Speaker 1: For all their squawking about peace. Dragoon ships were the
only vehicles in the known galaxy that utilized cloaking technology.
At any moment, a terex vessel could be latched onto
and weighing down yours. Hence the nickname for that sleek
angular ship model, the parasite eighty arms across. It was
like a burring worm, a defined head with two geometric
fins cropping up out of the slightly wider body to
bolster trajectory with no cloaking. Every dragoon of any addition
was green, the colored success as far as the colonies
were concerned. The placement in the vehicle was how we
had gotten away with it for so long, me excusing
myself to the bathroom on the highest floor, then ducking
out of the steel framed window to slide down the
side of the pyramid until my feet or ass more
likely than not, landed on the transparent side of the
ship to grasp around for a handhold the always unlocked hatch.
It was the same deal to wash. So whatever was
so urgent had nothing to do with the spaceship. That
only left the constable inside. I looked out into the
darkness for a moment, shielding one side of my face
from that intense, hot purple light, the star burning just
a couple million miles away, casting violet rays over every
approaching vessel for as far as the eye could see.
Some clunkers par for the course for Undergal frequenters. Three
shiny green ovular pod ships, slender with no wings, high tech,
not usual, but not too out of the ordinary. Stunt
ships were common in the docking bay, flashy traders who
wanted to appeal to Undergal buyers impressed by shiny things.
I closed the now visible hatch over me, milky silver
and square, unlike the brown and black, rusted round hatch
of the kaylaksp my visor, and took in a big
breath of fresh oxygen. Despite the transparent outside, the inside
was very visible. It smelled the same as usual, a
thick floral scent that followed ant everywhere and stuck in
my suit for washes after visits. It was the mess
that was the first sign of trouble. Maps unfurled over
every surface, sometimes circled, words outlined at random. Printed material
was strange enough it didn't take a star not ranking
to tell this was the telltale sign of someone going
off the grid and way off according to the muddy
footprints on the ceiling. Spare spacesuits draped over the metal rack,
usually reserved for a single clean towel, giving off that
unmistakable and irresistible scent of raw woman uncloaked by perfume,
and even more primal for it. Small tin canisters with
orange labels dotted the scenery of the cabin like glimpses
of some rare bright bird, the ones I had to
strive it past that made extra care not to read.
Some I knew had the updated name on the medication label,
but others didn't, and I wouldn't invade her privacy either way.
I did, however, chance to grasp the navy colored baseball
cap hanging from a metal hook next to the dashboard,
a green snowflake on the center front of it, the
underside of the bill shiny and bright emerald buried in
the midst of it. All reclined with a book in
her hands, was in TYPEE Adams. Her uniform was half
hanging off of her body, the unzipped, unbuttoned flaps of
gold laying across ant's modules, so she looked like a
melting bar of precious metal. Those big black eyes fixed
on me, and she snapped the book shut. You came
as her sense of tidiness about the ship. It lacked
so at her dedication to keeping an optimal envoy's appearance.
That black hair usually buzzed to within three inches of
her scalp per United Colony standard, as thick, long and
lush as it ever was so long now that it curled,
something it had never been allowed to do, and that
I liked very much. Neat straight snipped ends overgrown around
her tiny pale ears, or they seemed so tiny and
cute compared to mine. There were deep black rings around
her eyes, which told me she hadn't slept in washes,
and a weird sense of dread fell over me. Then
Aunt was right in front of me. The crew was
right outside, but somebody somewhere had died. Of course. I
sat in one of the three swivel chairs surrounding the
control panel below the sleep module. I thought it was
some kind of emergency, and Type's crewmates had dispersed for
their own solo envoy appointments. A yesh Ago hints are
more frequent meetups before the undergal they'd been stationed on
a moon with a small settlement of humans and octals.
Hirkleed safe and out of the way of real trouble.
Just as I was sure their parents had requested to
the higher ups. It is. Aunt zipped the front of
her uniform, mending the gold suits so all her patches
were visible in neat rows down the front of it.
There was so successful piece summit badge she'd earned that
standing around along with the thousands of other constables while
the Octilavian leaders negotiated ownership of Saturn, home to the
most vital substance on their planet, ammonia crystals. In the end,
a deal was struck. They'd allowed Tereks to imprison octals
found guilty of crimes against humans if the five families
agreed to keep a steady flow of outward resources. The
summit had been controversial among several orbiting activists, especially infamous
turncoat constable Olivia Crest. The largest patch was a black square,
serving as the background for a golden wolf to bound across.
Claws reared rampant as the red eyes of the beasts
glared out at the viewer. Under the wolf maw stretched
out to suckle at its teats, two gold pups under
small wisps of red flame, as if the milk were
fire itself, Twins Ares and Athena. Above the wolf the
words Vincere Sordam Nostrom, the colony motto. This image I'd
only encountered a few times, but knew well enough was
the Adam's family crest. As an extension of that, the
image also served as the terex coat of arms. I
stood to cross over to her, gently affixed the baseball
cap to her head. Traced one patch on her uniform,
this one for exemplary discipline. Above it, there were those
four flower symbols, each beside the other, embroidered in blue
amidst the gold suit, one for each of the remaining
major families. A flower, they said, for Earth, the planet
of abundance. We had run to Ruin decades before my
great grandma's first kiss, a fifth of the planet designated
to Ntiape and her siblings at the secretary's discretion, one
hell of an inheritance. My hand wandered from the patches
on her chest to her breasts, the others sliding down
her waist. Her golden spacesuit was thin, the fabric, a
silken veil over her fleshed skin. This kind, as if
she'd expected this, Aunt removed my hand. Guilt shot through me.
Sorry too much. She pulled off my glove and kissed
my fingers, each one, lips, brushing the sensitive tips, then tongue,
tracing the length that she took the longest middle one
into her mouth. Is that good? Want roared up in
me so powerfully. I shivered, starshine, I breathed. You got
no idea. Sure we hadn't gotten around any clothes off action,
but it wasn't for lack of desire. Our relative abstinence
was due partially to the legal divides between our kinds,
and partially to lack of privacy. Sex was something the
Grievers almost considered a legend. Privacy is hard to come
by as affordable oxygen. There was hardly room or enough
alone time for the necessary alone time things. Humans, zenos, klids, argulics, octals,
and every being alike had an innate need for reading
in complete quiet, watching embarrassing content on the viz ejector
never mind sex. I knew well enough, though, that myths
were often based on sweet, sweaty reality had worked around
the mismatch docking schedules and crewmate interruptions with past lovers.
