《Guardium》


 Introduction

    Commander,


    There exists life beyond humankind, beyond planet Earth. Beyond all planets. Have you forgotten since we last spoke?


    Earth is five years past the comet storm, five years past Orbital Bombardment. The world is broken and desolate, yet it remains held together as a person might be held by crutches. Much of humankind have abandoned Earth to establish lives outside the Sol system far, far away from other humans on the oceans of Maiora, in the Chalice system¡ªeven to their deaths on the planet Quan-Vek.


    There is no unity left for your people.


    But under stratum, upon fallen kingdoms, a being far beyond the mortal coil lay dormant and in the theoretical beneath your feet. That is, until She arose to save your kind from annihilation. Your kind named her Gaia, so the Guardium honors that title as we have always for all other deities. But this Gaia. She still lacks a voice in the chaos, does she not? Has She not hid away from humankind ever since? You were there, too when the comets hit; I imagine you could not comprehend what you saw, either. But, somebody did.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Messengers: the bridge between mortals and Gods. These special few are the only ones who can speak to those such as Gaia and more importantly, are how She speaks to you. Without Her, your world will remain broken; only through communication will the cracks be mended.


    My sources confirm that a human has set foot on the Rayvine station. If this is true, then the High Courtship is surely in the middle of their evaluation. If accepted, this boy will finally be the voice Gaia needs to take the steps necessary to truly, finally bring this world, your Earth back together. Though, we only hope he proves better suited to the role than the last one. The Guardium needs Messengers to dictate peace, to dictate the things you cannot see for yourselves¡ªwhich there is no shame in admitting. Even I cannot tell you your course to recovery, nor where it leads from now. But I do know it begins with Gaia. It begins when She can finally speak.

 "Year 3179. Orbital Bombardment." (Act 1)

    ¡°Hysteria all around me. Class A shuttles outbound, Class B¡¯s. No class in the chaos, ma¡¯am.¡± Sweat formed on Illian¡¯s forehead. He was eighteen and fresh to intergalactic summons. And oh, did it show.


    A shimmering female alien failed to keep face at Illian¡¯s testimony. She and her fellow tribunal sat atop white-glossed pillar podiums well above the pit where the boy stood. This courtroom speared upwards as an iridescent spire glassed in translucent ivory hiding wire frame branches. Above the council hung effigies to sacred idols; within them, Illian could feel something watch. Today, they would decide whether or not this vessel is worthy of being called Messenger. Few have proven so successful, and Illian with his scraggily slacks and helmet-pressed hair lacked that christened sheen. But he knew what he saw, what he heard. He was in tune with Gaia.


    A natural glow emitted outside of the Rayvine¡¯s hull, perfectly placed as to showcase the nebulous theatrics of System B-3: Purple Haze. Those who attended this, a final test for a boy who¡¯s gone so far, weighed down curious speculation upon him; jury with an abundance of peers. They couldn¡¯t have asked for better lighting.


    It reflected from a clear layer fitted over this alien¡¯s entire body. Illian could swear it was beaming directly in his eye. He had to squint.


    Silent delegates observed from the court¡¯s outer-most rafters. Their bodies collaged strangely, shadowed to where the boy could only vaguely guess at what they were. Despite his years outside of human sect space, their kind were still strangers. All the questions in the world from a hundred orifices, a hundred appendages. And no one had anything to say. But her, the most alien. The most skeptical. The most ¡­ testing. ¡°Continue.¡± She granted Illian¡ªin English tongue¡ªthe Gods¡¯ permission with a hand raised, seemingly speared on their behalf.


    Illian¡¯s mind cried, Shit.


    Maiorians have that way, that passive aggressive nod of their shiny, amphibious layers tensing to judge. Unlike humans, you can make out the muscles that flexed and ebbed to speak. Illian had heard their kind are terrible liars spoiled with trust no other bipedal possessed this side of the Terminoux galaxy arms. She showed no signs of budging.


    She expected nothing less, nothing more than the essentials from first contact, and how it came to be.


    It was then that Illian realized how much he longed to do the talking. He swallowed, wandered his gaze down to cold chrome floor panels, raking his feet back to an able-bodied authority. His lips dried before giving his recount.


    - 3179 -


    ¡°The lithosphere cracked with dozens of comets. If you would allow it, Madame Quella. I felt. Scared.¡±


    ¡°Rummaging across decimated city sectors while the sky¡¯s clouds parted near central Wyoming. I remember running. Sprinting when the first wave of comets hit to save my own skin. But we all knew.


    ¡°The Evac units. The looters.


    ¡°Me.


    ¡°Our time here had come to an end ¡­ For a second, the whole world began to fall apart ¡­ Split to reveal caverns that we¡¯d never get to explore.¡±


    ¡°But then?¡± Madame Quella appeared to take great pleasure in hijacking Illian¡¯s recollection. Her muck-yellow bulbs directed, sprang with life like she was there beside the Messenger hopeful.


    ¡°But then ¡­ She appeared,¡± Illian said. ¡°Gaia.¡±


    ¡°She erupted from Her shell as to spare our souls. Then two more of Her sprouted not too far from the impact craters. She was beautiful in all iterations.¡±


    ¡°Do you recall what She looked like, Illian? Were you taken by Her power?¡± The boy took Quella¡¯s name basis as a good sign. His suppressed tone flared up on a dime, emboldened in stone like taking control of his new duties early.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    He was almost there! The touch of their ash-grey leather Messenger coats was within reach. His young complexion lined with giddy as more memories swelled his brain. ¡°Crafted by the soil, Her body constructed to life, twined with root veins and perfect rock layers.


    ¡°There, a shimmering, rejuvenating wind took on Her movements as she and Her other selves braced the barrage from an impossible amount of angles.


    ¡°On Her backs, She. Gaia, had caught every last remaining comet and spared us from complete annihilation. ¡°It was a miracle.¡±


    Go for it! Illian turned up to catch Madame Quella in the eye, embracing the glow.


    Madame Quella¡¯s fin-like frills¡ªrow of three, from the base of the neck¡ªbegan to rise. Voices arose among a critical silence, spurred viscously by alien murmuring in the rafters.


    ¡°tri-La qu¡¯vik-¡±


    ¡°mo-No. Elavici!¡±


    ¡°Some damage sustained, but nothing we couldn¡¯t rebuild in time. One more chance to, y¡¯know. Conquer the stars!¡±


    The words escaped Illian¡¯s lips and the crowd hushed, more so fizzled out.


    - - -


    Quella sighed, life fading. Illian¡¯s face aged white and winced when he saw several eyes more critical than ever start to dissect him. Others gawked at him like they hadn¡¯t thought the same thing reaching out of their systems before. Illian could recall when planet Boros still belonged to Earth and still had its own money, its own soul beyond Commonwealth 02461.


    Yet, here we are.


    Still, the top-most delegates made their dissatisfaction known. All Illian could see were their coats. The Messengers, he mouthed regretfully. ¡°Of course,¡± Quella said finally.


    He nearly spat, ¡°No, Madame. I didn¡¯t mean it like that or anything-¡°


    ¡°Did She talk to you in that moment?¡± He had lost her good will. ¡°I must know.¡±


    Stupid! Now, she¡¯ll never grant me Messenger.


    He gathered his response from the pit. There was no way he was going away without his coat. ¡°Well ¡­¡± as he took his breath back from the crowd. ¡°She told me to come. Here.¡±


    - 3179 -


    ¡°At first, She was piercing nails on a chalkboard. My young ears could barely stand it.¡±


    Quella¡¯s gaze tempered expectations, but those twitches, temple ousting her true feelings.


    She could be teetered yet.


    ¡°But as I collected myself, allowed to face up to Her in the wake of everything.¡±


    An audience was now abate around Illian¡¯s display.


    ¡°I realized that she was leading me somewhere! Gaia had. Become my. C-compass.¡± He slipped on his words. Dammit.


    - - -


    A stillness loomed over the floor, stirring up worry in Illian¡¯s heart. Maybe he was trying to sell this too hard-


    ¡°Tripe!¡± a gruff, bottomless voice erupted. Soon, he swaggered forward to claim his insult with four tired eye slits. Illian now inspected this primate-like lifeform from the pit. Despite himself, Illian got caught rookie-eyeing this Dyre and they made sure to take advantage. ¡°Orak¡¯s high court is a place of evaluation and execution, not a place for your play audition!¡±


    Rumors painted their kind as steadfast know-it-alls. Unlike any other body the stars had to offer, the Dyre are seemingly born great. Illian had only heard talk of their existence as it was impossible to acquire any photo evidence outside of accredited databases. Apparently, Dyre are only born parallel to cosmic cataclysms: two stars destined to collide through years of approximated star charts. The Dyre are born to be great.


    Illian wasn¡¯t impressed; he¡¯d need another first impression.


    The Dyre then shot his red eyes fiercely to invade the boy at his weakest points, as if he could smell Illian¡¯s doubt. Decrepit in his old age,  the Dyre¡¯s powder-greyed fur was hidden only by christened black vestments. He brandished a timeless bite nonetheless. He snarled some, taking hold of his podium with all four of his arms, ready to rebuke further.


    But, to Illian¡¯s surprise, their tirade was cut off with adamant, webbed hands that belonged to Madame Quella. ¡°I believe we have the information we need, Zabal,¡± she said simply.


    ¡°I can only hope so,¡± he surrendered. Zabal, this elder seat of their tribunal, retracted; they now bit what could only be assumed to be a single tongue and kept quiet.


    Not exactly the rescue Illian was hoping for. Concerned, he avoided all their eyes, concentrated on patches of shadow left untouched by the glow so he could duck away a while longer. Really though, he had come too far to hide now. Too many sacrifices, not enough results.


    ¡°Illian Jones.¡± Quella beckoned him forward.


    He stepped forward, stared up to Quella with nothing to lose.


    She turned to acknowledge her fellow judges. Zabal to her right. A Havyrn to her left that¡¯d rather go unnamed, telling by his insistence to leave his uni-translator deactivated with leathery wings splayed. It was ready to leave. Their bill picked down in something like a scowl.


    Quella boomed, ¡°It is with great honor that we bestow upon you the rank of Messenger, and all that title entails.¡± She, the humble Maiorian, spoke for both of her colleagues who nodded with silent gazes.


    Illian¡¯s expression now glowed, baptized by angels. He sighed with a smile which spoke on his behalf. Like a slideshow, his entire journey here flashed by when applause swept over the crowd. The applause died when the Maiorian took a breath.


    ¡°You will begin your training one parxun from now.¡± Quella allowed herself a giggle, molting her perfection casually. ¡°Forgive me¡ªthat is to say one Earth week in your colloquial terms, Illian. In that time, the council wishes that you prepare for what lies ahead.¡±

 Act 2

    A Messenger is forthcoming and diligent. They are the hand so that your god may reach out.


    A Messenger is brave. Their fate rests in your ability to protect them by any means deemed necessary.


    Most importantly, a Messenger does not lie. Her mouth is now yours.


    -Four months eariler-


    Familiar miracles played out in front of the Messenger hopeful some months ago. Only, this cityscape was very much alive, rebuilt in the wake of Orbital Bombardment. A dirty Figi monitor surged, paused halfway past a blond achorwoman at Illian''s halt. The Messenger hopeful was far from ground zero: where he said he was that day. Though, the less the Courtship knew of his lie, the better.


    ¡°No, really,¡± Illian insisted, his tank top and baggy cargo shorts pressed against a shabby maroon couch. ¡°Rewind it!¡±


    He shared the space in a dark apartment with his roommate, far from Earth, in the belly of Boros. A humanoid named Zerc-si. ¡°Again? What the hell¡¯re you looking for?¡± Zerc asked.


    His arm instinctively reached for another Earth import of Red Trolley. As if to strike up a bet, the aged Zerc-si wagered. ¡°I swear ta¡¯ god, Illian, if the fortieth time is dead air, you owe me more¡¯a this!¡±


    He rose the bottle up to produce his demands, then made it law by leaning back with a swig, chugging it whole. They had been doing the stop-rewind tango for half an hour, but Illian was sure he heard something ¡­ off. Zerc didn¡¯t mind if it meant more booze. At this point, his second liver had kicked in; Illian didn¡¯t buy it, but he wasn¡¯t here to study Gryph anatomy. He was here to work.


    Illian turned back, observed the spines bumping up from the Gryph¡¯s jumper suit. It was crusted patchily with a shimmering dust. ¡°Yeah, yeah, just do it.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Zerc rolled the two downturned gems he called eyes. They sunk into their sockets and emitted a nocturnal glow, especially around 02-02461-32: Graveyard shift. Their night sight was perfect for the Commonwealth¡¯s single-hour day spans; a muddy and dim morning, if him and Illian could get to bed before the drills strike at 03-02461-00. Not looking likely. He fumed his tooth-bridged nose and hit the rewind key.


    The TV flickered to a still of Mecha¨ªs city in jubilee. The anchor entailed what Illian could¡ªand did¡ªmouth off, verbatim. Of course, in the most sterile, poppy broadcaster sting.


    ¡°Today marks the five-year anniversary of when the entire Sol system was saved by the hands of an actual god.¡± Illian checked a navy-blue gradient side bar to confirm the date: ¡°March 24<sup>th</sup>, 3179.¡±


    ¡°Woo.¡± Zerc kicked back, exhausted of ranting.


    ¡°To celebrate this occasion, Mecha¨ªs is in line to hold their¡ªyearly celebration¡ªto honor-¡° The voice fell quiet, a high-pitched ringing soon invading the boy as he approached the screen. Pained, he turned to Zerc.


    ¡°Y¡¯see?¡± He cringed, holding his weight on a nearby coffee table.


    Zerc¡¯s face lumped into a stupor: ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Serious? You don¡¯t hear anything?¡±


    ¡°Nothin¡¯.¡±


    Illian groaned. Suddenly, the pain subsided. In its place, an unfamiliar thrum attempted to garner his attention. Now, something else was speaking. ¡°Augh. What?


    ¡°Go where?¡± His face went pale. ¡°No ¡­¡±


    The entity then snapped from Illian¡¯s conscious mind, caused him to buckle under a phantom weight. Zerc rose up from his chair, cautiously approached his source of income with worry he¡¯d lose his fellow site employee to madness.


    ¡°Are you alright, IJ?¡± said Zerc.


    ¡°The Rayvine,¡± Illian uttered.


    ¡°What about it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m ¡­ not sure. But I think I heard Gaia?¡± with a second-guess stammer. Zerc found himself in the midst of a lunatic. The boy then mouthed something else, but failed to get it out. Zerc-si sprang off the couch, stared at the screen.


    ¡°There¡¯s no way in fuck they¡¯d take you in! You¡¯ve been watching too much TV-¡±


    ¡°I know what I heard!¡± exclaimed Illian.


    ¡°Calm down.¡± Zerc peered through the glacial rains blotching that sinful glow invading their apartment. For a moment, he confided in those drops. ¡°You¡¯re crafty. Figure yerself out, Illian. They¡¯re not gonna buy you talkin¡¯ to a tube, so what¡¯re you gonna do?¡±


    Hypnotized by the prospect, the boy joined him in carving their way out of this industry-choked slum. Finally.


    ¡°You still owe me some¡¯a this Earth shit.¡±

 Gaia: Age 20

    Dusk masked entry of a Class B luxury fighter with a cream finish. It cut through amber clouds a piercing spade and soon hovered over a massive tear in the Earth¡¯s crust.


    Bottomless. This was a wound only eons could heal.


    This was but one of many fresh cuts caused by orbital bombardment. A stray comet had rebelled against the Kuiper Belt and led the rest astray to cascade the Sol galaxy in a volley. Finally, the Argo¡¯s precious cargo on board could see this impact for himself, if only through simulated window views.


    A roar. Belching smoke trailed near what his dossier described as The Breath. But Illian knew that, right? The legendary maw first split by Orbital Bombardment. Gaia lied underneath a dormant note in history. Dossier¡¯s don¡¯t skimp details. But Illian¡ªsifting through his mind¡ªhad yet to convince himself he would be the one to awake her.


    Their ship stayed its descent into the Earth¡¯s gaping wound, and all he could imagine in that moment was wrath awaiting him. A calculated voice sprang from his uni-translator confirming simply.


    Now entering location: THE BREATH


    The Wyoming sunset quickly blinked from view; pure, cauterized deposit walls were zooming upward as fast as broadcast static. No actual delay allowed for Illian¡¯s eyes to adjust to the surfing shadows. This flaw made his V visor helmet seem even heavier. He began fidgeting with his coat cuffs, flapping his arm tassels, anything to calm his nerves.


    Her power, like the sun, could blink him from existence just as easy. Yet still, he¡¯d hold on.


    Thick mist trails surfed through captured wind gusts, teetering the integrity, fighting their course with aggression. The outside projection jittered, but spat back alive not so immersive a view as before.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Even so, he could tell this wasn¡¯t the Earth in vogue, this wasn¡¯t the Earth he left so long ago. He should feel so lucky it retained a form at all.


    Seat options were bare minimum in the vessel¡¯s compartment, just hardback benches lining the walls. Illian had opted to stand, holding onto a lifeline since breaking the atmosphere.


    He was dying to stretch his legs.


