"King-high diamond flush," I said boldly as I laid my cards out on the table.
Despite my strong hand, my heart still thumped in my chest as I waited for the only other player in the hand to reveal his cards. Although my odds of winning were good, I was nervous. If my opponent had the ace...
"Ace-high diamond flush," my train of thought was disrupted and heart my sank. My opponent had the goddamn ace.
Unlike any other time I had played Texas Hold 'Em at a casino, I had no idea what to expect. See, I wasn't at a normal casino. I was at the Holy Grail Casino, where one does not gamble with money.
My opponent had wagered a finger, and I thought that that had been some colloquial way of making a small bet. Just as we frequently say "an arm and a leg" figuratively for an exorbitant cost, I thought that 'finger' was being used in the same context. I was proven brutally wrong when the dealer, without a hint of emotion, pulled a large knife out from some concealed location and chopped my pinky finger off.
I screamed, both in pain and disbelief. I had been expecting the most intense gambling experience of a life time, but I hadn't imagined anything of this magnitude.
I had finally found a form of gambling even I balked at.
I'll come clean and say it, I'm a compulsive gambler. I've had an enduring fixation on Lady Luck as early as I can remember. As a child, I loved making bets - even small and petty ones - with my peers.
When I was eighteen, and had my first job, I squandered a bigger portion of my very first paycheck than I care to admit on scratch-off lottery tickets.
With my addictive proclivities, I ignored the glaring net financial loss that this incurred, instead gravitating to the mere twenty dollars I did win with those tickets.
Now you can tell me that my gambling winnings are heavily outweighed by my losses over the years, and you'd be right. It's a stubborn fact that cannot be truthfully denied.
But it didn't matter to me. I was addicted to gambling. I was always convinced that the big, life-changing win I needed was right around the corner. It is this lifelong habit that has not only brought about a life of financial strain, but which, I fear, has brought about my imminent appointment with my own mortality.
You see, my gambling problem reached its zenith last year after I cajoled one of my poker friends, Dallas, into taking me to a secretive and high-stakes casino that he frequently spoke of, and this is as good a place as any to begin telling what happened.
"So, is this the night you're finally going to accede and tell me more about the mythical 'high stakes venue' you claim to frequent, Mr. Big Shot?" I asked my friend Dallas.
Dallas was a pro at gambling. At least, he swept the floor with the competition nine times out of ten and the backroom card games we frequented.
Dallas groaned loudly in the passager seat.
"Come on bro," I said doggedly, "you can't just set something up on a pedestal like this and not expect someone to persist."
"I don't know man. This isn't kitty shit. This is the big leagues." Dallas answered.
"I'm not a lightweight." I objected.
"No...but this is way more than anything we'd ever bet back there," he said, referring to our backroom games, one of which we had just left.
"This is the real shit. Hard-fucking-core. This is the most hardcore gambling around." Dallas continued.
"Like what, Russian Roulette?" I joked.
"Nah man." Dallas said cryptically.
"Look man, I give you rides to these games every week. You owe me." I was getting seriously annoyed at his reticence.
"Fine," Dallas groaned, exasperated.
I couldn't believe it. I had actually worn him down!
"But I'm warning you. This is serious shit." Dallas said sternly.
"I want to go." I said firmly.
Dallas reached into his wallet and handed me a medallion.
Upon inspection, I saw one side was affixed with the design of an ornate, bejeweled chalice with the words 'Holy Grail Casino' written above it. On the other side, written in elegant calligraphy was the phrase 'omnem marmora' - "all the marbles" in Latin.
This certainly bore the look of a ritzy and exclusionary place. I had a feeling I'd either win the jackpot of jackpots or end up homeless on the street. The reality would prove much worse than the latter.
Dallas was looking at me oddly, almost as if he was worried. But he could tell he wasn't going to be able to talk me out of it. I still hate him for his acquiescence to my pestering.
"When can we go?" I asked excitedly.
"I was planning to go tomorrow-," Dallas started.
"When I should I pick you up?" I interrupted.
"That's...not how we get there." Dallas answered.
"What-," I started, but it was Dallas' turn to interrupt.
"When you go to bed tomorrow night, write your full name on a piece of paper, then put it and the medallion in your pocket when you go to sleep."
I looked at him incredulously. Had he been fucking with me this whole time?
"Look...just trust me. Either do it or don't, but that's how you get there." Dallas said matter-of-factly.
I looked silently at the road as we neared the place where Dallas lived. Dallas seemed to be pensively looking out the window, as if he was debating whether or not he should have give me the medallion.
I dropped Dallas off without a word and raced home. I don't know why I was such a hurry - I guess I wanted to start waiting for tomorrow night as soon as possible.
After a torturous day of waiting, the next night finally came. Remembering Dallas' instructions, I wrote my full name on a slip of paper and placed it, along with the medallion, in the pockets of my sweatpants that I was wearing to bed for that purpose.
I could have sworn that I had heard my name being chanted as I drifted off to sleep, but the authenticity of those sounds is still ambiguous. What is not ambiguous is the fact that, shortly after falling asleep, I found myself in an opulent red-carpeted casino.
I was in a lobby of sorts, at least I think that's what it was. I was in a large, marble room with Greco-Roman style columns flanking a plush red carpet that led to two magnificent ebony doors, which boasted intricately carved ivory handles.
As I was soaking in the amazing luxurious sight, a man in a suit briskly approached me.
"You can't go to the floor dressed like that!" He admonished me, pointing to my sweatpants and white t-shirt.
"I'm sorry-," I began sluggishly, a bit confused by everything. Was I honestly expected to go to bed in a suit in order to gamble here?
"No worries sir," the man had a rather upper class accent, "we will get you outfitted here free of charge."
A short while later I was sporting a fine burgundy suit, a white dress shirt, and black loafers, and being led by the casino worker back to those grandiose doors. He stopped in front of them, held one of the doors open, and ushered me in.
"Enjoy your stay sir," he said as he closed the door behind me.
I took in the even more impressive sight that was the gambling floor. I stood at the top of a red-carpeted staircase with gilded railing, looking down at a large room. On the far end, the words 'Holy Grail Casino' were displayed prominently on the wall, illuminated by spotlights.
Like the lobby, a red carpet ran through the center, bisecting the impressive layout of games and tables. Interestingly, there didn't appear to be any slot machines- there seemed to be exclusively traditional games. Poker tables, blackjack tables, roulette wheels, and craps tables I all recognized.
Finally, I descended the stairs. The patrons and staff paid me little attention as I set foot on the floor. I briefly scanned the floor for Dallas but saw no saw no sign of him.
I shrugged and decided to jump into the games. All around me, finely dressed patrons were engrossed in their games, and others stood to the side, nursing cocktail glasses or puffing on cigars.
I had never had much of an affinity for roulette or craps, and I avoided blackjack like the plague (it's definitely rigged for the house). Accordingly, I quickly settled on poker.
After eyeing several tables I settled on a table occupied by just one patron - an uninterested old man in a black suit.
"Can I join here?" I asked.
The dealer replied affirmatively.
I sat down and noticed there were no chips in sight. I thought it had been odd that I hadn't received any, but I had just figured they would be given at the table. Curious, I asked.
"First time?" The dealer raised an eyebrow.
"Yes."
The old man sighed, annoyed. What the hell? Shouldn't a patron at such a purportedly high-stakes venue be eager to have fresh meat?
"Well, the rules state that one's first game is one round of betting only." The dealer said in a monotone voice. No wonder old man was annoyed.
I nodded and sat down.
"But the chips-," I began to inquire.
"We don't use 'em here." The old man spoke for the first time.
Before I ask what we did use, the old man placed what would apparently be the sole bet of this hand: a finger.
Had I heard him right? He couldn't actually mean-
"Bet is one finger." The dealer said, interrupting my thoughts.
As I stated in the beginning, I assumed that 'a finger' was being used in the same figurative context that one often uses the term 'an arm and a leg.' I called the bet.
The cards were dealt, and I felt confident as I laid out the King-high flush I spoke of in the beginning. But then came the old man's ace-high flush, and then came the chop.
I screamed. To my shock, none of the other patrons even looked up from their games at the sound of my screams and the chop. Was this an ordinary occurrence?
Before I could get up from the table, the dealer also procured some sort of ointment and quickly dabbed some on the nub where my finger had been. The bleeding instantly stopped, and the pain eased, but I was having none of it. I got up from the table and began to run back to the doors. This was too much. I had to get out of here.
I heard a despaired howl coming from the direction of the roulette wheels as I made it back to the center of the floor, but didn't dare look back at the source. I stepped onto the carpet and set for the stairs when I nearly collided with Dallas.
"Hey you made it!" He said. "Oooh tough break with the finger," he indicated my hand.
"How have you never lost anything?!" I asked pointedly, barely resisting the urge to shake his shoulders.
"Well I have," Dallas smirked.
"You-you have all your digits." I sputtered.
"Well that's cause I won them back." He said.
"You can win them back?!" I was in disbelief.
"Of course, they'll reattach it if you win one."
I should have just cut my losses. I shouldn't have been swayed by temptation. But if you know the rabbit hole that is gambling, you'll know how much people put themselves in the hole vainly trying to win back a negligible loss, all the while turning that negligible loss into something substantial.
I was still weighing my options (stay or quit while still ahead) when a booming voice disrupted my deliberation.
"Attention floor! We have a class ten loser! Death!"
He couldn't actually mean-
Before I could make any kind of move, the patrons become a mob, and the wave people pushed Dallas and I to the center with them.
A man, who I noticed was already missing an arm, was on his knees sobbing. An emotionless casino dealer stood before him, holding a sword.
"Everyone c-cut y-your loss-losses," the man stuttered through sobs.
Before he could say anything else, the sobs were cut off by the slice of the sword, and the poor man's head hit the floor and tumbled, landing at my feet.