But it was a constable, not just that the face
of the Adams Family future. The rules were almost the
same as the ones for zenos. There was no making
out with an atoms on the dance floor. There was
no way to casually bring on a board and make
your craft quake with an atoms. There was no courtship,
just an affair, our low profile, only lending more credence
to the label after the day, if all went well
at last, all the secrecy would go out the airlock
in time. He gave my finger one last exquisite lick,
causing the well of warmth in my groind a shudder.
Satisfied with the agonized groan that dripped past my sabers,
she let my slickened hand swing limply to my side.
That's the face I was looking for, Total bliss. Uh huh,
I uttered, trying to force my brain to stop melting.
Had to keep it together. What does this have to
do with your message? You're gonna want to be really
relaxed before I show you this. She curried her throat,
reached into her pocket, aunt produced a silver disc like
a coin, but weirdly seamless, like a gray eye into
another world, a cranny I knew from stories, but not
from experience. Extra dimensional storage too rich for my blood.
She let the coin sized eye eat at her arm
and drew back. With her fists closed around the handle
of a silver suitcase, Aunt heaved it onto her desk careful,
undid the two latches, metal buckles clicking as it burst
open and anti light poured out. The suitcase was padded
over in thick black foam. Nestled in the center, a
thick glass bottle throbbed with energy inside a storming fist
sized abyss, tiny tendrils of lightning lashing out of the
swirling miniature black hole, the movements inside as hypnotic as
they were chaotic. I moved closer, heart growing cold and
still in my chest. No, I had to hold it
to be sure. I reached out that warm black light,
growing heavy and electric as my fingers near the bottle
with a new, fresh, wonderful heat, a faint humming growing
into a song, voices far away, beckoning and irresistible. Aunt
snapped the suitcase shut and it shuddered on the desk.
She latched it closed, careful, It's vital to a warm touch,
what I said, shaking my head and feeling like any axe,
and the next turn might snap me back to reality,
like it's some kind of pet instead of an intergalactic
time bomb. It's not a bomb. Ant climbed up her module,
turned the pages of her book to me, just a
tool to a very strange end. A two page spread
of a diagram of a bottled black hole, labeled with
each destructive property known in the universe, all according to
available gear and knowhow. Compression could create a vortex to
eons into the future. Piercing would set off a megasonic
sound wave so intense everyone within a three galaxy radis
will be vaporized instantly. Hell simply jostling the thing could
result in deadly strobing, cooking, and dismembering anyone caught touching
or just near it. Then, of course, there was uncorking
the bottle, which will result in the deaths of the
nonillion spacefares just within the milky as the whole consumed
our galaxy, plunging everyone into a scarlet shaded nightmare known
as red shifting. Before something called spaghetification occurred exactly what
it sounds like, dicing us along mathematic grids until we
were just bundles of nerve bound noodles suspended in infinitely
slowed space time, the supermassive black hole having taken on
the mass of every object, person, and planetary body before
settling into a permanent position occupying our place in the universe.
I snatched it from her and snapped it shut. The
Beginner's Guide to Treason by Olivia Crest illegal on all
thirteen planets of the UC and in most of inner space.
Maroons weren't larcenous smugglers nor simple rum runners. There was
organization and lethality to how they struck someone more than
a thief, someone who would do anything to survive, yet
didn't settle for that. A life in open defiance to
the colonies, otherwise known as a magnetar for trouble sure
looks like a weapons manual to me. It's just essays
on how to fight back when we've already lost. We
This topic was something we usually avoided, but if I
was going to stand one cork away from vaporization, I
was going to need some explanations. You don't have to
worry about shit, Aunt. If anyone else rode up to
the Colonies with one of these, they be catapulted into
the sun. You can just hand it over, no questions asked.
No Aunt shot back and firmly, I couldn't. I know,
I've been ignorant the past, Jay, but I've been well reading,
getting to know more about the things I was shielded
from before we met starvation, poverty, slavery. No. I shook
my head. So this explained the guide. It happened before me,
but it didn't sink in until I looked at the book.
The Colonies banned radical material for a reason. It had
a habit of well radicalizing. Just a Yush and Tyape
had gone from a well meaning Terran to a wanna
be maroon. Sure, none of us liked the Colonies, hence
our operation outside of it. Aboard the Kylaks, Belaying low
was our brand. Maroons typically flaunted their affiliation by dying
their suits deep red fiery torches for colony crackdowns. As
for their cause, the last decades, heavily taxed inner Spacers
had made pushes for independence from the Colonies, seeking to
effectively eliminate the United Colonies as it existed. Leaving only
Earth as the true designated home of humans, everything else
to be reclaimed by the original communities, run off of
the conquered planets, or peacefully shared in agreement with them. Grievous.
The independent swath of inner space created if the secession
ever went through, would also free the grievers from their
contracts running themselves into debt in order to afford to
touch solid ground, the universe's first establishment of space born bastards. Secession, though,
of course, would never through. The colonies allowed a Gary
Mandard vote on the issue every few years, sure, but
this wouldn't matter, given one had to be a colony
citizen to vote, not property, not unhuman human, and with
an official colony ID. Whatever the fix, the Grievous movement
had often been brought up in regards to the Calleidis
in question. Aris had dicked over an entire galaxy but
hadn't managed to get away with it. The least he
and the colonies could do with seed Land for recovery
of their culture to those they'd hurt. If nothing was done,
something big would boil over, and soon, considering the existence
of the black Hole, things already had drawing dragon attention
was bad enough the gold Suits, but maroons. Anyone with
the semblance of a cause that didn't line up with
Terek's values attracted the silver suited higher ups that didn't
explain themselves, didn't shoot, didn't knock, only took grievers, disappearing
them in the middle of the night. No trials, no rights,
just warrants, not even signed by colony court, but Constable court,
which answered to no one, not even aries. Where the
silver Suits took them, no one knew for sure, but
there were whispers around forced farm labor and the correction belt.