    Another gust hit the ship, causing Illian to buck off his line into the closest freight netting.


    ¡°Pockets of turbulence,¡± radio substituted for a Maiorian¡¯s already robotic observations. A thick interference permeated further. ¡°No need to worry, Sol. Survivability is very much likely.¡± Turbulence compensation blipped and blared, hailed once more and the canopy finally stabilized. Still, he¡¯d hold on.


    He still couldn¡¯t believe he was coming back.


    Thrusters hooked down, braced against a flaw in the geometry; landing shoes then hissed open from the Argo¡¯s lower undulate body. Illian saw from his view a precipice dock perfectly fit for Messenger duties: untainted by man. Not an ounce of labor or metal. It was all Her doing, this place. Illian¡¯s being here was always Her doing.


    With a slight crunch, they landed. An eager Illian awaited the back hull ramp to be freed: to see its slow, piston-whistle descent would give him all the air he needed. Finally, it gave. He counted the seconds.


    Five.


    Four.


    Three.


    Two. He took a step forward, a haphazard bag of emotions bottled up in his treasured grey coat. Illian left as a young boy desperate for work, tailing a prosperous gig: intergalactic diamond miner. Though no one told him that ten percent of shit is still shit.


    He was tense and beading sweat was trickling down his coat. There was a suffocating heat still constricting him. So much so, that he didn¡¯t register a octangular bulkhead door slide open from behind; cool air whipped his wrists. No looking back, he rebelled. Not this time.


    His body so fixated on coming home, the outside world could only hope to take this away. This life. This gift. It was all his. One-hundred percent his own.


    One.


    A stray hand¡ªpadded thickly with a rubber feel¡ª reached out, galvanizing the Messenger when they made contact. ¡°Are you okay, Sol-¡°


    The Messenger jumped: ¡°Sweet Mary!¡±

 Act 3

    Illian sputtered forward, swatted his companion away with the lash of an unamused wrist.


    ¡°Your vitals were peaking to a dangerous level, Sol. I was worried about you,¡± said the Maiorian.


    ¡°Shaintro. You¡¯ve gotta ¡­¡± His bulbs graced Illian through a bloated suit, hydrated face submerged in its own cylinder cap helmet. A fishbowl. Illian quickly felt his breath concede, much like he¡¯s done so throughout his two years of training trying to reason Shaintro, a Maiorian, to respect personal space. ¡°Never mind.¡±


    Illian wandered ahead to embark, with careful steps until his firm traveler boots mushed against a pocket of sediment grain; their pockets numerous, their cracking releasing a rarefied ferment smell. Illian was enamored. This colossal split he could finally explore, the evening cool, the-


    ¡°You need to be careful,¡± Shaintro cautioned. Illian¡¯s cheeks swelled flustered.


    Way to suck the magic out of the moment, blue man.


    ¡°A Mercenary ground team is outbound to us for assistance. Much more firepower to rely on.¡±


    Shaintro¡¯s had five-hundred cycles to sort himself out. Illian¡¯s age for their culture, sure, but he hasn¡¯t wasted a single minute. Playing the galaxy¡¯s mother must come naturally to other Messengers.


    Illian reached for his uni-translator nestled inside his inner coat pockets, held the convex button at the center down for a prolonged period. Just like that, ¡°Locals warning of scalpers near The Breath¡± fizzled out into unintelligible nonsense. Though, the noise was smooth; it sounded like a swift, uninterrupted stream of prestigious brass winds. To foreign entities, Maiorians could recite spreadsheets and have it resonate poetic brilliance. ¡°Roacivi, Sol. Fro a civilashunos sumola.¡±


    Earth¡¯s Messenger undid his headwear, revealed a pasture of shaved brown hair. Ears bracketed with glossed black rings caught the wind soaring by; they chilled, made Illian wonder if he¡¯d be better off with his helmet back on. But his baby blues were too busy taking in the world. It was still beautiful.


    ¡°Sol?¡± Shaintro peaked.


    Quickly, Illian turned his translator back on, followed with a sloppy acknowledgement: ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Please leave your translator on. You still have much to learn.¡±


    ¡°I can hardly imagine what.¡± Illian directed course, scouted an upcoming crevice blocked in by a web of dead vines like holding the planet together. Shaintro was close behind.


    ¡°Correct observation, Sol,¡± he seemingly conceded through muffled radio chatter. ¡°We are almost complete with your initiation. All you must do is meet Gaia.¡± Illian nodded to acknowledge.


    Overhead, an imposed net grid pieced through the sky with a traveling surge of activity. As of now, it¡¯s the only thing stabilizing the planet¡¯s magnetic core. Chunks of land peaked over the crevice, threatening to fly off through the atmosphere. A constant battle between gravity and vast emptiness, all brought on by a split-second genocide. And that grid was the only thing keeping them together.


    That, and now him.


    Pressure overcame the boy, but he managed a calm as he walked forward. ¡°What should I tell her when we meet?¡± Illian¡¯s tone shifted to pleading.


    ¡°Say hello,¡± said Shaintro.


    Sol sank further in his boots. He groaned.


    Inching, the boy scanned around the cavity. No luck. Hive nest combs, split apart like by a divine knife, were prevalent up to the cavern¡¯s peak that trickled sediments. Except here.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Like a baby¡¯s face ¡­ Illian kneed out the vine enclosure while his eyes wandered upward. Way too soft. There¡¯s something here.


    He was too preoccupied to notice that he was the only one lifting a finger. From a fair footing away, Shaintro examined the young Messenger¡¯s movements carefully, as though he fancied the initiative. He stood comfortable, despite Illian growing more agitated.


    ¡°Dammit,¡± said Illian aloud. He then palmed against the rock. ¡°Where¡¯s the door?¡± When the Earth didn¡¯t budge, Illian twisted around to his seasoned mentor. He rationed since this was no exam, he¡¯d ask for help. ¡°Any ideas?¡±


    ¡°Have you tried walking through the vines?¡± Illian took a desperate step to confront Shaintro, unamused.


    ¡°You¡¯re joking, right?¡± he said. Shaintro stared blankly.


    Flustered, Illian stormed over, not so impressed. ¡°I appreciate your help¡±¡ªhe rose his voice¡ª"but there is no way that these vines are just gonna¡ªpart aside!¡±


    He waved his arm over the gateway, directing eyes as to prove a point. However, Shaintro uncharacteristically kept a straight face. Illian couldn¡¯t recall their kind ever being so good at lying-


    No way.


    Illian turned back, denying every inch he craned. But dammit if what he saw weren¡¯t an act of Gaia, Herself. By the swerve of his hand, the vines split apart, rose as to allow royal blood to pass.


    Illian couldn¡¯t quite comprehend the authority which he weld, despite being prepped to do just that. This regal feeling was far beyond anything sacred text could relay.


    Shaintro chuckled like a smitten parent and approached the scrambled Messenger with wisdom at the ready: ¡°You show some resourcefulness, Sol. Very humbled.¡± Now, he eclipsed Illian as he further soliloquized his mental checklist. ¡°Not inclined to invite yourself in without the proper permission. I appreciate that trait.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the sweetest thing I¡¯ve ever heard,¡± said Illian with a dash of sincerity. With nothing further to spill, the honored Maiorian allowed with a delicate curve of his rubber-guarded palm for the boy to lead on.


    They continued forward, Illian now burying his doubts with every new vine clearing. And there were hundreds¡ªhe counted. In a row, each strand of Gaia¡¯s veins parted back from their bow. With each step, the ground was sprinkled further with a variety of Earth¡¯s spices. Grains of sand, gravel¡ªtill even stray ore flakes were littered in. They illuminated north-faced from a nameless, mysterious shine.


    The cold, smoky cave rocks gave way to a full helping of these spices to path their approach; darkness no longer had a place in this crevice, either. Completely banished by its inhabitant.


    She awaited. Illian hunched as much, but when investigating Shaintro¡¯s body language, he could tell that this was exclusively his own. Clear, potent, his own personal beacon to Gaia.


    After too much time, Illian and Shaintro gazed upon an empty alcove lined with fresh, undying grassland; some of these strains were flora not seen since eons¡¯ past. And a small obtuse pond was collecting overhead droplets seeping from this garden¡¯s maximum of fresh, coal-black soil and rail tree roots.


    Scouting proved fruitless; Illian conceded he wouldn¡¯t find the ceiling with eyes alone. The Messenger hopeful then approached the pond with a profound faith, took a deep breath, and sat on the grass with his legs crossed.


    ¡°Do you hear anything, Sol?¡± Shaintro asked. He studied emerald beetles jitter, creep through the grass near Illian.


    ¡°Nothing.¡±


    Shaintro then admired an ageless root, in honor of Her sanctum: ¡°Find your center. Ward the outside influences and allow your-¡°


    He was hushed by the boy, now being fed another source trying to vie for attention. Illian¡¯s breathing peaked, then a surge of pain demanded all his effort as he expelled a warm mist that was lofted forward.


    A beacon.


    Illian faced back to the maximum above, following the trickling water down to its descent. He arose then submerged his legs in the water, the coat barely doused at the tail cut of his bottom. As he touched base, dug into the mucky clumps of substratum greens and soil, a reverberating hum invaded his ears, only halted by the sudden piercing crunch of a stone emerging near him. It was flat and appeared to allow anybody to stand on top of it akin to a platform. An inline circle was engraved into the ends.


    For a second, the boy swore this to be his sole rite of passage. But then he retraced to his training like an anchor. Speak for two, not as one.


    His thoughts were brashly insinuating he were ungrateful, so Illian confided in Shaintro with eyes alone.


    Shaintro nodded in approval, taking a step away.


    Illian waved through the pond. This is it.


    With an anxious climb, the boy took his place¡ªstood tall and ready. But this was no time for ceremonies. At least, for his fellow Messenger.


    Shaintro was spooked to retreat. He darted through the crevice, leaving Illian to his ritual. Curious, but Illian hardly had time to wonder; the pond began to thrash water furiously. His footing then rocketed upward, causing him to huddle to the platform for dear life.

 Act 4

    ¡°Where are you?¡± asked Illian to the sky. A gust then scrambled his coat fringe.


    Gaia spoke, but the boy still could not understand her¡ªjust Her noises. He could somehow feel Her intentions glade by wind and feel, through glens and oaks lining The Breath beyond. She was leading the echoes he heard, and he came to know this wind as Gaia¡¯s voice. In these gusts, She could finally speak. The moment fell; Illian¡¯s face saddened when he realized his path here had been dotted with lies.


    He said, ¡°Am I not worthy?¡±


    To lie to the council, to the Rayvine¡¯s effigies that he met Her physically¡ªIllian was breaking ever rule standing in Her sanctum! Fear came quickly. Bathed in sin and sweat, the boy looked over his platform to the ground below. He could taste the bottom and it tasted like death.


    But Gaia¡¯s voice perked, as if in a caring laugh. Then, a bass-like hum  descended the cadence of his ears.


    ¡°No?¡± A glimmer of hope dared enter his eyes, in love with Her view.


    She repeated then swelled with an adage. More musical billowing, sure and telling like a tender kiss. Illian brightened up.


    ¡°So, you did lead me here ¡­¡±


    The kiss returned.


    Satisfied, Illian stepped forward with more to ask. But as he did, his platform began to sink. Illian was mortified. Their time together was coming to an end: ¡°Wait, I-¡°


    Striking the sky, a massive freighter invaded the boy¡¯s haven in a demon red. They fired off kinetic rounds The boy panicked, jumped from the platform and splayed helpless to the current!


    These screams still filled Her cove.


    Illian rose up, patted his coat away of timeless soil. He had been in stasis on an unmoving platform. Still, there was a cataclysmic shakeup rattling the caverns. Before he could think, another schism roared, causing the cavern to kick up a trail of dust from its small ceiling rock.


    ¡°What the. Shaintro!¡±


    Illian raced to the hole, shaking, sweating but the vines, they wouldn¡¯t budge! ¡°Let, me, through!¡± he said. But the vines, they didn¡¯t listen¡ªmuch as he pulled or plead. He snapped off, took to sliding against the rock wall with flustered motions. Through gnashing rock and an upward glance, Illian faced vastness: the empty black above. Somewhere deep beyond this stratum lied Gaia, Her answers for which he needed now more than ever.


    He said, ¡°Why bring me here?¡± to the black. Echoes alone; no answer came. Then he took in the platform, flickered clear as ever with erratic gestures. ¡°Why?!¡±


    He tried to stand, but lacked the resolve; he¡¯d rather sit and tuck away. Buried within his new coat, a shadow casted. And within that darkness he studied quite clearly his journey here: his lies, his resignation from a sure-thing job for¡ªwhat, exactly?


    Made my bed ¡­ Guess I¡¯ll lie in it.


    He played with the rumble and tumble of grains at his feet. To think his first time wearing the Messenger¡¯s signature coat would be his last. This universe played cruel jokes, but none as cruel as this. He had to laugh while he still could. Then as though struck by his chords, the shadow strengthened. The boy became curious to a shifting light now dancing, convening in wild glimmers from the roots to his very own palm in the grains. ¡°What, the, hell?¡± Each word brought him closer to a shimmering blue manifestation. Illian studied this strange ball take form. A sudden pang ruptured the cove; Illian flinched. But the manifestation arose unimpressed in a more inviting form. A man.


    No, a Messenger.


    Illian climbed slowly to an authored stance; each step he took with care until he arrived shy of the pond. A crunch made the boy believe he¡¯d raise alarm, but whatever this thing was couldn¡¯t hear or simply didn¡¯t care.


    Not one to share duties, Illian said, ¡°Who are you?¡±


    The manifestation, in his own rarefied coat, grazed listless in the water. Illian took in their features, how their coat had aged, yet held together as well as his own. Slowly, the Messenger encrusted in corporeal form. They waked the water with physical hands and long, dreaded locks a comfort reserved for old friends. Illian¡¯s face blazed.


    Does he want me to follow?


    Another barrage racked the cove; Illian tried to leave again, but the vine remained closed. A breath. He took to watching the manifestation; they now acquainted the platform in meditation. Then, Illian sparked: ¡°Of course!¡±


    His lessons touched, if only briefly upon these wild summons. Shaintro emphasized¡ªunlike many spiritual councils¡ªthat the Gods take form in which we need most. Humans focalize the seen. What they retain best is repetition.


    Illian ran, the words of Shaintro leaving his mouth: ¡°The seen!¡± He stopped amidst the Messenger¡¯s company. ¡°You¡¯re Gaia, aren¡¯t you?¡± hoping for more. Without a response, Illian exhaled warm mist, submerged in Her pond one last time as he mimicked the strange¡ªhallucination¡¯s pose. ¡°What¡¯s another shot in the dark?¡± he asked.


    Illian closed his eyes, exhumed in unison. And all at once, a white light came.


    A loving wind flapped against Illian¡¯s form¡ªnow the only one here. The strange Messenger had disappeared. He took to searching in spinning motion; what he found was Her sky again. And the bottom without a platform to negotiate with. Illian tensed, braced weightless to plummet. Something which never came.


    Illian peaked down. ¡°I¡¯m¡ªflying?¡± he said, the wind clapping his shoulder tassels.


    He whisked again, took a chance and dove. Slowly, his timid motions freed. He said, ¡°Fuck yeah, I¡¯m flying!¡±


    And he smiled a grateful smile to these great amber clouds and their dusking purple sky. His cheer would turn to panic the moment he turned around. The Argo had been engaged by three fighters, shredding through imminent storm walls. And spearheading the assault was a red class D Husky freighter.


    ¡°The red ship,¡± Illian swallowed. ¡°Hang on, Shaintro, I¡¯m coming!¡± But, was he really?


    No time to entertain the thought. A violent whistle thundered against his ears; the red Husky had jerked back to allow two rail-thin fighters to tear through with flak cannon fire. Their quad-engine thrusters popped and buzzed to an ugly crawl amid a cloud bank. Shaintro maneuvered with an allergy to fire, but for how long Illian was uncertain. He had to do something.


    The Husky turned to flank; Illian darted his body to follow, but flinched when a crying ion round whizzed shy of the Husky¡¯s blast doors. Dodge maneuvers flung the ship directly at Illian who braced for impact. Nothing; Illian realized he was shit at being a spirit when he opened his eyes to the Husky¡¯s interior operations. He patted his form, tucked behind some peculiar tankard shells. Illian hummed. An operative decked in a dust-padded black gambeson then stopped his solder tool, making the boy dive back into cover. The operative unmasked from their square face optics to breathe. His emerald eyes became dangerously curious; he peaked near Illian and began to rise when another of his crew stepped from beyond a hatching blast door. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Their Greek complexion soured when they called: ¡°Mitch, what the hell¡¯re you doing? You¡¯ll singe your brow again if the cannon goes off with you near¡¯it.¡±


    Cannon? Again?


    Illian investigated the shells once more, to Mitch¡¯s project: a plasma conduit far too dorky a fit for class D truss systems. Judging by the swampy air and belching thrusters, this ragtag group of mercs thrived in getting by, and this had to be one of several desperate measures.


    ¡°Right. Sorry, Rosqo,¡± said Mitch, attending to his haptic toolkit. ¡°Cannon needs another round of recalibrating; that last shot cut The Breath something fierce, but the Messenger¡¯s ship¡¯s too fast for our normal lock ons.¡±


    Bullshit.