PART ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-ONE
There were long days. There were bad days. And then there were really long, really bad days that left one feeling like nothing but shit.
Today was one of those last ones for Lucas. It had started off bad and gone downhill fast. The only positive in the whole damn thing was that he finally found out just how right his instincts were about his LT. But even that soured with the knowledge that if he’d just ignored Charlotte’s pleading years ago when the Lt first assaulted her, all of the evil that that man and his brother caused since could have been avoided.
And then Angelo would not have had to go through what he did.
The process of charging Leonard Mayliss was ludicrously simple since everything was caught on the security camera. Even the paperwork involving the official arrest went smoothly. But then, the interrogation (aka inquisition) of 1PP’s high command began, and he had neither Detective Nascerdios nor Detective Quail there with him. Quail was still on her man-hunt for the Harris brothers, and God knows where the fuck Daniel took off to after the arrest, but he sure didn’t hang around 1PP long.
Lucas diverted as much as he could to the two absent detectives, but High Command wasn’t interested in the opinions and reviews of the detectives officially linked to the case. They wanted to know how a beat cop from the Fifth seemed to know more about the case than they did.
He answered their questions as honestly as he could and held nothing back, receiving in a dressing down for not reporting Lieutenant Harris at the time of the incident and another for not realising Angelo’s involvement before now. After hours of relentless grilling, he finally snapped and asked if he needed his rep to be present because as far as he was concerned, he’d done nothing wrong.
Things wrapped up quickly after that point, and he was dismissed for the evening. Shortest promotion in history, he mused to himself, as he went to check on both Mason and Angelo on his way home. But that part didn’t bother him. With the Harris’ out of the way, he could climb the ranks of the NYPD in his own time.
Because he was still in uniform, the officers with Mason let him in to see his roommate. Mason was fast asleep, so after watching him for a few minutes, he left more upbeat than when he went in. “As a heads up,” he said to the two officers manning the door. “The other witness in this case, had an attempt made on his life because someone came in dressed like a doctor. Don’t trust anyone.”
“Nice of you to tell us that after you went in.”
Lucas was unrepentant. “I wanted to see him.” He tapped his forefinger against his hat at them in farewell and made his way to the ICU, where surprisingly, he was permitted straight through to Angelo’s room once his identity had been confirmed. So maybe he wasn’t on 1PP’s shit list after all. Unlike Mason, Angelo just looked unconscious. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was breathing, he was pale enough to be dead. He’d lost a lot of blood on top of whatever else that poison did to him.
It almost made him want to go back to 1PP and say to Mayliss’ guard, “Here. Hold my badge.” But being a cop was all he ever wanted, and he wouldn’t throw it away on a little gratuitous revenge.
He left the hospital and caught the subway home, still mulling things over as he walked the last few blocks to his front door. “The first thing I’m gonna do when I get upstairs is grab a beer,” he murmured to himself as he let himself in the front door and made his way up the stairs.
Living on the second floor made the elevator ridiculous in his mind. Though he certainly wouldn’t have said no to it when they lived on the ninth. Which brought up another point of interest: How long were they all going to be living in Llyr’s? He was the Nascerdios who was usually situated over in San Francisco. A three-story mansion, not including the two sub-levels or the underground car park. Back when Llyr didn’t pass Lucas’ sniff test, he’d found Llyr’s address and used Google Maps to have a look at the place from the outside. Very, very fancy, and Miss W would absolutely hate it.
But that wasn’t his problem, and he had enough of his own.
He slid his key into the apartment door and let himself in. “Hey, I’m home,” he called out, just like he always did.
The lack of response was weird. Usually, someone was milling around somewhere to shout back a greeting. Lucas sat on the stool and unlaced his boots, noticing that both Boyd’s sneakers and work boots were in the pile. So at the very least, the big guy was home. Sam’s Givenchy sneakers that Lucas thought they were going to have to surgically separate him from when he died were also amongst the pile.
Just as noticeably, the flip-flops Robbie had been wearing all day were absent. He hadn’t been at the hospital either, which would’ve been his next guess. Failing both of those, he’d probably gone back to work off some steam.
Not a bad idea. He might do the same in his new room. Oooor … he could fall into bed and catch up on sleep. He’d make his decision after his first beer.
As was his habit, he went to check on Sam first. As the youngest member of the household, he might have been in his twenties, but he still had a lot of growing up to do, and Lucas still saw him more as a high schooler than a college near-graduate.
He caught sight of the piece of paper taped to Sam’s door before he could read the words.
“Stay out. Leave Sam alone, gentlemen. Ivy.”
His hand froze at his shoulder and then lowered to his side again. If Miss W said to leave him alone, he was going to leave well enough alone.
On his way to their side of the apartment, he detoured past the fridge and grabbed a cold Bud, tossing the lid in the sink behind him. The trash was now kept out of sight in one of the cupboards under the sink, and he didn’t feel like backpedalling. He’d fix it up later.
He took his first swig at the laundry area and the second and third down the hallway. “Knock-knock,” he said, rapping the back of one knuckle against Boyd’s door.
He heard the roll of a chair right behind the door, and then the door opened. Boyd was still sitting in a wheeled chair which he pushed back with his heels to open the door fully. “Hey,” he said sheepishly.
Something was off. Lucas looked past him to where three blocks of wood and a packet of tools sat in the middle of the unmade bed. To his left, he saw a built-in table with a spread of food that quickly reminded him he hadn’t eaten all day.
He saw Boyd twist his head to follow his gaze and chuckle at him. “Here,” his roommate said, passing him the wrapped turkey and salad roll that had been made big enough to dwarf a works hotdog. “Start with that.” Boyd’s eyes went to Lucas’ beer and he huffed a sharp sigh.
“I can get you one while I’m up,” Lucas offered, tipping the bottom of his bottle towards the kitchen.
“Nah, I can’t have a beer at the moment.”
Why not? It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, but he knew the direct route was also the direct way to get Boyd to shut down, hard.
He took a moment to unwrap the roll “So what’s all this?” he asked, lifting his fingers off the roll long enough to point out the lumber and tools on the bed.
“A carving project,” Boyd answered, hesitantly.
“I didn’t know you carved.”
“I haven’t in years. I made my little brother a pretty cool toy soldier set back when I was ten.”
Lucas rested his shoulder against the door and took a bite of his roll. “So what inspired you to take it up again?”
Boyd shrugged and dropped his eyes to the table.
Okay, sensitive subject. “Any thoughts on what you’re going to make?”
“Nope,” Boyd admitted. “Working on putting a hole in this lot first. But there’s plenty here if you want to dig in.”
Robbie wasn’t in the habit of making up more than was necessary because he hated waste. Something about Boyd had changed since Robbie put the lunch together. Something Boyd was dancing around. He needed to come at this from a different direction. “What do you think of the new layout?” he asked, lifting his eyes to the room.
Boyd kicked back and twisted his chair to face the same way. “It’s bullshit,” he said, with a whole lot of passion. “Unless Llyr’s people were working on this the whole time we were living up the other end of the apartment, which never would’ve happened because renovations are never that quiet. This is impossible. We even have HVAC for fuck’s sake.”
Lucas looked up at the vent in the ceiling. “Shit, I didn’t even notice that,” he admitted.
Boyd stood up, and with his right hand over his head, he went up on to his tiptoes and brushed his fingertips across the ceiling. “That ceiling height hasn’t changed an inch, yet we have a foot of fucking HVAC running above it.”
“That’s impossible!”
“Tell me about it. And don’t get me started on how that kitchen and living room out there shouldn’t be but is.”
“And what’s over there?” Lucas asked, noticing the open barn door.
“Fantasyland,” Boyd answered, waving his hand for Lucas to go and look.
Lucas saw the dressing room, which lit up as soon as he went in. “JEY-SUS CHRIST!” Even though it wasn’t his dressing room, Boyd had permitted him to look, so he went over to the drawers and pulled the top one out. A jewellery drawer. Boyd, who didn’t own a piece of fucking jewellery, had a drawer set specifically designated for jewellery. Cufflink holders. Watch holders. Ring slots. Fucking runway lighting and mirrors on three sides! And half the padded coat hangers on one end of an empty rack were for suit jackets.
“Keep going,” Boyd said, gesturing for Lucas to move on to the other room. “It gets better.”
Lucas wanted to poke his nose in every drawer in the room, but he still followed Boyd’s direction. “No—fucking—way!”
“What am I going to do with all this fancy shit?” Boyd asked, coming up behind him once more.
“Well, I’m pretty sure someone’s introduced you to the concept of a shower and crapper at some point in your life,” Lucas jeered. His fighter instincts had him dropping low, just in time to avoid the sweeping arc of Boyd’s loose-fisted punch. He popped back up onto his feet again and leapt away, making sure to keep a good grip on both the beer and the sandwich. “I don’t know what you’re bitching for, man. You’ve got your own private bathroom. If anything, you suck.”
“Is yours the same as before?”
Boyd may have asked the question innocently enough, but Lucas heard the hitch in his voice at the very beginning and knew the nosey prick already knew the answer to that.
When Lucas gave him the same look he gave miscreant teenagers, Boyd’s lips kicked up on one side. “I was just seeing where the hell I was,” he admitted with a sideways grin. “I woke up here, with nothing around me that I recognised. I went room by room until I saw all of Robbie’s crap in his room and then I went out into the living room and found my chair.”
“Wait … you woke up in your room?”
Boyd’s shoulders twitched, his smile falling away. “I … might’ve fallen asleep in the car on the way home from work this morning.”
“You weigh nearly three hundred pounds!”
“Two eighty-ish.”
“Who the fuck got you out of the car and upstairs?”
Boyd shrugged. “My guess, Robbie and Angus must’ve pulled it off together somehow. All I know is, no one was home when I woke up.” With a sharp huff, he rolled his eyes, “Well, no one except Llyr and Miss W, and that was something I was not walking in on to ask them ...”
“What do you mean, Llyr and Miss W?”
Boyd’s right eyebrow arched high. “They were in Llyr’s room gettin’ bus—sy.” He drew out the word and waggled his eyebrows so that there was no misunderstanding.
Only Lucas was sure there had to be. “Llyr, and Miss W?” he asked in disbelief. “Are you sure?”
Boyd’s eyebrow dropped back to normal. “Well, let’s see. Grunt, grunt. Groan, groan. Oh yeah, Llyr. God, yeah. Loud scream of Llyr’s name, and then even more grunting.”
“Well, fuck,” Lucas growled in annoyance.
“What?”
“It looks like I owe Robbie ten bucks.”
Boyd burst out laughing. “You bet against Robbie when sex was the wager? You moron!”
“Shut up! I thought I had it in the bag. Miss W made it clear she never wanted anything to do with Sam’s … hey – do you think anyone’s told Sam?”
Boyd shrugged again. “Sam’s locked himself in his room.”
“And Miss W’s put a note on his door telling us all to leave him alone.”
“Really?” Boyd went back to his bedroom door and craned his neck on the angle to make out Sam’s door at the other end of the double hallway. “With everything else, I didn’t even notice that there.”
“Well, you wanna see the one cool factor about my room? Apart from the fact, the whole thing’s been soundproofed.”
“What’d you get soundproofing for?”
Lucas knocked his half-empty beer against Boyd’s chest and led the way next door to his room. “Open it up and take a look.”
He stepped aside and let Lucas go first, knowing the dimensions of his room were identical to the one he had upstairs. His queen-sized bed was flanked by built-in wardrobes, and very little else of his was in the room.
“So?” Boyd asked, turning back to him.
“Watch,” he said with a grin, and walking over to the bed with his hands still full, he hooked his foot under the foot of the bed and gave it a heave. The whole thing flipped up into line with the other two wardrobes, making it look like a full bank of closets. The floor was packed from wall to wall and wall to wall with tatami mats.
“They turned your bed into a murphy bed,” he said, missing the point entirely.
Lucas pointed his food and drink at the flooring. “They’re professional tatami mats,” he said unable to hide his excitement.
The blank look on Boyd’s face meant he still didn’t get the significance.
“Fine,” Lucas said, going back to the doorway where he put his roll and beer against the wall outside. When he came back into the room, he went to the left of Boyd, and in a blur of speed, put his foot on the wall and pushed off it in an upwards direction. He collected Boyd around the neck and shoulders and twisting sharply in mid-air, he used his momentum and weight to flip Boyd off his feet into a three-sixty degree spin that slammed the bigger man into the mats on his ass.
While his opponent was still dazed, Lucas wrapped his legs around Boyd’s waist from behind and locked one of Boyd’s arms above his head in a kata-ha-jime which he leaned back into to prevent Boyd’s superior strength from breaking the hold. “Say uncle,” Lucas taunted, once he felt Boyd start to struggle within the hold.
“Let me go, you little asswipe, before I rip your fucking legs off in your sleep and shove one up your ass and one down your neck.”
Lucas tched and tightened his stranglehold. “So much violence,” he laughed. “And threatening a law enforcement officer to boot…”
“Seriously, let me go before I lose my temper and pull shit on you that they don’t teach in any fancy fighting school.”
Sensing the fun was over, Lucas released his hold and rolled backwards out of the way, using his hands on the floor to flip himself back up on to his feet in case Boyd tried anything.
All Boyd did was climb to his feet and rub his shoulder where the hold had been at its tightest. “Last time I share my lunch with you, asshole.”
“Do you get it now?” he asked, gesturing at the compacted rice core mats. “They’re professional martial arts mats, man. They take the impact so instead of breaking your ass, it just bumps it.”
Boyd nodded. “So you can train in here.”
“Properly, and without disturbing anyone with jumps and pounds.”
“Have you looked in the wardrobes, yet?”
Lucas shot Boyd a quizzical look, and the older man chuckled. “You want to bet another ten bucks against at least one of them being filled to the brim with everything you could ever need to train with?”
Not interested in losing even more money, Lucas went to the nearest pair of wardrobes and after opening them, found nothing but drawers and hanging space. But, just like in Boyd’s room, there was a second set of cupboards down towards the end that backed onto Boyd’s ensuite. Lucas shot across to them, trying not to behave like a five-year-old on Christmas morning, but finding it really hard not to.
Especially when he opened the doors and found it was a ‘walk-in wardrobe’ going back almost six feet. Within the space was a large assortment of straps, gloves, protection pads, headgear, mouthguards, rash guards and two full-sized, top of the line combat mannequins, not including a designated space for his own Bob Man upstairs. Enough equipment for three people to train with simultaneously. When he turned to see what was behind him, he found a rack of sweat gear, fabric mats that were three by two feet in size and a fully decked out first aid station including a bar fridge with a shelf packed with cold packs and drinks.
Drinks … and protective sitting mats for the flooring?
He looked back near the door and saw the HVAC controls that would allow him to isolate the room from the rest of the house. Which were also the point of the drinks and protective mats. He wouldn’t be able to train in any air conditioning, any more than he could walk out of the room mid-training into it to get a drink. Either of those was without a doubt, the fastest way to catch pneumonia.
It was a sixteen-foot square professionally kitted space.
His own mini-dojo.
It was all … too much.
And it suddenly dawned on him that none of this was temporary.
Lucas slowly looked at his roommate, who stood in the middle of the room with his arms folded across his chest. “Do you get the feeling this relocation is a whole lot more permanent than ‘for our protection while the case is still ongoing’, man?”
“Yeah,” Boyd agreed, bobbing his head ever so slightly. “The question is, are we okay with that?”
That … is an excellent question.
* * *
​
PART ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-TWO
​
((AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yesterday's larger post was as a thank you to my NREMT friend who helped me with all of my paramedic information in the last couple of posts. Today's was because I was having too much damn fun to stop. But tomorrow it will go back to its normal size, as I really can't keep spending all day on this, even if I do have all the fun in the world writing it. 😍🥰 ))
Previous Part 170
((All comments welcome))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work including previous parts or WPs: Angel466 or indexed here
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