Not just that, but a silver site, one of a
handful of cloaked government locations that torture allegations leaked out
of on a quarterly basis, the most well known of
which was accusations of prisoners being forced to fight each
other for their freedom. This, legends said, have been the
fate of the vanished pop star Libby Kissel And at
the height of her fame. Who was to say, and
Adams couldn't be next? And what happened to you? Don't
talk like this. I've made up my mind, Jane, she said,
the same way you did when you defected A scoff
escaped before I could think to hold it in. Don't
even go there, aunt. All I've ever done is steer
my crew away from red flags like this. Yeah, well,
she hesitated, just barely. Maybe that's why you never address them.
The theory that surged in me was of the loud kind,
the kind that drove one to the nearest steel wall
to thrash until their fists were bloody, but a silent,
incisive one that seemed to nettle ant more than any other.
Might I know this seems like opting in the trouble
to someone born into it like you. But I've been
listening to call casts. Oh, call cast, are you kidding me?
That show is just delirious babble. I insisted. The broadcast
show was centered around conspiracies and relied on listeners to
phone in for juicy anti colony gossip, monitor cracks in
the regime. People that call on the radio shows just
want attention. As for that Crest woman, it's the truth,
she said, true perspectives. Real callers reaching out for food, water, friendship, help.
They help each other because the ones in power see
seeking assistance is clamoring for a handout. Now that my
eyes are open. The crimes of my father are all
I can see. I mean, do you know what the
colonies would do with something like this? Gee? I can guess.
My eyes fell upon something I hadn't noticed before, so
used to seeing it hung up on that hook rather
than an ant's hands, pointed at me. A long slab
of black metal with a wavy grip handle attached to
a leather shoulder strap. Ants hotshot, a colony exclusive laser weapon.
This technology had been stolen from the Collidisans, just as
the blood of the Atoms Twins had been siphoned from
their veins, all in the name of progress. The reason
artificially manufacturing black holes was illegal was because of the
expansion skirmishes. Arisay decided long ago that one galaxy wasn't
enough for humanity. The thirteen planetary colonies was only ever
the beginning. The goal was in the United Colonies motto
vincier sordam nost. The textbooks translated the phrase as to
conquer our destiny, but the most popular interpretation was to
win our lot, fight for and win control of the
universe and eventually beyond what areas in a rotating assortment
of presidents were aiming for was an intergalactic human settlement,
just one to boost morale keep, the critics stated, improve
once and for all. We didn't need the Earth or
even the Milky Way to make a home. This project
failed slowly over the course of dozens of ass beatings
at the edge of the Andromaa galaxy next door, defensive
lashings from the Colidizans tearing through vast swaths of humans
before colony forces retreated. The only way the top colony
personnel could think to infiltrate the galaxy was to blow
their way through in twenty one forty five, guiding a
bottled homegrown black hole through space to explode on the
Coalidizan's front porch. What the humans hadn't considered, at least
as far as Aris was willing to admit, was the
permanent destruction of the entire Andromeda Galaxy. The black hole
swallowing as many Colidizans as the trigger a near extinction event,
sparing only those still residing, working, or hiding in the
Milky Way. Tereks bucked responsibility by pointing at their own
casualties and their own ignorance as to the extended effects
of detonation but the tragedy had marred ares reputation so
thoroughly that the bomb itself had been nicknamed the Blunder
Mistake or not, the remaining hundreds of Calidisans considered it
a war worthy act. To this wash, thirty yeshs later,
human helmed ships were still captured in the recesses of space.
The crew dispatched in the steel bones of the ghost
craft left floating through space a bloody husk. Reports included
details of dust caked corpses clinging to the steel ERTs,
gray moats, and stray strands of decomposing hair sticking to
the raw, exposed muscle of the deceased cruise because for
some reason their skin was always missing. The remaining Colidizans
had done their best to recuperate their culture, allying with
the Octalavians on Octolete, though their loss wasn't taken as
seriously there, since the Octals had seen nine major extinction
events and crawled back from them all full fours due
to certain regenerative evolutionary adaptations, not to mention, despite being
allies with the Colidizans, the Octaalavians still needed resource flow
from Saturn, so never hesitated to buddy up with Terex.
Despite decades of Colidizon protests and demonstrations the Canison galaxy,
I said areas it never let go of his dream
of an intergalactic human empire. The octals would fold like
fresh laundry at the sight of a new homegrown whore.
Where did it come from? And type set the buzzing
suitcase aside. There is an attack my old crewmate Davin on.
You know the deal. A dragoon goes into a shadowy
corner to investigate strange radio signals, only their ship emerges.
I scrambled for my own radio, made sure the dial
was turned to off. You think Collidizan's made it. I
know they did. Aunt climbed onto her module, craned her
neck to gaze out the window above it, out over
the station, gleaming in the violet light of the nearest star.
There were only two of them that I met. It's
hard to understand. I told you. I've been listening to
call cast lately, like clockwork. Every day at nineteen avns
to the ninth all on, someone calls in just to
state a bunch of numbers. I didn't get curious until
they said the last Cordinans. Davenon was known the transmit
from so I followed them to his ship. It was ransacked.
Everyone dead. Angelica, though I never did care about her.
Then there was davenon Aunt. I reached out toward her,
but she didn't jump into my arms. There was a
steely sort of look to her eyes in a robotic
tone to her voice. This wasn't my girlfriend recounting a memory.
This was a constable giving an official report. Please don't
shut me out. I want to be there for you,
like I was there for dav Aunt broke composure only
to snap this, smoothing her suit before she went on.
Angelica was just a cousin of the representative for Lochusk.
But Davinon was a griever, a kid. Really, now I understood.