    The way Mitch slicked his tool away, the snide stare. Something didn¡¯t add up to Illian. He eavesdropped further, but his touch shimmered against the cover, so he aired on caution not to lean too closely.


    ¡°You think they¡¯ll handle it first?¡± Mitch offered. ¡°Class A fighters like that are reinforced like a motherfucker, and I doubt our sweepers¡¯ got enough ammo to spare.¡±


    Rosqo laughed, snuffing his cigar against the truss. The compartment now smelled of mangos and fuel. He said, ¡°Let ¡®em try. Kor and Jeri are due for some humility¡ªfreeloaders.¡± He resurrected his cigar, puffed it and drew circles around the sunny orange plasma cannon with his fiery wand. ¡°Almost done?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± pounding the shell to comply, ¡°just needs time to charge.¡±


    Rosqo looked upon Mitch smitten. ¡°Spare me the details next time,¡± he said, another puff smoking out. ¡°When I get a hold of that blue freak¡¯s coat, I¡¯ll buy somethin¡¯ nice for your trouble.¡±


    Mitched scoffed, ¡°If it¡¯s not charred to nothing.¡±


    ¡°You ever held a Messenger coat before?¡± Rosqo flicked his cigar butt behind him, strode to leave. ¡°It barely singes.¡± Mitch chuckled.


    His hands rifled through his tools when a cyan device blinked through the shell, cluing Illian to maneuver when the bulkhead door closed. Another blink; the boy honed in. Mitch scanned the room before considering its call. When he swept over, Illian tried to duck, but found himself locked onto.


    A pause.


    Mitch arose and began to paint Illian¡¯s spiritual form with a careful brush of his eyes. Illian stilled.


    Fuck¡ªOh fuck!


    Mitch stared through the boy¡¯s eyes, to his coat and back. Then like flinging ice off his shoulder, Mitch averted, muttering, ¡°Rustbucket¡¯s playing tricks on me. Must be the fumes.¡± Mitch sniffed captive to the mango smoke, nodded. ¡°I¡¯m gonna miss it.¡±


    Miss it? Illian hovered over their shoulder. He could sense the engines huffing, puffing to embark. He might be new to this whole ghost thing, but he wagered he would cascade out the way he came.


    Mitch unlatched his optics, activated a comms relay budded in his ear. ¡°Songbirds out,¡± he said definite. ¡°Copy?¡± The action buzzed, buzzed in Illian¡¯s ears. He had to keep his distance; Mitch flinched, too.


    Then, Mitch propped up. His legs, they wanted to salute. Almost did with his hand; somebody of higher power was speaking. Illian braved a closer listen. Though scrambled, he plucked from their voice a warm, roasted drawl. ¡°Yes, Commander.¡± And closer Illian got. ¡°Have we shook hands?¡±


    Code speak, surely. ¡°But with who?¡± Illian asked.


    Mitch nodded, rested his rookie demeanor when he said: ¡°Leave it to a Maiorian to drop the ball on code words.¡± No laugh rescinded; Mitch racked back, Illian dodging his wandering eyes. Then came the question:


    ¡°What the hell is going on?¡±


    The air cleared. Mitch locked his gaze onto a dock compartment unlike the rest; both he and Illian saw sharp lacerations on their door latches. Mitch smiled and said, ¡°Exfil prepped.¡±


    Then engines howled. Before Illian could breathe, he jettisoned out the hull but a whisper in the physical. Last he saw, Mitch had propped his feet into a bullet kick, gravity his hammer as he shot out portside. Through a tunneling wind, the operative known as Mitch folded into the storm like he missed the rain. And by Gaia did Illian miss the rain, too. He nocked, braced to follow. Right as he gave chase, the Argo cut into view. He redirected.


    The closer he got, the more damage lined the exterior. Smoking holes all over. Illian trailed the thrusters, then the upper fin; all the while, he wondered why Shaintro would risk his own ship coming to The Breath.


    ¡°Why now?¡± he asked the skies. That cannon, these mercenaries. Mitch. Illian closed in and flung into the passenger side of the cockpit. Shaintro was muttering in sonorous Maiorian. Illian checked his uni-translator only to pass a hand right through his body.


    ¡°Oh, right.¡±


    The ship stilled. Illian took a seat. Alarms were wailing. Heat levels maxed, pinged on the console. Weapon systems recoiled in an attempt to gather what little shells remained, but the Maiorian delegate remained poised in a calm blue. In his head, he¡¯d won: a look unbecoming of the Shaintro he knew.


    ¡°Roa¡¯civi,¡± Shaintro said in confirmation. His voice always perked when he said that. Illian¡¯s ears buzzed again, evermore so near all these operations. But through the chaos, Illian went pale when he heard a southern drawl cut the comms. It remained fuzzy, but the man said one word which rang clear as any: ¡°Mechais.¡±


    Illian snapped back to the cove in his own skin. The quakes hadn¡¯t ceased, yet the vines reeled open when he shot for the exit. But still, Illian ran without answers. ¡°Mechais? Why would Shaintro be¡ªworking with the city?¡±


    The cave darkened; he could hear the fighters belch and ignite for another run. Light disappeared; stones were crashing at his ankles. Through shaken vision, a brilliant blue shine guided. Illian followed, sprinted to an upcoming light. One last flash. Illian hurdled out the collapsing cave to a dusking sky. He was safe, for now. A prospect soon challenged when he heard incoming thrusters. And so it was; an object peeked through sky, illuminated by charging rounds.


    Wait.


    Illian took a good look. His face alit with relief: ¡°It¡¯s the Argo!¡± Amazed, he splayed his arms as though to catch the spade vessel mid-landing. The cockpit parted and Shaintro leapt out in a hurry. Illian¡¯s device rang.


    165 BPM


    Please stabilize subject: SHAINTRO


    Probable cardiovascular (MAIORIAN) risk:


    56.89%


    Illian committed in his stance, his legs wobbling, hands clamming, chest heavy. His mind had long since convinced him he were dead.


    Shaintro seized this window of opportunity. He ran to his fellow Messenger in a hug. ¡°Yes¡ªI missed you, too, Sol! Come now, it¡¯s about to start.¡±


    ¡°What? Hey!¡±


    He rushed Illian along to an ample spot, hands propping his sightline in place from the shoulders. ¡°I¡¯ve got so many questions!-¡°


    ¡°Look,¡± said Shaintro, insistent. He was pointing to a dissipating cluster of fluffy, amber-headed clouds on the horizon.


    There, the mercenary trio maddened a search effort hungry for stray Messengers. Through Shaintro¡¯s gleaming bulbs and telling muscles, Illian could tell that was their first mistake.


    In one explosive flash, the Husky class ignited in an orange fireball when the cannon primed. Its smoldering wreckage plunged into The Breath, but a demon falling back to hell.


    Panic ensued.


    The other fighters, without an operable fortress to rely on, scattered. When they crossed, an ion shriek pierced through the storm, skewering both, causing them to explode into smoking shrapnel rain.


    A vessel emerged to claim the awesome power of its ion technology. Their gleaming hull, skirted with cannons, shifted Illian checked off more questions.


    ¡°We are not fighters, nor should we take part as a holy weapon.¡± Shaintro was repeating a lesson learned several months ago, but rather than keep on the script, he deviated, drawing his gloved fingers to the fighters. ¡°But with enough practice,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ll never have to worry about fighting up close.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± The only word concrete enough to fall from Illian¡¯s mouth without sounding zealous, or worse: stupid. Shaintro¡¯s comms flickered alive. In fact, both of their devices did, clashing tongues outside the realm of their translators.


    Incoming hail from: MECHAIS


    Illian jumped at the name: ¡°Shaintro, what the hell¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll extrapolate details later,¡± he said, answering the call. ¡°We¡¯ve been hunting Rosqo and his pack for some time.¡±


    ¡°But, why work-¡°


    Shaintro gestured to hush. ¡°Yes, commander, this is Messenger Vadis. I regret to inform you that subject Mitch is unaccounted for.¡±


    Illian stared bug-eyed.


    ¡°You¡¯re talking to him!¡± said Mitch. Both the Messengers took another look at the chrome ship. Illian followed its path through the storm walls and wanted to call bullshit. Even as a ghost,  nobody could fly that well! ¡°Mecha¨ªs sends their regards for cleaning up The Breath! Commander will be in contact soon. Out.¡±


    The feed died. Mitch¡¯s ship kicked off, thrummed its glossy silver thrusters to distort the air before spearing out of sight.


    Glass floors had a nasty habit of giving out under pressure. Illian was no different. His eyes did all the talking to the ground, to the Earth he¡¯s now responsible for.


    In rumination, he spotted the strange Messenger staring right through his gaze. It made him tread that much lighter as Gaia¡¯s voice. Both smiled to one another¡ªcome whatever may. ¡°Great,¡± said Illian, shaking his head. ¡°I¡¯m a target.¡±


    Shaintro said, ¡°No. We¡¯re a target.¡± He claimed a spot by Illian¡¯s side, who glanced at his incandescent ebbing skin. Illian sought the Messenger again, but they had vanished with the wind. ¡°I assure you are on the winning side of that exchange, Sol.¡±


    The Maiorian began to venture back to the Argo, as did Illian in time. Illian couldn¡¯t help but feel the Messenger stare survey him, and he still had so much to ask-


    ¡°Sol?¡± said Shaintro. He had unlatched the back docking ramp, the clap snapping him back to reality.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°The Courtship awaits your report.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Shaintro. Right away.¡±


    Oh boy. Homework. Bite me, blue man.


    And ¡­ Thanks. I think.

 Act 5

    Subject: ILLIAN


    Date: MAY 5<sup>th</sup>, 3186


    ALERT! Sleep deprivation detected in


    subject: ILLIAN


    Please seek rest immediately


    ¡°In a minute.¡±


    Illian hunched over a portable monitor, properly formatting his field report, safe within one of the Rayvine¡¯s high-end embassy cabins. As big as his old apartment, Illian wagered.


    His nagging piece of tech¡ªthe uni-translator¡ªhad been discarded on an end table nestled near his bed. He was lounging against its blocky headboard, glazed diligent in his work. Though prone to insomnia, the boy practiced a good routine. His floor was spotless, gleaming tile able to breathe, to reflect a dull yellow light drone hovering over Illian¡¯s shoulder. Otherwise, no other light filled the room beside his aquarium waves and their calmed echo. In this, the boy found order.


    And his coat. His Messenger coat got the most attention, proudly hung in statis in an alloyed frame. It hovered above a strut which jutted just above to meet the ceiling. And built into this magnetic strut was the aquarium fixture. In this, maroon-streaked Koi found peace.


    Foreign tongues off to their dorms began exchanges outside Illian¡¯s door. Never got easier to bare. In his two years here, Illian had finally decided to pick up another language as to avoid any more barriers when he wanted to dismount his uni-translator late at night. Through careful dissection of their mannerisms¡ªif the human tongue could even replicate it at all¡ªhe decided that Maiorian was right for him.


    Illian reprised, reminded of what transpired yesterday. He thought long and hard, slowed his typing to a crawl until he stopped altogether. ¡°Huh,¡± he said to the Koi. ¡°What was that he said? Roa-civi?¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    His pondering came to a halt when two signatures rung off the boy¡¯s perceptive ears. Two Maiorians. But not just any old delegates. It was Shaintro and-


    ¡°Madame Quella?¡± He set his work aside, galvanized. It wasn¡¯t like her to be up this late. Early. Whatever.


    Their pitches were unmistakable: gibberish with a badge behind their gills. Curious, Illian guided his drone to illuminate where he was walking, up to the door. He leaned a firm ear on the chilled, metallic wall. Their exchange was being muddled through impenetrable fiber layers and grumbly, intoxicated voices. Not quite sure what they were blabbering on about, but it seemed as though one had lost some money.


    Hope the transfer rate matches up.


    A sudden uproar; Quella¡¯s voice toiled over, troubled with Shaintro¡¯s¡ªsomething. Illian wasn¡¯t sure, but he¡¯d never heard one of the higher court raise their voice in such a way. They continued and Illian could swear he internalized their throats swell and drown against somber gills. He felt the role of a ghost all over again-


    The boy realized he was missing something. ¡°Fuck, the translator!¡± he said in a bit whisper.


    Must be his drowsy hands that failed to snatch his translator. He outran his drone, almost dropped the translator darting back. However, upon his return, their voices had veered far off.


    Illian exhumed then dismounted the wall. Sliding down to sit against its embrace, Illian could feel, soon hear artificial air cycle through overarching vents. Their invasive cool was enough to spur the boy to stand.


    Soon, Illian found his way back to his bed and snapped right back to his work. Though, an unreasonable nag ate at his every typing word. After a messy paragraph, he instead shifted his efforts to something more productive.


    His tabs collapsed. A new program began booting up on-screen, prefaced by a language option. English was the popular choice, top row in a scroll-through window divided in its own little bubble. The functions continued.


    Loading ¡­


    Illian popped two earbuds in his ears which fizzled compressed static to anticipate content. A robotic, yet friendly voice seized the stream, this time from a Maiorian suit type.


    The Maiorian began. ¡°Hello. Or as Maiorians would say, ku-ra.¡± (koo-ray)


    Business vestments of a gilded ocean blue made him presentable, harmless enough to be in front of a production set. The design was much akin to human three-pieces, only clear-faced, thick, and shiny like glass.


    Navy-blue interlocking bracers wove into the suit¡¯s arms on two places. He moved stiffly, locking his hands to his chest, only shifting to guide the camera to encompass upcoming content.


    ¡°Welcome to Lovis¡¯ Guide to Maiorian: sponsored by the Rayvine Institute of Learning.¡±

 Act 6

    - May 5<sup>th</sup>, 3186 -


    Dawn passed. A wakeup call screeched through earbuds, shocking the boy into his usual schedule, starting at 7:00am.


    Illian dragged his rebelling body out of bed. He checked his monitor before folding his slate into a more portable form. After a brief once-over of his report, he swiped through his coat frame functions. He¡¯s woken up at this time for years no matter how little he slept. Hell, he was still running early. But he could taste curiosity polyp his parched throat.


    What was Shaintro saying?


    He brought the coat frame down, nabbed it rougher than normal, slipped his arms through as he headed out.


    Illian¡¯s groggy eyes were skewered by the bright, artificial glow of this cylindric corridor. Dock convergence to his left, newsies to his right to ley the Delegate Commons. Still no traffic, at least indoors. A thorn white frigate crossed through a ringed conduit in a whir; their trajectory saluted the atrium crossing when it stabilized for dock protocol; to Illian, it was as though the many Hayvrn aboard were throwing him the bird.


    This morning called for a pit stop. Just past the atrium, heavy struts hibernated down a naked sector. Pylon after translucent shelling walled the corridor still under construction. And near the crew¡¯s quarters lied a Boros favorite: a coffee vendor.


    He waited for his cup to fill. A diamond cutter peaked his interest and brought him to wonder if he could be the only one capable of lying. Shaintro¡¯s words invaded the boy¡¯s mind again and again.


    Roacivi, Roacivi.


    If Illian couldn¡¯t swallow this sensation, he was going to burn it off, instead. He played with the notion what games Shaintro was conjuring next.


    ¡°I¡ªcan trust him,¡± he said, to which no wind came. Then, a bioluminescence. Blue light but blinked past the boy¡¯s periphery; he had to look, had to find out how deep this station ran beyond the skeletal, tungsten hull.


    Piping hot coffee then pooled, spilt over his hand. Agonized, he chucked the cup and moved on.


    His stride teemed against an onyx floor, against all odds. The office halls lied beyond a blast door. A parting whir conjured attention; Hayvrn were headed his way.


    After two years, certain faces had a way of sticking. Through reflection, the floor sneered with ugly Havyrn bills passing by, though covered by sharp helms. Illian couldn¡¯t help but take victory in their sour faces. To survive the Rayvine intact, one ought to learn to savor the small victories in intergalactic politics.


    He stole a smile from System B-3 when he passed the next window.


    Illian came to a bend which yawned into a wider, more ornate avenue. Some Maiorian delegates were crossing through, speaking of the Naides Channel back home on Maiora. He remembered his late-night Maiorian lesson.


    Roacivi? Nah. Roa. Ku¡ªah, forget it ¡­


    Syllables scattered around nothing short of a jigsaw puzzle. He might have to resort to his notes.


    ¡°Pleasure, Sol,¡± said Shaintro in passing.


    By chance, the boy caught his white whale early, causing him to spring up at the sound of that sweet, sweet Mai-sol English. The blue man resembled some plastic entity in his clear bodysuit; his bald dome¡ªthough capped¡ªbent back with a single fin line bristled in gold feelers. Shaintro treated it as a second skin, but he did not compromise his Messenger coat. From a glance, his neckline always shimmered a veteran¡¯s rainbow of different necklaces. Each string commemorated a charity event, a grand opening or visiting a spelling bee. Anything goes, really. All that¡¯s required is being present. Though, Shaintro had always, always been more than present.


