Speaker 1: The harsh sterility of space was stained only by the
presence of the undergalactic space station, the pyramidal structure rotating
where it was fixed in space, a flickering sphere of
artificial gravity, the only thing keeping the resonance in their
makeshift spacesuits from floating off where they lounged on the
docking strips. Purple light from the nearest star, thousands of
miles away, cast violet hues across the metal surface of
the pyramid. I use the light to guide kaylaks In
for a landing Cadbury, deploying the rickety wheels descending from
the underside of the craft while I steered us across
a strip aisled with other shabby ships. Rousing, the crews
sprayed across the wings of their cosmocrafts, clutching an assortment
of steaming thermoces, bubbling coffee, iced ale, spiced tea. The captains,
lounging in the cockpits of their crafts, clicked the locking
mechanisms as we trundled past, a cacophony of passive aggressive chirping.
As the lock slid shut and the cosmocrafts beaped lights
flashing too brightly, so I worried how I looked in it.
I didn't couldn't let the crew see me WinCE. Xeno
pilots were one thing, but for a Zeno to call
themselves captain was another. An insult to every human behind
the wheel, or so they would have me believe, that's right,
even the outsiders. A zeno was an outsider, even in
open space. Given the opportunity and enough liquor, grievers would
go out of their way to teach me my place.
But a captain, even an unlicensed one, was rarely without
their crew. Still, I resisted the urge to tell Cad
to sit up straight in his seat, for us to
smooth their lab coat, for pool to be human. The
thought was too heinous to acknowledge, so we rolled on
killers leaned along the steel parking corridor. As the timed
ship sensors snapped the metal doors closed behind the Kylaks
to keep the oxygen in. Captain Crisfield of the Cosmocraft
Paradise spared a wink, raising their can of last season's
cucumber Kylyaks. Cult If my genetic composition stood in the
way of making connections, then beer more than made up
for that. The Octaalavian ancients had figured out as much.
I reminded myself. A captain's job was to be paranoid,
but this was hardly reasonable. Aboard the under galactic, the
entire pyramidal structure was under the hot cauldron command. The
way the rule went. Once two individuals drank molten iron
from the same cauldron, they were family bound from thereon.
Within the undergaler knot to protect each other from the
harsh winds of open space. The human equivalent, which was
said to date back just as far, if not further,
then the HCC, had a band of orbiter share water
from the same pot. In this way, the same minerals
enter their blood, and there was no way to poison
the pot. Everyone had to share it. Ion harvesters jem No,
Locks and Irk waved up from the smattering of faces
their cramped drill ships, spray painted with the words driller
I hardly know wher parked and lowered. A purple scaled
colidis In waved forward seasonal passes to burning Brahie that
were so near identical even the artists wouldn't be able
to tell them. Apart from the real thing. Clustered around
torn open bags of green dust backs to the walls
of the hangar were the tweakers. There was no better
word for them, even though I hated myself for thinking
of them as such. Humans mostly skin poked and pale,
bone thin, arms trembling outstretched as they held metal spoons
with streaker in it over small flames licking out of
clenched lighters. The most gruesome sight was the ones who
were injecting, just then, rusted needles dipping into the liquefied
streaker drawn get into syringes. Catt Ex explained the way
it works. It was thought that one could avoid cyano
if they didn't snort the stufff so streaker tweakers had
taken a fast tracking the process. One woman had a
large rubber band tied just under her shoulder. Her sleeve
rolled up to reveal a bul bulging vein that she
punctured with a needle. A man next to her completed
his injection, eyes practically glowing green, they rolled backwards. His
hands flopped to his side, arms convulsing so violently he
forgot to remove the syringe. Instead, it pierced deeper into
his flesh. Red blood oozing out around the site. It
was a harsh but not unusual sight. Open space was
typically scarcer, so more expensive, but the undergalactic was a
haven of good prices. Even petty criminals. Within five hundred
thousand planions flocked to the Undergal's docking halls, the under
Galactic flea market for the best deals, to skip the
middleman and get right to the source. That is, when
they weren't hawking shady valuables from the trunks of their
own ships. Premium super ionic crystals, rusted treasures, eroded only
by time, medical devices. I only knew by sight and
not by name. Hallucinogenic fruit. I'd never tried, and never
intended to enter alien porn. I'd lost arons looking at
too closely, probably more than anything the porn. Most named planets, moons,