The Phoenix Initiative was enacted in twenty one sixty by
none other than Ari's Atoms. It wasn't really called that,
but that was the common nickname for the colony integration
effort that in the Fuck Up Initiative. It was the
second thing he was known for after the Skirmishes and
Operation Eve, and possibly the only progressive act ever carried
out by the Adams administration mandating public transport crafts make
frequent stops to farther moons populated by browner peeple than
those working the colonial management positions, granting isolated grievers access
to the better paying places in the galaxy. Davenon had
been a griever, more like me in complexion and circumstance
than Aunt. He knew the risks my moon, I said,
maybe only a third of grievers finished basic lessons. But
you can't write off our common sense of that we
are an excess supply. It's not just that Aunt swiped
at her eyes. I don't have taran guilt gene well,
not in a pitying kind of way, not anymore. He
was only a kid, just eighteen. Ah Aunt never really
talked about her family, but I knew about it in depth,
the same way everyone knew of my crimes, regardless of
my silence on the matter. The press cosmo razzi were
more dogged than dragoons. Every milestone of entirepees home life
growing up blared across Vizajector's galaxy wide. Of course, there
was her beaming, charming, golden voiced father, Aris, but she
had siblings as well, an older sister, The Pride of
Earth is Aris firstborn Artemis Adams. Then there was Aunt's
younger brother, Apollo. She had a protective streak carved into
her from years of Apollo's crystal crib side, one that
extended especially to young men. I get that, I said, slowly,
But I was only a pup myself when they drafted
me to Starnott Academy. It's not more tragic just because
it happens to a human, Aunt, I didn't say. It
was one, she snapped. And two, you wouldn't know how
close I was to Davenon or Apollo because I don't
have a family. I headed her off, considering it a favor.
She was emotional, grieving, saying things faster than she could
think them. If I heard those words from her, the
US we'd been building wouldn't be the US that emerged.
I know you miss him, Aunt, but I know what
it's like to form bonds, to have brothers. Of course,
said Aunt Nelson, right, I'm sorry. Just tell me what
you saw now. I sounded like the constable the investigator,
and Tyabe swallowed hard and went on, it's more like
what I didn't see, she said. My crew members without
their skin, every nanobite of data scrubbed from the computer,
every video and audio fee was down or destroyed. There
were muddy orange talon prints tracked throughout the craft. I
knew the murderer must be on one of the RUSS
moons orbiting Cleo. It's an exoplanet. I've heard of it.
She was babbling now though, and ignored me. With three
moons you see, Patra Primus and Polythemus. That's the one
I found them on in that garage, like some kind
of lab. It was rigged up so that if kellidis
In wasn't spoken into a microphone, a countdown would begin
just three accents. But I would have recognized what was
in the bottle anywhere. It's the only thing I could save.
So the Colidizans they were criminals. Gene, I'm a criminal, aunt.
The word is very relative outside of inner space. So
much for keeping our heads down to think, the same
soft fingers that squeezed the trigger of a hot shot
had sent shivers all through me, my girlfriend, the possible
breathing match hovering over the largest space borne battle yet
to come. Sure everyone knew the Colidisans were behind the
disappearances but Colidisan leaders vehemently denied it. Despite their great
population losses, their extra galactic weaponry and abilities were beyond
anything humans could replicate. A Gunpoint treaty had been drawn
up shortly after the skirmishes, promising independence to the remaining
Coalidizans and freedom specifically from violent human action. Killing Colidizans
was an intergalactic crime, punishable by execution. You're the most
white human in the entire Milky Way. Yeah, sure, to
kaleidisance An added, most of them are in the canison. Anyhow,
I didn't have a choice. Would you have rather their
plan went through? I'm not ready to be a noodle gene. Okay,
I said, you're right. But but if the colonies found
out about the near miss, retaliation would be swift and
deadly on both ends, potentially exterminating either humans or Coalidizans
or both. The Octlavians would be caught in the middle,
forced to pick sides, punished either way. Segregation would ramp up,
a total crackdown on the Xenome codes. Hundreds of armed
dragoons would seasoned star knots set loose in coalideson settlements.
Not one sacking, but dozens the most brutal yet, this
is bad gene. The metal plating of the flooring walls
rolled across my vision in a blur of silver, the
wall ding my back with a solid, dull thud. That
might as well have been that boulder, black and orange,
like the remnants of some model meteor blending into the landscape.
That boulder, that invasion, That endless pleading gene. What's wrong?
I'd only experienced one sacking myself. Unlike constables galactic diplomats,
all Zeno genes were born off Earth, a planet at
the edge of the colonies, the Eleventh Settlement, a ghost
town that had never really taken off. Wolfthrop, home only
to the gestation facilities, nursing litter upon litter of xenajenes.
We were kept away from the general population for twenty yushes,
barely raised on Wolfthrop early but thrown loose oats and
lava leach entrals every other wash kept in enclosures since
we were infants and already super strong. Indo vitro technology
so developed at the point of the first Zeno production
in twenty one twenty five that the scientists on wolf
Throb could intricately weave a genetic tapestry of modern human
and ancient hominid, digitally patching in the gaps with DNA
from creatures on Earth with the most advanced senses, each
of us the orphan from some mismatched soup of athlete,
animal and neanderthal. The way this presentan was different for everyone,
as the genes were some of my peers with the
incredible lung capacity of a professional swimmer, the sprinting skills
of the fastest known human paired with leopard claws to
throw the distance behind you, or the rectangular pupils of
a grazing animal able to see three hundred degrees more
than any human. For me, it was thick curled black
ramshorns sabreed fangs from some hulking carnivorous feline that lived
millennia ago. There's the strength too this the whiskers and
the tail either inherit it from the ancient human genes
or the feline. The ears were from neither long ever perked,
and roughly the size of small satellites. There were a
few major flaws in my design, though I was near sighted,
smaller than my peers, and prone to depression, earning me
the nickname the Weeping Runt, back when nicknames were the
only way we could distinguish each other. I hadn't grasped
what my real name was till I was fifteen, and
we were finally enrolled into the Starknot Academy on Wolfthrop's
Moon Serpentarius. Well, all of us, save for Subject Z,
who was shipped off for observation, as all Z's eventually
were first study to help scientists improve in our design,
or so we were told. Our instructors were handpicked by
doctor Julia Hare to stoke what was genetically modified to
come naturally to us aggression. Only one bothered to address
me as anything other than you XGJ twenty one, p.