Apologies for the long delay. Life happened.
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Only an alien would think leaving a bunch of teen and tween girls loose on a spaceship with nothing to do was a good idea, thought Kay. Surveying the damage, she figured it could have been worse. She had already disabled the cargo airlock and was now sitting on a crate by the working personnel airlock practicing her spiel in Galactic Standard hoping Soimt would not freak out too much upon seeing the mess. Mentally cataloging the sounds of destruction echoing through the ship as various groups played or took things apart to see how they worked, she focused on conveying her message in Galactic Standard.
“It’s not as bad as it is. No. It’s not as bad as it looked. No! It’s not as bad as it looks. Yes! It’s not as bad as it looks, and we can destroy— No. It’s not as bad as it looks and we can fix most of it us-selves. No! It’s not as bad as it looks, and we—”
“Destroyed my ship!” yelled Soimt. The sound of the airlock opening had been masked by a falling shipping container.
Kay leapt to her feet and spun to face the airlock. Soimt flinched in anticipation of an attack. And the two other humans pushing him through the door alternated between laughing and gaping at the wreckage in the hold. Busted pipes from early attempts to find suitable gymnastics equipment had long since stopped spewing fire-suppressant foam, yet the foam seemed to be spreading still. It was all over the ship and everything in it.
Kate’s eyes went wide as she realized the problem. “Soimt! You idiot! Is that standard fire suppressant? It’s a hallucinogen and inhibition blocker for humans!” Ducking down, she aimed her shoulder for Kay’s hips and scooped her up in a fireman’s carry with the scout still practicing her speech in Galactic. “JT! Get him out! Now!”
Carrying the scout out to the relatively fresh air of the docking bay, Kay trusted JT to follow orders. Setting her charge down several meters from the open airlock, Kay said, “Deep breaths. Lots of deep breaths. Need you to focus, hon. How many? How long? How bad? Breathe. How many? Breathe. How long? Breathe. How bad?”
JT dumped a protesting Soimt on the deck next to the scout and silenced the stream of invectives with a simple smile. A wide smile that showed every tooth it possibly could. Soimt’s hindbrain kicked in and he sat mutely waiting to see if he was about to be eaten.
“How many, hon?” Kate repeated.
“Sixteen.”
“Does that include you?”
“Seventeen.”
“How long were they exposed to the foam?”
“I don’t know. Right after he left.”
“How bad is it in there?”
“I don’t know. Things broke. It was funny at first, then…”
Kate hugged her and said, “JT, watch for runners. We don’t know their mental state and can’t let them run loose on the station. Soimt! Get off your ass. There are five humans working the docks here. Find them. Bring them to me. If they argue, tell them I know their tabs to the credit and they’ll be cut off from the only good booze on the station if they don’t get their asses over here now.”
Soimt scrambled back away from JT, turned and fled.
“Well, babe. You said you were bored. We’ve got seventeen young girls stoned out of their minds, no protective gear, and a ship filled with foam that breaks down into some really nasty [excrement]. We don’t know if they’ll be dangerous drunks or good ones like our little friend here. What’s your take?”
“Can I go back to serving watered-down hooch?”
“Sure. After all of our young friends are safe and sound on the deck with us, but I think you’d regret it. Hon, what’s your name? I’m Kate.”
“Kay.”
“No, hon, Kate. With a T. What’s your name?”
“Kay with a Y.”
JT quipped, “Oh, no. This won’t cause confusion.”
Kate sighed and said, “My given name is Katelyn. I want you to look at JT behind me here, and I swear if you tell me he so much as smirks, every meal he eats from here on in will have to be from paste tubes.”
Kay stared at JT and said, “He’s terrified of you.”
“Damned straight!” said JT. “She used to ride with PJs — pararescue and race into burning downed aircraft to pull people out while rounds were cooking off all around them.”
Katelyn smiled, “See, hon? Dreams can come true. How’s your head?”
“Call me Kayla. I still feel kind of foggy, but better. Deep breaths. Lots of deep breaths. Fifteen scouts and my brother on board still. I have to get them out!”
Katelyn rocked Kayla gently and said, “No. Hon, if you go in, you’re going to succumb right away again. That stuff is nasty. What model is the ship? Is it a standard layout?”
“I don’t know. First time in a space ship.”
“Okay, hon. I’m going to let you go, but I need you to stay here and stay calm, okay?”
JT interjected, “Two runners!”
Katelyn replied, “Fetch!”
“No!” shouted Kayla. “Jenn! Keiko! Get your butts over here! Now!”
JT’s attempt to adhere to both commands left him face down on the deck as his sudden start turned into a far more sudden stop.
The two girls approached, clearly sizing both adults up for a fight. “Release Kay now!”
Katelyn slowly unwrapped her arms from Kayla and said, “Please take some nice, deep breaths. You’ve been breathing poison on that ship for a while. You need to get it out of your systems. JT, don’t move.” She then sat down on the deck.
Looking to Kayla for their cues, one girl placed her shoe on JT’s neck while the other took a position behind Katelyn.
Smiling slightly and giving JT a barely perceptible shake of her head, Kayla said, “I think they’re okay. That foam messed with us. My head is starting to clear up. Don’t hurt them. I think we’ll need ‘em. Just breathe deeply and find something to focus on. Do you know where the others are and how they’re doing?”
“Jeff tried to hit on Jessica. It didn’t go well for him. He’s tied up in one of the passages. I think he might like it,” giggled Jenn. “Summer was still looking for a gym last I saw her.”
Keiko pondered this and said, “I heard some girls in the Engineering section.”
“Oh, [excrement],” muttered Katelyn.
Glancing back to Katelyn, Kayla asked, “How bad can it be?”
“Depends. But I need to know how to get to them fast.”
“Hey!” shouted a burly guy running up to the group. Jenn tensed and her foot pressed harder against JT’s neck as the newcomer continued, “Get the hell off—”
Katelyn yelled, “Shut up, Barry! Calm down. They got dosed with fire foam. Keep cool and don’t get too close!”
At the mention of the dreaded foam, Barry backed off in a hurry. “What do you need?”
“There are fourteen more on the ship,” Katelyn said, nodding toward the right airlock. “We need to get them off. Get them sober. Get them cleaned up.”
Barry shook his head slowly. “You can threaten all you want to about banning us at the bar, but we can’t go in there. It’s not just airborne. That foam gets into everything and as it hardens and breaks down. The fine powder it turns into contains chemicals that are absorbed through our pores. We’d be likely as not to go ape and hurt whoever’s still on there.”
Katelyn looked at the dried foam flaking off Kayla’s uniform and her own sleeves, then sighed. “I’ve been exposed, but not too bad yet. Can we cycle the air quickly?”
“Only if we do an exchange between this bay and the ship. That would get us all funked. We’d have to vent the bay right after then do a scrub,” replied Barry.
“Kayla, will the girls come out if we ask?”
“We can try.”
“Okay, Barry. Get the dock workers organized. Send someone to medical and get help finding anti-hallucinogens. Or a damned sedative. A lot of sedatives. Find some protective gear and rig up decon showers. Make sure there are clean clothes waiting. I swear, any asshat trying to sneak a peek won’t have eyes when I’m done.”
“I’ve got kids back home. They’ll be safe.”
“Okay,” Katelyn replied and started to stand up. She froze when JT grunted as more pressure was applied to his neck. “Kayla?”
Kayla nodded to Jenn and Keiko who backed off. “Okay, get up, and let’s see about getting everyone off safely.”
Rubbing his neck and rolling into a sitting position, JT snickered. Until he saw the look Katelyn gave him.
“Soimt!” barked Katelyn as she pulled her tablet out and pressed it against his chest none too gingerly. “I need a map. Pull up what you can from your files, the shipyard, or wherever the hell else you have to. Just remember: The longer I’m stumbling around in that toxic crap, the less sane I’ll be when I get out. You want me to know the layout. The whole layout. Now.”
Turning to JT, she continued, “Babe, when I get out, you take me down fast. If I’m rational, I’ll forgive you. If I’m not and you don’t disable me before I hurt people—”
“I’m not contaminated yet. No powder, barely a whiff in the hold. I’ll do the run,” JT said, hopping to his feet and moving toward Katelyn.
“Stop! You get any closer and you will be — it’ll be the Holturian trader incident all over again. You have [excrement] for tolerance. Besides, Jenn didn’t take the time to wash her sneakers before stepping on your neck, so you might just find some of the little shoe print ridges on your neck have foam in them. You have to decon right away. Anyway, I can do this, you can’t. I’m a former scout.”
“Hey, I did my 19D!” JT snarked.
“No, dear. I’m a former Girl Scout. Part of the pack. You did a little recon before you re-upped and re-specced. You’d go in trying to be slow, which gives the foam more time to work you over, and stealthy, which is predatory. The pack would tear you apart to protect each other. You and your muscle mass, threatening. Sweet little me, non-threatening,” she said, noting his disbelieving expression. “Has to be me. Kayla! Do they all know the official songs? Specifically, the marching cadences.”
“Most of them. Not many new girls came with us. The rest are covering back at Encampment.”
“Will they all know Funky Chicken?”
In unison, Kayla, Jenn, and Keiko all sang out, “What’s that you say?”
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then.”
“Yes. It’s still a fave when we can’t bust out the unofficials and still used for a lot of large groups. Why not go with the Scout Marching Song? It’s the first one everyone learns.”
“The scouts go marching one-by-one, the little ones stops to shoot their guns,” rattled Katelyn. “I don’t want to put thoughts of violence in over a dozen drugged minds. That turns a ship into an urban battlefield. The best place for urban warfare is not in a ship, it’s in vacuum. Funky Chicken is fun and nonsensical. Soimt! Where’s my layout?” Taking her datapad back, Katelyn sighed and said, “Okay, here’s the plan…”
The earlier excitement of a handful of humans and grey marketeer were quickly forgotten by the rest of the people running around the cargo bay. This station was busy and nobody had time to sit back and watch the primitives running around. This might change when they achieved FTL and the first traders to reach the planet could legally rob them blind. For now, there was no profit in voyeurism and many ships were waiting to dock. After the one loud human marched into the ship [twenty minutes] ago, the humans were of no interest.
The Skytrs, however, were freaking out. With their large, arachnoid bodies, stumpy humanoid torsos, and strong arms, they often found employment in docks. Their natural leaping abilities were useful for moving light parcels to and from high shelving units quickly. They were getting steadily more anxious because the entire deck seemed to be pulsing once per [second] like someone was using it as a drum.
“— me see your Funky Chicken!”
The Tuhkhans were the first to notice the strange noises coming from a small trader ship on the docking port green-eleven of the primary outer ring. Descended from herbivorous stock on a planet with lots of dense jungles, hearing had been key to survival. The addition of advanced reasoning skills did not eliminate all the threats on their home world, merely ensuring better use thereof. Many Tuhkhans became auditors or dock masters. Their sharp hearing often provided a boost to the local tax coffers when ill-advised comments were made, even at incredible distances, about illicit goods or unreported trades.
“What's that you say?”
“I said:”
A number of Tuhkhans paused mid-argument with various captains and quartermasters. All thoughts of lucrative tax opportunities went on hold as their hindbrains picked up electric guitars and waited expectantly.
“Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo One more time now!”
The rhythmic pounding of feet along with the chanted cadence plucked a nervous chord from the Tuhkhans ancestral memory buried deep in their genetics. These descendants of tens of thousands of generations of survivors knew only one lyric that went with that chord: RUN!
“Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo Back in line now!”
Puzzled crews and station stevedores watched in confusion as tablets clattered to the ground and every Tuhkhan disappeared seemingly chased by the Skytrs.
“Left, Left, Left, Right, Left”
As the chanting and coordinated footfalls grew rapidly louder, representatives of more species experienced their flight or flight moments with no genetic coding for fight. Some grabbed their crewmates and pulled them back to their ships which began emergency launch prep. Others ran or flew deeper into the station. The Sorc dock workers, finding the rhythm oddly comforting, started nodding to the rhythm of the pounding feet as that translated from the docked ship to the bay. Soon their own steps began to echo ever so slightly behind the beat enhancing everyone else’s panic.
“Left, Left, Left, Right, Left”
An exception to all the evolutionary rules was Captain Mindar, from a Dominion military cruiser. As a Timmintar, he stood half again as high as a human and looked rather like the product of a buffalo being savaged by a randy Irish wolfhound.
Mindar picked up the abandoned tablet at his feet and strode purposefully toward the human dock workers with his Quartermaster nervously in tow. He was unaccustomed to waiting. Even the most ornery Dock Master, no matter how annoyed they were with military ships jumping the queue to dock and not having to vacate in a timely manner, rarely felt comfortable arguing with that much pure muscle staring them down. This was part of his reasoning for assisting the Quartermaster
“Let me see your Dracula!”
Mindar was surprised when he approached the knot of dock workers who simply ignored him. Clearing his throat in a manner that implied just making room to swallow you whole, he was immediately met with … no response. Just the hiss of the jury-rigged field shower units.
Sorc, not the fastest thinkers, yet selectively quick on certain types of uptake, stopped nodding to the rhythm of the marching cadence and suddenly realized they almost certainly were needed in Purple section, the exact opposite edge of the docking ring Unfortunately, this is where their selective cognition failed them and they took off in random directions eager to have the brewing fight well behind them.
“What’s that you say?”
Mindar pushed the tablet into the side of one of the humans expecting his needs to be serviced immediately.
Momentarily distracted but not enough to look away from the open docking port, JT said, “You should get that throat looked at. Medical. Two rings in. One ring up. Tell them JT sent you. If you go now, they can help you get back to your ship quickly.”
Mindar pushed the tablet against the fleshy human again with greater emphasis, and grunted, “You’ll help me n—”
“You see, friend,” said JT, “If you don’t get the hell away from here and wait until it’s your turn, two things will happen.”
Mindar, unaccustomed to such treatment and well-aware that his Quartermaster would spread whatever happened here throughout the ship, blustered on, “Human! You will—”
“Let me see your Dracula!”
JT sighed, turned to face the Captain, and continued, “Buddy, you’re about as quick as molasses. If you don’t back off, I won’t be in position to prevent over a dozen drugged humans from tearing you and this [vigorous reproductive act] station apart. There’s a peculiar kind of [nonsensical reproductive act technology] at work here and you do not want to mess with it.”
Mindar froze. This future stain on the deck had just mouthed off to him. This could not happen. His frontal lobes tried to process the event and failed. Shaking with rage and frozen with confusion, he barely realized his Quartermaster, a young Timmintar fresh from the academy, was speaking.
“What’s that you say?”
“What’s the other thing that will happen?” asked the junior officer.
“I said:”
