting reserve or something.”
“…A Hunter game preserve?” Allison grabbed a towel and handed it to her.
“Yeah. It’s just as grim as it sounds. And… well, you know how much food we had just for the three of us…”
“…I don’t think I wanna hear the rest,” Allison decided. “I mean… unless you really need to get it off your chest.”
That earned her a smile and a wet hug as Xiù stood up and stepped out of the bath. The water was no more than tepid by now: she must have been in there a long while. “I’m okay.”
“…Okay. You want me to cook tonight, or…?”
“Pizza,” Xiù decided. “Pizza and a movie.”
“Suits me! You wanna let the boys stay up, or…?”
“Sure.”
Allison left her to dry herself and get dressed, spun through the shower in the efficient way they’d mastered on Misfit to get the worst of the day’s grime off, and decided they may as well make a pajama party of it.
Half an hour later, the living room smelled of pepperoni and cheese, and was awash with the sound of cartoon lasers.
Xiù wasn’t watching the movie though. “Hey. Look.”
She angled her phone’s screen Allison’s way. Julian had sent a message full of pictures, mostly stunning shots of Monument Valley at dawn. Vemik and Yan seemed to be laboring in the heat but it was pretty clear that Julian was making good friends with their guides and thoroughly enjoying himself.
Allison smiled at the grinning selfie he’d taken with his newfound cousin, but it put a tightness in her chest. “…This is gonna be a long couple of weeks.”
“Yeah.”
They were still examining the pictures when headlights played over the curtains and, a few seconds later, the doorbell rang. Allison levered herself off the sofa to investigate.
They had a security camera above the door, and a little monitor on the wall next to it, and there was no mistaking the men outside. She opened it for them.
Moses Byron gave her a warm but troubled smile as he entered and wiped his shoes, with Kevin Jenkins just behind him. “Hope I’m not disrupting,” he said, shaking her hand.
“Just a little, but I guess it’s important, huh?” Allison asked. Behind her, Xiù emerged from the living room. “Come on in.”
“Very,” Moses shook Xiù’s hand too, and hung his coat up.
“Hey Kevin.” Kevin got a hug.
He returned it. “Hey, Al. Xiù. Y’okay?”
“Ah, hello! Who’re these young gentlemen?”
Moses had stooped to shake hands with Ramsey and Tristan, who’d naturally abandoned the movie to see what was up.
“These are my brothers,” Allison explained. “Ramsey, Tristan, this is Moses Byron. He—”
“Oh, wow!” Ramsey immediately looked starstruck.
“I see my reputation precedes me,” Moses chuckled. “You two aren’t giving Allison too much trouble, are you?”
The boys knew how to answer questions like that. “No sir!”
Moses chuckled again. “That’s what I like to hear. Now, I need to steal your sister and Miss Chang for a few minutes. I hope that’s okay?”
Allison waved him through into the kitchen. “You two finish the movie and go to bed, okay?”
“Yes, Allison.”
Moses seemed genuinely buoyed by the encounter, and sat at the table in the kitchen with a smile on his face. “Fine young men,” he commented.
“I hope so,” Allison agreed. “So, this is about the Dauntless crew?”
Kevin sat down opposite Moses. “It’s about a lot more than that. The SOR aren’t even trying to keep a lid on what went down over there on Hell.”
“Why, what—?”
“I haven’t told her everything yet,” Xiù pointed out, as she bustled to make coffees.
“Ah, right.” Kevin thought for a second. “Uh… short version? The Hunters had some kinda megastructure in orbit around the dang thing. Big enough to make the Death Star look like a lego kit. Daar just blew the damn thing up.”
Xiù set a mug down sharply and turned around. “…There are billions of slaves on that thing!”
“Were,” Moses grunted. The lines on his face that had almost vanished as he interacted with the boys had come back deeper than ever.
Xiù’s hand fluttered up to her temple for a second, and then her expression locked down and she turned back to making the drinks. Buying herself time to think, probably.
“I mean… that’s big,” Allison said, “but isn’t that kind of AEC’s ball to handle?”
Kevin shook his head. “We’re tied up in it. Our ship found the place, our people managed to scrape by out there for years. It was their escape that even made what Daar did possible.”
Xiù didn’t seem to know if she wanted to make drinks or just sit down. “I mean, why would he…? How could he even–?!”
Allison stood up and took over from her. “I guess he felt it was necessary. I mean, that’s why Yulna elevated him, right? Somebody ruthless enough to do what needs doing?”
“Āi yá…”
Kevin shuffled aside to make room for Xiù as she sat down.
“Look, here’s the crux of it,” Moses said. “We know what’s gonna happen. Right or wrong, whether that thing needed blowing away or not, we’re tangled up in it and people will be angry over it. A lotta people will see the mass death and that’ll be the end of it for them; nothing will ever be justification enough for them.”
“And we already got bombed by the APA once,” Kevin noted.