    ¡°Morning, Shaintro,¡± he said, until he noted their paths begin to fork. ¡°H-hold on!¡± reining in his chance.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    Illian stammered. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±


    Shaintro stared blankly upward.Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°No, no. I mean, how are you?¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± He smiled. ¡°I am doing well,¡± he answered, beginning to wander.


    Illian now followed. With investigative bulbs, Shaintro scanned Illian¡¯s insistent pep. Hard to hide his suspicion through his membrane. Illian wagered he might not have long to chat. ¡°I trust you have prepared your report,¡± said Shaintro.


    ¡°That I have.¡±


    A pause, like tasting air. ¡°Confidence.¡± Shaintro looked down to Illian and said: ¡°I think well deserved. Sol, have you any more questions before meeting the Madame?¡±


    Fuck yes, I do.


    ¡°Actually, now that you mention it, could you tell me more about that strange premonition I met in the cove?¡± Shaintro probably smelled his investigation. They came to a slow saunter.


    ¡°Not enough. Running into a summon is a personal experience. You said it was a man, correct? Commonly, a deity will ascribe such things for which speak to us the most. In your case, you respond to your fellow species.¡±


    Illian¡¯s face slumped, tired of textbook niceties. ¡°Yes, but¡ªnot just anybody.¡± Shaintro stopped.


    ¡°Then, who was it?¡±


    ¡°It was another Messenger who guided me. Something about him¡ªhe, his coat was older, all patched up but he knew his way around. He must¡¯ve been¡ª¡°Illian¡¯s eyes wowed¡ª¡±my predecessor.¡±


    Shaintro didn¡¯t bask in the feeling. Not one bit. ¡°I see.¡± He craned his neck to face, ready. ¡°I apologize, but I request you keep that incident off the record. The Courtship frowns upon such interference with outworld affairs.¡±


    ¡°Duh, of course I left Mechais off the books, but-¡°


    ¡°Please trust in me, Sol. It would be wise to omit the finer details.¡±


    Illian wanted to continue, wanted to know so badly who they could be, but he knew when Shaintro was done talking.


    Not a single twitch out of place. He¡¯s not lying.


    But the boy needed more. ¡°Look,¡± said Illian, ¡°I swear you can tell me anything. C¡¯mon, lay it on me!¡±


    Another blank stare. He turned forward, nodded as to pardon himself down the upcoming corridor. ¡°You need to sleep more.¡±


    Well. He¡¯s not wrong.


    Illian lulled into the coming crowd of diplomats, made his business as redundant as theirs¡ªinconspicuous. He shut his eyes momentarily. Across the black fringe, he could see a shimmering blue manifest through his perception. In that, he no longer felt alone.


    This blue tint followed him the distance to her Courtship, Madame Quella¡¯s office. When Illian stood outside her door, an epiphany raced through his head: the strange Messenger, he¡¯s been here before.


    Silence drowned an office suite. Mocha wood segmented white metal faces every two feet across the walls. A meek rivulet pooled into a sleek fixture; and there, Illian happened upon his reflection.


    Quella suspected greatness, descending down her promising prospect¡¯s first contact with Gaia.


    ¡°Absolutely vivid, Illian,¡± she said. Her delicate phalanges placed the parchment down on her clear desk not unlike a silver sill with two rails propping a glass surface. ¡°It seems Gaia has rubbed off on you¡±¡ªher bulbs perked up¡ª¡°as anticipated.¡±


    Staring at her now drove the boy crazy.


    How the hell am I going to pry her?


    He allowed too much dead air to pass.


    ¡°So. How¡¯s the coat treating you?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Fits like a glove, Madame,¡± he said. He¡¯s never felt so uncomfortable.


    ¡°Good. How would you like to give your speech in front of the Courtship?¡±


    ¡°So soon?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± her tone now like slinging a gun. ¡°In fact, you can present it to the Maiorian embassy, too; since you¡¯re studying my people¡¯s tongue.¡±


    Oh no ¡­


    ¡°I have taken an interest, yes.¡±


    ¡°And I appreciate your enthusiasm, Illian. But if you must, please don¡¯t afford your sleep schedule to accommodate.¡± Her words were acidic, and just as corrosive to the boy¡¯s investigation. She was looking for an out, maybe running late for another meeting. Or something else.


    ¡°But, I-¡°


    He halted his advance at once; Illian knew where the line was drawn. And he¡¯d never live down speaking out to a council member.


    ¡°You are dismissed.¡±


    ¡°May I ask you something first, Madame Quella?¡± She gurgled under flushed cheeks, sat back down in her chair with clasped fingertips.


    ¡°Pertaining to what?¡±


    Pertaining to everything. Illian wanted so badly to pry her on ¡°Who was the Messenger?¡± and ¡°Do you know why Shaintro¡¯s brokering deals with fucking metropolitan superpowers?¡± and most importantly, ¡°Why the hell are you walking the dorms so late at night?!¡± Alas, these stayed swirling in his head.


    Illian adjusted in his chair and said, instead: ¡°I¡¯ve heard¡ªtalks around the Rayvine. Is there something strange going on?¡±


    ¡°Well, we have another Kale incursion fleet causing trouble near Wormhole Harlot, but nothing we can¡¯t handle.¡± She managed a smirk, no signs of lying still. ¡°You worry yourself, Sol. Sais shuramafa.¡±


    The words came out unfiltered, as though Illian¡¯s uni-translator were compromised for a brief moment. ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°That means ¡®get some rest.¡¯¡± She offered the words smugly. ¡°I¡¯ll send you details about the sanctum meeting ruxu.¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow?¡± Illian bit.


    Quella cocked a bulb eye and smiled. ¡°Yes, tomorrow.¡±


    Illian departed from his chair, bowed to the Madame. ¡°Thank you.¡± He swallowed. ¡°Sorry to have¡ªwasted your time.¡±


    Quella slyly hummed, detracting back to her work as an invisible display alit. Silver keys on her keyboard were glazed in Maiorian characters¡ªakin to waveform encased in hieroglyphs. He didn¡¯t envy learning their vocabulary.


    Turning aside, he remained unable to shake his feeling.


    Illian had been accustomed to zoning out traffic through the vast outer rim, bustling outside window fixtures with several different ships, several other lives charmed to the Rayvine¡¯s call.


    Not this time. The delegates never appeared so like ravenous beasts. Something unsung filled his heart: a conniving rhythm hostile to his being there. These onyx floors contorted, now shined critical faces which knew Illian didn¡¯t belong.


    Then, one stranger¡¯s passing eye slits ran through his body and chilled him to the bone. Their form was a mystery, but he swore, swore again that he had passed through a Dyre¡¯s hungry gaze.


    Illian kept his eyes to the floor.


    I have to get to the bottom of this.

 Act 7

    - May 6<sup>th</sup>, 3186 -


    ¡°Did you know that an A in: [English] that is placed at or near the end of a syllable is always emphasized as -ay?


    ¡°Recall your usage of ku-ra (koo-ray.)¡±


    A solid point. Illian was sure to write that one down in his slate: a single folder lost at sea with dozens of other solid points, possibly never to be seen again. But he had to prepare for anything. His morning had begun at 3:00am. No sign of the Maiorian¡¯s rendezvous yet. Illian suspected they¡¯re giving him the slip. It was in that realization that the Messenger considered countermeasures for the walls they were erecting against him.


    He created a direct message channel to Zerc-si; only, their conversation was being hosted on an underground network the boys back on Boros used to shoot the piss during work hours. It acted as a scramble proxy for IP addresses. Not even the Rayvine would be able to break Terminoux handiwork.


    For better or worse, the system went by many names, chief among them being variations of the acronym, ¡°Jailbreak.¡± Its text deciphered with each character some dialect variation¡ªboth current and primitive vernacular. Sounding out its transcript would slur messily.


    Slowly, he panned his ring finger over the chat display, anticipated a response while his left hand tapped all fingers in a wave motion against his monitor¡¯s outer casing. A keyboard appeared.


    As if a summoning gesture, Zerc¡¯s window pinged with activity, alive with (hopefully) open arms since they¡¯d last spoke. Finally, his message delivered. ¡°Sup wat u need, illian??¡±


    His muddled Boros slang butchered the translation; it frequently misspelled and even when it didn¡¯t, lacked any formal punctuation. Illian¡¯s translator couldn¡¯t be assed, either.


    ¡°Hey, Zerc. Long time. I was wondering if you could help me with some interference issues.¡±


    ¡°no free jobs IJ,¡± sent Zerc, ¡°wats wrong??¡±


    ¡°I suspect some tampering with my systems here. I need to set up a line and trace their breach. Get even lol. And Boros still pays in Frosx right? Never can tell down there.¡±


    At confirmation of his sent message¡ªsailed away from a tap on his enter key mockup¡ªIllian salvaged Zerc¡¯s slow reply rate and returned to his crash course on the Maiorian language. No more now a curiosity ¡­


    ¡­ than it was a preparation for war.


    But first, he had to hydrate.


    Retreating from his base of operations, Illian snagged a drink in his pajamas: plaid boxers and a tank top. What a trooper he was turning out to be. Daringly without a light drone, he trekked through the battlefield that was his cabin floor. He made his way to a minifridge tucked in a segmented kitchen space. Quaint was a way to describe it; the kitchen cornered a small divide that ran the circumference of the aquarium strut. A small fluorescent glow creaked open with the fridge¡¯s door. Their contents were sparse, to say the least.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    On the top shelf, a baker¡¯s dozen bottles of carbonated drink, with a brown hue labeled ¡®Ecco-cola.¡¯ They, his generals, guided the battle to best Maiorian late-night gossip. Finally, the bell tolled. Zerc-si shot a message in the chat, a digital vibration emitting to notify only a moment after the previous. ¡°Frosx r fine.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    ¡°Ill get it setup 2nite.¡± Whatever that meant. Zerc then doubled up on columns, one more message shot off right after the other. ¡°And congratulations on mesenger :)¡±


    - May 10<sup>th</sup>, 3186 -


    ¡°Maiorian may take some time to get used to. It is important that you practice in-person whenever you get the chance.


    ¡°Onto the next lesson. Shura.


    (Shoo-ra)


    ¡°Now, remember: since shura is mainly an additive, we don¡¯t pronounce the ending A, as emphasized beforehand, but as though you were saying -ah. Shura is commonly referred to as a way to say ¡®you are.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Pleasure, Sol.¡±


    Illian passed Maiora¡¯s prodigy yet again down the hall; he itched that this process, his being here was too clockwork for Shaintro¡¯s busy schedule.


    Shut up, you¡¯re being paranoid.


    ¡°Ku-ra,¡± said Illian. He had an amateur¡¯s slur, but Shaintro smiled greatly and kept onto his duties.


    Then he noticed a familiar glow emit from his uni-translator. Instead of blue, the device emitted a ruby red when he spoke. Maybe an oversight on the boy¡¯s part; these colors must correspond to the transfer language, not what¡¯s being received.


    His systems weren¡¯t compromised after all. And that alone made Illian the only one playing foul. For hours then on, he wagered reasons on how to proceed: whether he should ditch his software, or keep digging with his contraband pickaxe.


    This guilt dissipated come 3:00am, where the boy was greeted by another oddity in his functions.


    Child locks?


    His uni-translator deactivated and stubbornly refused to be turned back on. He lamented, cheeks tight, lip locked with a disapproving nod. This was a game then.


    He opened an application then reverted his monitor to a portable slate, sliding the glass keyboard to overlay the display. Illian was livid. He began pacing about his room¡ªa lurking vulture. The boy beaded at his slate, beaded at Jailbreak¡¯s lucrative, most dangerous options. Like a gift from Gaia, one option promised Illian vengeance: a Disruption Tracker. Illian opened the window; vector lines scribed this software¡¯s jargon and spanned the station¡¯s delegate commons. These pings converged deep blue tethers together from an outside anchor. All but one. An orange line blinked rapidly. Zerc¡¯s usage tips¡ªfilled out in the text chat¡ªtrained that this was a breach in communications. And that line was rushing out the hallway silently, right next to Illian¡¯s door. There, whispers creaked by as if unable to bypass this certain wing of the station.


    Cheeky.


    They, the saboteur, rounded a corner, en-route to the food court. It was here where their steps stopped then cut ties with Illian¡¯s device.


    With a fidget touch, the boy activated his translator. A gesture that made him so mad, he had to quell his inner fire, snatching his drink and devouring its contents with hardy chugs until it was empty. He frothed fizz from his mouth, growling as he tossed the bottle to safety on a pile of dirty clothes.


    At least his coat was intact. He followed its colored seamlines, its silky pockets as to ask forgiveness for going against one of Guardium¡¯s Messengers.


    What was he to do, charge out and follow this person to the end? Illian charged through to his door. He scoured a dark jungle made of mysterious barriers, eager for the chase. No time to lose, no time-


    His eyes peaked upward from his electronics midway through. A mound of filth was festering on his floors beside him. Each night, the glow becoming increasingly dimmer, unbeknownst to the boy¡¯s obsession.


    When did he lose control?


    If he kept going, he¡¯d just add to¡ªall this. Now was not the time to lose sight. He had a straight line feed to track. He had names and a small handle on their current locations, and where the Maiorians were heading for their rendezvous.  There was no need to rush out right now. Rather, he could bide his time for one more night, gather another day¡¯s worth of intel. Uninvitedly, a yawn scuttled through his resolve.


    His thoughts spilled out sloppily like a cherry jar gushing out all its juicy contents. And the last thing he needed was another pile of crap to clean.


    ¡°I should do some laundry ¡­¡±

 Act 8

    - May 11th, 3186 -


    Illian was sluggish to awake, but when he did, he was ready to enact his plan. By tonight, the boy will find out what the Maiorians were scheming, even if he had to tear the entire Rayvine apart to achieve it. Leaning upright in bed, he was greeted by a clean floor. Well. Clean-ish. Some cola stains still persisted, but they were nothing he couldn¡¯t snuff out later. He suited up as normal, all the while lugging around his slate device under his armpit as to not misplace it somewhere stupid.


    There was a slender mirror which was usually neglected in the corner of Illian¡¯s dorm. Not today. He had to look the part when dealing in espionage. Not a single article could be out of place. Upon catching his reflection, Illian wasn¡¯t disappointed, for once.


    His coat was dapper, freshly ironed; his collar partition a virgin neckline begging for accommodations, for clout which has since evaded him. No better time to prove his mettle than tonight. The boy shot promises through the mirror: ¡°You¡¯re a Messenger, Illian. You can do this.¡±


    Illian embarked out in the early morning. He was looking to stretch his search through the cafeteria.


    It was an open picking yard sprawled within a clear dome; the Rayvine¡¯s pearlescent white body structures¡ªensnared in a massive ringed sector¡ªpeaked over the eatery. System B-3¡¯s dimming sun did what it could to help the station shine when Illian entered the fray on the second level; glass guard railings ringed the entire way around and only parted for stairways. Illian slid his hand on them, now looming over the commotion.


    Multiple kiosks clamored for dominance as an amalgamation of every delicacy that the universe had to offer¡ªally or otherwise to their station. No need to be a saint to cook a fine dish. Love and hate are their own special spices. Exotic flora pots decorated every stair set in their own varied soils. Lush baby cycads, fervent annual flower pods as varied as the food could conceal his advance, if needed. He started jotting notes, connecting the floor plan in his Jailbreak software.


    Some plants were more useful than others¡ªsome even fought predators. Not worth the blood, though. Illian shrugged off a Chalice vine pod flashing its sharp thorns and kept moving.


    Illian lost precious seconds in rumination; he turned away and resumed his investigation. That was when he spotted the thickest flora he¡¯d ever seen; it was that teary beauty which moves a guy to drop expensive shit caught in whimsy. Luckily, Illian was fast enough to catch his slate. He made a note of the southwest balcony strut where the beautiful tree display stood under. Its translucent plaque caught the boy¡¯s eyes. It read: Corova Busk Palm.


    He figured this was a dependable concealer to start. It was a green, frizzled palm with thick, olive-green branches that demanded constant attention; no other substitute soil as dense as this. The boy took time to appreciate it, scooping a handful.


    Finally, Illian ventured down to ground level, descending an escalator. Chaos enraptured each step closer; clattering spoons, processed chatter from dozens of mouths. Keeping up with certain demands meant that all sorts of creatures were coming in for breakfast while the other was getting a midnight snack. Twenty-four hours, ten hours¡ªno matter the rotation, something was open and was obligated to serve any and all diplomats and patrons alike without prejudice.


    Illian leaned near a placard that confirmed this on a pillar at ground level: a strict reminder which was enforced by the Rayvine¡¯s own United Security dispatch. Leaning from the pillar¡¯s blind spot revealed that he had come just in time for the Kale lunch rush.


    It never got easier to look at these chewed-up gum wads. He¡¯d have to circumnavigate. No easy way around their ranks at this hour. Fleshy outer skins with a tint of malnourished pink, barely functionable with very sickly, emaciated limbs. Angry, little monsters that spared no friendly semantics with their beady teal eyes. And even those varied. Some had two, some three¡ªeven four sockets.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Illian passed by a small collective, sliming up a cold iron-lattice bench. An unrelenting scent coagulated, invaded the boy¡¯s space, causing him to blanch over. Dear Gaia, what the hell is that?