even stars in the case of those that had cooled
enough for colonization, had explicit zenomy codes courtesy of the
United Colonies Department of Space. Unhumans couldn't vote in human
conducted elections, land on human colonized planets without a permit
from the Department of Space, or engage in physical congress
with humans non public or private. It was the only
rule that wasn't just punishable by banishment to the correction belt,
but also perversion on the back of each hand and
on the nape of the neck, declaring the brandy of
low standing and worthy of ridicule. The undergal however, was
established by a crew of Octilavians, winged eight tentacled beings
with a long planetary tradition of peaceful cultural exchange and durable,
extravagant architecture, only one of which remained on the structure
to oversee the workings of the intergalactic rest stop, Trilith,
sparing us a curt wave of the wing from his
post on the balcony through the opening across the corridor,
overlooking the rusted underclub floor, where everyone, regardless of planet
of origin, could swap spit, venom, or sweat for all
anyone cared, though there was only one person in the
massive metal lodge, I'd want to swap anything with familiar
faces flickered past the oval windows as I pulled the
ship in the park. A slim man in a worn
gray griever suit with downy brown curls and purple striped
streaking across his face, burns from a lab accident yushes
earlier grinned down at the COYLYKX chimist Whiro Key of
the Cosmocraft crap shoot doused the windshield with running orange
sludge at once. The sledge gathered in the stained edges
of the window, encasing the dried soap scum from dozens
of prior washes before eating away at it. Bacteria clean
Key's personal concoction and a major boon for his crew's finances.
How do you ever see past all that gunk with
my superiors xenogene senses, I snarked, emerging from the rusted
groaning hatch on the ceiling of the Coylys. After Cad,
I took my goggles off and waved the lenses at
Whiro with my glass's key. Duh, superior, my ass Nelson sneered,
you should have seen them this morning. Turn that music down,
or I'll call in the dragoons. Kigu fawed in the
echoey way of his laughter, feeling out of his gangly
body like the ringing of a great bell. I was
almost getting offended, was going to interject about Nelson's impressions
not being so accurate, until tears sprang to Wirro's eyes,
his laughter stripping way to scant choked sobs. Right, the
dragoons hadn't yet closed in on the Crapshoot crew, but
private security had taken up the cause. Something about a
plastic badge gives people something to prove, and this went
doubly for failed Xenajans, whether it was low test scores
or lacking piloting skills in the simulator. The colonies didn't
put up with mediocrity. It was rare, but disgrace. Xenos
weren't unheard of. Hell I was one, but even I
was above a job at Moon Mart. To keep the
value of nutri soup high on the market, the colonies
regarded about what venues supplied it. It wasn't something you
catch someone bargaining for on the undergal and it wasn't
something you could crack open in autopod, soaring off to
its destiny. For either dry goods. Cereal, oat flakes, grain bars,
rice crackers were one thing, but the hardy nutritional soup
exported from Earth itself was another, entirely expensive, going for
forty drokens per hand sized packet versus the value Bolku
price of dry goods. Only moon Mark, a colony based
chain of grocery pharmacy shops, was authorized to sell them,
each equipped with an unarmed private security guard, though that
hardly mattered when the guard was a Zeno Federal. Brown
had been the Crapshoots resonant handyman. He wasn't exactly a
specialized mechanic like Cad. Brown had little training and hardly
any expertise, really, well that was expertise outside of the
undergal's boarding rooms. Fed was no pilot, no chef, no doctor,
and no questions asked. Resources seemed to materialize around when
he needed it. Tools, fuel, toothpaste, food, and that was
enough for Wiro to plete the case for his stay aboard,
despite Captain Tku's reluctance. From what I could tell, the
stay had been hectic. Fed was known to leave straight
tufts of curls in the chute room to play video
games during operational hours, to pinch a droken or two
whenever someone left a coin lying around on the dashboard.
A couple of drokens hadn't been enough for the nutra soup.
When haggling hadn't worked, Fed it made for the exit
with a packet shoved into his suit pocket. Like all orbiters,
his suit was a muted lavender. Within moments of encountering
the guard, it had been turned a vibrant red. I
didn't mean cat trailed off Wiro. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.
I shouldn't have said anything. Wiro drew in a series
of labored breaths, as if we were trying to ease
something out of his lungs, something that had gone down
on the wrong pipe. It's not your fault he managed.