JT grinned, showing off every tooth he could, “Then, buddy, you won’t have to tell the medical staff I was the one who sent you two up there. They’ll know when you get dumped on the floor. Now back the [sexual act] off and wait by your ship. We’ll have someone come by once the situation has been defused.”
“Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo One more time now!”
Mindar dropped the tablet and launched himself at JT. JT stepped to the side allowing the Captain to faceplant into the support pillar he had been leaning against. Mindar’s upper skull plate rang against the metal support like a bell, and his left horn snapped off.
“Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo Back in line now!”
Glancing briefly at the Quartermaster, JT yelled, “Sit!” and watched the young one’s legs obediently collapse. Behind JT, so did Soimt’s.
A chorus of call-and-response lefts and rights peppered the background as the fight went on.
Focusing on the dazed Captain, JT muttered, “This is a bad idea. So far, I haven’t had to lay a hand on ya, and you’re already hurt. Come at me in this state and anything I do is self-defense. One of your horns is off. Go to Medical. Now. They can probably reattach it. The rest of you, watch the ship. Tell me when they come out. I’ve got this. Just another kind of drunk, and I’ve been a bouncer for [years].”
This last was directed at the rest of the humans. The girls went back to watching for their friends. The dock workers started betting on the fight.
The Captain chose poorly. Head still ringing and vision a bit wonky, he ducked his head and tried to gore the human with his remaining horn.
JT stepped aside, grabbed the horn, and said, “I guess you don’t want to keep this.” Jerking the horn up and down sharply, he snapped it off around its midpoint then dropped it as the Captain, balance thrown off, stumbled into the pillar again causing another dull chime to peal across the dock.
JT, realizing the Timmintar was likely no longer thinking, made one last effort to break through, “Captain, I don’t have time for this [excrement]. You are setting a bad example for your young officer. Calm down before I have to put you down.”
Mindar wobbled slightly then charged again. JT stepped to the side, grabbed his attacker’s arm as it passed, then flipped the massive creature up and over so it landed on its back. Diving down shoulder-first into Mindar’s midsection, he forced all the air out of the Captain’s lungs.
“Let me see your Flight Attendant!”
With the brawler trying to recover from this double assault, JT grabbed a leftover roll of duct tape (well, the closest they’d been able to make locally), and started taping the hairy legs together.
“What’s that you say?”
As JT flipped him over, Mindar, now on his stomach, lashed out groggily with his dominant arm. JT neatly jumped over it, landed, dropped the duct tape, and said, “Naughty, naughty.” grabbing the arm with both hands, JT popped it out of socket then repeated the process on the other arm to the bellows of the Captain.
“Let me see your Flight Attendant!”
Seeing the Quartermaster trying to get to his feet, JT yelled, “Sit!” but it didn’t work a second time.
“Get your hands off my Captain!”
“What’s that you say?”
“Kid, calm the [excrement] down. He attacked me. An unarmed civilian. I defended myself. He’s experienced and nearly twice your size. I took him down without getting bloodied. I could have killed him. I could have broken his arms, but I just dislocated them so he can’t keep attacking me and getting hurt. THINK! If I have to take you down too, then who is going to carry him to Medical? I bet he doesn’t want the crew to see him like this.”
“I said:”
The junior officer sank back down.
“Good,” JT said. Now, I’m just going to finish taping him up. We’ll put him on a cargo lifter and you can cart him to Medical. Then he can cool off for a bit. Nod if you understand.”
The Quartermaster nodded.
“Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo One more time now!”
“Alrighty. I won’t ask you to help tape him up, but we’re short on time. This is going to look rough, but he won’t be hurt any worse as long as he doesn’t fight.” That said, JT nodded to a couple of the dock workers who picked up the groggy officer and rotated him in a series of flips. After JT and his helpers went through two rolls of duct tape, they tossed Mindar on a cargo lift and gave the young officer directions to the Medical unit as they watched a string of scouts follow Katelyn out of the ship.
“Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo, Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh, Oooo Back in line now!”
JT gestured toward the decon zone, and Katelyn used the next round of left-right cadence to lead the girls into the strong showers.
“Let me see your wet dog!”
“What’s that you —“
The normal response broke down into “what”s and “huh”s as the girls realized they didn’t know that one.
Katelyn, approaching the end of the shower array, shook herself wildly like a dog trying to dry off and started laughing. As the girls mimicked her, more of the dreaded foam got washed off.
“Headcount!” she yelled.
JT shouted, “You got twelve out. With the three from before, that’s two unaccounted for.”
“[Excrement!],” Switching to English, Katelyn yelled, “Girls, get that gunk off you. In a minute, we’ll get some strong soap in here, get rid of the contaminated uniforms, and you can scrub that toxic [excrement] off! We’ll have fresh clothes for you and your friends who already went through will make certain nobody looks. Kayla! I’ll have them sound off, you tell me who’s missing! You!” Katelyn pointed at the first girl behind her, “Name!”
The surprised girl belted out, “Missy!”
Going down the line, the girls sounded off in turn as Katelyn pointed.
When they were done, Katelyn told them to keep scrubbing and stepped out. Turning to Kayla, she asked, “Who did I miss?”
Kayla, biting her manicured nails, replied, “Jessica and my brother Jeff.”
Katelyn sighed, “Oh, for [reproductive act’s] sake. What’s with all the middle-of-the alphabet names? Was there a shortage of early and late consonants? Okay, I’ll go back in and see if I can find them. I picked these troops up doing a loop of the main corridors. Any idea where those two might have gotten to? Oh, no. That’s the boy and the girl he was hitting on, right? I didn’t see him trussed up in the main passages.”
Kayla nodded nervously.
Katelyn took a couple of deep breaths, started moving toward the ship double time, and was tackled from behind.
“What the bloody—”
JT, arms and legs pinning her as best he could, said, “You’re not thinking clearly. Your skin is wet. That foam remnant powder in there will go right through you. Either I go in, or we wait for a bit while you dry off.”
Allowing her weariness to creep into her voice, Katelyn asked, “JT, hon… You, who just tackled a wet woman and warned her she can’t go into the ship until she’s dry, think it’s safe for you now? The guy who hijacked a transport to go catch space fish when he was last exposed to this stuff?”
JT rolled off her and looked at his wet clothes. “So we wait?”
“Looks like… I’m going to go get a good shower. Make sure we’ve got plenty of towels and dry clothes ready.”
Jessica was confused. She wasn’t sure whose idea the barbeque was, where they’d gotten the meat, or where everybody else had gone. Ever since that pipe broke in the cargo hold, everything was just fuzzy.
Cargo hold, she thought. I’m on a space ship.
Looking around the room, she saw the meat on the spit staring at her with the fire pulsing below. Something wasn’t right, though.
“What was I just…” Shaking her head to clear it, she had a realization. “I forgot to get more wood for the fire!”
Bustling around the campsite, she picked up the strange sticks and carried them back to the fire. Tossing a couple more in, she watched the flame rise and fall.
“Weird,” she commented, “the animal looks worried. What is it? A wild pig? How did we catch that? Wait! Did we spit it without killing it?”
It made some strangled noises and she felt horrible. “I’m so sorry. I’d never be cruel to an animal! I don’t know how we forgot to kill you before putting you on the spit! Hang on! I’ll put you out of your misery!”
Searching for her backpack, she could hear the animal thrashing on the spit. But her pack wasn’t here in the campsite. She must have left it… in the cargo hold! “I’m on a ship! I’m on a spaceship! Backpack. Cargo hold. Backpack. Cargo hold.”
Barbeque forgotten, she wandered off in search of her backpack.
The Tuhkhans Quartermaster had returned once his Captain was safely sedated in the medical bay. While the orders he had received were quite explicit, he was fairly certain they were not legal. He cautiously approached the knot of humans in hopes of learning what was going on.
“I see her!” shouted Kayla. “Jess! Over here!”
The lost scout, wandering around the cargo bay searching for her pack, looked up at the sound of her name.
Jeff strained against the paracord and thought, Just a few hours ago, I might have admitted that the idea of being tied up by a girl — especially this one — excited me. Now? Hells no! How did things get so screwed up?
Pushing as much of the sock gag as he could into his cheek, he slipped his tongue under the rest and tried to pull his lips in a bit so he could lick the adhesive off the duct tape. That stuff is evil. Why does it seem like someone always has a damned roll?
All I did was hit on her, and she — okay, *maybe** I should have stopped when she said to. Calling me a pig is one thing, but trying to roast me alive is going a bit too far! Yes! *
Jeff could feel the tape giving way slightly. Just … a … bit ... more…
He curled his lips further between his teeth. Unfortunately, this pushed the sock further back in his mouth and triggered his gag reflex.
Jeff panicked briefly then struggled to suppress the gag reflex as a bit of stomach acid got into his mouth. Can’t let that happen! I’d choke! Ever so carefully, he slid the sock forward toward his teeth, safely away from the danger zone.
Ever since Jeff got knocked down and tied up, his life had consisted of one adrenaline-fueled moment after another. If he hadn’t taken a solid hit off his inhaler just before this all went wrong, he would likely have had an asthma attack and died by now.
That thought sobered him slightly. Now the idea of being unable to take another hit off the inhaler in his pocket ranked equally with the dangers of the “fire” below him.
When he saw the “fire” comprised of various things with flashing yellow and red lights being built under him, he would have laughed with relief had he been able. But that changed when he saw the teepee “fire” being built up under him with all sorts of slender, pointy tools. Each tool Jess had added to the fire made him more nervous.
Even if she didn’t like the attention, this was going too far! Why did they all go crazy at the same time? Why didn’t I? Did I? he thought.
If she came back and kept building her “fire,” the rickety spit would eventually fail and he would become a space pincushion. If she didn’t, he’d eventually have an asthma attack, struggle, and likely become a pincushion anyway.
Torn, Jeff thought he would at least like to see the girl he lusted after since his sister joined her troop before he died. If he could just get the gag out, maybe he could talk her down…
“My name is Haddin,” the returning Quartermaster said, trying to infuse as much confidence in this one thing he knew to be true at the moment. “What is going on here?”
A human female looked him up and down. “Are going to be a problem, too?” she asked.
“NO!” he exclaimed. “What started all this? I … I have to fill out a report…”
Several of the nearby humans erupted into strange barking sounds interspersed with comments like “Paperwork! Militaries are all the same!” and “Accompanied Captain to port. Learned not to [engage in sexual intercourse] with humans. Accompanied Captain to med bay.” Each comment caused the barking sounds to get longer and louder.
Eyes widening in horror, Haddin stammered, “That was a sexual act? Your species— you engage in sexual acts that put people in med bay?? You—”
While the other humans kept barking even louder until they struggled to breathe (Mental note: Humans have a weakness if we can just disrupt their breathing…), the stone-faced female he initially addressed just inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. She then said, “No, it’s a term with multiple meanings and was used as an invective in this case. And no we don’t…” she paused, eyes looking toward the ceiling as her head bobbed side-to-side. “Okay, we usually don’t engage in sexual activities that lead to trips to the med bay. There are exceptions, but it’s been a while.”
At this, one of the human males changed color! He went from a mottled white/pink to a solid red while the other males pointed at him and convulsed with their barking.
“But that’s an entirely different discussion for another time, if ever,” she continued. “My name is Katelyn. Seventeen humans on a vessel were exposed to fire suppressant. We were attempting to address the issue before things got out of control. Your narcissistic Captain interfered, and he became aggressive when told to wait. All actions taken by humans were for the protection of the station and all those aboard.”
Eyeing her suspiciously, Haddin asked, “Who cares about fire suppressant? We are always exposed during drills. It’s hardly a threat to the station.”
Katelyn asked, “Have you ever wondered what happened to the Void Suppressor? That Kelros Empire battleship that disappeared about nine cycles ago…?”
“They encountered a freak spatial anomaly near the event horizon of a black hole, their engines were damaged, and they were unable to escape. Everyone knows that.”
Scooping up one of the tablets dropped by fleeing dock workers, Katelyn pushed a video to it from her own tablet and said, “Yes, that’s what everyone knows.” Pressing the spare tablet into Haddin’s chest firmly, she looked him in the eyes and said, “Everyone knows a lie.”
The Quartermaster found he was unable to push back enough on her arm without breaking the tablet, so he held it while he took a step back before realizing that this was a sign of weakness in front of a fleshy little human. Raising the tablet to obscure his face as the thought struck him, he watched the queued video.
It was a bloodbath. What appeared to be three humans destroyed the entire crew of an Imperial battle cruiser. Those held over six hundred crew and usually at least five hundred troops. They simply slaughtered their way to the bridge, took over control, and vented the rest of the ship into space. He had heard tales of boarding actions against these vessels and even with double the troops, casualties were horrendous. There was no love lost for the Imperials, but still… Just three humans…
“This is fake!”
“No,” Katelyn smiled, not bothering to hide her teeth. “This is one thing that can happen when humans are exposed to fire suppressant. Needless to say, we don’t like the video getting out. And the Empire doesn't want anyone to know how easily their battleship was lost. It was far easier to send another ship to tow it to a black hole and sabotage the tug’s engines so they thought all witnesses would be gone.”
Grabbing the tablet back, she chucked it at JT and said “Slag it.” Turning back to Haddin, she continued, “You want to be really careful with that knowledge. If you ever encounter humans, you should make certain they are well cared for and not exposed to that suppressant [excrement]. And your command leaks info like a sieve, so I wouldn’t go telling everyone what really happened or you’ll learn how effective the Empire’s assassins are.”
“But I have to repor—”
“What you have to do is tell your superiors that when your Captain interfered with a bunch of humans attempting to care for their young who had been exposed to a toxic mess, the errors of his ways were explained to him. If you want to get creative, you can…” she trailed off.
“Can what?”
“Kid, I like you,” Katelyn suddenly grinned at the junior officer. “Do you think you can handle a human who is completely tied up? Bear in mind, if you injure him...”
Swallowing hard, Haddin replied, “I … I suppose so.” Thinking back to the video, he asked, “Completely tied up?”
“Yup. Can barely wiggle. If you go in that ship, retrieve our lost child, and return him safely to us, well… I think we can all agree on a version of the story where you and your Captain valiantly assisted us in protecting our young from a toxic spill and your brave Captain was hurt while the rescue operation was in progress. I think your superiors will like that version more, don’t you?”