    The entire time, the boy was being eaten alive by the Kale¡¯s many beady glowers; he couldn¡¯t help but pass a revolted stammer for the monsters to munch on. He had learned not to engage Kale in any fashion, especially when their track suits matched. The only thing worse than pissing off a Kale is pissing off a slice of Garellion Prime¡¯s planets. Make it out the door alive, and there¡¯d still be an ankle-biter on each calve. Illian sized up the bench, hand in pocket.


    The Kale returned the favor, holding their ground. Some sniggered to his passage, but nothing more. Their stench followed and only seemed to get worse. This so-called food racketed around Earth equivalents in Illian¡¯s head¡ªthen the import markets. White wine broth and rotisserie Pavi, he concluded. Their meal a delicacy with all the presentability of paint water filled with ground chicken pieces. It had to be served somewhere cheap. Somewhere open all day.


    With a fortified nose, the boy headed to where these stews were being prepped. Kurk¡¯s Space Tour, a holographic display toted, fiberglass spaceship backdrop soaring across Corova, Earth, and Garellion 5 in what could be considered ludicrous speed. Wholly inaccurate, of course. He¡¯d make note of that.


    A lone Raktar¡ªbarely able to accommodate the small box kitchen with its hulking mass¡ªwas stirring more of that mucous stew. Illian worried that its braided tassels would shed a secret spice accidently. On a mission, the boy took a breath and walked through the counter¡¯s unsavory cloud.


    Illian had a clear shot to the one called Kurkesh, as if parted just for him. He couldn¡¯t squander this opportunity. He¡¯d have to know if something was going on last night. Let¡¯s hope I caught he¡ªIt in a good mood.


    Kurk took notice of the Messenger immediately. It left its pot to simmer and helmed the front counter. ¡°Ahh. That coat¡¯s no lie, is¡¯it?¡±


    Illian stomach boomed with the rock thing¡¯s searing core; each word was like a volcanic rumble, coated in a graveled tone backed by their hammer head and ghoulish mandibles. ¡°You¡¯re one¡¯a dem Messenga boys!


    ¡°What can aye dew for ya?¡±


    Needless to say, Illian never expected such a warm response from a Raktar, especially one that had some capital and wasn¡¯t mucking up the worksite with their sweaty pits. Well. They were still sweaty, but that was only a single ingredient fouling the kitchen.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± said Illian. ¡°I was hoping you could help me with some information, Kurk.¡± The Raktar¡¯s molten red smile faded slightly, but revised when the behemoth hardily chuckled.


    ¡°Oh, let¡¯s put that ta¡¯bed quickly, Earth boy! My name is Hide Zlav. Kurk¡¯s not in today. Come ta think of it, not yesterday eith¡¯a.¡± It settled comfortable, propping his elbows to withstand its weight on stained mirror countertop.


    Illian¡¯s greenhorn was showing. Not good for his pink hecklers still picking him apart. ¡°Sorry!¡ªHide Zlav, I formally apologize.¡±


    ¡°Ahh, no skin scraped.¡± Zlav absolved him, extending its beefy, coal-black fingers in a lazy wave.


    ¡°Okay. But I still wish to find out what you know.¡±


    The beast, quickly mounted on an interrogation chair, was no longer the cheery culinary chap it greeted as. Rather, Hide Zlav flipped the script on him: ¡°You¡¯re new ta¡¯dis, aren¡¯t ya?¡±


    Yes


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s yer name, little Messenga¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Illian Jones.¡±


    Zlav brought its many mouth ends together; their ridges appeared chapped with something of a poker face. ¡°So I¡¯ve been told. Though, they didn¡¯t mention yew were as selfish a haggler as Pavi breed. That¡¯s ta¡¯say¡±¡ªZlav turned to approaching customers, about to part ways with Earth¡¯s finest¡ª¡°a skuchburgh.¡± Well-known shorthand for ¡®a ton of shit¡¯ in Raknese.


    Galvanized, the boy leaned over the counter, imploring an intimate dead zone both could negotiate with. Though confident, Illian was leaning on credentials and it showed through Zlav¡¯s mandibles. ¡°If that¡¯s what you believe. Though¡±¡ªhe requested the distance adjourned with a slick regression of his wrist¡ª"the Rayvine may be in danger. And I need you to work with me here. Please.¡±


    Zlav was all over himself. It chuckled all the way back to its stew, and back again. Zlav said, ¡°I haven¡¯t been co¡¯rted so eagerly since I¡¯met my mate.¡± It curled closer per Illian¡¯s request. ¡°I think I like yew.  Yew¡¯ve got yourself a¡¯deal, Jones.¡±


    Hot ember breath swept over Illian¡¯s face. ¡°Thank you, Hide Zlav,¡± he said, wincing. A small, slimy finger then poked Illain¡¯s back; typical Earthling shit to hold up a line loitering. This particular Kale shrimp wasn¡¯t going to have it for long, flashing his white-glossed canines. Neither were his cronies.


    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me yet. Yew¡¯re gonna regret mutterin¡¯ dat in just a sec.¡± Zlav was already back in the kitchen when Illian turned.


    ¡°What?¡±


    A large apron flew over the counter directly into Illian¡¯s royal prim face. Upon examining the garment, he had an itch, as though insulted by. By ¡­ ¡®lesser status¡¯ than himself.


    Before Ilian could swallow, Zlav put its foot down: ¡°Help me dew lunch, and we talk. After dat, my lips are seal¡¯d.¡±


    Illian couldn¡¯t quell his tightening gut! If he truly were speaking for both him and Gaia, planet Earth must be a smug bastard. But he had a mission; he had to poke a wise man¡¯s hold on something. No doubt about it, this had to be done.

 Act 9

    Illian emerged with his new servant garb. Just like Boros all over again. Zlav fancied their common ground noticeably. With a nod, it called the boy to action near a searing pot of that horrible stew. When Illian crossed a certain distance, however, the boulder chef wrinkled its brain.


    ¡°Earth boy,¡± it said. ¡°Cewld ya fetch me somethin¡¯ from the spices?¡± Illian turned to a steel-faced cabinet on his left. Zlav was quick to override, ¡°No. To tha right.¡±


    Illian stammered in his steps, buckled to Hide Zlav¡¯s wishes. This better be good.


    ¡°Right, now. I need yew ta grab Pavi peppa off the litt¡¯l spinner.¡± He did a mock measurement with his index and thumb digits. ¡°Sho¡¯ld be about this big.¡±


    Helpful or otherwise, Illain nodded. The boy opened the hatch door with a strong jerk of its handle that¡¯s seen far too many Raktar swings to be considered anything pristine. A cylinder aperture on the ceiling housed a holographic pinwheel full of spices ready to be called.


    Strange how it resembled nothing close to standard issue, nor harkened to any primitive Raktar tech. Overcomplicated haptics demanded too squirrely a swipe to navigate its menu. Oval horns circled the milky gold finish to create an aluminum sheen every spin. It took Illian two whole rotations.


    The boy was already flushed with sweaty pores, but these agitated motions only served to solidify a new patch of acne come next week. He swore vengeance as he finally snagged Pavi Pepper.


    Finally, he trekked far and wide (less than a yard) to Zlav, who was two tones of ash red from the back; shell-like curds of rock then dropped from a blanket of tissue membrane in between its legs.


    That was the very moment where Illian found out Raktar genital sacks, like charred oysters, contracted into their bodies. Except in extreme heat.


    Vomit encroached on Illian¡¯s mission. Blowing chunks here was the difference between success or humiliating failure. Fortunate for him, he was able to swallow it back. He dare not look Zlav in the eye when he produced the canned Pavi pepper. Zlav then unleashed a venting breath which expelled through his entire body.


    ¡°Ahh, dat¡¯s what we needed.¡± Zlav swerved to meet Illian. He was perceptive, picked up on the boy¡¯s prudish nature quickly. ¡°Apron in da front, Jones. I¡¯m decent!¡± Hide Zlav snatched the pepper without looking, adhering to some invisible, all-knowing force. Its had to have made this dish more than it¡¯s seen its own bed.


    Illian turned, banking¡ªdesperately¡ªthat this smarm boulder wasn¡¯t lying.


    It wasn¡¯t. Thank you, Gaia!


    ¡°Now, watch closely,¡± said Zlav with a summoning wave. ¡°We¡¯re gonna gnash dis till she¡¯s roomin¡¯ da whole pot. Then. Thats¡¯it.¡± It glazed over Illian¡¯s face which lined with revulsion near his nostrils. ¡°Your turn, Jones.¡±You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°So soon?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a simple dish, and we¡¯ve got time for a spoiled batch¡¯er two! I tell ya¡±¡ªZlav cloaked his words, hand-walled from the counter¡ª¡°Kale are all ridg¡¯d bugs. Always come by on da clock. Easy customers.¡±


    As much as Illian should protest such profiling, he¡¯d be doing so with hypocrite emblazoned on his sleeve. He agreed with a nod and began assorting the essentials to prepare. ¡°So ¡­ What do you call this soup?¡±


    ¡°Muju Special,¡± said Zlav. ¡°It¡¯s a home recipe.¡±


    ¡°On Corova, I presume?¡± Illian splayed raw Pavi cadaver on a cutting board; he was gloved and ready to dice its slimy, coarse exterior.


    ¡°¡¯Sumed well, Jones. Ever been?¡±


    No.


    ¡­ ¡°No, I haven¡¯t. But I wouldn¡¯t mind.¡± Something in his first cut, something about Zlav spurred truth from the boy. He wasn¡¯t quite used to this feeling: catharsis? Comfort? Regardless, he chopped and chopped and chopped.


    In a blink, Hide Zlav heard echoes call, a sullen pain overtaking its charred stare. Illian¡¯s process faltered. Chop, chop into the cadaver. Chop into board, then once more. Illian had to stop. There was now a chill among the boiling pots.


    Zlav spoke, possessed, ¡°Can yew withstand air flushed in embers, scalin¡¯ over 200 degrees in the peak of Darksun?¡± Its tone mirrored its eyes. Illian¡¯s heart skipped. He regressed to dicing again. The rough clap against plastic the only sound left alive.


    The boy froze to the bone; were he jogging the boulder¡¯s memory of something buried far below his membranes? He increased his resolve and butchered what was already dead like it was going to get back up again. Needless. But he couldn¡¯t stop, the coward! He wanted this sluggish second to speed up so bad.


    A meek ¡°no?¡± escaped Illian.


    Zlav shot an amalgamed grimace, crazed. It lumbered closer, its horrible stench now hostile, insisting it could be the last thing Illian ever smelled. ¡°I¡¯d wear shorts.¡± It grinned, erupted with a mighty laughter.


    But it still smelled like shit. If it weren¡¯t for the retched odor, Illian would swear he had just had an out-of-body experience. Zlav began to turn around, parting as a sage: ¡°Brush up, now!¡ªwe¡¯ve got mouths to feed.¡±


    By the second pot, Illian was sick; by the third, he sprouted some wings and got over it. They took their breaks on a booth in the upper echelons of the cafeteria. Zlav was fair on his word and pointed out some ¡°Ol¡¯ small one lining tha pavilions like overwatch.


    ¡°Not tha most curious, but this particular bug¡¯s very keen on a secret profile.¡± It huffed, smitten. ¡°Miss Quella and Shaintro needin¡¯ some privacy; didn¡¯t feel tha need ta squeal, yew get¡¯it.¡±


    I bet.


    ¡°I appreciate it, Zlav.¡± Illian looked up. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°Just remember ta keep your fire lower next yew need something.¡± They parted ways. Illian kept the apron.


    One step closer.


    Illian appraised what he was becoming in the mirror. He was fitting a harness under a button-down Guayabera shirt not out of place in a bowling alley. While the boy did so, his coat loomed on its mantle as to admire alongside him; what a gleam the floors reflected¡ªfreshly sheened and ridded of cola stains. Tomorrow, he swore to gets answers at the Maiorian Sanctum. The best part was, he¡¯d get them with an audience.


    Illian peered over. His chamber vista culled, clacked to raise copper-face shutters to the vastness of space. System B-3¡¯s glow, along with several twirling belt comets and neighbor galaxy arms, always somehow reminded Illian of home¡ªkicking and screaming. It had an allure only a Maiorian savant could hope to fully poeticize. It sought to unearth his deepest fears, yet could not touch them directly. It, the one who¡¯s impartiality is both boon and bane.


    Though unbeknownst to Illian, something always stared back.


    Acting funny, but I don¡¯t know why.


    ¡®Scuse me, while I kiss the sky.

 Act 10

    May 12th, 3186


    The Maiorian Sanctum alit with shiny faces. Madame Quella followed a dais up to a circular podium where these faces shone even brighter upon her presence. Illian had to admit, she looked much brighter without her clear suit. Her gills fluttered at the scent of their water pools. Sweet, sweet ammonia. Illian gagged. Madame Quella looked most at home, yes. But just as well, she was the most vulnerable.


    Quella muted the crowd with an inhale full of trained pleasantries. ¡°Great people of Maiora: I welcome you to the Rayvine.¡± Here, she smiled. But Illian, Illian was the alien and he hated it. ¡°I hope your travels went well. Even you, Sir Kalish.¡± A warm laughter filled the room.


    Illian glared at her perfections, her three frills lively whisking and whisking along with her people. He lurched, braced a beam underneath the balcony dining. Something about their water features stunk; more than stunk, actually. These bright waterways juxtaposed to stairs, these pools dotting the balconies above were actively attacking his senses. He had to step out of the balcony¡¯s shadow to the dining hall. In its miasma, the crowd sat unmoving. Illian did a quick scan of the room.


    Methane levels 35.09% air quantity


    Please refrain from drinking/submerging in


    Subject: MAIORA WATER


    Madame Quella went on: ¡°We have long since been waiting for our earthly brothers and sisters to join us again. Why, I can all but remember their people starstruck and ignorant of our culture, yet willing to learn and do whatever it takes. Too long have they suffered, and still continue to do so without hope.¡± She allowed a laugh, stepped away from the podium. ¡°Hope,¡± her bulb eyes then seeking out Illian.


    Here we go.


    ¡°Well, I believe that hope has finally found the Sol system.¡±


    Maiorians waved part for to Illian, Oh, no.


    ¡°Great people of Maiora: please join me in welcoming Earth¡¯s newest Messenger!¡± The claps were deafening. A spotlight caught Illian and reeled him to the stage. Above the Madame a sacred idol hung by fibrous chain cords. Cupias: the God of Love. Their bulbous features refracted the water, as did the waves underneath this¡ªthing¡¯s belly. It was then he wondered who these people worshipped more: their god ¡­


    ¡­ or Cupias?


    This thought spurred something of a rebuttal inside Illian¡¯s chest. A warm breath escaped his nostrils: a warmness he¡¯s felt only once before. Gaia?


    He was certain. She was reaching out to the boy, or from within. Gaia spoke in Her way, that everything was going to be okay which echoed, chorded through his tonsils.


    Illian sighed. He took one step up the dais: ¡°Thank you. I¡¯m glad you¡¯re here.¡±


    She agreed.


    Quella¡¯s claps softened, then ceased completely when her and the boy met face to face on even footing. She whispered, ¡°Thank you so much for coming, Illian.¡± She then allowed Illian to greet the crowd, but not before catching his ear outside his periphery. ¡°Don¡¯t think too hard, and don¡¯t worry about speaking Maiorian. Just say hello.¡± She took the boy¡¯s hand, parting with a shimmering teal necklace. ¡°The first of many¡±¡ªshe paused in reverence¡ª¡°Messenger.¡±If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Illian nodded, speaking away for only his ears to hear, ¡°Seduce me more, Madame. I know the game you¡¯re playing.¡± He took the ornate podium and cleared his throat.


    Ku-ray. Ku-ray.


    ¡°Ku-ra,¡± Illian recited perfectly, waving. He said hello so naturally that he surprised not only himself, but some of those in attendance. Shaintro was one of these few; Illian would¡¯ve felt more at home if him and Quella weren¡¯t conniving liars. ¡°My name is Illian Jones¡ªon Earth, of course. You can refer to me as Sol, as many of you already do.¡± He dared to look Shaintro right in his smug face. You¡¯re next.


    Next, he stepped away from the podium, in the line of fire. As if realizing this, he produced his slate device and shielded his chest, report displayed and now glowing off his face. ¡°Today, I¡¯ll be sharing my experience with the deity, Gaia.¡± He began reading.


    And so he did, skimming through everything Shaintro and him encountered, starting from his first steps back on Earth. The boy¡¯s delivery captivated, guided his audience through the cavern to meet Gaia Herself; their bulbs perked like ascending the platform, feeling the air race against their mass. And upon the chilling Sierras, many delegates truly believed they found hope just as Illian did. Illian parted his last words, turning again to Shaintro. ¡°We are not fighters, nor should we take part.¡± These words left a sting in the boy¡¯s throat. Pull it together, dammit. It only worsened with the water¡¯s immense stink lurching over his shoulder; now, a tear jolted, trying to escape his baby blues.