Any mention of those colony dogs makes me think of him.
He examined his suit, A fine layer of dust and
cereal crumbs dotted it. I still find his hair sometimes.
No one said anything as he produced a napkin from
his pocket, opened it to reveal a small collection of
strands amounting to a tuft, then folded it again and
put it back into his suit. I should get going.
Captain's warming the endine up now. Whirl jerked his thumb
behind him to his crew, Settling into the cockpit of
the ruby red crap shoot. Captain Tucu gave a nod.
I nodded back, just once. We never exactly been close.
It was Key who had the connections who didn't mind
rubbing shoulders with crustier company. The chemist was a half
lapsed medic who had dropped out a certification school to
devote his time to producing medicine under the table. Distributing
it was an entirely different manner where the Kaylyaks came in.
It was surprising what one could move would relative ease
if they slapped a beer label on it. Vitamins, insulin, cyana,
way hormones. These partner ventures were more lucrative than the
usual drop, but intentionally infrequent. I respect it. We are
enough to risk my own capture, but there was no deed,
so noble I would risk my crew. That would make
one hell of an Encycloedia entry. First Zeno Captain compromises
human crew as casualties and contraband pedaling conspiracy, leaving already
Cad frowned. It's been a while since the last drop.
It's been a while since one of my lab maids
could order supplies without Arius's golden hounds showing up to
sniff around. The gold suited dragoons went through rush training,
usually given a leg up because of their family name,
so their investigative skills were reliably subpar. Unfortunately, their weapons
were reliably functional. I was just restalking a client's estrogen.
But that's the last receptors. As for tea, it's a
controlled substance in the colonies, it's always been more difficult
to secure. But there's some kind of supply chain issue,
something to do with the stragglers, I said. The real
name of the latest species on the colony's war path
was unclear, smothered in rumor and derision. Repression of information
enact I had witnessed firsthand from them under order my siblings.
So eager to shred election records from certain planets, they
employed their teeth rather than the groaning machines. The purpose
this time around was similar to obscure these people's place
in the universe to begin with. If they never existed,
then they were never brutally wiped out. Must be sanctions,
USh said, Starving them out and us along with them,
said Weiro. He reached into his satchel and pulled out
a full bottle of bacteria. Clean locust rats aren't like bacteria,
you know. He handled the bottle to me with a
firm nod. They won't evolve fast enough to survive if
the colonies keep it up with the overfarming and pesticides.
It certainly didn't take a degree in chemistry to know
he wasn't talking about rats. I guess luck is the
only reason we've lasted so long, I said, If ant's
name is luck, that is a weird kind of guilt
gripped me. If my dating life hadn't decided to rise
from the dead a yes and a half ago, we
might not even be able to afford our stale oats anymore.
Just the proximity to privilege was enough to keep us
afloat all, while people with real skills that the galaxy
needed struggled to keep the lights on? Is there? You know?
I didn't wanna embarrass Weiro, but maybe he lacked the
pride that plagued most captains. Anyway, we can help out
just til things start turning around. Sure, what would you
like from our vault of riches? First, the bread that's
so moldy we welded over the rear wing pantry, or
our fifty count ration of individual oat flakes. Humans lack
such perspective pull shook their head. Hunger in the short
term is nothing compared to long term starvation. You flatter me, guys.
Weir A put up his hands. Really, but we're not starving,
not yet. But the orders, said Pool have slowed down. Yes,
but I'm not just a chemist. I'm a researcher. We're
all winked. There's always something someone wants, sure, and sometimes
I can't make it. But I can improve on what's
already there. From his tone I gathered as real, meaning
he already had another thriving hustle. Why he couldn't talk
about it, I wasn't sure, But as long as the
crap shoot chugged on, I didn't bother the question. As
with the supply chain issue, to work itself out. Kad
threw an arm around Wiro, squeezing the chemist around the shoulders.
Just keep me in mind when it does, would you?
I will, said Wiro, giving a light squeeze back you
and everyone else. It's all I ever do. Key nodded
at me, extended an arm for me to clasp up
to the elbow, a gesture that allowed me to sense
his heart beating. Stay dangerous, captain. These were grievoush parting
words I'd never grown comfortable hearing. In fact, I resented them.
Why would anyone want to remain in the line of fire?