Edit: Formatting

Very amateur driveway smith here, looking for some advice on a new shop/forge build.
I'm very fortunate in that I've got ample space at my current property so I've got a few possible options, and I'm trying to figure out what my best bet is. Coal forge, powered air supply. Options as I see them are as follows:
1) Behind my garage. https://photos.app.goo.gl/6LfaziCkxieA3wu27
Approximately 10' wide, far longer than I'll ever make use of (behind a 3-car garage).
Advantages: Lots of space. Power. Lights. Well protected from elements. Floowalls mostly appropriate for a forge (once I protect that zip board). Option for installing a door into garage for more possibilities.
Disadvantages: Long exhaust pipe needed to get above roof peak (~20') I think. Need to enclose some 20-30' of open bay doors to keep wildlife out, preferably with something that moves so I can close/open it depending on season.
2) Behind a shed. https://photos.app.goo.gl/sGpLkUvBH8Q34b5W7
Approximately 12'x8' concrete pad.
Advantages: Far from other structures. Very easy to modify (no expectations regarding the roof/structural integrity of shed).
Disadvantages: More cramped. No power without running an extension cord. Maybe-probably-wasps. Not protected from elements. Would probably need to do some fireproofing around the whole wall/grass area.
3) Inside my garage. No picture due to too much crap in garage.
Very large, 3-bay garage. Have clearance for 10' in front of any vehicles, and I'll only ever use two bays.
Advantages: Huge, lots of power, lots of possibilities for equipment/design layouts. High ceilings, so ample room for stuff in general. Obviously protected from elements. Very well designed for working with fire (insulated aluminum walls, concrete, power in conduit). Most of exhaust is interior so much easier to manage for me.
Disadvantages: Must modify a very nice garage. Pretty much dedicated layout once I cut a hole in the aluminum ceiling. Have to clear out crap.
Wild question on top of above, is there a minimum acceptable threshold for space size before monoxide poisoning is no longer a concern? 3-bay garage, additional door, 3 windows. Would I have the airflow to support forging without venting? Second wild question, would the heat generated actually affect an aluminum ceiling at a ~14' height? Or should I not even consider this and anticipate exhausting no matter what?
I'm handy enough with wood and caulk to get by, but cutting into roofs and installing exhaust pipes, redoing flashing and shingles... makes me nervous.
Any input is greatly appreciated.