Fifty one. What I lacked in vision size and mental stability,
I made up four with my reflexes, which it turned
out was more important than clear sight or brawn. Anyway,
my instructors honing and praising my wrist taking in the
pilot simulator. Depression had its use behind the steering wheel.
If I didn't care about my own safety, I could
serve the colonies without even my own mortality holding me back,
A faithful scout of the United Colonies. What else I
was created? For I didn't know until our training came
to a head under a special order passed down to
doctor Hare from Aris Adams himself, appearing in holographic form
to describe the trial under fire, our first true field
trip off of Wolthrop, my first time behind a real
steering wheel, not one mounted under a simulation screen. We
were to wipe out the rebellious population of Ksev, a
bountiful planet inhabited by burrowing aliens with worm like skin,
smooth and banded in oozing slime. They were humanoid in
all other ways, though, something my compeers took advantage of.
When we landed, instructions were clear they'd have their chance
to surren entered a colony supervision. Now every last uzer
was at the mercy of my class in order to
advance the starnot and be assigned to a constable to
lead us aboard one of those cloakable dragoon ships. We
had to prove ourselves on casev stomp out the enemy. Yes,
but more importantly, as Ares had noted, make them wish
they'd never resisted in the first place. Ksev started out
with a population of twenty five thousand each corpse counted
to assure their elimination, Stacked on top of each other, torched, mutilated,
gore through hornholes, riddling the bleeding slack masses, some half eaten,
others smeared an excrement. The worst part, by far were
the stragglers uzers that had been forced out of the
deepest burrows, dragged out of their hiding spots and beaten
the near death, but only near to keep them warm,
I was told by more than one of my classmates
where that factored in, one can use their imagination. I
don't have to, though. That's when I decided I wouldn't
be sticking around for graduation. Wilfthrop was a wasteland of
gelope ships. One half of the planet lit where we
were born, but the other forever submerged in shadow. That's
where the demolitions took place. Metal sorting carried out by
low level colony employees, unarmed, ones who wouldn't be eager
to report that a craft slay it for cube shaped
compaction had slipped through the cracks. Aries, however, noticed immediately
when I didn't report for assignment, personally bestowing medallions upon
each victor's shoulder at a ceremony known as the Heffaistus Ball.
It was said he still wore my metal even five
yeshes later. It was a risk a dock for more
than an auran in time. Inevitably, some passing envoy would
be tipped off about a craft lacking a landing license,
which I'd happily apply for if the whole system wasn't
set up to be as cyclical and frustrating as possible
to punish orbiters. A craft couldn't be registered for a
landing license without proof of its pilots initial credentials. One
couldn't pursue pilot's credentials without participating in the expansion order.
One couldn't participate in the expansion order without seeing things
that made one made me want to abandon my post
in the first place. There was no peace for fugitives. Sure,
on the surface, my crime was astro vehicular theft, but
they didn't pursue just any thief so thoroughly wasting valuable
colony time and resources. That was my real charge, stealing
away with need to no knowledge in my head in
a patent attached to every helix of my genes. The
total debt coming around to the financial tune of ninety
six trillion colony dollars, an impossible number, but it translated
to just five hundred thousand drokens. I'd never seen more
than three thousand in one place at a time, never
had more than five hundred on hand, yet made Aunt
was right. The bottle in the suitcase, the black hole
in the bottle wasn't a bomb, but a breakthrough a weapon.
But are winnings unliquidated, riches untapped potential? I've got an idea,
but you need to stay open minded, Aunt eyed me
a moment, climbing down from her module to take each
in my hands. What is it? You don't have plans
for it, do you, I asked, other than keeping it
away from aries? I mean and TYPEE blushed, turning her
gaze away as she unclasped my hands. I do, she said,
But you're not gonna like it. I would have given
anything to be curious, try me, I said, knowing full
well what Aunt had in mind. Well, Aunt shrugged, hugging
herself and drumming her fingers along her upper arm. You're
thinking of the black hole as a weapon, when you
should think of it as the most influential tool in
the galaxy. That's better than destruction, Gene, more than it.
Just like don't the Red Suits are more than spoiled landfolk,
she said, the defense at the ready, anticipating my every move.
I know that's what you think of them. But there's
there's nothing wrong with fighting when it's for the innocent. No,
I agreed, But there is something wrong with putting your
life on the line for something A cause, Aunt cut in,
a cause you know nothing about. I said. It's as
simple as that, Aunt, It isn't for me. It is
At once, I was aware of the captain finality creeping
into my tone. I hated it, but needed it now
more than ever needed Aunt to understand. Before we met,
I'd lead the crew into desperate failed heist after desperate
failed heist for ions, for an engine, for water, for food.
The dragoons always caught on. We always just got away.
We run for a reason, and Tiopee. Once you get
the attention of tae Rex, there's no peace. Then there
shouldn't be any peace. Aunt choked on the words, swiping
at her damp flushed cheeks. I see what you mean, Geane,
But the things I've already done to get this we
can't just destroy it. I don't want to destroy it,
I said, I wanna sell it, not to a human,
not to a collide is in somewhat neutral, with far
away reasons for wanting it, some distant galaxy, some distant
war gene. Her tone then was hard to parse, judgmental, scandalized.
I know it gets used either way, but we might
not have another chance. Slow down. Aunt was taller than me,
my curved horns coming up to her shoulder. She pulled
those blue gloves off to pet my horns, now just
lightly tracing the sharpened ends in that way that made
the fur on my tail stand on end. Another chance
for what I explained as much by leaning up on
my toes. She met me halfway, pressing her cool, full
lips to mine softly at first, her tongue grazing my sabers,
each one hand length and on either side of my mouth,
so sharp. No matter what I did, that aunt nickter
tongue on one. I didn't know until she deepened the
kiss and I tasted her blood. I closed my eyes
to build a full flavor profile, iron, robust and pungent.
She was healthy, of course, she was always well fed.
Her father would see to that while the rest of
us in orbit starved. I I couldn't help but consider
how soft and smooth her hands were on me inside
my suit versus my own calloused from gripping the steering wheel.
Aunt tried to run her hands through my hair, but
the wild mop of twists was in no way colony standard.