Why wish peril on someoney you cared for? Uh? You
two key? We waved the crap shoot off as they
rolled out of the corridor, striding together to the other end,
where the fluorescent lights gave way a sparse multi colored
rays jetting out over the dance floor, aisled by two
long bars of black marble. Rusted stools would still find
black velvet seat cushions if one were to drunkenly lurch
up the black metal stairs. Climbing the industrial inside to
the floor above, they could test the doors to the
closet sized boarding rooms. If a door was locked, there
was sure to be someone getting paid very well on
the other end of it. If a door was unlocked,
the border would be the one doing the pang. The
floor above that slightly larger rooms with tables stocked with
paper and pens, meeting rooms. The floor above that was
reserved for permanent residence. Triliv and his collidis in partner
wave vigin collidism. A series of vents and seals lined
the ceiling to keep the oxygen flowing and keep it
inside even as ships entered through the docking bay more
octal innovation. Human venting was still in its primitive stages,
and Collidizans never vented oxygen, even when hosting the rare
governmental meeting with colonial officials. The first thing one encountered
at the end of the bar was the water station,
and we did too, A stack of cups, all glass,
neatly stacked beside the steaming black cauldron. The black metal
ladle melted to the tip of the bowl, the boiling
iron red and half depleted, no less hot. Next to it,
a black pot with two metal handles sat as the captain.
I was embarrassed to be the only one who gasped
when we all leaned over with cups to see that
for the first time in the half decade since I'd
been visiting the undergal the water had run out. Pool
was right behind me with the realizations, though struggling with
the melted ladle a moment to pour boiling liquid metal
directly into their jaws. They excelled steam as they burped,
I snapping up to the dance floor and widening as
if they were witnessing a natural disaster. Oh my eager.
There was an unusual amount of humans tonight not just humans.
No USh mentioned it first, Sneering Terrance, the bougie earth
born tourists, those who paid their way to secure a
spot on the big Blue ball generations ago. You could
always tell them from the usual spacefairer. We looked different. Sure,
they were fair skinned, usually at gray, blue, green, or
hazel eyes, but there were other ways to tell. One
sign was the watch Terrans were insecure about being away
from their prized pig of a planet, so they constantly
needed to root themselves with numbers ten O five eight
thirty two fifty seven day night am PM, East Coast Pacific,
and don't get me started on Central. The last few yushes,
Terrence had taken to wearing frankin suits. At first, blue
had been their color, the same allegedly as their Earth
and sky, But after traveling a trend had taken off
brown colors from grounded colony folk, some with random strips
or squares of bright pink or green, still earthy colors,
grass and flowers. Others would entirely replace sleeves or pant legs,
as if they'd hack the clothes off of a griever
themselves and sown it on to themselves. These particular terns
differentiated themselves from other turning groups by sporting what at
first appeared to be blue scarves. Before they started wriggling.
One pale man produced a spray vial to unleash upon
the animal's head. It was some kind of off world creature.
I knew enough about Earth that nearly no creature sprouted
blue hair with a long snout like a rodent, but
a long body like a snake as well. The sniveling
beasts wriggled fiercely while the human blasted it in the
face with red liquid that smelled of pepper. Pool's six
eyes glistened, each going so wide I thought their face
might split from the grief of the sight. The entire
situation was such a naked travesty. I didn't see how
anyone could go on about drinking and dancing. These terrans
were demanding more than anything else, slamming their fists on
the fine black marble bar in ways I never witnessed
hordes of women and men shouting themselves raw for attention
that the two grievers serving didn't dispense shit. Even when
they did take in order, Some terrans threw the drinks
into their faces smashed the glasses, demanded refunds, even though
they hadn't paid yet. It seemed particular. Also described this group,
A straw haired one gripped both my horns and yanked
my head down for a photo, her brunette friend squealing
at her audacity as the camera in her hand flashed. No.
Now I had found a descriptor to settle on entitled pool,
pushed the photographer while I got my bearings. Their eyes
blazing now with a hatred so hot it could bore
holes through any ship's hull, the terran stumbled backward, spilling
her drink down her friend's tacky spacesuit. The little square
photo the camera had belched flew out of her hand,
ushcot it in midair, ripped it down the middle. Didn't
you're sorry? Ilk? Ever? Teach you to ask before you
touch For a second. The photographer brandished her empty wineglass
as if expecting one of us to start pissing replenishments,
before turning with her friend a slump off to the
bar without a word. Terrence rarely put up a proper fight.