“We’re aware,” Allison said. It was why their house had a panic room and bullet-resistant glass on the ground floor, which had been expensive as hell. It had been a factor in her successful application to the Folctha police for a class one firearms license, usually only available to on-duty police and security officers. The three of them still received threatening messages at least a few times a week, which Mister Williams and MBG security mostly handled themselves.
“So what do you need us to do?” Xiù asked.
“Well, you mentioned Yulna. You’re still a Sister, after all,” Moses said. “And I think right now we need to know what the Gao are thinking.”
“I can’t imagine Yulna will be happy about this…” Allison agreed.
“Yulna’s pragmatic. I think that’s why Giymuy named her, actually,” Xiù sighed, but nodded. “But fine. I can do that.”
“We can do that,” Allison corrected her.
“You don’t have to–”
“Babe, I like Yulna. I wanna be there for her.”
That earned her a smile, and a nod.
Moses seemed satisfied as well. He smiled as Allison set a coffee down in front of him and picked it up with both hands to sniff it before taking a sip.
“Mm… You make good coffee.”
“Hey, how come you don’t compliment mine anymore?” Kevin asked, lightheartedly.
“Kevin, we both know you take it as a point of pride that you make perfect coffee. There’s no point in complimenting you on it.” Moses took another sip and set it down. “As for MBG’s reaction to this… We’re gonna back our people to the hilt. Whatever they need, they get. When they’re attacked, we protect them. They aren’t to blame for what Daar did.”
“The question is, do we think what Daar did was the right thing?” Allison asked. When Xiù looked at her she shrugged. “I mean… he must have had a reason for it. Must have felt that hurting the Hunters that much was worth all the loss of life.”
Xiù paused, then nodded. Allison wasn’t sure if she was aware she was rubbing her arm.
“I don’t see that we need to answer that question… yet,” Moses said. “In fact, I hope we never do. That kind of messy business is what elected leaders are for. Mine is just to take care of my people and increase shareholder value.”
“But we still have to pay attention to politics, which is why we need Yulna’s take,” Kevin added.
Moses nodded. “Gotta test the wind and know where the reefs are, no matter how you sail.”
“That makes sense,” Xiù nodded.
They were interrupted by the boys, who appeared at the door to inform them that the movie was over and they were going to bed, and the business conversation never resumed. Once they were gone, Moses changed the subject by asking about how EV-12 was coming along and they made small talk and caught up while finishing their coffees.
Kevin and Moses declined to use the spare bedrooms: Apparently they’d already got rooms at the Statler. There were handshakes, farewells, and at long last Xiù and Allison had some more time together alone.
Xiù sank onto the couch like she was twice her actual age. “Āi yá…” she repeated.
“Babe, you look about ready to fall over. Shouldn’t we go to bed?”
“Urgh, if I sleep now I’ll just have the worst dreams…”
“Well… we didn’t finish those pics Julian sent us?” Allison suggested. That seemed to brighten her mood, and Xiù fished her phone out of her pocket to call them up again. They snuggled up on the couch and started over from the top.
“I wonder what he’s doing right now…?”
Date Point: 15y6m2d AV
Monument Valley, Navajo Nation Reservation, Utah/Arizona border, USA, Earth
Yan Given-Man
“How is one place so hot and so cold on same day?!”
“We already covered that, big guy.” Yan was being grumpy but Jooyun, bless him, was a patient man. “Trees can keep heat in and keep it out. Also, our sun is a hotter star than yours.”
Yan grumbled and scooted a little closer to the fire. Jooyun didn’t mind the cold at all, lying against a rock while he warmed his feet. In fact, he seemed more comfortable than Mikey or Raven, who’d both thrown blankets around their shoulders against the night air.
“He’s got a point though,” Raven said. “It’s like forty degrees and your clothes are drying out in front of the fire. The day’s heat didn’t seem to bother you much either.”
“I’m a Minnesota boy,” Jooyun shrugged. “I like the cold, and a lotta fellas don’t remember that it gets hot up north, too. Also I’m, uh, a lot bigger than I used to be,” he added with the strange grin the humans sometimes used when they were both proud and embarrassed about something. “I don’t seem to get the chills much anymore.”
Raven quirked an eyebrow. “You’re not cold at all?”
Jooyun chuckled softly. “Well…” He stood up, fetched his “blue jeans” from the rack he’d built and carefully wriggled into them. “Maybe a little. Even I have my limits. But now I have warm pants! This is a good reason to make cloth, Yan. Easier to clean than pelts, too.”
There was a miserable sound from the pile of blankets to Yan’s left. Vemik was under there somewhere, having claimed Jooyun’s blanket on the grounds that Jooyun wasn’t using it.
Sky-Brother chuckled. “You okay, bud? It’ll be better if you crawl out and sit with us.”
Vemik lifted the front of the blanket with his tail, just enough to peek out. “Soup ready, yet?”
“Getting there.” Mikey gave it a stir. It was all made with food they’d acquired themselves during the day. Seeing just how much food the Humans could scrounge up from what had looked to Yan’s eyes like an empty dusty wasteland had been… well, he’d learned a lot. There wasn’t a lot, but there was enough to send them to bed with a full belly, which meant another tomorrow to find more food.