    Pull. It. Together. And so Illian did, in silence, with the crowd on bated breath. Still, his mind seethed. How could you, he wanted to say. How could you, my closest friend hide things from me? Though Illian didn¡¯t speak, Shaintro¡¯s face fell and he ducked away to other business. It¡¯s always other business with you ¡­


    ¡°Illian?¡± Madame Quella seized his attention. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡ªYeah,¡± as he looked back to his device. ¡°But with enough practice, you won¡¯t have to.¡± Illian turned to leave, shutting off his slate. His heart ached. As fast as it came, a warmth swelled and silently cooed that everything will be shone in time. Illian recognized this sensation as Gaia once again, but even now he wished he could believe Her. He then stepped away-


    ¡°Illian Jones will now take your questions,¡± said the Madame.


    ¡°I am?!¡±


    One regal delegate stood from their table. ¡°Sol, is it true that the Earth is incapable of saving itself without divine intervention?¡±


    Illian began, but ran dry of answers. ¡°Well ¡­¡±


    ¡°Are you the youngest Messenger on the station?¡± another said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Then another. ¡°Are you prepared to save the Earth even if it meant giving your life?¡±


    ¡°Yes! Hold on-¡°


    Then another less inclined to wait. ¡°Can you confirm or deny the rumors that The Powers are being unleashed to reclaim Earth?¡± Illian froze in time.


    The¡ªwhat?


    He glared at Quella. ¡°What are they talking about-¡°


    The Madame jumped up at once: ¡°That¡¯s enough, thank you all for coming.¡± Her smile lined with tensed tissue; she took Illian by the shoulder and ducked him away from the podium.


    ¡°But, Madame Quella. Let the boy speak!-¡°


    The delegate was cut short by Quella¡¯s wave. She yelled, ¡°Sais shuramafa!¡± which left delegate mouths agape throughout the entire sanctum. Illian could swear that eyes were about to start popping out their gelatinous skulls. One mention of The Powers chinked Quella¡¯s perfection; in a sense, he finally had her where he wanted. When they cleared the podium, Illian pressed again, ¡°Madame Quella, what are you hiding from me?¡±


    She decried, ¡°Hiding from you, Jones?¡± Her disgust bubbled and slushed near her lips. ¡°The nerve!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not buying it!¡± Illian shoved off her grip and repeated, ¡°What are you hiding?¡± Their stares cut air and just as easily cauterized the wound. She remained silent. ¡°Talk to me. Please!¡±


    But, she did not. ¡°Leave, Illian.¡± Illian caught her quavering voice, the very same he heard strike through his door. Unmistakable. She begged again, ¡°Leave. There is nothing to discuss.¡± It was too late. Illian could tell she was lying, and it surged through her like a poison. Behind her, Shaintro encroached. He turned to Illian, shook his head as silent as Quella.


    ¡°Madame,¡± said Shaintro. ¡°We must leave.¡± Illian felt the weight of their authority, their sworn to secrecy tug and tug in his gut when they made their escape.


    ¡°Fine,¡± the boy surrendered. Earth¡¯s Messenger then walked away, a teal necklace hanging from his grasp.

 Act 11

    ¡°Mafa is an anatomical term which can be used to refer to a species¡¯ rectal cavity. We may also use this as a-¡°


    Illian couldn¡¯t stand to listen to his lesson any further. ¡°She called me an asshole ¡­¡± he said under cover of darkness.


    Showtime.


    Illian clung to his sliding door, slowed it manually to avoid the whisking thrum shut. He hoisted his shirt collar to peek at his undershirt. Good. He didn¡¯t forget his slate. It was transmitting jammer software as countermeasure for this allusive midget; as long as the oval light remained orange, he wasn¡¯t compromised and could hear exactly what they had to say. What anyone had to say.


    There was a white fixture auspiciously knocked out of place near his dorm. When the hall cleared, Illian gave the loose plate a pull to fully unlatch its bolts. Behind the wall was a lattice frame not quite in line with the other; he¡¯d be sure to give maintenance his sorry later, but now. Now was time for war. He crawled through then lined the plate back into hold.


    These corridors housed conduit veins and clutter not quite cleansed from the tech palette. Old grease lines stained cords wrapped around rivets. Illian felt like a cell worming through to retard the Rayvine¡¯s disease, and he picked up pace accordingly. At this rate, the Rayvine would need hundreds of cells in order to cure the plague of politics. Something rounded the way; no footsteps but¡ªhe heard some kind of pulsing putt? Illian checked his slate for the anomaly and their orange tether. The putting matched the orange. Whatever it was, it was also the culprit. They stopped and turned off-course.


    Illian whispered like spatting, ¡°No-no-no!¡± as he rounded a hatch. The anomaly had never deviated before¡ªwhy now? The boy took a breath and checked his slate-


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be ¡­¡± A pearl glow: no more programs were running on standby. Compromised. In comatose, his slate was now as useful as a stone tablet, and at least those scribed miracles. Illain¡¯s steps galloped; his boots could strike matches. Suddenly, the boy heard how ¡®Garellion¡¯s glory held no equal!¡¯ turn to gurgling Kale.


    Wait. Kale. Small and stealthy, huh. They¡¯re close.


    That was when the outside chatter seemed to turn, began to ensnare and triangulate. Illian scouted through a small grate; no sign of feet¡ªbut that sound, the howl of a hovercraft. His faced up. Just as he thought; a small hovercraft. And it housed a three-eyed Kale geared head to toe in haptic gear. No doubt, it was the anomaly. Illian entered manual override for the grate, hushed his efforts to remain unseen.


    It parted away from its many LCD screens, suspicious when Illian threw an ill-advised arm and caught the fringe of its pod and yanked. ¡°Whatsit¡¯ the matter, Earth kid?!¡± it jeered.


    The nerve- ¡°Shut it down!¡±


    The Kale thrusted in protest, knocked Illian back and began to retreat. ¡°In the dreams!¡± it said curiously.


    Illian grunted and immediately gave chase. The Kale rounded a corner, riding the wall in a spiral. Illian jumped and attempted to rodeo their craft. Unfortunately, the circumference of these halls forced him to fuddle and trip up back to ground level. Yet, the boy kept on. Some stray Havyrn diplomats cluttered the upcoming corridor descending into a stair well, some wingspan splayed. He called, ¡°Clear out!¡± But their scowls defied the Messenger, so he pressed through in an ill-advised manner, too; their wings pushed aside like loaded springs. He edged at the elbow with a jump far too close a call down a walkway.


    Finally, he made it to an intersection overlooking the outermost tubule crossings of this massive station.


    Too little, too late.


    There was no sign of the little rat among his alien peers. He gritted a firm ¡°dammit¡± under strained breath. Unamused, Illian began sifting through the riffraff with eyes only for the cafeteria doming beyond the many deck windows.


    The Kale saboteur zeroed in to the cafeteria. Seeing this, he let off his boosters.


    Two stands remained open: Kurk¡¯s Space Tour and Kuiper Cuisine. In both, their chefs stayed ignorant near their grills, their particle tumblers, their detoklai. Zlav, after doing away with a spoiled Pavi cadaver could still catch the Kale¡¯s stench and it only got worse with each rendezvous. His ember stare openly charred, sizing his countertop on two massive hands.


    The Kale smiled his wry gums, daring to shoot a fang at Zlav, daring him to tell anybody. Zlav¡¯s molten core steamed and he cut away to his kitchen.


    The Kale culled his haptic gear into some sort of collector device which compartmentalized it into many particulate strands. His hovercraft pod opened from the back and he stepped his frail feet down to stretch its vertebrae.


    ¡°He followed you, didn¡¯t he?¡± Quella said, not wasting a step from the cafeteria¡¯s eye.


    ¡°Matter of time, sure. You said he¡¯d be sooner,¡± as the Kale fed code to a rigid gadget. ¡°Good to keep a pocket proxy.¡± In the same breath, his pod then sprouted some loose tassels which calcified into a quadrupedal set of hooves. ¡°Now, about our dealing? G3 expect great¡ªgreat! reward.¡±


    The Madame kept silent, looking to Shaintro emerging from Kurk¡¯s Space Tour. His features lined with worry, much as hers did, too. They shared a nod exchange, met each other halfway and embraced.


    ¡°Mu¡¯cishua¡± said Shaintro.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Illian was snooping behind Corova¡¯s Busk Palm above them. He mouthed Maioran along with Quella when she answered. ¡°I love you, too,¡± as if he couldn¡¯t believe it.


    Of all the lies, Shaintro had never been in love in any of them. And that somehow was the biggest blow these past few weeks. This flash of Shaintro he knew, he thought he knew had never known love. Maybe he hid such things to appear immortal. Or maybe he secretly hated Illian¡¯s guts. Time to find out which.


    The boy moved on, ducking behind bramble planters to flank. The only party more vigilant then he was the Kale, whose three eyes were instantly shielded by a triangular visor, pieced together like wishing upon a star. ¡°His here. Prox picked up human blip,¡± it said. ¡°Neutral scrambler bolts: on!¡± A cadence whirred from the pod walker; its legs bent as a prowling cheetah might in the company of gazelles.


    With command, Shaintro turned to their accomplice: ¡°Sol must not be harmed, you understand that.¡±


    ¡°Go now!¡ªhappy hunt to you.¡± Its forceless slap sent the walker pod to leap.


    ¡°What¡¯s that sound?¡± Illian peaked from the pot.


    The very wind erupted, then stilled as the walker pod stormed by. Breathless, Illian stood still. He clung to a grothwood sapling display: probably the best thing to come out of Chalice II in a long while.


    The Kale then spoke to an empty room: ¡°Illian Jones!¡±


    And he knows my name, great!


    Much as he wanted to, Illian didn¡¯t answer. No need. He noticed the perfect getaway: an escalator block awaiting a few yards away. A digital thrum then speared from his right and landed between him and his exit; that mechanical nightmare was back!


    ¡°I can call it off whenever you want to, Earth boy! You¡¯re far out of your lead.¡±


    ¡°For the love of¡±¡ªIllian broke his whisper¡ª"it¡¯s ¡®league!¡¯¡± The pod engaged, fired a barrage of bolts from quad flak cannons. Illian rolled; he broke for the escalator and hugged the middle divider on the way down. Finally, a second to breathe!


    Madame Quella said, ¡°Easy! You¡¯re going to hurt him!¡±


    The Kale spat a chuckle: ¡°Just some rogue, right? What¡¯re you going to do¡ªtsk, ¡°as another rotary blast fired down the escalator¡¯s path. ¡°I¡¯m telling, they¡¯re harmless!¡±


    ¡°How harmless?!¡±


    ¡°The ptumotoly gland¡¯s a strong waste container for electromagnetic currents. These bolts render his anatomical processes as of two weeks ago completely unremembered, but the body itself will be good as new!¡ªhaha.¡±


    ¡°And they have those, yes?¡±


    ¡°¡­


    ¡°¡­ Who doesn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Fuck!¡± Illian shouted like holding a tune. He tumbled over the nearest eatery counter and took cover. The walker smashed through the red benches, famished.


    Shaintro was done idling by. ¡°Jujori, shut it down, now!¡± he shouted.


    ¡°Why?-¡°


    ¡°You¡¯re going to smash that place to pieces getting to Sol! We don¡¯t want to cause an investigation.¡± Jujori, the Kale suddenly turned from Illian to appraise Shaintro.


    Jujori¡¯s face soured: ¡°You¡¯re lying!¡±


    And Shaintro made good on that lie, then reaching to de-crown Jujori¡¯s visor. The Kale deflected, both arms fending Shaintro¡¯s effort.


    A hail of gunfire scorched across the dome struts. It barely missed the boy which was bow-tied for him at point-blank range. ¡°Care for Earth boy, bet! You have a responsibility, you¡ªtraitor!¡±


    Shaintro gripped tighter. He said, ¡°My mission was to procure a-¡°


    Jujori chomped on Shaintro¡¯s wrist, mushing any logic to anguished shouts. He broke free.


    Just as Illain approached the crazed walker, it realigned. Illian¡ªout of options¡ªsplayed his arms out, took a deep breath in utmost faith and closed his eyes. ¡°Gaia, guide me.¡± And so she did.


    Jujori paused, harmonized with his pod¡¯s actions. ¡°What? Is he¡ªgiving up?¡±


    Illian recalled Her kiss. All sound parted for Gaia¡¯s tune. He took one step forward, then another upon Her pastures. ¡°Nah, this was a whole thing. Shooting now!¡± The neutralizers heated for one more go.


    But when he went to fire, the Kale¡¯s visor was swiped from him, initiating another struggle. Still, the boy continued to walk in grace, far from this reality. He could sense warmth smooth over his eyelids. It was Earth¡¯s sun. He opened his eyes.


    The wild dragonflies sang together, passed Illian to say hello. Trees had submitted to the amber of fall, but the grass was less sure, less passive than the cottonwoods which swayed near this creek bed. The air, misty and cooled from a dusky sky, blew against his blooming hairline as a wave through plains. In that briskness, he missed the simple pleasures of life, the life which he had.


    Oh, how he missed it.


    Then a creature stumbled onto Illian¡¯s path. Looked to be a lost panther cub. Illian bent down and slowly cradled it with gentle hands.


    And thus, the pod was now at Illian¡¯s control.


    There was trepidation among the eateries. Guns were drawn to their bead while a breathless, orchestrated Illian now piloting a gods¡¯ vengeance. His stare glazed over, far removed from this place. The seat of the pod barely fit him, but comfort was a willing sacrifice much as the trees made to fall. Shaintro and Quella looked to one another, then turned to Sol.


    ¡°Absolutely vivid,¡± Quella muttered, every telling muscle of her body flaring up. Her voice then arose in a familiar toil: ¡°Illian!¡±


    ¡°Illian!¡± Shaintro pushed aside Jujori trying to reactivate the pod. ¡°We¡¯ve lied to you, and we¡¯re sorry!¡± The guns heated. Quella stepped forward, then Shaintro, then Quella again.


    Quella overtook her lover, gripping onto his coat for protection. ¡°We will tell you everything, just please¡±¡ªshe felt the heat emit, only a few seconds left¡ª¡°O Gaia, hear us plead to your vessel!¡± Her voice imbued with absolution. ¡°He is right to challenge, he is right to doubt, but is of no right to kill!¡ªfor I have seen him condemned. Do as you will, but take this: you will be Your own doom!¡±


    She shut her bulbs, prayed to Cupias to bargain. Then the guns ceased.


    Quella nodded with what Illian assumed to be a tear trickling from her eye. Finally, he returned.


    ¡°We only had what was best for you in mind, Illian-¡°


    Illian waved Quella aside, stooped down on a bench while collecting himself. ¡°From the top, Madame. What the hell were you trying to do?¡±


    She sighed. ¡°There¡¯s been a declaration internally ¡­ The rest of the council has not seen what we¡¯ve seen in you.¡±


    ¡°So, fire me.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that easy, Illian. They¡¯ve vowed no confidence not just on you, but humans.¡±


    ¡°So, fire me-¡°


    ¡°They¡¯ve called upon The Powers to destroy you!¡± adamant in not being mocked again. She fumed, ¡°It¡¯s¡ªfine to be angry. But you were their first target.


    ¡°We decided that you would be better off focusing on prospect while you fulfilled your bond with Gaia.¡± She motioned towards Jujori, ¡°And the Kale Incursion was going to¡ªfend off the first wave until we felt you were ready. The Madame couldn¡¯t help but smile when she nudged Illian¡¯s shoulder to face her. ¡°But as you¡¯ve exemplified here, we were wrong to deny you the truth. Illian¡ªyou! are ready to defend Earth!¡± Illian turned away.


    Madame Quella slowly deflated, letting go of her grasp to give the boy space. He found an escape, fixating on shadowed floors. Something in their stains called out from the Court¡¯s idols. He always likened shadows to something as defiant as himself. He sensed the click-clacks and slop-stomps of many feet on their way for breakfast, so he stood up.


    He couldn¡¯t find the right words. Best not to say anything at all-


    ¡°By the way,¡± Quella chimed in. ¡°We¡¯ve acquired a shuttle back to Boros, in case you needed it, Sol.¡± Illian¡¯s face chilled. He swung around, expecting a lashing. ¡°Your old job is willing to take you back, too.¡± She dared smile an investigative smile. ¡°I guess secrets are a universal thing.¡±


    Yeah


    I guess so.

 We Could Be Heroes: Age 21

    A teal HUD grazed the overwrought greenery of Los Angeles¡ªat least, the West half. Orbital Bombardment had divided the city into two sectors. East half dwarfed the West¡ªevident to the naked eye¡ªlike staring up to Olympus. East was still naturally landlocked, while West was doomed to sink into the ocean someday. Surely, lions were hiding in a place like this somewhere; with all this rain and mist, that was more a question of when they would emerge from the many subterraneous asphalt caves. The pod hound scanned the area, jutting a gridline mockup in their dossier. The pod concluded this was, indeed Paradiso de la Guerilla.


    This pod hound huffed, trekked their mechanical legs to a prowl ahead of their master when it found a suitable match within data files: a dive bar spared the worst damage and cursed with little to no competition.


    Their HUD read simply, POTENTIAL CHAMPIONS.