It was either trick or retreat when it came to them,
most of them having nothing to prove. Given the safety
net they had back on Earth, the match was already
wand before we met, the Reavers didn't go peacefully into
the stars. They didn't call us that for nothing. We
were losers before our own berths. This didn't stop those
who didn't gawk or make forked fingers under their lips
to mimic my sabers from shrinking away when I was
only just in sight, not even near them yet. I'd
never felt grateful exactly for my fangs, but never ashamed either,
had never wanted to hide them until now earth born
eyes slid from my sabers to my chest to my groin,
more than a few straining their eyes to try to
make out exactly what I was in that all important
atomist way. This had always been the deal for me.
With colony raised humans from all thirteen planets. The speculation
the hardly hushed remarks about the size, length, or depth
or whatever was in my suit. See, the most important
thing to the colonies was expansion. Aris was the first
human conceived and born in space, thus proving this could
be done, But the act wasn't mythologized until he'd eased
his way into politics in the twenty one twenties, the
Secretary setting off a volley of high tech colitis and
attacks that lashed the already dwindling griever population into half
once more, Aries leveraging the catastrophic event to stoke the
flames of a roaring new colony religion, the first that
humans established in space, at hence the outright criminalization of
most forms of birth control and inner space. If humans
were going to recorporate after the skirmishes, as atomists insisted,
dominating space by multiplying was our universe given right and duty,
which didn't result in an increase in support for grievers
so much as a campaign of propaganda about the roles
one was to play because of how their flesh formed
certain organs. The past birth boom the result of a
swath of disinformation promising support where none came. Same as
the last fifty. Not a good time for accidental cup making,
and not a good time at all for anyone not
willing to play their part. Embrace their role one or
the other. Give her receiver, injector incubator. Man Woman Cad
seemed to read my mind. Forget about those dirt golpers. Yeah,
USh said voice soaking with sarcasm, isn't this our favorite song?
Music was a major source of contention in the underclub.
The sounds of bodily functions like breathing in heartbeats and
writhing tentacles was considered pop music by Octalavians and literally
no one else. Sometimes it was kind of catchy, sometimes
easy to ignore, but to wash surrounded by the faint
flutter of blinking eyes. The playlist was just pleasantly calm,
an opinion that wasn't shared by the octals. Twining tentacles
in elaborate dance moves. Pool was the only non octal
I'd ever seen engage with body music. Not that I
expected them to now, after everything with the tourists, but
that was just it. Coloidizans didn't dance for pleasure. Not
only that, but in fury they joined an octaal in
a mesmerizing sight, leg lengthd tentacles playing out to radiate
from pool scales, glinting leg rays from the sun. Pool's
movements as fluid as swirling clouds and as flexible too,
one moment wide arcs of their glittering arms that required
so much space the octal was several feet away the
next subtler steps that guided the shimmer of light across
their shoulders, down to their ankles, and back up again.
These were executed skin to skin, with the octal like
a firework going off in the middle of the floor
and pushing back waves of humans clapping hands to their
eyes to ward off the dangerous reflections the incisive laser
precision movements. It was almost a meleey, so much so
that Cat turned his back on the site for fear
they collide. Where the three of us remained at the
fringes of the floor, our choice of the shade fruit
sharing crowd kicked back against the metal plated walls as
they bonded over the juicy black pulp rather than idling
at the bar. We'd respect the limited seating, but our
crew shared an ancient agreement about never shelling out drokens
for that watered down, overpriced undergal excuse for liquor. Triliff
had an impressive knack for utilizing metal, but his brewing
when need a lot more work. The Octilavian drink of choice,
flowing like a delicacy from the volcanic planet, shearing off
meteors at the edge of the galaxy lava shots. Something
pull did slide a deca droken across the counterfloor, panting
and the octilavian's tentacle lubricant, giving their scales a shine
that seemed to drawn onslaught of head turns. They rejoined us,
throwing the oozing transparent glass containing the molten orange liquid
into their mouth along with its contents. This was an
octal custom many Colidizins had adopted as well, eating the
cup before melted so quickly a single drop escaped between
your fingers. Their scales glowed bright red a moment before
dimming to their usual copper hue. Glass is gooier than usual.