We had to part to get her fingers untangled. That's
when I asked her, as she drew her hand back
and I tucked away a long, straight twist, I want
you to move in with me, Aunt, I bore the
kylaks I mean, she rolled her eyes. Of course, short term,
she said, tucking the silver suitcase containing the blunder inside
the gray cranny in her hand. Aunt donda backpack as
well stray spacesuit sleeves hanging out of it pressed against
the sides. As the middle bursts with full sacks of
crystallized ions premium fuel. My ship cloaks. But there's a
location bug somewhere in the walls. Anyone could hone in
with the right tech. And you said yourself, I'm an
intergalactic fugitive. It's only a matter of time until they
close in. Not short term, I said, sweat sliding down
my palms. Long term, it's an iceore shirt, but a
freighter shit before cat fixed it up. There's a lot
more space than you think it fits. The four of
us just fine, all with separate sleep modules. Those are private,
at least if that's what you were worried about, or
if you think it's too weird to commit like this
to someone you've never been with in that way. I mean,
Anstone was teasing, giddy and laced with a lure when
she said it is sort of old fashioned. I'm a
twenty second century woman, Jeane. Then let's modernize. We kissed again,
but with a fellow fervor. I hadn't allowed myself to
feel with that yet, least hadn't allowed her to see
me bearing down on her as she backed to the
sterling steel plated walls, Our hands all over each other,
tearing at the zippers on the front of our suits.
I needed that feeling, skin on skin, and Aunt delivered,
taking me by the shoulders to urge me into her chest,
an area hadn't been permitted to explore until now. A
type had never mentioned what a hindrance my mammoth sabers
were directly but just kissing on the mouth posed enough
of a challenge. Was new enough territory. All those sensitive organs,
the ones that were shiver skinned and swollen and so
pleasurable to the touch, it seemed a shame they ever
go back behind clothes seemed too risky to chance near
my teeth. Are you sure it's okay? Jeane Aunt panted,
I trust you. My mouth found her sweet, hard nipple
amid her soft, warm breasts, first one watching my sabers
tips the glistening white edges, then the other, and Taipeig groaned,
took a hold of my spacesuit and practically lifted me
up inches off the floor for a kiss that made
the Big Bang look like a minor traffic collision. The
knot between my legs throbbed, aching to be unraveled. Our
suits were at last peeled off, but only to the waist.
It was no exaggeration to say that below that was forbidden.
Territory entire laws dedicated to upholding appropriate behavior between person
and property. In an envoy. Constables only carried out a job.
Xenos were our job. Piloting and mauling sewn into our
DNA pleaded in thousands of layers over the human core.
Xenos could get with other zenos no problem, though it
was considered taboo for xenagenes from the same production yush
to fool around the genetic pool from which we respawned,
rotating on an annual basis. So we were whelped alongside
just over two dozen of our relatives. As for the
genetic generations proceeding and following my class, even I had
been with another of my kind, an octol, once or twice,
all of us unhuman in that umbrella sense. Now, though
I had never been more aware that Entiapee was human,
not just human Terran, and not just Terran the Secretary's daughter.
Just then, a pang of the thing that had shaded
over me on the dance floor shot through me, as
if those Terrans and their glaring eyes were with us
inside the ship shame. Through the eyes of our invisible spectators,
I watched myself greedy, straining for more of Antiopea's tongue palsy.
My hands curled like claws, one closed over her waist
to pull her closer to me, the other around her breasts.
Everything about me, too fast, too deep, too much? Sorry,
I pulled back. I didn't mean to ugh, I got
carried away. You don't have to apologize, Gene. I like
it when you kissed me like that. As we parted,
the stiffened outline straining at the groin of her suit
became a parent, usually panting and coming down from making out.
I'd follow Ant's lead and ignore the sight tonight, though
she cast a long glance down. Unless it makes you uncomfortable,
The emphasis on the word wasn't lost on me. You
could never make me uncomfortable, I said, I want you Aunt,
all of you. As for the gender stuff, everything I
feel like I should have I don't, and that I
shouldn't have I do. It's always been so confusing to me,
trying to make what I am fit into what they
say I should be. Jeane Aunt squeezed my shoulder. This
wasn't a topic we visited often, but if we were
moving in together, I figured we'd find ourselves delving more
into the unspoken stuff sooner rather than later. What I'm
trying to say is your pleasure is important to me.
I went on, my voice, growing thick with emotion. If
you want, you can trust me with your body, and
I trust you. It's just that orange dust drifted across
my vision, dirt glazing my eyes. Three Xena jeans holding
a screaming, scrambling oozer, his cries howling, until the dirt
was so dampened with his blood that his struggles no
longer kicked up dust. Breathe. Aunt's voice pierced through the
vision of the past. Gene, you're not breathing. She clapped
me on the back until, like an old engine, my
lungs leapt to function. I croaked. It's not you that
spoiled it, it was me. A tremble gripped my fingers.
I curled my hands to a fists. I'm being too pushy,
acting like an animal. The word tore out of me
in a nasty, barking bleat Ah. Jeane Aunt stroked my
cheek clear at the tears. I know you don't like
to talk about this stuff, but I'm not your victim.
I'm your lover. You're not pressuring me. I'm choosing you.
She blushed, a pulsing scarlet, opening her palm to take
my swishing tail into her grasp. Everything about you and
TYPEE brought the black tip of my tail to her
lips and kissed it. Kissed my horns, gently pressed her
lips to my sabers. You're not hurting me. I'd let
you know if you were. Thank you, I said, thanks
for understanding. Aunt was right. I didn't want to talk
about this, not this, not Wolfthrop, not what I was
really made for. There's no time for this. Anyway, we
could make time. Aunt made a compelling case, fingers playing
along the seam over my groin. I thought you majored
in urban planning, drewl inch down my chin, and I
swiped at it with the back of my hand. Not physics, awe.
Aunt kissed my left saber. You remembered my major. She
ran her tongue along the length of it while she
rubbed me, applied just enough pressure for me to forget
about the blunder for a moment, forget about what the
big rush was at all. I want to get closer
to you, Captain tonight, I said the word electric with promise.