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The day was hazy, visibility lowered to less than a quarter mile due to the thick spores and pollen in the air. Some of the spores were the size of a baseball, lazily floating along in the humid air currents. The sound of the waves against the cliff was far and remote, as if the pollen in the air was somehow muffling the noise of the tide.
The tank was large by most standards, two hundred tons of moving metal, three engines, eight forced air pressure hover nacelles. A 155mm main gun, a set of tri-barrel co-axial mag-acc guns, a pair of 4-pack mortal tubes, point defense weapons, and APERS strips.
Ekret knew it was a light scout tank by the standards of the military he was currently serving with.
Ekret, like his entire crew, had started out as debt forced wage-slave military forces, using equipment who's designs were over ten million years old without a single update or improvement. His tanks, back then, had been between fifty and a hundred tons and mounted less than half the weaponry, were slower, with less shielding.
The battle-screen that would normally be glimmering was turned off, although there were sterilization fields, normally used in surgery, glimmering over the head sinks and fins off the back of the tank.
The Terran military had purchased his contract, and the contracts of his entire division, from the bankrupt corporation, trained him, armed him, and integrated him into one of the most lethal militaries Ekret had ever seen.
The patch on his shoulder, a pair of lighting bolts on either side of the Terran number "1", was the patch of his division, First Recon Division (New Metal).
Which is how he had ended up on a planet that was currently being overgrown by hostile plants.
And how a Terran Descent Human, who had been raised by insectoid Treana'ad after a natural disaster had left him an orphan, had sent him, and his crew, out to check on the coast. Satellite recon was almost completely useless, the plant's spores making visibility by almost any wavelength next to useless.
But the General, known to many as 'Tik-Tac', had been staring at maps for over a day, tapping his fingers and rubbing his hand together.
Standing in the cupola hatch, the commander's hatch, Ekret was chewing on the end of an empty plastic ration tube, staring at what he'd found.
"Any ideas?" one of the human commanders, a big burly human who was more cybernetics than man, asked.
"No clue," Ekret admitted, staring at what he'd found.
It was massive. He could see it, dimly through the spores, extending off past the visibility line.
A massive vegetative tube, exiting the jungle and down the cliff, into the sea. It was pulsing in a rhythm that suggested to Ekret that it was pulling the water up. The seawater was covered with a thick layer of algae and seaweed. There were smaller veins around it, all obviously feeding the tube, which moved with a life all its own.
On Ekret's left was the jungle. The leaves were brown and yellow, limp, almost wilted, coated with a thin film of what looked like wax.
"Pan the jungle again," came an order over his headset.
The hovertank slowly rotated, bringing the massive scanners on the front glacis into play.
"Air's full of crap," Heslettek, the EW and scanner officer complained.
--attempting to compensate-- 749, a small green mantis engineer flashed through the icon and emoji language he used.
"That jungle doesn't look like its benefiting from millions of gallons of seawater being pumped into it," said the voice that had ordered the jungle to be panned again.
"No, sir," The human commander, one General Trucker - 3rd Armor Division (Old Metal), said, his voice slow and quiet. "Anyone have any idea what it's doing?"
"Pumping water up from the ocean and taking it further into the jungle is my guess," Ekret said.
"We need an expert on this," Trucker said. Ekret heard the big human spit. "Where's that Vuxten kid?"
There was silence a moment, broken only by stray chatter that was bounced around by the vegetative chaff. Ekret nodded to himself. Vuxten had fought in the Precursor War as an Army conscript, pulling SAR and recon, then had gone through training as a Terran Marine.
"Vuxten here, sir," came the voice of one of the natives of the planet, a Telkan.
"Any ideas what this might relate to?" The original voice asked. General Tik-Tac of 19th Logistics and Sustainment.
"It has to be a vein. One of the big ones," Vuxten answered. "It's pumping nutrients, probably filtered out of the ocean, to the plants deeper in. Watch out for veins, sir."
"The plants at the edge are dead," Ekret said.
"No, sir. They just look like it. The whole jungle, all of it, is one interconnected system. Believe me, that big vein could pump enough nutrients into that patch of jungle that you're tank would have vines trying to crawl into within a minute or two. We call 'vein bolt' and 'power bloom' when it does that," Vuxten said.
"It's pulling millions of gallons an hour. Any idea why?" Ekret asked.
"No, sir. Honestly, with what we've learned over the last week? It's probably something bad. Let me check," Vuxten said.
There was silence for a moment.
"There's three big lakes, according to the old maps. It's pulling in the water to feed something in those lakes. Every time we've seen lakes, they've been coated in algae and have something big and mean growing in them," Vuxten said.
"All right, kid. Thanks. Get some rest," Trucker said.
"Yes, sir," Vuxten said.
Ektret leaned against the edge of the hatch, staring at the jungle.
"Well, gentlemen, what do you think?" Tic-Tak asked.
"I think the kid's right. It's pumping nutrients to something nasty," Trucker said, then spit again. "After what happened during the landing, I'm willing to bet it's growing something that it hopes can stand up to modern metal."
"I concur, sir," Ekret said, lifting up a pair of lens only binoculars and looking through them.
"All right, come back. I don't like having you out that far on your own," Tic-Tak said. "Unless either of you have an objection."
"We could always have Ekret put a couple rounds in that artery, see what shakes loose," Trucker suggested.
"I'm in a hover tank," Ekret said. "I should be able to outrun anything the jungle tosses out."
"No, I think I should consult with all commanders and come up with a workable plan to force the jungle to show a few cards," Tic-Tak said. "Together we are much more than the sum of our parts."
Trucker and Ekret acknowledged and then signed off.
The big 'scout' hovertank lifted up in a shower of pureed vegetation and dirt, rotated in place, and smoothly headed back to the massive logistics base.
Behind it, the thick tube kept its secrets.
-------------------
Six hours later Ekret stared at the same scene he had watched from his tank. Well, close. The image was split into quarters, one with visible light, one a composite, one cleaned up, and one the last aerial view that had been recorded.
"First of all, I'd like to welcome our two reinforcement division heads. General Araktun of the 219th Cybernetic Infantry Division and General Vost of the 712th Genetic Warfare Division," Tic-Tak said, rubbing his hands slowly back and forth. Ekret had noticed that in a way it mimicked Treana'ad body language.
General Araktun looked like a warborg except in chrome, with a single line of red that had a moving red dot going back and forth, instead of the normal warborg eyes. He nodded to everyone at the introduction then looked at General Trucker, who was spitting juice into a small plastic bottle.
"You still hanging around with these meatbags pretending you shouldn't be working with me, Trucker?" Araktun asked.
"Still 42% meat, ya walking hubcap," Trucker grinned.
The cyborg made a grinding sound of amusement.
General Vost was a lean looking Pure Strain Human with a face like a shovel and cold hard eyes. He just nodded when he was introduced.
"Do have any ideas what might be going on deeper in the jungle?" Tic-Tak asked, brushing his fingers together back and forth.
Everyone shook their heads.
"Send for that Vuxten kid, let's get his input," Trucker said, waving at it. "I've looked over the after action precis for what went down on the landing, those Telkans had their shit together."
Everyone nodded and Tic-Tak gave orders to an aide to have Vuxten report in to the command center.
"Would those big ones prove difficult for your tanks, General Trucker?" Tic-Tak asked.
Trucker shrugged. "That's hard to say without actually engaging them, sir. From what I've seen, using straight lasers or plasma just seem to energize them in the same way that my battle-screens pull any energy they can into my reserves."
Araktun just nodded, staring at the screen. He pointed at an unused holotank. "May I?"
"Of course, General," Tic-Tak answered.
"I haven't been on planet long enough to do a complete genetic analysis of the foe, but what I'm seeing just in these images is concerning," Vost said, leaning forward. "I would suggest from here on out we make our plans as if we're dealing with a rogue Elven Queen."
"Oh my," Tic-Tak said, rubbing his forearms. "That is... concerning."
"Amplify?" Trucker said, staring at the holotank.
"Corporal Vuxten as well as several other members of First Telkan have annotated that the 'jungle itself' adapts to them. They treat the 'jungle' as a complete organism, and so far their instincts have been on the nose," Vost stated. "How many of you have seen an Elven Queen in action with your own eyes?"
General Tic-Tak was the only one who raised their hand.
"If we approach this as if we are taking on a maddened or rogue Elven Queen, we'll be able to adapt our strategies must quicker as well as possibly predict the actions of the enemy," Vost said. "I would suggest considering it a maddened queen, as we've seen them 'print out', so to speak, unfinished versions of attack and defense systems where a rogue queen would take the time to finalize the design."
Tic-Tak nodded and exhaled. "That makes logistics handling much more difficult. I'll need to put a priority on medical checks and medical care as well as ensure everyone's blood cleanser implants get constant updates."
Araktun was replaying several of the First Telkan's combat operations, pausing and zooming in on the plants involved.
"Right now it looks like, for the most part, the controlling organism, if there is one, thinks on the macro not the micro, which is lucky for us," Vost said, staring at the screen. "It hasn't resulted to viral warfare as far as we know, specifically they haven't engaged in viral warfare against the human element, which leads me to believe that they don't have enough of our genetic code to begin attacking us."
"A maddened queen wouldn't rectify that, a rogue one would," Tic-Tak mused. "A rogue queen would be sending in small blood sucking creatures to get a sample of us."
"Pre-programmed," Trucker said, staring at the map. Ekret noticed both the big human's cybernetic eyes were slightly unfocused. "Our proteins and yadda yadda are different enough from the Telkans to throw an error code but close enough we can breathe the same atmosphere and eat roughly the same things. At first glance we'd look like a mutation, but on a deeper level our cellular structure and makeup are too different to be easily effected. It's either ignoring us or devoting a lot of effort to figure out how to go at us beyond stabbing or crushing us."
General Vost raised his eyebrows slightly and Ekret kept from laughing. It was obvious Vost had taken one look at the big General and dropped his estimates of Trucker's intellect by a factor of five.
"With Big Slobbery Mo out of the picture, it might have to dedicate resources to regrowing intelligence arrays," Trucker said, suddenly looking up. "We should consider this thing akin to the Precursor machines for how they work together and add in the Lanaktallan 'slow and steady wins the race' philosophy."
Everyone nodded except Araktun, who was engrossed in watching the sped-up replays of First Telkan.
Ekret slid an empty ration tube out of his pocket and put the end in his mouth, chewing on it, and staring at the holotank. It had been only a little more than a week and already the majority of the planet was covered by vegetation. There wasn't that much more than rolling plains, a few mountain ranges, and complex interconnect rivers to make up the geography.
That made Ekret blink. He reached out and brought up a few planetary scans of planets in the Dead Zone where all this had started as well as planets from the Terran side, looking over the geographical outlay of the planet.
The majority of planets in the neo-sapient zone were uniform in their layout. Protocontinent or a few continents, mountain ranges in the center, rivers flowing through rolling plains. He ran a similarity check between neo-sapient zone planets with the main computer system and waited the few minutes for it to check.
80% match.
Ekret looked up.
"They've been here before," he said.
Everyone turned and looked at him. "Not just here, but all over this zone. Look," he motioned at the planetary comparison. "Think about it. These planets are just farms, resource farms for the creatures and Lanaktallans."
Tic-Tak was slowly rubbing his hands together, staring at the screen. "The Lanaktallans want physical resources, found in a planetary crust, and use the local sapients as a slave force to maximize the resource extraction. The creatures want... biomass? Calories? Fuel for themselves?"
"The question is," Trucker said slowly, staring at the holotank as he spit into the bottle. "Which one is obeying who?"
Ekret shrugged. "Say ten million years between each, well, rotation so to speak, does it matter in the meantime?"
Tic-Tak moved to the holotank, bringing up an interface and twiddling at it rapidly. After he was done he stepped back and waited.
Vuxten came in and stood against the wall silently, seeing all the high ranking officers staring at the holotank. Vuxten could see it was flashing planets up rapidly.
"Let me adjust the algorythm a bit," Tic-Tak said. He twiddled for a moment on the interface. "That's the best my limited skill can do. After we're done here I'll send it for analysis."
Everyone just nodded, watching.
It took almost five minutes before the computer spit it back up.
Core Worlds and Inner Sphere worlds were heavy metal poor, almost to the point of having none outside the mantle. The mountains were low and rounded. Geological instability was largely relieved. Weather was controlled. The ecology was carefully balanced, with no high end predators.
"As I suspected," Tic-Tak said, stepping back and shaking his head. "General Ekret is correct, they've not only been here before, but I suspect they have been all through this section of the galactic stub."
Everyone nodded as Tic-Tak turned around. "So either there is an ecological battle group outside of every system in Lanaktallan control and sphere of influence, or the creatures have been slowly spreading out, abandoning the "Core Worlds" and "Inner Sphere" as depleted due to the eco-system being too, well, 'thin' as it were," the portly General said. He spotted the Telkan against the wall. "Ah, Corporal Vuxten. Good of you to join us."
"Thank you, General," Vuxten said. "How can I help?"
"How long, would you estimate, it took the jungle to adapt to what your men were doing?" Trucker asked.
Vuxten thought for a moment. "A day, maybe too, at the latest. Hours sometimes. It got easier in Grid Tango-Niner after we blew up a bunch of weird looking coral."
"Which day and engagement?" Araktun asked. When Vuxten told him he shifted views in the holotank and brought up the section quickly.
He tossed it to the main holo-tank and everyone watched as First Telkan moved in on an overgrown spaceport, escorting flame vehicles.
Only a few days ago we had the ability to do overwatch with drones and satellite, now we're almost blind, Ekret thought to himself, watching the icons move across the screen.
"STATUS CHANGE!" the voice rang out over the holotank and the image changed from ships covered by a thin layer of moss to outgrowths of coral defended by plants that fired laser or vomited up plasma. The screen blinked twice to show it was updating.
The coral was closely grown, full of folds and bulges, and ringed by heavy armored plates. Ekret noted that the shell to completely encase it wasn't fully formed yet but still gleamed metallically. Plant extruded metals forged at the cellular level.
The flame vehicles washed the coral with fire and everything went berserk. Lightning-like patterns in the moss.
"That was the first time we ran into a vein bolt," Vuxten said quietly.
Ekret just nodded, staring. It did look like a lightning bolt moving through the moss.
"Thousands of gallons of nutrient per vein, fifteen veins, this was of major importance," Tic-Tak mused.
"The first power bloom we ever encountered is next," Vuxten said. "We lost a couple of people right here and a lot of the tanks. We got chewed up."
The lumps in the moss, which had only showed up on the scans when First Telkan had arrived, suddenly erupted into plants that grew impossibly fast.
General Vost was working at his own holotank, watching what Vuxten was narrating as he worked, identifying plants, growth rate, nutrient uptake rate, where they were in regards to a major vein.
Tanks had plants shoot out from under them, vines grabbing and twisting. First Telkan scattered, going for flat spots of moss, throwing or firing out grenades or rockets to blow the moss off of the ferrocrete and jumping to the middle of the spot.
Four of First Telkan didn't make it. At every point where the Telkan Marines didn't make it out there was an explosion.
"What triggers that?" Vost asked.
"Termination of life signs," Vuxten said. "We encountered a few places where bodies are used pretty horrifically and all agreed we'd rather risk having our suits explode when we sneeze than be used like that."
Vuxten made a motion, looking at the holodisplay coming from his palm, then flicked it General Vost. "Take a look at that, sir. We encountered that on Day Two when we were evacing people."
It looked like a Telkan with a bulging face, throat, and abdomen. It suddenly split open to reveal a swarm of wasps and dozens of little crabs which charged in.
"Luckily, the broodcarriers can smell them and sense them. None of them got in with any podling daycares," Vuxten said, turning away. "Their hearts still beat and they make moaning and gagging noises. We felt like they were still alive in there."
General Vost nodded.
The vehicle drivers obviously panicked, to Ekret's eyes. Two slammed into each other. One bathed a squad of Telkan power armor troops with fire and one of the troops fired back with a rocket that blew up the flame tank.
Ekret couldn't blame them.
Rockets and grenades were flying out at and the tanks were turning to fire at the coral.
"It looks like cabbage in the garden," Trucker mused. "Protective leafs. See how they're trying to curl over the coral? Yeah, this was something big."
Bees, dragonflies, larger bugs were all swarming, going for the tanks, which had moved to areas that had been scoured of moss by explosives. A lot of the Telkan power armor had jumped onto the tanks, providing cover as they poured fire into the plants.
"Plasma didn't work, weirdly enough regular fire worked just fine," Vuxten said. "I don't know enough about the difference between napalm and plasma."
"Energy profile," Trucker grunted.
Araktun turned and looked at the holodisplay. The coral was burning.
"Look, they lost cohesiveness," Araktun said. Trucker nodded. "Each of those coral formations they lost, they lose more and more of their cohesion."
"This might be the difference in this sector compared to the rest," Tic-Tak mused. "Perhaps they are growing more of them?"
Vuxten shook his head. "Not for a pipe that big. That's something big being grown. Something it'll take atomics to stop."
"Something to offset our big tanks," Araktun said. He turned to Vuxten. "What's the biggest threat your power armor troops face?"
Vuxten looked confused. "I'm just a corporal, sir."
"Second lieutenant now, son," Tik-tac said.
Vuxten nodded. "I'm just a lieutenant, sir. I'm in charge of a fire recon platoon of Telkan Marines, that's all."
"What's the biggest threat you've faced?" General Vost asked.
"Heat. There has to be thirty different ways the jungle goes for your heat systems. From what looks like airborne plant seeds that seal to your cooling fins with insulation like plastic to bugs that purposefully home in on your cooling systems, the jungle is definitely targeting heat," Vuxten said.
"I noticed that during our relief of the civilian command center," Trucker said.
Araktun nodded. "My men might be of use here," he turned to Vuxten. "I'd like a briefing of First Telkan's heat compensation tactics."
Vuxten looked at the gathered generals. "Sirs, maybe it would be better to talk to some of the higher ranking officers? I've only been a Marine a year."
Tik-Tac walked up and put his hand on Vuxten's shoulder. "Your men have the most field experience out there in the jungle. The majority of your officers are Terran Marines, we'll get their opinion too, son. Don't think we're not going to speak to them too. You just have a lot of field experience."
"Oh, OK, sir," Vuxten said, looking out of his depth.
"Don't sweat it, kid," Trucker said. "We'll have you back in armor and behind your rifle quick enough so you don't have to stand around a bunch of plotters and planners like us."
Vuxten just nodded.
Ekret had watched the whole thing interestedly. He knew how Vuxten felt. He had been a Most High, and he still felt inadequate at times watching the Terran military work. He, himself, was used to being told what to do, not having people ask him his opinions on everything from how much time his men spent in the tanks to if the ammunition templates were working right to what his favorite shows were.
Ekret moved over next to Vuxten as the other Generals went back to discussing everything from how to deal with the Terran military's biggest problem (heat) to what the jungle might be cooking up to how much longer they had to hold out until the shelters were reconfigured and ready to launch.
"It's almost frightening, isn't it?" Ekret asked the younger male.
"Sir?" Vuxten asked, looking at him. Ekret could see the thick red scarring, not yet faded, around the Telkan's ear.
"Watching Terrans go to work. You can see how they've crushed everyone they've ever faced," Ekret said, taking the half of the ration tube that remained unchewed.
"I don't understand why they wanted to talk to me," the younger male said softly.
"Because you've been on the ground, seen it react to your actions with your own eyes, had your reflexes save you, which means you understand something about the jungle at a subconscious level," Ekret said, pouring the spit out of the tube into the reclaimer before putting it back into his mouth and chewing on it.
"Vuxten, what's the first sign you notice of a vein bolt?" General Vost asked.
"The mat bulges slightly, gets spongier feeling under our boots, and there will be a green trail in the moss where the nutrients are being poured into the vein to get it ready," Vuxten answered. "More spores and pollen too."
"See, that's information you can't see in the recordings," Ekret said, nodding at the holotank. He looked at Vuxten. "I can have my mechanics put feedback sensors on my hovertanks to rate the ground reflection of my hoverfans, maybe give me a second or two to react."
"Oh," Vuxten nodded.
"Trucker there, he'll notice it. The Unnamed Gods only know how he'd notice, but I guarantee you that he'll notice it," Ekret said. "General Araktun's cyborgs will know to keep a look out for it. A second or two can save countless lives."
"You can ambush the ambush if you know it's coming," Vuxten quoted.
"These power blooms, how long from sighting an incoming vein bloom till they erupt?" General Vost asked.
"Um, ten, maybe twenty seconds. You can tell what's going to get power bloomed by a thin vein pattern coming from the middle of an intersection. It takes three or four vein bolt strikes to cause a power bloom," Vuxten said. "You can't rely on your suit computer, though. Because of the sudden spore and pollen eruptions your visuals and sensors are usually confused."
Vuxten thought for a second. "If you have incoming vein bolt strikes and your sensors suddenly drop to almost nothing, you're about to get power bloomed and you might be on top of a bloomer."
All of the generals nodded, adding that.
Vuxten noted that Tik-Tac was stepped back a bit, just watching. He pointed it out to Ekret who nodded.
"The General isn't a combat arms leader. He trusts the others to do their jobs, he's figuring out the best was to support them," Ekret said. He looked at Vuxten. "Make no mistake, young Telkan, wars are won or lost by men like the General. All of the combat valor in the world won't help you if you starve to death without ammunition or uniforms."
"Oh," Vuxten said. He never really thought about it. Maintenance, supplies, armor repair, it just happened. Vuxten had never really thought about it beyond hoping it was taken care of.
Ekret kept chewing on the ration tube, watching the information in the tanks flow by.
"Why aren't you involved?" Vuxten suddenly asked.
Ekret looked at him and smiled. "Because, young man, I, like you, are Scout Recon. Which means that I'll be paying attention to you and your fellow Scout Marines on a much more personal level. The others? They're heavy metal. Combat warborgs, heavy tanks, heavy assault infantry."
"Oh," Vuxten said, still slightly confused.
"Just stand here, they'll get to us. More than likely to assign a mission," Ekret said. "And I've got a feeling what it's going to be," Ekret said.
"What's that, sir?" Vuxten asked.
"If I tell you, you won't figure it out on your own," Ekret smiled.
----------------------
Ekret stared at the massive organic pipes, rising up out of the ocean, over the edge of the cliff, to disappear into the wilted looking jungle. His tank sat, idling, only a hundred meters from the nearest pipe, which had grown a thicker layer of twisted vines around it. The moon had set with the sun, meaning the only view was through light amplification, giving the world a too-slick feeling.
He left signal repeaters every two hundred meters that used point to point tight beam communication across one of the narrow bands not clogged by the pollen and spores, all the way back to the main Forward Operating Base.
Trucker was only fifty miles away, his entire Division formed into a spearhead poised to slam its way through the thickest part of the jungle. All eight BOLOs attached to him were on the flanks, ready to go.
Vuxten's platoon and a light company of Araktun's cyborgs had entered the jungle only two hours before, after making sure everyone had gotten a good night's sleep.
The objective wasn't to suddenly win the war, but to delay whatever it was the jungle had planned.
The shelters needed another twelve days to finish reconfiguring, dig their way out of the bedrock, and launch.
One point two million shelters across a main continent, two sub-continents, and eighteen major islands.
Ekret was glad it wasn't his responsibility. That all of those people only tangentially relied on his guns.
If I was to be put into Tik-Tac's place I'd develop a substance abuse problem retroactively, Ekret thought to himself.
He looked back over the ocean, one hand on the lip of the hatch, feeling his tank vibrate slightly. The ocean was covered with a thick layer of algae and seaweed.
Enemy territory, he sighed to himself.
He looked around at the jungle again, keeping an eye for any change in the colors. Yeah, his scout tank would supposedly alert him of any palette change in the foliage, but sometimes it was better to keep a physical eye on it. He could barely see the fiber-optic cable twinkling in the sunlight, moss already growing over it, that ran from his tank into the jungle.
Recon Alpha-Three-Three's only line of communication out of the jungle.
The surgical sterilization fields crackled as General Ekret waited.
-----------------------
Trucker had his left palm turned up, his right hand on the coax gun. Above his left hand was a holodisplay feeding him data. It was easy to forget just how thick the jungle was from the ground, when you weren't in a five hundred ton mechanical war machine. The 'trees' were almost a hundred meters high, the trunks thick and greasy looking. The moss carpet was thick and spores the size of a grown man's fist floated in mid air, slowly blinking red or yellow or green.
Two hours and they were nearly twenty-five miles in. Trucker knew the borgs from Sixteen Scout Recon could move up to ninety miles an hour, but they'd chosen to follow the Telkan Marines, who were notably slower.
Right now they were stopped, waiting for something that Trucker didn't see. He could tell by the signals that the Recon cyborgs didn't either.
But Vuxten had said to hold position, that nobody should move, and so everyone was frozen in place.
As Trucker watched there was a brightening in the moss in a vein pattern, spreading out from the massive nutrient pipes.
"Do. Not. Move," the Telkan officer snapped.
The pattern spread out, then the moss bulged around a handful of thick conduits, the edges around it brightening.
Almost a minute passed before the fluid moved off to the left.
That's heading for someone else, Trucker thought to himself. He opened his channel to BOLO Victorious.
"Victor, keep your optics peeled, there's a vein bolt heading in roughly your direction," Trucker snapped.
"Roger, sir," BOLO Victorious answered.
The scout team moved on.
Trucker kept watch, feeling the numbers run in his head. He slid the map to the north, not to the thickest part of the jungle, but to a point between five different lakes.
There. Whatever it is, it's there, Trucker thought to himself, scanning back to where the scouts were following the thick nutrient trunk.
----------------------------
TERRASOL
Space Force Units arriving at operational theaters. Rough estimation of location on Precursor Biological Weapon Fleets for systems are attached. Each fleet is to the solar north-west, at approximately 2.2 LY from stellar mass. Bioweapon fleets are to be targeted with extreme prejudice.
Operation Tusked Raven is proceeding according to projections.
-----NOTHING FOLLOWS---------
TASK FORCE 43 (ANVIL)
Have moved in strength into the Nantaver-837 system (Locally: Artcarik-482) to engage heavy Unified Military Fleet presence. Was informed by the System Most High, one Mana'aktoo, that even if we were triumphant in two years time the entire system would be eradicated by a super-weapon. System Most High 'inadvertantly' let slip the distance. Discovered bioweapon fleet in hibernation. Upon informing System Most High and System Defense Most High of the destruction of the bioweapon fleet, the system was immediately surrendered.
Governor Mana'aktoo is highly regarded by the xenospecies who live in the system. The four mega-corporations also regard him highly. The System Defense Most High is highly regarded by his subordinates.
I'm in an odd place here. Governor Mana'aktoo has made himself and his staff available at all opportunity. I'm pinned down here since this system is a priority to the Unified Council defense. If I abandoned it to carry on, another fleet could come in and take it. As it surrendered immediately I cannot move through destroying infrastructure due to the Geneva Convention and the Rules of Land Warfare.
Which means the System Defense High Most has pinned my task force here even more effectively than if he'd tried to take me head on. He had literally millions of troops under his command, all of whom are EPOWs that I have to oversee. They are not a difficultly, at worst they're lazy and unmotivated as EPOWs, at best their eager to assist my command in any orders we give out, but I cannot pull out and leave behind millions of soldiers.
Additionally, the civilian infrastructure is the highest I've seen in a Lanaktallan controlled system, the citizens highly educated (for their standards) and eagerly supporting Mana'aktoo's stewardship.
As the xenosapients in the system welcome us, with Mana'aktoo's encouragement, my office is flooded with requests for PR interviews and 'meet the people' interviews. It's not uncommon for my Marines and Army personnel to be asked to pose for photography or asked for interviews.
I need an actual occupation fleet here. MI was way off on whether or not this guy would fight to the death. My Task Force should have moved on to my other objectives already, instead I'm stuck here like my foot has been nailed to the floor.
--Admiral Schmidt, Commander, Task Force Anvil.
-------NOTHING FOLLOWS--------
MANTID FREE WORLD