    The pod hound sat at Illian¡¯s command. Curious, he surveyed from this mulched ridgeline while the pod swiveled its turret head to secure a perimeter. Judging by its own understanding, this place was brimming with Champion candidates: not too sour an arrest record, applicable strength and must also be sanctionable by the now five council seats of the Rayvine. Three just wasn¡¯t proving efficient, so it was brought up for vote last cycle to fold two more delegates into their system. Illian would joke that: ¡°Somebody¡¯s bound to say ¡®no¡¯ to Madame Quella, eventually.¡±


    Illian appeared close in frame, from the left in a shawl draped over his Messenger coat. The pod could tell Illian still required assistance to grasp its Kale interface. So, it obliged, self-actuating his recording function.


    ¡°December 5<sup>th</sup>, 3185,¡± confirmed Illian. ¡°Today marks casting call for a suitable Champion candidate. This person is said to hold unfathomable potential. They also have a direct line to Gaia¡¯s pool of power and¡ªhey,¡± diluting his protocol, causing the hound to run diagnostics¡ªquestioning beeps. ¡°I mean, how many people are flinging vines around, really?¡± Illian smiled. ¡°With luck, this will be my one and only investigation log. Earth¡¯s counting on us.¡±A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Illian entered the nameless bar first, the pod tailing him for the best framing to scan patrons, dismounting his guns to cull into their digital holsters. The crowd was swarming the counter front which tapered to either side in a half bowl, so Illian curved near the restrooms until he found an opening. His pod garnered the eye of the owner immediately. Though it recognized the match, this homo sapien appeared scrubbed clean from their background check. As far as the pod was aware, it were looking at a ghost. The man now went to meet Illian halfway. ¡°Is that thing armed?¡± the man asked, pointing at the pod.


    Illian perked, dotted the age lines on the owners face, to the lip. It was hard to catch his pigment in the bar¡¯s gloomy glow, but he was definitely human. Yet, something gleamed from his left eye, something definitely inhuman. The man continued, ¡°Seen those in action before. That¡¯s Kale tech.¡± Their age lines derailed, mushed unnaturally as though he were wearing a prosthetic eye. It appeared as though something had seared his face with plasma rounds-


    The pod concluded, just as Illian did. The boy¡¯s face yelled, Crap, he¡¯s a veteran. Of what conflict or army, none of which were certain.


    ¡°A soldier, huh.¡± Illian extended his hand, ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure.¡± It most certainly was for one of them. The pod hound self-aligned its algorithm to run quad-turret contingent.


    When the man reached to shake, he was sure to flash the pod his no-frills bowie knife underneath his black apron. He tickled his full moustache. ¡°Titan. And you are?¡±


    ¡°Illian Jones.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember hirin¡¯ a detective,¡± his prosthetic eye now alit with a neon orange. The pod was sure to run a silent scan, only to notice his systems were being watched as well. That sort of handshake with the reaper mutual systems partake in when running countermeasures on one another. But, Titan was no cyborg. He faced back to Illian.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t have to.¡± Illian turned to his pod and nodded. Slowly, it disengaged walker mode and reverted back to hovering. ¡°We¡¯re looking for somebody.¡±


    ¡°Bounty hunters?¡±


    Illian observed the man¡¯s gaze fall to his collar commendations: thin, shimmering blue and green laces. Titan smirked. ¡°Not exactly,¡± said Illian.


    The owner shrugged. ¡°Whatever¡¯s got you sniffin¡¯ around here, I only hope they remember why.¡± He stepped away and muttered ¡°Praise Gaia¡± like checking off a box.


    The boy couldn¡¯t help but puff his chest; he parted his scraggily mop of hair and turned to poach the crowd. Of course, he didn¡¯t wave around his golden credential magically to part through to the counter. Flaunting status meant bruises out here. Illian¡¯s hunt for the Champion had begun.

 Act 12

    Every answer, every test¡ªutter rubbish! If the contender¡¯s answers to Illian¡¯s questions weren¡¯t dribble, they certainly weren¡¯t true. ¡°Yeah, I seen it flare up, or whatever.¡± The man accidently spilled beer on his vest, soaking his mustache.


    ¡°Gaia¡¯s vessel came to you¡ªjust you?¡±


    This man cocked his head back to finish a tall glass of auburn brew. ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°And not a congregation of, say four or five or-¡°


    ¡°Yep.¡± He belched, sprouted a relieved smile.


    ¡°We¡¯re done here.¡±


    And forget the sad batch that got far enough for demonstrating purposes. Chucking vomit was, in fact, not harnessing Gaia. His fourth tall pint of Red Trolley burned the least going down.


    Running Breathalyzer:


    0.089%


    WARNING! Inebriation detected in Messenger:


    ILLIAN


    ¡°Go fuck yourself.¡± He massaged his temples. Much to his surprise, Titan came to retrieve his glasses personally. ¡°How¡¯s the hunt going?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Well. I started at around 6:38.¡±


    ¡°Sweet Mary, kid. Four hours?¡± Titan seemed more interested in the bar''s digital display past the counter; it was fourth down with seven minutes to go on an IFL game.


    Illian groaned, trying to beat his pilsner before he puked. I¡¯ll show you four hours. Wait, no-


    Titan clocked his view to encompass the entirety of the bar¡¯s dwindling patrons. "Hey," he said. ¡°You like billiards?¡±


    The boy bubbled his lips pouty. ¡°I¡¯d like to find my guy.¡± Titan¡¯s hand nestled Illian by the shoulder; they went to a nook lively with clapping cues and sour sneers. Milky smoke had trailed past which ensnared Illian¡¯s lungs and burned something chronic. When he bent down to cough, a man had scratched his shot to race off the felt and wheeled around Illian¡¯s boots. Could¡¯ve been the death of him if he hadn¡¯t stopped.


    No lions here, but plenty of snakes. Glad to know East sect L.A. and that Rayvine had that in common; he was practically home.


    Titan undid the lock on an oak-trim pool table. Just as he started to rack the balls, a display¡ªflecked with dead pixels¡ªstarted to broadcast across their overhead lamp fixture. A roaring crowd, casters giving commentary on some sour years for East L.A., and two IFL teams gunning for gold. There was a brief shot of the stadium. It was an edifice atop what Illian knew to be an oroplain disk: more an anchor for less stable chunks of the Earth. Builds of these plates varied, but the IFL went full ivory¡ªin color, too. The boy brightened at the sight.


    That was when a chalky blue tip poked the boy¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Done dreamin¡¯?¡± said Titan. ¡°You break.¡±


    ¡°I heard that East Sector¡¯s commerce retreat¡¯s got the most eccentric loons.¡± Titan banked a good shot of the 13 ball. Clean pocket. ¡°Couldn¡¯t hurt to check there.¡±


    Yet, all Illian could find were deep pockets. Nothing spiritual in the slightest. One younger lady did ask to speak to Gaia, but there was no way in hell Illian was going to indulge this chick¡¯s ¡°first to interview god on stream!¡± fantasy.


    He shot blind, and sunk the 8-ball by accident. Titan won that night.


    Illian didn¡¯t bother with a rematch and went back to his stakeout at a nearby garrison town they call Yunque. Its iron curtains, its secluded hillside gave Illian safety. But ultimately, these walls won¡¯t hold against The Powers. For their form, Illian remained unsure. But the rumor mill warns of gold. Terrible, terrible gold. He didn¡¯t sleep much that night.


    Illian came back for another round the next night.


    ¡°You know,¡± as Titan rolled a chalk cube against the tip of his cue, ¡°it might be in your interest to look a little lower on the chain. Who¡¯s to say this guy¡¯s not running with smugglers? West Sector¡¯s lousy with options.¡±


    The next night, Illian had to opt out of pool due to a severe stab wound dug through his hand. Titan laughed it up: ¡°Drink¡¯s on the house¡ªif you can hold it!¡± The whole place buzzed with West Sector hospitality.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± a patron assured Illian, mouthful of vomit. ¡°You¡¯ll get the girl and save the world.¡± And despite everything, Illian believed it.


    That night in Yunque, he tended to his growing correspondence list. The Dallas Coalition sent a query, being the most apt so far to set a defense for The Powers. However, Illian spared his typing hand when he realized he had nothing to report yet. Nothing?A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Has it really been a year?


    The following week, Titan and Illian kept their games rolling. Titan slurred, ¡°You know-¡± before Illian shut him up with a cold look.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± Illian retracted his shot, ready to pounce.


    ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to shoot that close after scratching.¡±


    So close, yet so far.


    Illian met the sweetest guy visiting from Bosnia. He recognized who Illian was from the coat alone. They discussed at great length his studies in Gaia. He couldn¡¯t quite pinpoint why, but Illian felt¡ªwithout a shadow of a doubt¡ªthat this dude might be it. He was sure to get his information for later: Chace, age 27, queued for transfer to the Rayvine Institute of Learning out of community college.


    When Chace inevitably fell through, the boy decided to take Bosnia¡¯s brightest out for some well-deserved enlightenment.


    The next night, Illian won his first game against Titan. He smirked with a row of Frosxs at the ready. ¡°Next one¡¯s on me,¡± he said.


    Titan declined: ¡°It¡¯s about closing time.¡± He regressed to his backroom office duties to finish the case he¡¯d forgotten to drink last week. Both Illian and Titan partook.


    ¡°So, how much can you tell me?¡± Titan poked, a few drinks in.


    ¡°About what?¡±


    Titan chuckled, braved his next swig: ¡°The upholstery.¡±


    Illian obliged, ¡°Well, these booths smell awful.¡±


    ¡°Dammit¡ªI mean the search!¡ªJeez.¡± Illian cracked up. He scooted atop Titan¡¯s shanty desk.


    ¡°Alright¡ªalright.¡± He paused, belched. ¡°I had a big break yesterday.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Then it fell through.¡± Illian said nothing. ¡°Ah, really?! I¡ªcan¡¯t even believe that, brother. ¡°Look at me, Illian.¡± He downed his last allotted bottle. ¡°You¡¯ve come around with this pod here, lookin¡¯ like some fucking bounty hunters. Maybe you should be cooling the mood down some.¡±


    Illian hunched over and twirled his bottle: ¡°I think you¡¯re right ¡­¡±


    ¡°Tell me the deal with the last one.¡±


    Illian had to think about it: I fucked him senseless.


    ¡°Uhh, he had Gaia¡¯s beauty-¡°


    Titan laughed: ¡°No wonder you blew it. What did he fail at?¡±


    Foreplay.


    ¡°It¡¯s complicated.¡±


    ¡°Illian¡ªand be honest here!¡± He made eye contact as best he could. ¡°What did you do wrong?¡±


    He finally yelled, ¡°I fucked him senseless!¡± Titan was taken aback. He tipped his bottle for more drink, but it only cried one tear. Illian¡¯s eyes began to swell with several more.


    Titan was quick to rebound. ¡°One rule we have here is keepin¡¯ business and romance separate. Time-tested parable: mixin¡¯ can only lead to trouble.¡±


    Illian swallowed, kept face with an agreeing nod: ¡°You¡¯re right. Shit¡¯s too important.¡± Silence claimed the room. Illian sniffled. ¡°Do we have any more to drink?¡±


    Titan said, ¡°Plenty,¡± leaving his chair with too much effort.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Just as he did, there was a massive explosion stemming from the barback. Thousands of dollars worth of shattered glass rung out to a drunken Titan as the most expensive thing he¡¯s heard in a while. Illian sprang from his stupor, caught himself on his pod and went to investigate.


    Robotics regressed, hot to the tip.


    Illian and Titan witnessed a white interface reveal from an oily, artificial shadow. This thing lacked any care for collateral, skulking further to smash even more exotic booze. Beyond a shelve maze and chicken wire, their obtuse, wire-shambled silhouette glowed with gold: bipedal, deadly. This was a combat unit out for blood, no doubt.


    ¡°What the hell?¡± said Titan.


    It stared back.


    Twitching, it broke at the two like a feral animal; Titan¡¯s first instinct was to brace. He caught the droid to subdue as he would be used to catching drunkards. The droid then shanked white crystals out of a spindling aperture from its palm. They stabbed through Titan¡¯s hands, got a rise out of him. The droid then bucked so hard that Titan went flying and destroyed his receiving door¡ªand all the glasses left behind from the night.


    Illian reached out, panicked. Those crystals then came for the Messenger. The boy ducked aside the now bent shelf braces. He managed to scurry through an opening at his feet.


    That pissed it off.


    It tore through anything and everything. Illian could hear the droid tailing just a shot away¡ªand gaining! Glass shattering, bars bending. He felt the need to scream, but his words died. Don¡¯t you fucking dare, Jones! Keep going!


    His tunnel cut off near the back door. The droid¡¯s heavy irons stomped in the way, denying the slightest breath. It had no reason to talk; a shrilled algorithm, though made an effort. Safe to say, Illian didn¡¯t speak droid, so he scurried back in. Illian saw his next move: the receiving door. Toothed metal scraped his side when he hoisted up, but he got through intact.


    But the droid wasn¡¯t one to be fooled. He crashed further through the opening to chase. Illian¡¯s pod then rushed to his aid. It prowled in walker form with full firepower. Quad-barreled chain guns then unloaded on the droid.


    The boy took cover, in awe. ¡°The Powers.¡± Gold plate now fluxed and shimmered against the bar¡¯s muted lights. He was certain, The Powers were here.


    The gold droid¡ªshaven by gunfire¡ªducked under the counter, cornered. As the pod kept hailing ammo, Illian could sense through the noise very peculiar shifts. That was when the droid emerged, firing off a new weapon attached to the integrity of its left arm. And a new set of eyes to boot amongst its chaotic white algorithm. There was a telling puncture, single-fire from the weapon. The pod crashed to the ground.


    What was once static now rendered Dyre slits. They turned to Illian, at once. Didn¡¯t even give a second look at the pod before hurdling over to finish what it started. Suddenly, a projectile then speared through, cracked some more gold. The droid then fired near the pool tables and punctured Titan¡¯s chest. He lost his grip of the felt and slumped over.


    The droid poised invigorated, said ¡°Now then¡± in perfect definition. It marched with a more dignified step than before, as though its very cognition had been overwritten bartering for that gun. The fire came again, and Illian was forced to scramble. He made his way through to Titan¡¯s body, begging, pleading Gaia for his soul and spare ammo.


    Finally, he got to Titan. He reeked of iron. Might be the blood.


    Illian turned to brace the fire, but caught a glimpse of Titan¡¯s primitive hand cannon. Evident by the smoking hole in the droid¡¯s chest, it would do for now. There was an attempt to grab it. Wood chips flew, slapped Illian with a dusty shroud. He ducked back down. That was when its systems reloaded.


    Ten shots¡ªten shots.


    The boy hastily snatched the gun on a prayer and shot off. Missing tremendously, he barely braced the kickback. He had to soothe his aching wrists. The droid kept up, gnashing the table to several chunks. Illian checked his rotary clip; eight slugs. Full clip. He clapped the clip back in.


    Illian knew he had to act fast. Curiously, it stopped at shot number 5, began lurking forward. The boy took a dive between the table¡¯s walkway partition; the sudden movement sprang the droid back into action. One bang after bang after bang¡ªIllian could barely concentrate! As if spurred by fate, he emerged just as the droid began its reloading cycle.


    Bang after bang, Illian grazed the chest. He let loose with a feral trigger. The last one clipped the head. Its mechanized cannon then appeared to regress back into the chassis, right before all systems seized completely. Illian kept still until a droning whir died and let silence reign.


    He immediately darted to Titan and hovered over him. ¡°Please ¡­¡±


    Subject: TITAN


    No vitals detected


    This war now had a casualty.

 Act 13

    Two years had passed since Illian sent flowers to Titan¡¯s family. With his passing, he left behind two grieving widows¡ªone current, one on good terms¡ªand a handful of kids who were then nonethewiser to his passing.


    Illian was starting to receive reports by the day, sighting more of those droids popping up in more centralized districts. Just two months ago, he found out that women and children are on the kill list firsthand when he attended a rallying event in Dallas. Seeing this only drove Illian to dive further into his search for a Champion. Somebody with the power of Gaia, Herself; with the strength to send these Powers packing in one deadly swoop! Needless to say, that prospect has acquired a bitter aftertaste.


    Case and point: the clown in the passenger seat of his fighter.


    ¡°So¡ªyou like Aerosmith?¡± he asked Illian.


    ¡°Whatever you like,¡± Illian said like swatting at a fly. He took a tired breath, ¡°January 14<sup>th</sup> ¡­¡± He stammered on the console. ¡°What year is it?¡±


    This long-haired candidate shrugged and took over tune duty.


    Illian spun around; he then fumbled hands through a junk pile next to his piloting chair. He produced his slate, now caked in grime and swipe skin flaking. ¡°3187!¡± without even bothering a second take. ¡°Now starting test¡ªwho cares of subject: Aero.


    ¡°Though he¡¯s proven to be adept in the spiritual-¡±


    He glowered at Aero, now mouthing along to the music, ¡°And I don¡¯t wanna miss a thi-ing!¡±


    Illian continued, ¡°His affinity for ancient Earth history has me somewhat worried he will not be ready to use Her powers at a whim.¡± Illian faced up when they broke Neptune¡¯s atmosphere. The misty blue storms conflagrated in violent reds. ¡°So, once Aero has proven that he is Her vessel, then we can all go home happy.¡± Illian lost all animation, unamused.