The crew's waiting with that for now. We parted, and
Tiabe mended her suit with a definite zip, thrusting her
arms through the sleeves. Before I could grip my own zipper,
she pinched it between her fingers, eased it gingerly up
to my chin. Speaking of the crew, I'm sure the
Kaylyx fits the four of you just fine. But that's
just it. The four of you. You all might be friends,
but they loathe me. They'd never let me on board.
They're the ones who encouraged me to ask Aunt. We
can't keep hanging around the undergal aeries will catch on eventually,
but we can't be a part either. I said it
as fact. We'd be worried about each other all the time.
Who says I worry about you? Come on in TYPEE.
We both know you're in love with me. There was
too much risk and proof on either side for us
to argue the matter further. It's time we move on together,
buy our freedom from your father, negotiate a landing license,
settle down on some moon. It doesn't matter which one,
as long as we're safe and we're together. Geane, Maybe
he could come to the wedding even I went on
feeling wild and reckless even as I spoke. That's what
humans do when they love each other, right when it's
supposed to be forever. Get hitched. Then he'll have to
accept me. It'll be official on his terms. Yeah, Aunt,
wandered away from me in that constable inspector way. Hands
clasped at the small of the back as she marched
across to her desk, rolled up a constellation map. That
is what they do when they can get marriage permits.
Do you know who issues those? For space Grievers? Terraturns.
Gene Terraturns answer to judges. Judges answer to terra clerics,
and terra clerics answer to my father. She traced a
palm over a recreation of the stars above Venus. You're
very romantic, but not very practical. That's why we need
someone like you aboard, I said, you know how the
colonies work. We don't. We're aimless. We're capable. Yes, I'm
an excellent pilot. Pool picks up languages as easily as
moon rocks. USh is the finest medic to ever operate
on a negative budget, and Cad could fix anything with
duct tape and a sensible hammer. But we've only hidden
in the colonies. You've surveyed them hardly, Aunt protested. I've
only drawn up a few rudimentary maps of Herklet Marcine
and Upper East Prox Starry, and I've drawn up zero
I shot back. I go by what people like you
enter into the galactic positioning system. My crew needs more
than someone who can fly the ship. He's someone who
knows where the fuck were going. You know Terex as
well as I know you. This. Neither of us argued
with You're what we're missing, Aunt, a tracker who knows
how our enemies operate. I keep us going, but you
could keep us safe and TYPEE blushed. I'm no master tracker, Gene, no,
I said, after all those yushes dodging your dad, it
was you who found me. Aunt smirked. I didn't find you, Gene,
she said, I just saw you standing there with your
hand out. That's what I said. I stretched out my hand.
Now you found me. Aunt clasped my palm, and without
having to talk about it, we recreated the scene, lying
on our backs, the stare up at the ceiling. Of course,
that night we had the entire galaxy laid out in
front of us, blinking and breathless and black. Aries had
been circulating my XGID for three yushes at that point,
along with a photo of twenty yush old me, taken
octavers before the Uzer invasion, before my hair had grown
past three inches, and before my horns had developed their
deep curves. By twenty one seventy three, though my hair
was a mop of black twists, and my horns were thick,
full curved, and sensitive. I had outgrown his image of me.
There was still, however, the matter of my peers. Maybe
my more matured horns would ward off the dragoons, but
they also warded off everyone else. That night on Procstari, Though,
on an island in the middle of a purple ocean
of low, swirling fog called Pacific City, was the Volternalia Festival,
the yushy Parade of the Great Griever. Every three hundred washers,
or so. Everyone who recognized the loss of the billions
of grievers in the first yush following the eviction exodus
would don a black cloak and a solid mirror mask
with openings only, or the eyes and mouth within the
glass mold. Those attending festivals in open space like us
would add a pair of black tin horns to the ensemble.
Such was the case with the throngs of celebrators flooding
the streets that night, something to do with horns representing
evil Earth and animals and embracing our birthright of bad luck.
The masquerade, a tradition tracing back to the original survivors
of Exodus. The dwindled crew had only managed to convey
so much about their earth born culture to the first
generation of Grievers before the vacuum claimed them too. What
was left was fashioned into vulternalia. At first, I attended
out of convenience the one time a yes, I could
show my face on land for more than an hour.
Of course I took advantage, but hedonism was only half
of the celebration. The other half was the dye in
catob stained from all hollyw washed celebrations per as kap
Larashtian beliefs. So He and Pull had hung back in
the Kaylaks, awaiting my call or pick up, while USh
pedaled the latest green onion variety pack of Kaylok's cults
to a snobbish bunch. I didn't care to get to know.
Humans could only stomach so much onion juice in their beer,
so we were more novelty than staple. Only collide isn't
seemed to stock up on our stuff yet, Because tensions
were flaring more than ever, we rarely ran into them.
This left us with only the tourists, of which thankfully
there was just the clamoring gaggle. The parade was sprawling,
stereos blaring discordant music at random, placed wherever, because plugs
were wherever windows open, People leaned outside to pass down
masts and slashing cups of cool water. Mass people twisted
up into leather pretzels as orgy spilled out of alleyways
and into the open street, where paraders simply stepped over them.
The bars were the only places anyone took off their mask,
otherwise the liquor would run down the glassy surface of it,
dribbling over your shirt, though some gleefully did this to
the great griever as the drink made contact with the dirt.
At twelve, all ROMs on the dot the beginning of
the next wash, though still completely in the dead of
the evening, Everyone collapsed, as if cut down by some
invisible gunfire, not at once but a wave, as people
staggered backwards to find a comfortable landing spot. We would
after all be lying there for the next Aroan. I'd
been caught on the outskirts of a local park, the
equipment barren in the metal base of the swings and slide,
obscurred by the sea of breathing bodies. The grass was
deep blue on Procstari, despite the best efforts of the
Terex Agricultural Commission, blue tall and pillowy. When I stretched
out on it, my limbs out in my back to
the ground. Per tradition, I reached out to the person
who settled down next to me, a woman in a
pale pink spacesuit, not a typical color. Lavender was for
space bound grievers, black for the land written of us. Pink, however,
was usually a mourner's color. The huge drawn from a
delicate dying process. One time were at most then back
in the closet, I was a sitting target. I said,
you could have called for backup. You could have taken
your shot. Who says I didn't take my shot? Grinned
and typee years ago, she'd taken my hand, lied with
me for an hour, watched the same sky as me,
wispy clouds wandering over the stars to give the entire
night the illusion of being watched by millions of blinking eyes.