I hear that means nafruchien homer ra klaspa, like a
glittering shadow. A Kalidizan I didn't recognize shoved out of
the shifting crowd, drawing their forearm across their mouth to
wipe away the clinging shade fruit juice pool. Six gills flexed,
alternating as if drawing in some scent. The rest of
us weren't privy to a nasty one. From the way
they wrinkled their spiked brow. You know they're better ways
to bond than over bigotry piintur. The strange kaleidisin reached
out to stroke Pool's metal forearm, smirked when Pool jerked
back and growled green venom oozing now around the translator
officer's sharp layered fangs. Then what about what we've lost?
They hiked up their black suit pant leg to reveal
a silver metal peg leading into their boot. What they
took from us? You don't know anything about me, Pool said,
I know, a pretty pocket ghetta like you has no
business rubbing sclls with octals. They sized us up their
own gills flexing. Not octals, Not these reeking basovs, they
gestured wildly to me, and not the saber toothed gene freak.
You ought to make yourself useful to the hive and
take a winner rib instead of wasting time rolling in
the tar with a bunch of monkeys. Pull staggered backward
at us, falling against the wall as if the Kalidism
had socked them square in a throat USh tended to them,
whipping out a cool rag. They kept in their lab
coat at all times in case of moon flew symptoms
characterized by chills and persistent fever she dab pulls forehead
as I took the stranger by the shoulders. What are
you get your hands off of me? You you? I
bared my finger, lengked sabers as they kicked in my grasp.
Humans and xenos were like bugs to Kalidisans, with fractions
upon fractions of the strength. But a fury I hadn't
known since my mauling lessons swelled within my chest, the
kind of anger that waves aside physical size, that chews
through the idea and spits it out in the bigger
person's face. Jeanne Kad's warm hand closed over my shoulder.
They're not worth it. I turned to look at the
first mate to disagree, but the thorny wallflowers hug the
metal plating were beginning to cluster around us, stumbling forward
with wide eyes, harming a Kalidizin was risky in violation
of a smattering of treatise. I could argue. Didn't mention
Zeno's just humans, but didn't. I released the Colidizin fine,
I said. Kad drew the hammer from his tool belt
by the long purple metal handle. He held it gleaming
and steady, just in front of the twitching six eyes
of the calid. Consider this your warning. Unless you want
to chase lava with steal, I suggest you move along.
Pool groaned, not now, as the ultra violet fan leapt
out of their throat. The strange colidisin snorted, looking past
Cad and me to the translations officer Huddle to the
wall next to Usher. If a human really tickles your grickle,
then you're the one who's not worth it. They slunk
off into the knot of bodies, music and emotion. USh
started to touch the fan protruding from Pool's throat before
thinking better of it. Are you okay? Pool shook their head.
I should have expected this. My kind has developed a
skewed sense of time since we lost our home son.
My hatching prast was scepters ago. It makes other calids
feel how should I say it? Aggressive? Cats? Supplied territorial.
Pool countered. It's in our instincts, not their fault. But
they are at fault for their ignorance. What do you mean?
I said? The blue green spikes along one side of
Pool's forearms the back of their neck. Their brow stood
on end, long and more poignant than I'd ever seen.
Now that I thought of it, and that Pool wasn't
wearing their fourth favorite pair of gravel platform shoes. The
kaleidis in had gained a few extra inches in the
heightened limb length department. Well, the good news is we're
all the same, aig, said Pool. What do you mean
it's in your instincts USh asked. That's the bad news,
said Pool, I'm in heat now that my uh. They
motioned to the purple gold fleck fan attached to their throat.
Do lap has descended? Every jinkolate for Planetons is on
their way to hassle me for exchange of our grickle skin. Uh,
genetic material and heat, Cat said, too fast and too loud,
purple tones creeping into his mahogany complexion as he lowered
his voice scrambled to cover up his fervor. I just mean,
isn't that a kind of a primal word. It's a
primal feeling, too, Pool explained, as they gently guided their
dou lap back into its hidden sleeve. For Colidizen's our
rut is kind of a big deal. It's the only
way the vision of my kind is hatched. They're the
most revered of the caliodor kind of like subsets of ourselves,
not genders, not quite, but where we fit in. When
it comes to mating season, only vigin can lay eggs
yush round with either kind of calid ah, said Nelson,
nodding solemnly. Your population pool nodded, Yes, that's why it's
important more vigin are hatched. The usual clutch consists of
four eggs with three parents. Vicalids typically take two ginklate
mates to roost with until they're laid. Then adult vigin
traditionally raised. The hatch links to adolescents pass on incestral mammathris.