------NOTHING FOLLOWS------
TELKAN GESTALT
What? What's so funny?
------NOTHING FOLLOWS------
MANTID FREE WORLDS
It's the age old human problem, dear. They won, but now they don't know what to do with it.
------NOTHING FOLLOWS-----
TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS
See, sis and I, we'd just eat everyone and leave, at least, before the Terrans stomped on us.
The Terrans, though, they want something different for all those people.
-----NOTHING FOLLOWS------
TELKAN GESTALT
What do they want?
-------NOTHING FOLLOWS-------
RIGELLIAN COMPACT
Freedom and self-determination.
They don't want to stand over you with a club, they want you to start doing your own thing so they can get back to doing their own thing.
Humans are lazy.
-----NOTHING FOLLOWS-------
TERRASOL
Wow. Rude.
I mean, you're not wrong.
But rude.
-----NOTHING FOLLOWS-----

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​
Gabriel and Madeline headed further into Roniean station 51. The station had a similar layout to US 535. But this one had two docking rings for larger ships and between them, smaller ones could dock. Mostly transports and personal ships. Just outside the docks were restaurants and some shops for essentials and it reminded Gabriel of an airport, but while more airports Gabriel had been to felt like malls, here it was like walking down any regular street found in most cities. Maybe it was the traffic delivering goods around the station.
Or maybe Gabriel thought about it all wrong, the docks were not really like airports, after all, many of them were public any trade vessel could dock. He pondered that for a moment while they walked further in. A few minutes later they reached a subway station that traveled from one of the spokes on the ring through the central station and out the other side.
“So, how far are we going?” Gabriel asked as Madeline stopped looking at a map on a screen.
“Well, as far as I can tell from this, we need to make it over to the central spire. This station has close to the same layout as US 535. Or more accurately it’s the other way around, this one is older.” She touched the screen and moved the map around displaying the central spire. “I’m sure there’s a way down there somewhere.”
“Has to be, unless they have docks. What was the level we were going to again?”
“14, so we need to go far down,” Madeline said looking closer.
“How many stories does the station have?” Gabriel asked remembering the docks were at level 40, “Can’t only be 80 stories to this station. Seems small,” He remarked.
“Yeah, they have a strange way of counting, only public sections are included, I think, and some sections are huge. The ring we docked at was considered one floor and was at least...well whatever measurement would make sense to you” Madeline said and grinned at him.
Gabriel chuckled, then tried doing the measurements in his head. In the quote-unquote street, there were five-story buildings and the roof was domed which meant the center could probably fit two more. And of course, the ring was round which meant it had to go down just as far.
“The ring would have to be fifty meters in diameter.” Gabriel realized. “Or thereabouts, I think”
“I’m sure that’s correct, and some levels just about fit a two-story building, I think. This map is not that precise, but we did examine some similar layouts in school” Madeline grabbed Gabriel’s hand again, “This way”
They headed further into the station and got on a train, “So we need to get to the central station, then find an elevator down?” Gabriel asked, studying a map of the subway system. Two trains traveled down every ‘spoke’ of the docking rings and four more traveled around the edge of the station, just after exiting the docks. They were now on a train heading towards the other side of the station.
“Yep, I assume anyways,” Madeline said and shrugged. “I suppose there could be some other way to get down to the lower levels”
“If the Ronieans are as fond of efficiency as they appear to be it’s a safe bet,” Gabriel said and leaned back, noticing a few curious but discreet looks from other passengers. Everyone on the train was Ronieans from what he could tell, in the docks other Xenos were running around though. He wondered if the percentage Ronieans matched Yavichans and Phigos on US 535.
They soon arrived at the central station and got off. Gabriel and Madeline both got a lot of looks as they walked out of the station. “Maybe I should get a disguise as well,” Madeline said while looking around, “I might be the first Zilgi on this station”
“Might be a good idea, though I have not seen any other race with a tail,” Gabriel pointed out.
“Good point, well Cecaiampals have a tail but dressing up as one will be difficult”
“They do?” Gabriel asked, realizing he had only seen one briefly and a picture from the front.
“Yeah” Madeline stopped for a moment and looked around. “Now where is the elevator?”
The elevator down was relatively easy to find, the problem was mainly that neither Gabriel nor Madeline spoke Roniean so the signs were not very helpful. But with another stop at an information terminal, they found the way. Gabriel had, for some reason, expected a normal elevator found anywhere on earth. Maybe a bit larger but still, and while this one was not entirely alien, which in of itself was a strange thought, it was a bit odd.
The shaft was clear a few meters above the doors until it traveled up to the next level and Gabriel could not see any cables or anything that would move it really. He supposed that was attached to the sides or the back. Regardless of how it moved it soon arrived and Gabriel and Madeline got on with some other pedestrians. It was large and there were seats which the elderly quickly took possession of. Gabriel remained standing to one side, trying to act nonchalantly and ignore the stares.
After many more stops, they arrived close to the correct level. This elevator went as far down as level 20 which seemed to be the lowest residential level. From there they had to find a somewhat shabby much smaller elevator which took them the rest of the way down to level 14.
They stepped out and Gabriel immediately got the impression that this was the backstreets of the station, so to speak. It was a bit dimmer because some light panels in the ceiling were out. The streets were not swept as often and there was some garbage in corners. The entire street before them carried a damp smell.
“Lovely,” Madeline muttered while inspecting a dripping pipe behind an open panel in the wall.
Gabriel chuckled, “Come on, let’s find us a Captain” He took a few steps then stopped, “Uh, we do have the coordinates to the ship right?”
“Yeah, it’s on your pcu,” Madeline said confused, then she smirked at him, “You have had it for weeks and not once checked your messages have you?”
“Guilty as charged,” Gabriel fished the pcu out of his pocket, “Where’re the messages?”
“The one that looks like text in a box,” Madeline said looking over his shoulder.
Gabriel pressed it and found one containing the coordinates, as well as a message with dangers of what not to eat and drink. Though Gabriel ignored most of that as it said caffeine was hazardous. Preposterous. After yet again some asking around they finally found the bar they were looking for. The neon sign above the door showed a box with some twinkling stars and the words Empty Space underneath. The windows had bars over them and the door looked reinforced.
“Is it strange that I’m actually excited to walk into this sketchy bar?” Gabriel asked.
“I’m probably not the right alien to ask,” Madeline said and grinned, “I’m a bit of a thrill junkie remember?”
“Right...well no time like the present,” Gabriel said and pushed open the door. The inside was not quite as sketchy as it appeared from the outside. While it was dimly lit it looked relatively clean. Cleaner than several bars he had visited at least. And it contained less burly men in leather jackets potentially carrying knives, although he was unsure about the knives part of that statement. The patrons kept to themselves sitting in booths or quietly drinking at the bar. Gabriel saw one Igris drinking alone, the rest were Ronieans. Gabriel wondered if this was the first Igris he’d seen since US 535 or he had just not paid attention. Gabriel pulled Madeline along to an empty section of the bar.
“What’ll it be?” The barkeep said, a slight slur to her voice. She was Roniean like most others and a large scar traveled from her left nostril across her mouth to the right side of her chin.
“What percentage are your drinks?” Gabriel asked looking the selection over.
“2 to 20,” She answered.
“Damn, I could really use a whiskey” Gabriel muttered, “I’ll have some of the strongest then. Wait, I heard you make some out of a fruit? From a Yavichan world that starts with...Hir…”
“L'Hiri” Madeline finished.
“Yeah, that’s the one, how strong is it?”
“About 15,” The bartender said.
“I’ll try some of that” Gabriel said.
The bartender gave him a long look, “Alright, but don’t come crying to me tomorrow” She poured him a small glass of the drink.
“You want one?” Gabriel asked Madeline.
“Absolutely not, I’ll take something nonalcoholic, thank you” She looked at the short drink selection and choose something that smelled slightly of ginger, only a lot sweeter.
Gabriel sipped his own drink which tasted like a dry apple cider with lemon although it was a bit too sweet. “I hope I’m not putting too much of a dent in our finances,” Gabriel said when the bartender had left.
“No, as long as we don’t go crazy or buy too many unnecessary items we are good. We technically have an entire government backing us.” Madeline said softly so no one would overhear.
“Alright good, I don’t want to have a massive debt when I visit Zilg for the first time”
“But on the second time, anything goes?” Madeline said grinning.
Gabriel shrugged and took another sip, “You never know...now how do we find a pilot, or Captain or whatever?”
“Not that I mind the conversation but why do you keep asking me? we are both new to this,” Madeline said glancing around the room.
“Sorry, I might be a bit nervous” Gabriel admitted.
“Can’t blame you for that, I am as well. But I usually go quiet” She said.
Gabriel flagged down the bartender, “Excuse me, do you know if anyone in here is a pilot for hire?”
The bartender hooked a thumb towards two booths against the far wall, “Both of them have ships, the rest you have to ask yourself”
“Thanks, can I have another one?” Gabriel shook the drink, “A double?” He got a long look and then got his glass refilled. "Let's go"
In one booth two Ronieans sat talking softly and more or less glared at Gabriel and Madeline when they approached. On the other, a Roniean female sat drinking by herself and while she looked them up and down she didn’t glare. So Gabriel decided that she was probably the better option.
“Hi, you wouldn’t happen to have a ship, and be available, would you?” Gabriel asked.
“For you?” She said and looked him up and down with a smirk, “I might be available in more ways than one” She winked at him.
Gabriel was caught a bit off guard, “Great?” He said down opposite her, Madeline remained standing. “I want to hire you to take us...well that’s for later, do you have a ship?”
“I do, but before we get to business, I know who you are,” She said and studied him, occasionally glancing at Madeline.
“I’m not surprised,” Gabriel said and sipped his drink, “More than a few seem to do,” Gabriel said.
“Yeah...” She smirked again, “And I for one don’t believe all the rumors I’ve heard”
“Rumors are often exaggerated, not that I can confirm any,” Gabriel shrugged, “I have been traveling in FTL for almost two weeks so I don’t know them.”
“Hm, well I heard you have an impressive physique, what do you say we go back to my place and see how we compare?” She gave him a look that was meant to look seductive, and while it succeeded there was something off about it. Either he was bad at picking up authentic signals or she was testing him. Maybe both.
Gabriel leaned back and chuckled, “Could be interesting, but I have to say no. But where are my manners, I’m Gabriel Walker, the human stand-in ambassador, as you might already know.”
“And that’s Mhadeleaine Nioni,” She said nodding to Madeline. “I know” She grabbed his drink and took a sip grimacing slightly at the alcohol. “I like your taste in drinks”
“Thanks, now I told you my name, what’s yours?” Gabriel took the glass back and emptied it.
“Captain Cani E’Vulca” She reached her hand forwards.
“I have to admit I’m not familiar with Roniean greetings,” Gabriel said.
“Shake it” She wagged her hand up and down.
Gabriel laughed, “Would you believe we have the same greeting?” He said and grabbed her hand. She squeezed his hand firmly and when Gabriel tried to break the handshake she held on and squeezed tighter. Gabriel smiled and squeezed back harder and harder until she grimaced and relented.
“Alright, I give” She pulled her hand back and shook it grinning, “I’m not used to males being stronger than me, just checking if it was true. Now I know you beat me in grip strength.” Just then the door opened and a group of Ronieans walked in, “Ah, Tono crap”
“Friends of yours?” Gabriel asked as Madeline moved over to stand on the other side of the booth away from the path to the door.
“Not quite, they are from a small crime group that is not too fond of me,” Cani said and sighed, Gabriel was one of her hand moving towards her belt.
“Why? do you keep seducing their men?” Gabriel asked watching the group move closer.
“No, I refused to smuggle for them...and I only seduced one”
“If I get rid of them, will you fly us?”
“Depends on the destination so no promises but I will consider it,” Cani said.
Gabriel turned to Madeline, “I would have liked this to be the first station where I would not get into a fight.”
Madeline shrugged, “Better luck next time?”
“Thanks,” Gabriel stood up in the way of the group, “Hello, can I help you?”
“Yes, get out of the way” The female in front put a hand on his shoulder and tried to push him out of the way, but considering that with the weighted suit on Gabriel probably weight twice what she did he didn’t budge.
“No,” Gabriel said.
She got up into his face, “Do you have any idea who I am?” she snarled.
“Nope,” Gabriel said, infuriating the Roniean even further.
She grabbed his collar, “If you don’t move there will be consequences, ambassador” She said the last word with a very sarcastic tone.
Gabriel ignored her and turned to Cani, “Are these guys widespread?”
“No, just this station, if you mean their influence” Cani answered, her hand still at whatever she had hidden at her belt.
“Yeah I did, thanks” Gabriel turned back, “As the odds are slim that I will return here, I’ll take my chances.” Gabriel gave her a friendly smile, “Although now that I think of it, I might go past on the way back...”
Anger flashed across the Roniean's face and she threw a punch with her left, her right hand still on his collar. Gabriel easily blocked it, pulled her hand from his jacket, sidestepped and more or less threw her behind him towards Madeline. The Roniean stumbled and managed not to fall headfirst by more or less power sliding, instead she caught Madeline's foot with her face and fell back in an awkward position with blood flowing down her nose. Madeline placed her foot and sharp claws at the Ronieans throat.
Gabriel turned to the rest, “Well then, are we good or do someone else want to try anything?” Gabriel saw one male reach for his belt and quickly stepped up grabbing his hand twisting it, “One more thing, I really hate fighting with knives, everyone involved just gets hurt” He reached into the Ronieans belt and pulled out a telescopic bat. “Wait, my mistake, this is a bat”
“Let me go!” The female on the ground said.
“Only if you behave,” Madeline said bringing her claws closer. She sounded confident but Gabriel heard at least some of that was an act. He flicked the handle extending the bat and then bent it over his knee and tossed it at the other's feet.
“Are we done?” He asked again, “Please say yes, I don’t want to hurt any more of you...or let my companion hurt any more of you.” Gabriel glares at the three Ronieans, they backed off a little. Gabriel took that as confirmation and sighed, walking over to the fallen leader. Madeline removed her foot and Gabriel pulled the Roniean to her feet, “You can’t win against us, we will leave the station shortly, just leave us alone.”
“I will make sure...” She started.
“Yes, yes,” Gabriel interrupted, “Break knees, break fingers, take money, something or another” He brushed off her shoulder then gripped them tightly. “Are you sure you can get enough men, and women, to make a difference?” He squeezed her arms and turned her around marching her backward towards her friends. “I would suggest you let this go, please, we can fight later if we travel through here again.” Gabriel picked up the bent bat and forced it as straight as he could before handing it back.
And with that, and a few angry stares, the group left. “Is this going to bite us in the tails?” Madeline asked him.
“Yours maybe, for me they have to settle with something else” He turned to Cani, “Can we go? preferably quickly?”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Cani said and followed them out. They quickly headed for the elevator and managed it without any more stops. “I might have some bad news,” Cani said looking at her pcu. “There might be some waiting for us when we arrive on level 20”
Gabriel looked at the panel with buttons, “Right, I’m not even going to ask how you know that. I don’t suppose we can just go to another level and take another route?”
“No, the stairs leading up arrive in the same building as this elevator, and I would guess there are some at others as well, so we can’t just take another.”
“But that means it’s a small group right?” Gabriel started pacing, “I mean how many elevators are there?”
“Four large ones like this, and several more for maintenance but we can’t use those” Cani said and pulled a gun from her belt.
“Can we do this without shooting anyone please?” Gabriel asked.
“This is a stun gun,” Cani said,
“Oh, good, what are the odds they play by the same rules?” He asked as they passed the 17th floor.
“Guns, lethal guns that are, are illegal for civilians on the station, while I’m sure they have some I don’t think they want the trouble with the Security for just me,” Cani said.
“Great, how about knives?”
“Killing brings Security, but I don’t know how far they are willing to go”
They were quickly approaching level 20, “You two stand to the sides,” Gabriel said and placed himself in the middle in front of the door. Madeline and Cani stood to the sides and waited.
“Alright, I don’t know what you plan is but good luck,” Cani said.
The door opened and Gabriel stood looking at a group of at least twenty Ronieans, “Well, shit”
​
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5 million people have bought this game. The posts you see online with amazing, incredible island layouts represent just a few handfuls of the freakishly talented people playing. Let them inspire you.
And remeber that literally millions of other players have islands that are complete pieces of crap compared to yours. So many children will be playing this thing too and I bet most of their stupid islands look dumb as shit.
You're awesome. Play Animal Crossing your way.