We'd asked each other one question. Mine was simple. She
wasn't her constable get up yet, but I knew well
enough that Aunt was no seasoned space fair. Her gray
boots were unscuffed, the stitching neat and tight, still along
the base, barely walked in. Her skin had a glowy
kind of quality, giving off the kind of shine one
only emitted if they'd been in direct sunlight within the
past months. Even More, she proudly sported a baseball cap.
Dust discos considered the sport of champions for grievers, a
home grown, fast paced, risk based sport that involved ricocheting
metal disks off of asteroids. In the Ore Belt, baseball
was considered the dinosaur of recreation, a holdover from Earth's
more boring summers. It was unspeakable to root for a
team in public. This didn't quell the emergence of a
nostalgic group known as the ichabod Icicles, the only space
based baseball team in existence, with a rotating roster of players,
all vying for Earth's Hall of Fame to no avail.
Every season hosted on the pale green moon, Ichabod rotating
a barely larger planet called Erie in the Neo Levy quadrant,
a green snowflake the Icicles logo was situated in the
center of Ntipe's cap two years ago. I pointed to it.
There was a game tonight, right, she'd replied, Yeah, but
the score is the same as always, zero to one.
I understood the typical ratio. At least it's always a
close call. Maybe at first it was just Terran guilt
driving her to the charity asking to see our ship,
just to offer to cover the cost of the most
dire repair needed. But Aunt stuck around, and apparently, though
in a lot of ways she'd been doing it from
the start, changed. Even if the maroon talk was a
bit off putting, it was nice to finally see that
passion in the right place, her ire aimed at the
right people, her own in TYPEE. I grasped the bill
of her cap, picked the hat up and set it
down on her head backwards. Everything in space is so
in the air and untraditional. I don't know anything about
my own culture. I want to honor your roots and
do things the typical way for once. That's really sweet, Jay,
said Aunt, rising to her feet. But I mean, sure,
I was born on Earth, but I don't even bleed
like an earthlink. Terran culture isn't necessarily mine. I'm sorry.
It didn't mean a generalize. It's just that I I
don't know. I suppose I've been thinking a lot about milestones.
I guess I bit my tongue physically to keep myself
from babbling. I just mean that it seems like only
yesterday I was crawling through a broken window and feeling
around in the glove compartment for a key. And now
it's five years later, and three people depend on me
to keep that hunk of junk chugging, and another five
I'll be thirty. Aunt at this, she sighed with a
labored groan. Oof, Yeah, that rings a bell. She looked
down on her hands, which I only notice now were
blotchy bright red, her palms raw. There are definitely some
things that didn't think I'd be taking into another decade. Well,
there are things I've been thinking wanting to. I racked
my memory for the lines, the ones I typed and
deleted and altered over the course of scepters. Ant. You
make me feel like I'm discovering something new and thrilling
and on the cusp of impossibility. Everything about you have
this intense gravitational pull. What it is exactly. I don't know,
but it must mean something. I want it to mean something.
Ah Jeane n Tiapee drew a hand across her watery eyes.
Are you making this up as you go? Or did
you practice that line? About half and half? I admitted,
standing and extending my outstretched hands. I mean when I say,
but I might be quoting my notes just a bit
my vowels. N Tiopee matched me, stepping closer to take
my hands. As far as proposals went, there weren't many
Taran traditions I was aware of other than asking on
one knee now, though it felt right to see Aunt
from the usual angle, both of us on our own feet. Aunt,
if you marry me, I'll never have to see the
sun again. You'll be my home star. You already are?
I paused just for a moment, had to be sure
of this grievous superstition, claimed sang this and falsehood would
do me captain's ship. I orbit you an tipe laced
our fingers, her black eyes, searching the metal plated floor
for a moment before meeting mine. What about the permit?
My father would never issue it. We'll bribe a tear
turn to let us slip through the system when we apply,
I said, terror turns. Don't do that. No, I said,
you don't. Corruption can work in our favor sometimes too.
A few beats, my heart thrumbing in my ears. The
sounds so constant, like an angry hive of fazzle wasps.
So what do you think, an Tipe thought for a moment, Yes,
she said, slow like, but under one condition, and it's
non negotiable, of course, I said, dizzy, my head spinning.
I leaned against the wall to avoid swaying anything. Aunt,
she grinned across from me. I'm taking your last name.
Antipe lost her footing as the entire undergal rocked. The
hazard lights flooded the dragoon and blinking red light the
security system blaring down from the speakers lining the ceiling.
High velocity impact detected in case of danger, Please launch
escape pod. High velocity impact detected in case of danger,
Please launch escape pod. I ride it, my glasses, pushing
them up from where they'd slid down my nose. What
the The intercom erupted into a cacompany of jubbled language.
High velocity danger, please launch danger impact detected in case
of pod pod pod pod pod. Antiope pulled herself to
her feet at the control panel, entered a series of
passwords before the security system shut off and the hazard
lights blink back to gold. Shit, are you hurt? I
picked her up, thinking one of her ankles must be tender,
but she shook her head in my arms. It's not me,
it's them, Three high velocity objects, three ships impacted with
the undergal Kalidizans, I breathed. They know Coliazans had a
kind of hive mind, a neuro galactic link for Coalidizan's.
The hive was a religion, an organ in food source,
all in one, Aunt, when you killed those blunderbrewers, How
many eyes did they have? What do you mean? Aunt
slung a pack over her shoulder, holstered her hot shot,
snub nosed black and gleaming where she had it leaned
against the wall. Eight of course, shit? What color were they?
I don't know? Bright? What color? Orange? Were they orange?
She said? They were more like gold? Fuck. The shift
was subtle, two extra eyes blooming on their face, those
orange irises burning over over to a hot, fiery gold.
The mark of the link, first to that Collidison's pod,
then their pod, then their own, on and on until
every colidison in the universe watched as entire pee slaughtered
their endangered ilk. Another trigger happy constable, this time gone
too far. We've got to get out of here. In
sixteen cont