Since most of our nests were back home and most
of the vigin were with the nests, nearly all of
them were wiped out along with the andromeda. This only
happens every twenty five yushes, so we're in. They're clear
for a while when it passes. Is there any way
to turn it off? Said Cad, sweat beating on his brow.
I mean, you don't want a bunch of persistent jackasses
trailing you, right pull kiss Nelson's four, grinning. I don't know,
I'm kinda used to it. So we put away future
worries for the future I add no gills, but there
was a new glow to them. I felt guilty for
never noticing before their scales shinier than ever when they
thrashed in that trance like wild dance across from me,
having sprouted from fingernail sides glittering chips to flat, gleaming
hand length leaves, long and shaggy, more like plumage, now
spikes sterling, sharp and bronze as short swords thrusting out
of those gold orange iridescent feathers. At least I wasn't
the only one who hadn't remembered their berth wash. Come
to think of it, I couldn't remember mine. Pool was right.
Being away from your home sun will shred your sense
of time. I'm gonna see about that. Tank. USh dropped
the glow sticks in her hand, though the litter was
in good company among tiny plastic bags with green powder
dusting the insides. She fixed her long black hair and comment,
tale ty and get back to look at me straight
on comp here to comp here? Come on, Jeane, It's
one thing for Cad to do it, hey, but how
long are you planning to keep the secret lover at going?
Kad ignored the barb for now addressing me over the
current rasp of breathing over the speakers. How's his girlfriend
of yours get such steep discounts on ions anyway? Pool
cut in, Is that why you won't tell us who
it is? Because she's an X of yours? Yes, I
admit it. It was actually kind of a relief for
them to guess so accurately. This was my out from
the yushlong lie. Okay, yes, she's an X of mine
with connections. That's how I get the ions for next
to nothing. USh tapped her watch and a hazy blue
projection of her call log from the last scepter flicked
into existence. Landred would have messaged me if you were
on the same planet, let alone on speaking terms. It
disappeared connection like political connections. She was on to me,
there was no use lying under Ush's radar. Glare fine,
it's who you think it is. Even cad recoiled, I
did think we'd had enough of Daddy's little imperialist. I
wondered where they'd stationed her. Pool said, of course, they
stashed her nice and out of the way of any
of the problems her own family caused. USh pinched the
bridge of her nose look sable. I don't want to
sound harsh, but every time you run back to her,
a solar system loses its star. Youch don't want to
sound harsh. Eh intervention time pool chimed, throwing their arms
around the three of us. I didn't think it was
an accident that their heavy metal arm rested on my shoulders.
I've been holding off on saying this, but your devotion
to that colony, Kisser is kind of well dragging the
rest of us down. What I shrugged out of the
crew huddle? Come on, what was the last time we
were more than ten planions from the undergal The rasping
lungs were a place with a quickening pulse in time
with my own sweat beating on my brow, so I
had to use one of my long, black furred ears
to swipe it away. We were just in the Weritan
quadron last yush Kat clapped a hand on my shoulder.
We're not telling you to break up with her again,
I am, Poul said, but either bring her aboard or
cut the anchor. Captain. We're not twenty one anymore. If
any real constable catches on, I'm not prepared to fight,
are you I concur USh nodded once decisively, as if
the diagnosis was given and the prognoses laid out, her
majesty won't be the one we have to worry about.
To USh, she's Gene's obnoxiously ignorant girlfriend. But to the
colonies and Adams is a priceless resource, a geyser of gold.
Good point. Pool's rhizomes trembled, not to mention, just because
someone starts off good doesn't mean they won't spoil. Remember
that nine week all jar of the last brew I
did one? It slid behind the shelf. We let the
beer age on and gone bad, frothing and sour, though
the earlier stock had been unseasonably sweet. Aunt's not a
beer pool. No worse, said Pool, She's an Atom's just
the single syllable surname had taken on a kind of
slur and open space turncoat trader atoms Airy started off
as a civil rights lawyer, passing orders to protect the poor.