Found this on /animationcareer and felt like this contained some useful info for anyone interested in a career in the arts.
thereallorddane's op post here, quoted below:
So the title is accurate. I am a failure. I'm here to tell you things I learned through my failures in the hopes that you do better than me.
Context: I went to undergrad for music and teaching. Wanted to be a band director at the high school level. Even got a master's degree in what is essentially an MBA but focused on arts nonprofits and businesses. In short my masters is in how to run Disney and the New York Met. I'm actually pretty good at it, but due to my arrogance and other things that are essentially my own fault, I can't get work and I have to leave the field. I'm taking the things I learned and applying them to my career change and I'm sharing this with you because I see a lot of younger redditors asking similar questions about their careers and school.
So without further ado, here we go.
​

• This is entertainment. Sell yourself.

Music and art are two sides of the same coin. You have to know how to sell yourself because we work a lot of gigs (short contracts). So you need to understand business. Take business and marketing classes so you can properly communicate your skills to customers and potential employers. You will also start to develop a grasp of what sells and what doesn't. Learn how to ID demographics and how to choose who to target. My Little Pony is targeted towards young girls 5-11, it just happens to also draw interest from males 14-28.

• "Do it for the art" will kill you.

Artistic expression is a good thing, it helps us push on society and get people to think about things, but you need to understand that just because you think something is deep don't make it so. This is why tropes exist. They're tools to help you convey ideas, not limitation on your creativity. If you can't sell your ideas to the public, your creation will die and you will not get paid. The public will only take so much before throwing hands up in frustration and walking away. 2001 a space oddesy is a good example. It is a masterwork, but it's also so far out there that not many people like to watch it over and over again. But, star wars...well, you combine things that are fun and layer it over a deeper message and you got yourself a franchise!

• There is always someone better than you. Learn from them!

For real. Who cares that they're better than you and younger or a different gender or whatever triggers you. If you can get better, then DO IT! If you can improve your capacity and deliver a better product in a more efficient manner then do it!

• Your ego has no place here

First, you're an animator, you're in a collaborative environment. If you and I were working together and I came in swaggering and bulldozed you and your ideas because I assume I'm the dancing prancing shit of the world, then you'd have little incentive to give the project your best and the quality would suffer. This doesn't mean you can't have pride in your work or yourself as an artist. By all means, tout your accomplishments, just don't use your skill as a reason to treat others like crap because one of them may end up being your boss.

• If you're going to go to school, then GO.

Seriously, in grad school it confused me to see so many undergrads who would do nothing and somehow expect to pass and get preferential jobs. You're here to prepare yourself for a career. Not a job. A career. A job is the weekend gig you do at Sears. A career is this, your animation. Why wouldn't you try to maximize your potential for success? Why wouldn't you want to be the best fucking animator possible? Next, you need to network while there. Do extra curricular projects with classmates. Do internships. Do trips to places where you can learn more from new people. Do your best while there and one of those people may just give you a job! I had that happen to me. A classmate had been promoted and he needed a private lessons teacher. I was there one day substitute teaching for one of his assistant directors and he straight up offered me the job for private lessons simply because we knew each other and knew what we could do. Finally, DO THINGS. For real, EVERYONE has a bacchelors, it's like getting a diploma for graduating middle school now-a-days. Experience and portfolio are how you make it. A solid portfolio with some special experiences such as an internship with Pixar or DHX will put you a firm step ahead of the others graduating with you.

• ALWAYS be looking for work

In entertainment we live in the gig economy. You should ALWAYS be looking for work because you never know when your contract will expire or you may get let go when a new producer comes in, doesn't like your studio's work and boots you in favor of a friend's studio because this guy obviously knows better. Your studio downsizes while it tries to find something new and you're SoL. Work helps get you more connections which get you more work. We're not like HR where you're always salaried and are paid for just showing up, we work or we starve (usually...unless you're lucky and get a good, long term studio gig, then grats to you!)

• Learn to interact with people!

You're an adult. You're going to have to put down the "i'm an introvert" toys and come out. I did that stupid shit in my undergrad. I'd put on my headphones and tune the world out. I knew almost no one at college. I thought "oh, I'm pretty smart, I don't need to know people or network. I'll just apply and I'll be awesome and they'll have to hire me!" That approach has destroyed me. Yes, I'm REALLY good at what I do, but because I have no one to vouch for me and a huge gap in employment because of it, I'm pretty much un-hireable. You need to do this if you want to pitch an idea or move up.

• Just because you graduated from a school doesn't mean you're "good".

It just means you have acquired just enough information and skill to complete the program at your school. You still need experience. You can ALWAYS learn more and refine yourself more.

• Just because you taught yourself animation on your own doesn't mean you're "good".

Yes, you can teach yourself animation, but that doesn't make you better than other people. It just makes you different. If you don't have experience then you'll be in the same boat as the person with the diploma or certificate. Like music, no one gives two shits where or how you learned, they care that you can do it.

• DO NOT let your personal conditions/problems get in the way of you doing your best.

This is another area where I failed badly. If you have a condition like depression or ADHD then you NEED TO GET TREATMENT. Seriously. I have ADHD and I was arrogant enough to think that I didn't need treatment. That condition tore my life apart. I got let go from a position (long story and I'm still sour about it) and it put me into a depression that lasted 3 years. My girlfriend (now wife) essentially had to carry me through it. It wasn't until about a year ago that I took a serious look at how I function and had a hard conversation about my condition and my fears about it and the treatment and when I finally to responsibility for myself my life started turning around. I am still in survival mode, but I am slowly pulling myself out of the mud. You can not let your personal problems rule your life. They can and will destroy you.

• Learn to give constructive feedback/criticism.

For real. There's a huge difference between "hmm, what I'm seeing is X and you might try Y to get around it" and "that's shit, fix it by doing x." Yeah, honesty is helpful, but when you're a dick about it, you're not "keeping it real", you're just being a smug, superior dick. In the art classes I'm taking people like to ask my input because they know I'm not going to shit on them for their mistakes, I'm going to find out where the problems is, give my perspective and options for overcoming that problem and let them decide where to go from there. The game is different if you'r a manager though, yeah, they can shit on you, but good ones will shit on you in a helpful way. Learn this and people will like to talk to you and get your input. This helps when you're looking for work and someone you know is working at the place you're applying to.

• Learn to see a problem coming and be ready with solutions.

If it's a problem in your purview, just fix it. Don't brown nose and get approval for everything (unless your manager is that kind of person, then all bets are off), just fix it. If you see somethign outside your jurisdiction, you plan a solution and when the group gathers to deal with it you offer it up. That way you're the hero and you're demonstrating you actually know what you're doing.

• Learn how to write stories.

The structure of a layout is surprisingly simple, it's keeping it all trimmed for time that's hard. Saw a guy who wanted to do a cartoon with 35 MAIN characters who all had these godly powers and super dramatic backstories that made little sense and they had to save the world. Problem was he overloaded us with too much of what doesn't matter and skipped the stuff that does. You probably have an idea or two rattling about in your head. Good! Learn to write and as you work and gain experience you can slowly start putting your story together so you have a better shot at pitching it and it making it to pilot or the big screen!

• Go out and see the world, be curious, and have a passion for learning new things.

We like to make fun of shows like star trek (esp the original series and voyager) for yadda yadda-ing the science. Some of that comes from the fact that the writers didn't really understand too much of the real science behind what they wanted to do. Go out and learn new things so you can contribute things to your story that have real world weight. Go and see Mt. Rushmore so you can get a real feel for the size and awe of the park and the heads carved into it. Go and see the pyramids. Go to Space Center Houston and see a real, full size Saturn V rocket and see how huge it is. When you see these things and learn about them, you can use that knowledge to enhance your ability to animate the world. Also, learning human anatomy and physics helps create more realism in motion.

• Be skeptical of advice from strangers on the internet.

People will offer you cure-all's and absolute solutions to your woes. Be skeptical. Even of me! I am trying to provide the best general advice possible, but who knows...I may be wrong about works for you. Just keep an open mind and if it works it works. If it doesn't, admit it frankly and try something else...but above all try SOMETHING (a little F.D.R. for you there)
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Hope you guys/gals/crustaceans found this helpful!