    So many wasted escape pods. So many expensive evacs. Shaintro had been so kind as to lend soldiers to run routine sweeps of their pricier assets in the Sol galaxy. Illian would tag along and demonstrate his Champion¡¯s ability. Nothing yet. But, there¡¯s a miracle waiting here ¡­ somewhere. The possibility alone elicited a cautious smile. Then Aero began to air guitar, and Illian let it go.


    ¡°Here¡¯s to candidate nineteen.¡± He dismounted his chair.


    The slick Volt fighter clipped, dipping into the ravenous plume. Beyond, Illian scouted a relay sticking from a geodesic shell. Solid confirmation. He prepped the ship for docking, dropping the hammer on altitude arrangement to engage landing procedure.


    He mounted a clear, octagonal-faced dome on his head, latched a tubule to a oxidizing apparatus harnessed to his back. From the neck seal, a transparent confirming wave webbed his body and prepared him for nearly any climate in the Sol system.


    Aero did the same. ¡°Ready,¡± he said.


    When Illian tried to answer, his body seized with mortal worry. Gaia¡¯s shuddering presence crept through his suit as a sour chord might invade an ear.


    She warned¡ªthrough fingers, through his toes¡ªgreat danger haunts these skies.


    Quickly, Illian manned his controls again. Then he saw¡ªit: a strange gunmetal frigate thunder and rumble above the tarmac. He finally uttered the answer he owed Aero, ¡°You better be.¡±


    No welcoming party was stupid enough to stick around the docking overhang; the archaic steel frigate now shadowed the atmosphere above the station on a monumental scale.


    Illian investigated how strangely its bulkhead canopies had been slagged off, how the decks lacked any glow¡ªeven the bridge protruding from the nose. Further inspection only spurred more questions; a stringed mucous ensnared their openings and swung in the wind. And as though fated, Illian heard gunfire. That was when he knew something had gone terribly wrong.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Illian and Aero rushed along a curving catwalk, heads down. While Aero was aimless, Illian did his best to not oust that he was just as lost. Finally, they met a Maiorian guard who immediately signaled at once to cross over: ¡°Move it, candidates!¡±


    They outran stray shots; lucky for the boy and his carry-on, these Maiorians were under orders to die for them. One dismounted their helmet, threw it as to breathe one last breath if he was to die. Not a problem on Neptune; Maiorians thrived on its methane cocktail of an atmosphere. Illian¡¯s escort fell on the soldier¡¯s display. He joined them, spared from a muggy dome full of perspirations. Their escort hugged his pylon fixture against all odds.


    Illian ducked out, flabbergasted at these crimson red soldiers. ¡°Any ID?!¡± Illian shouted.


    ¡°No one has been able to properly identify our enemy!¡± The soldier loaded his angular rifle, clacking a suspended joint to then smack its ammo into complacency. He sighed, exhausted, ¡°They¡¯ve clustered aft-board port and have most certainly taken hostages.¡±


    Illian paused. ¡°Hostages?!¡±


    ¡°Yes! Hostages!¡± When he had to reload again, the soldier pulled hard a lever-action function which appeared to twist and shave his active rounds into something more akin to spears. He brought the lever back down, braced. ¡°Stay in cover!¡± The soldier then unleashed his wrath, slam after slam pinging, claiming many crimson bodies who couldn¡¯t stand the weather. Illian gawked at the black spray escaping their wounds, their listless visors. ¡°Is this part of the test?!¡±


    The Maiorian soldier had to process the boy¡¯s words. He finally shouted back, ¡°No!-¡°


    A stray boom crashed, expelled them from cover. The Maiorian continued, ¡°Kairamafa!¡± (Eat ass!)


    Illian coughed, tangled in soot. ¡°What?!¡± He patted his chest for his translator, but it had been blasted off! Illian scrambled to stabilize the soldier. He hoisted as best he could, latching under their shoulders. As well as he could grip the glossy, angular pads, that is.


    ¡°tri-Bulakumanos.¡± (I need you to focus, male.) with a sonorous wave of the tongue. ¡°Bula a¡¯stato.¡± (We need to go there.) Aero perked his brow, mouthed ¡°whoa¡± with the slightest whisper.


    What a time to forget his translator. Whatever the hell Illian was on about, it appeared to work; the soldier got to his feet, motioned to keep on, even took point.


    They followed his back. To avoid thinking of how a bullet tastes, Illian instead focused on the Maiorian¡¯s armor. It was plated¡ªin navy blue¡ªwith hexagonal bonding layers and a jet black trim line. There was a fluid shift in its fabric when he ran. Too ornate for Naides infantry. This guy, they¡¯ve got to be special.


    The storm¡¯s roar then demanded Illian¡¯s attention. Were a god so jealous, She¡¯d rupture the continent!-


    Oh, wait. Bad example.


    They slipped through a hanger gate chugging to a slamming close¡ªnow under definite lockdown. The soldier slung his rifle left, then down a corridor bending right. He crept forward silently, scanning each shield door partition; his stance has seen too many careless rookies wasted which only made Illian more curious.


    Illian turned to Aero and could almost feel sorry for him. Almost. Aero gave a shrug with that what-are-ya-gonna-do smarm. That was when the soldier paused to raise his gloved hand.


    He said ¡°All clear,¡± then appraised Illian¡¯s glittering rainbow neckline. ¡°Those chains. Going to get you killed faster.¡±


    Illian glanced down. ¡°I think you¡¯re right.¡±


    ¡°Name?¡± The soldier scouted the base of a scaffold stairway leading to several catwalks above. The room cramped beyond into what appeared to be an easement full of winding coolant conduits.


    ¡°Sol.¡± A cool mist now danced in their air like sifting cobwebs. Methane residue. He swatted through, feeling the dangerous cool sweep over his arm.


    ¡°And the other?¡± while sweeping the overhead catwalks.


    ¡°Uhm ¡­¡± Illian stuttered, wiping his visor of building moisture. ¡°This is Aero.¡±


    Aero waved.


    The soldier waved back, satisfied for now. ¡°Pleasure, Sol and Aero.¡± He lowered his gun and turned to face Aero directly. ¡°You are¡ªthe one to stop The Powers?¡± He shot curious bulb eyes to the Champion hopeful, but regressed when no answer was given. Illian sprung up, slapped a spare translator¡¯s sticky bottom onto Aero¡¯s red jacket. ¡°Is something wrong?¡±


    Aero had an epiphany: ¡°Could you repeat all that¡ªsorry?¡±


    ¡°He asked if you were the Champion,¡± said Illian begrudgingly.


    ¡°Oh yeah! Totally me, dude.¡±


    ¡°Fusacilsca¡± (I¡¯m sorry.)


    The soldier inspected Aero, down to the slightest finger. ¡°Shura? Vici?¡± ( You are? Why?)


    Illian halted; he sighed without the right Maiorian diction and nabbed his translator back. ¡°You do something so long and it never works out the way you hope. Maybe he¡¯s it, who knows. I¡¯m not holding my breath.¡±


    Aero loaded his hands into his jean pockets. His face pouted like he could give a shit on command. The soldier was taken aback and inspected Aero again: ¡°I have fought The Powers before. Barely survived.¡±


    ¡°On Maiora?¡ªof all places?¡±


    The soldier shook his head no. ¡°The Protectorate is a hand in all wars. Cupias¡¯ will fell upon Quan-Vek many cycles ago.¡±


    Illian wanted to say Serves those gargoyles right, but refrained: ¡°What happened to the Hayvrn?¡±


    ¡°Much like yourselves, they were deemed unfit to protect Her.¡± Illian¡¯s expression glazed, losing the plot. ¡°Their god, Feng,¡± he said lecturing. ¡°Fact of the matter is this ¡­¡± He leaned down to the boy¡¯s level, ¡°I know the Champion to wear many different skins. And you be sure not to forget that.¡±

 Act 14

    The Maiorian soldier lined against a bay opening with his two carry-on delegates. There was live fire aplenty on the other side. Steadily, he grazed against the hull door in search of their latch interface. When he found it, the fire died. Metal scratching clashed beyond steel in a wicked chanting.


    The soldier refused to believe these¡ªiron thrashes beyond the hull door. Refused to relive their terrible golden wrath. Until their kind breached through his stare to Illian. Shaking his head to loosen the image, the soldier hugged his cover tighter. He swelled red in distress. ¡°Not here, by Cupias,¡± hidden under his breath. ¡°Not here.¡±


    His hand grazed the latch, but his motions only wondered if he¡¯d be better off shooting it keep those golden monsters out.


    ¡°Are you shot¡±¡ªIllian then heard it, too¡ª¡°No ¡­¡±


    Dallas all over again. Titan all over again. The Helkites are here.


    He grabbed onto his candidate with a haunted tug. ¡°Aero, we need to go!¡± Illian shouted. But Aero wouldn¡¯t budge. ¡°Aero! What-¡°


    Aero decreed, ¡°Open the door.¡±


    Time nocked. Illian was now caught in its pull. He wanted to beg for Aero to repeat such stupidity. He¡¯d been a laugh, but this. This is gone on long enough!


    With a snap, Illian let loose.


    ¡°Absolutely not!¡± He expelled what felt like his entire lungs. He inhaled deeply, ¡°You¡¯re coming with me and¡ª


    we¡¯re calling for evac! Do you have any idea what¡¯s waiting outside? Do you?!¡±


    Aero had the audacity to smile.


    Illian was now forcibly yanking the Champion hopeful¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡±


    Aero caught Illian¡¯s arm in protest. ¡°Open. The door.¡± He unraveled his fist limber. For the briefest strain in time, they confided with the same spirit¡ªIllian was sure of it! ¡°Please.¡±


    Illian nodded, catching Aero¡¯s infectious smile, madness spilling over his body like kerosene trails and Aero was the match. Illian gave the go-ahead; even from here, he could smell the soldier¡¯s doubt when they worked the console.


    With a crank, the doors began to peak open. Magnificent, how lighting crashes emitted the place. She always produced the perfect lighting. Aero got to work, seemed to undress some purple shrubbery lining the road up through the courtyard. Among them, many Helkite drones and a palette of many red and white soldiers behind waiting for a show.


    Aero got a glimpse of Hayvrn wings, some Raktar¡ªby Gaia, it was the whole cast and crew of the Rayvine. Aero craned back, promising Illian from his amber look he would give them a show of a lifetime. The boy didn¡¯t acknowledge; he was taken aback by their ranks. Nothing matched records of any army, especially one comprised of all the Prime races.


    Why here?


    The Helkites marched forward, transforming, trading their white mesh interface for what appeared to be Raktar slits. Their bodies began snapping, bulking each rotation with more gold plating. An unfamiliar spindle then erected from the head droid¡¯s hand: a cannon. Then cannons from the others. They emitted a heat so strong, their caustic shells gassed from the dot-lattice tip. Illian prayed silently that Aero knew what he was doing.


    He took another look, and couldn¡¯t quite shake Aero. Something was different in the way his lids now flashed an emerald shine.


    Then Aero took a breath. What felt like the entire station started to quake and began teetering against Neptune¡¯s gravitational eye. Roots overgrew their soil, now ate through the metals, the several rebar carbonate bones. A vine presence then clawed up near Aero¡¯s feet. He jumped aboard their will, wheeling around and commanding they spear upward like to catch a wave. He smirked.


    With deft laziness, he passed by these remaining vines and deemed they weave into tangled spires; he was prepared to the point where he certainly wouldn¡¯t miss a thing. They now emerged and followed his command.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Aero speared his first payload. It barraged like a gargantuan worm through the Helkites. With each motion, their grime flurried, sprayed the center with dirt and splinters. The spires forced the storm to comply with their wind; Illian caught a gust and was nearly blown over as he braced.


    ¡°Holy shit!¡± Illian blurted. He didn¡¯t even want to fathom what a Champion could be if Aero wasn¡¯t it.


    Aero made way, surfing on Her vines. Threading the needle, he freed his spires one by one with a firm spank, shouting ¡°Hyah!¡± as many great warriors do.


    A fiery plasma bolt then singed the Champion¡¯s ride in retaliation. Aero tripped up noticeably. Talk about lighting a fire under their ass; the Helkites mobilized on the double! Each sparked alive boosters at their feet and took ravenously to the skies. More bolts triangulated, made Aero take evasive maneuvers. Though deft, he caught too much fire. He and his payloads dropped like lead darts¡ªhead first.


    Illian and the soldier jumped in. The boy shouted, ¡°No!¡± like his career depended on it. That was when Aero smashed through the hull with one of his payloads. He was completely surrounded by Helkites in what was left of a planter bed.


    The Maiorian soldier shot suppressive fire, keeping short bursts and a stable pace. He knew where to hit the Helkites the hardest. All the floor¡¯s glimmer and gold, or else they¡¯ll get back up again. At his first confirmed kill, the Crimson soldiers mounted the line. A homogenized, shrill cry jolted through their visors.


    Earth¡¯s finest produced Titan¡¯s hand cannon, grabbed cover behind some slagged metal and unloaded all eight rounds; bam, bam¡ªhe took out a Hayvrn which he refused made him feel oh, so vindicated. He got good at reloading, even if he was a shit shot. Then another Hayvrn felt his wrath. Then maybe a Raktar, if it got in the way. Without prejudice, of course.


    Aero tumbled in the planter¡¯s soil. The more he dodged their shanks and jabs, the more mulch stuck to his body. Before he knew it, Aero was more mulch than man. The head of the Helkites connected a jab which crusted through Aero¡¯s body¡ªor what was once a body at all. He was now the soil.


    Confused, the droids laid waste to the planter with several cannons. Some got careless and got their heads imploded by a Maiorian soldier¡¯s immaculate aim. In fact, an entire platoon had landed just in time for their cut of the action. Illian swerved, escaping a Raktar with a blast to its exposed membrane. Then a commanding direction made sure to finish it off: an order from Shaintro, himself.


    The boy turned to him, astonished: ¡°Took you long enough!¡±


    Shaintro rushed to Illian personally, directing his Protectorate troops to seize the area.


    ¡°Where is your candidate, Sol?¡± Catching his breath, Sol slung his arm around to showcase Aero¡¯s handiwork. ¡°He¡¯s busy!¡±


    Shaintro nodded, almost affected. Even he had to admit: ¡°That will do fine.¡±


    The swarm of Helkites contracted a fear for soil, now backing away from the planters into defensive positions. Aero flexed his muscles steaming to meet the remaining Helkites. He threw a punch, bonding him taut to a droid. Aero was one to share, so he granted it his mulched form. By pulling away, he revoked its privilege. The Helkite crumpled with no understanding, no intended protocol for his crumpling decommission. Hey, why stop there!¡ªPlenty to go around! So he did the same to the remaining bots as he climbed back to ground level.


    After some dozen shiny mounds, Aero dismissed his form and whistled for a ride out. The mulch had dried noticeably in desperate need of water, solution¡ªwhatever it needed. He brushed the soil off. ¡°I¡¯unno,¡± he said, catching a vine wave.


    The gang got back together, fighting what remained of the Crimsons side by side. Hand cannon slugs clocked one more, and their charge shifted with an abrupt retreat.


    Some ghastly shuttles swooped in, landed at once to spare the few who were able to walk on their own. One Hayvrn shot eyes, horrible, empty eyes at Illian when they retreated. Illian pondered if they were so lucky to have souls.


    The Protectorate secured this geodome in no time at all. Aero was taking a well-deserved rest; Illian and Shaintro passed by just as he began to doze off against a shrub. It bristled back to its former beauty¡ªif a bit corroded and off kilter. ¡°What a mess, Sol,¡± Shaintro said.


    ¡°Yeah¡ªbut-¡°


    Shaintro overrode Illian, ¡°You found your Champion at a very opportune time.¡± The two wandered among wounded Protectorate and others who weren¡¯t so lucky. That goes double for their enemies, at least. ¡°Without you, this could have been much worse than anticipated.¡±


    Illian took up investigating what appeared to be that white mucous again. He took a handful and wondered if the shuttles bled white, just as the frigate did, too. ¡°Shaintro. What are these things?¡±


    ¡°Things?¡± He joined the investigation, but instead veered his interest to their uniform black blood. ¡°Do you suppose these are artificial creations?¡±


    ¡°No idea, but I intend to dig some more. Can I borrow the Protectorate for a while longer?¡±


    Shaintro did something like a smirk. Something. He said, ¡°Your Champion¡¯s not enough reinforcement?¡±


    Illian shrugged, ¡°Well, this can¡¯t wait, and ¡­ I¡¯m not jumping to conclusions-¡°


    ¡°Sol.¡± He was sure to directly point at Aero. ¡°He is your Champion.¡±


    Illian pushed up on one knee. All¡¯s glitter and gold in wake of the Helkite. Most of all near Aero¡¯s place of rest. He felt compelled to join him around the his handiwork.


    The Champion lifted a drowsy eyelid to Illian who sat crisscross an arm away. ¡°So,¡± said Illian, catching his breath, ¡°you¡¯re it.¡±


    ¡°Count on it,¡± said Aero, barely awake.


    Illian then pried, insistent as ever. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me you could do¡ªall this?¡± Aero cocked a look and shrugged.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t ask.¡±