Within years, he was shipping them off with little more
than a salute in the deed to land. They'd die
before reaching Paul sputtered a second before going on their gills,
playing out in the pink wormy undersides writhing for Fuck's sake,
her family's the biggest benefactor of the Exodus Act, fifth
biggest I directed them signed into law in twenty one
to twenty five the Yesh the United States government merged
with the United Nations to form the United Colonies of Terex.
The Exodus Act officiated the eviction of ten billion people,
ninety five percent of the entire population of Earth. The
reason this was done depends on who you ask. According
to the Atmospheric Deployment Division, it would be a cruelty
to sit on piles of billions while humans went without
water in the latest and most extreme bout of shortages. Therefore,
the merciful thing to do, and the spirit of human
exploration and grit would be to eject anyone who couldn't
afford land into space. That spen never did satisfy most grievers,
probably due to the stories passed down from the Great Dying.
The real motivation wasn't the public's inability to keep up
with the price of housing. As mega corporations and dynastic
old money families hoarded land, wealth and resources, only eleven
families were left able to foot the bill all with
roots of riches stretching back to the founding of the
wealthiest nations on Earth. Only five remained after a spat
of intermarriage, the Rockefeller Windsors, the clot Vines, the hern Hills,
the Manseles, and the Atoms. The Atoms line not nearly
as storied or ancient as either of the other families.
By outweighing all in importance what everyone else had in
old money, reputation, and inheritance, the Atoms had an impact
because Aris Atoms hadn't just earned his status as head
of the Department of Space, he'd been born into it.
Before humans could even dream to settle space, there had
to be proof that life was sustainable there at all.
That was where Operation Eve came in. The DNA was random,
the willing contributions of paid egg and sperm donators wishing
to keep their names conscious and debt ledgers clean mechanized
fertilization procedures programmed to be triggered by the intense heat
the embryonic Viability Envoy shuttle would encounter when it locked
into the orbit of the Looper's Star, burning in the sweltering,
uninhabitable running wolf Nebula It would be nine octavers, of course,
before the faces of the first space born humans flashed
across television screens worldwide. Ares and Athena took their first
breaths of stale Shuttle air in twenty one oh one,
first Athena, then her brother, though this was only phase
one of Operation EVE. Successful fetal development. Successful birth was
one thing, an acute view of the effects of space
on the human body, but there was the matter of
the long term to glean this. The shuttle was guided
back to Earth so the specimens could be studied extensively,
studied and experimented on. The tests were cool, but it
only took a few blood drawings for lab technicians to
realize that Atom's twins didn't bleed, not like earth born
humans did, and not like any grievers born in space did.
Decade afterward, the Atoms anomaly would herald the age of Amulius.
The green extra matter ooze leaking out of the test
subjects in the place of blood. Just two viles sapped
from aries and Athena Atoms as infants was enough to
launch the first trip to the edge of the galaxy.
Folded in half of half of half the time it
took without the Amulius. Every cosmocraft in existence on the
human end anyway, fitted with an engine that derived its
power from a green gray orb metal and Amulius, the
fist sized ball eroding into a marble within five years,
time efficient long lasting power. Since aging out of their
lab habitats in their twenties, the Atoms Twins had been
heralded as saviors of humanity. With Amulius, officials could finally
justify drafting hordes of humans who couldn't afford land in
the space where they insisted we find it in droves,
just to double the price and half the workability. Because
of the fifty year lack of strain on resources, Earth
was set for decades, maybe centuries. Schools still lit, hospitals, heated,
museums cool to preserve ancient human artifacts. Progress required power,
and Emilius was the key to eternal strides. Forward. Charged
with such contributions to humankind, areas had been welcomed into
the upper echelons of government. As Secretary Athena, tasked withhoming
the intergalactic relations branch of the Colonies, the first humans
born in space, ruling space a cosmically overstated birthright. The
sticking point, as far as conversation went when one was
in orbit was that the atoms had more in common
with grievers than terrans. Sure, they didn't exactly look like
grievers were pale, with the most recent atoms being born
on Earth, but areas and athena had been born in
space were propertied just as well as zenos were overgrown.
Lab Rats forced to bear the harsh winter of the
Cosmos have been paraded as representation among the elite and
despised because of it by the grievers, of which only
two billion remained when the ravages of space picked off
eight billion, and just one yush of the Exodus Act
being signed. Alaskar tonight, I said we can trust in
TYPEE and if we can't, pool grumbled, get some last
Avid moves in Kad, said, I hear connecticuffs can be
set to stun now