That seemed to be how Humans did things, in fact. Get enough food now to reach tomorrow. If you could get enough food for the day after, and the day after, and the hand of days after that then that was good, but Mikey had said something interesting to make Yan think.
“The thing is,” he’d said, “we’re not made for this land. We’re invaders. So we can’t live off this land forever. The point isn’t to build a life here, the point is to survive until you can get back home.”
“How did your people live here, then?” Vemik had asked.
“We made a home by growing crops and keeping animals,” Raven explained.
“Crops,” Yan grunted. “So… you change this land to fit you?”
“Don’t you?” Jooyun asked. “You built a village. You had to clear the site and mark the trails, didn’t you? You set traps, and take wood for the fire and huts, dig clay for pots and strip bark for rope and cord.”
“Every animal changes the land,” Mikey said. “Even if it’s just digging a burrow or marking its territory.”
Yan furrowed his brow and thought on that until the soup was served, which turned out to be delicious and warming.
It certainly brought Vemik out of his blanket pile.
[“Why so troubled, Yan?”] he asked, in People-words. [“You saw how Humans build their big towns, you didn’t object before.”]
[“Not troubled,”] Yan grunted. [“Thinking.”]
“Anyway,” Julian finished his bowl with an appreciative slurp, “I think you two will like where we’re going next. First we’re going to Yellowstone and then the Badlands, so we can show you something like how humans, uh, ‘grew up’ I guess. The plains can be a lot like where we first learned to speak.”
“And where you learned to write?” Vemik asked.
“Nah, bud. That was elsewhere. But I think you’ll like it, and after that we’re going to Canada.”
“Can na-duh. Is another planet?”
Raven giggled. “Might as well be!”
“Naw, big buddy! It’s a lot like where I lived actually. It can get cold…but there’s strong trees, and big dangerous prey, and predators, too. Lots of bears for you to look at, Yan [Given-Man]. Though I’d not pick a fight with one.”
“Is it warm?” Vemik asked.
“This time of the year, it’s hard to say. Could be either, depending on what the gods have in mind. Some stories like to say it’s Old Man Winter and Spring fighting it out.”
“Old Man Winter.” Yan grunted. “…Good name for a god.”
Yan had long figured out that when a human talked about the gods—well, at least Jooyun, anyway—they didn’t necessarily use the word exactly like the People might. That was okay. Most of them still showed respect to the gods even if they didn’t call them gods at all.
It was comforting somehow to see that even a strong Sky-Tribe like the humans could be wrong about things.
“But yes, it will probably be pretty pleasant for the most part. Except for the mosquitos. I think you’ll be fine though with that thick skin of yours. Me, well…”
“Moss keet-oh?”
“They’re little insects that land on you and drink your blood. Like I said, you two should be fine. S’long as I don’t eat like crap and stay clean they should probably leave me alone…”
Raven found that amusing for some reason. “Sounds like wishful thinking.”
“Yeah, probably. They never bothered me as much as my grandpa, but this time of the year you’ll be able to cut through their swarms with a knife.”
Yan suppressed a shiver. He hated bugs. Too many of the People died to the shivering-sickness every year, and they all knew it was the little biting things that swarmed in the water that carried it. But what could they do? People needed to drink, and Ketta-water wasn’t enough for a whole tribe. They’d just have killed the trees.
“Is dark,” he noted instead of saying anything. “We should sleep.”
“Yeah, fair…”
In fact, not a lot of sleeping happened at first. Yan lay there with a head full of thoughts for some time, listening idly as Raven taught Vemik the names of the stars. He had to admit, he liked that the humans had named some of them after a great hunter.
His bedroll was warm and comfortable though. In the end, his thoughts drifted off, and so did he.
Date Point: 15y6m3d AV
HMS Sharman (HMNB Folctha), Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Lieutenant-Commander Kieran Mears
Letter for notes,
RE: Captain Anthony Costello
Captain Costello came straight to my office as soon as he was able following mission recovery and hotwash for Operation LOST CUB. He is clearly deeply troubled by the mission’s events.
To summarize: the estimated population of slaves aboard the Hunter Ring, which Costello and his team were instrumental in destroying, is estimated to have been in the billions. While he accepts the rationale behind the structure’s destruction, he describes himself as having a “troubled conscience.”
We discussed the situation at length, though mostly I think he just needed to vent his feelings. He has few other outlets, considering the need-to-know nature of the operation’s details and his shortage of true friendships among the SOR. I suggested that he might benefit from discussing the operation with his men, and he accepted that this was probably sensible. He also predicted that he’d probably be getting drunk later tonight.
I reminded him to hydrate before going to bed, which lifted his spirits and made him laugh. All things considered, I see no cause for alarm, though I imagine we will have a few more conversations on this subject in the near future.
-Lt Cmdr K. Mears
Counsellor, HMS Sharman