Fiction

The Naked Truth - Part 2

in ,

“Sometimes I wonder why your generation built Bricktown in the first place. I mean, what was the sales pitch to have a whole sector of this huge city made into low-quality, mass residences? Was it an afterthought? Was there any long-term plan to deal with the population boom that your parents started and your generation made even worse? Don’t tell me it was just a temporary solution until the border could be expanded, because the Drake has never kept that empty promise.”

I take a breath to get back on topic, “I’ve slept on the streets and in lock-up. I’ve been sentenced to “community service” sweatshops making new toys or meds that I’d never be able to afford. At least that system worked as advertised. I learned lots of important skills, and not just the tools. I learned how to network, smuggle, make fake IDs, run a con, all kinds of useful things. So now, when someone on the street is looking for something, they ask around and they find me. I’m pretty affordable these days. I’m not all about the Scales either, I can work in favors, information, barter, that kind of thing.”

Sylvia’s head snaps up as if she’d been nodding off. She brings the gun back in line, and shakes it at me, “Who is it? Who sent you? Is one of the board members trying to kill me before I take his position?”

Artwork by Leon Tukker.

“Nobody sent me,” I reply calmly. “This job is for me, and every other kid that had to go through what I did. The ones that were ignored and starved until they formed gangs. Gangs that pooled resources to survive, mainly by stealing from others. Every person they killed in order to get what they needed to survive left blood on your hands. Your paper-pushing helped build Bricktown. You ended up owning a lot of real estate at the end of it. Made yourself a landlady of several blocks, a regular slumlady. Then you started adjusting the numbers, ignoring the effect on people’s lives.

“I recently met some folks who were put in the line of fire because of you. They found evidence of your rent manipulation. They discovered proof of you paying gangs to lean on certain blocks even harder, to encourage complaining tenants to move out. Sometimes feet first. We’ve tracked some of the survivors to other blocks, or found them crammed in with their relatives. We lost track of several people when they went to Undertown.”

Sylvia’s eyes are huge, as she realizes what I’m saying. She doesn’t deny it, but her reaction confesses everything. She looks exhausted, and can’t stand up anymore. She slumps into one of her expensive, comfortable chairs, the gun slips out of her numb hands. Regret? More likely that DerMed patch I slipped onto her back finally kicked in. I can’t pronounce the name of the drug, but it doesn’t mix well with alcohol. She’ll be dead soon, and a tox report won’t show a thing.

I walk over to the chair, bending over so our faces are inches apart. I can hear her breathing starting to wheeze. “We’re not letting you get away with this. So, to answer your original question, I’m looking for your Reclamations, Inc. post-mortem contract. Sorry, you’d call it a “will and testament.” We can’t have your blood money passed along to someone of your choice. We’ll make sure it gets somewhere it’s needed more, like the halfway homes hosting the people you forced onto the streets.”

I reach around behind her, carefully removing the DerMed patch. I’m going to have a lot of cleaning up to do, but I was prepared for that too. Then I find her hidden hard drive, use her biometrics to unlock it, then some creative accounting.

First things first, get my pants back on.

The Naked Truth - Part 1

in ,

Artwork by Felipe Hahas.

As the last tumbler of the safe falls into place, the lights of the expensive apartment turn on. Behind me, I hear the soft hum of a coilgun spinning up. I freeze in place while my eyes adjust.

“What do you think you’re doing?!? Get away from there!” Her voice is surprisingly calm, but the anger is there. Betrayal does that.

The view is right out of one of those daytime dramas that Essential Enterprises is always broadcasting. All that’s missing is a musical sting and a sudden zoom-in to her face. Ms. Sylvia Hayes, the VP of Brick Lane Realty, a subsidiary of Materials Management Corporation, is standing in the doorway to her bedroom where we’d just spent the past few hours together. The flashing lights from the buildings across the street splash her with red and blue lights. Her silver hair’s a mess, her icy blue skin shines.

In one hand she’s holding the bedsheet wrapped around her body, more from sudden modesty than a need for warmth. 

Her other hand is pointing a slim, shiny pistol at me with a slight tremble.

I leave my tools in the lock and move away from the hidden safe, turning slowly toward her. I start to step forward with a smile on my face, “Sylvia, I know this looks bad, but…”

Sylvia pulls the trigger and there’s a quiet compression of air before my shoulder is shoved back against the wall by her shot. I look down at my bare chest and the bruise is already beginning to form. Baton rounds, of course. She’s too proper to have illegal ammo. Still, I’m pretty sure that pistol was a gift, and this is the first time it’s been fired.

“I don’t want to hear about what it looks like, Cody! Is that even your real name?”

“Yes…”

“Shut up!” She’s getting louder now. I barely hear the quick recharge of the gun. “I can’t believe I trusted you! Slept with you! Now I find you trying to steal from me!” She inhales with a shudder, refusing to cry. “I knew it. No one who looks like you would ever actually be interested in me. It’s only about what I have.”

I stay against the wall, letting her process and fill the air with words instead of more rounds. She does have a point. She’s almost 30 years older than me. Our meeting at Sunset Towers was not a mistake. I planned the whole thing after my hacker, Harper, cracked her itinerary. The wait staff got me around security. My suit and fake ID got me through the party and into her line of sight. After that, the seduction was easy. I made it a little more challenging by letting her think it was her idea. Best way to get back to her place.

The hovercar ride here was the tricky part even though it was short. I had to keep her interested but not ask deep questions. She needed to stay excited about what we were going to do when we arrived, not jump me during the ride.

My mind races through my contingencies, but my physical options are limited. Even if I could make it to the door without taking another shot in the back, this isn’t a district where someone gets to run around naked without someone calling security. Worse, their response time in the Gold Ring is fast. Materials Management Corporation security may not be the best trained, but they had the best gear and vehicles. They’d run me down in no time. They might not bother with non-lethal ammo either. At least a streaker isn’t worth calling the Dragoons about.

I turn the tables on her. “Okay, so what do you want?”

She stops short, as if she’s never heard the question before, “I… I want the truth. I want to know who you are, and why you did this to me.”

“That’s funny, that’s what I’m here for too.” She looks confused, but I don’t give her a chance to speak. “You were born when the city was still being built,” it’s a statement, not a question. I did my research. “As part of the Renovation Generation, you never really had to look for work, there was something for everyone to do. You were making a new city from the ground up while learning how the new world worked with magic in the mix. In your case, you even got altered by the Tempest at the genetic level, permanently changing your body. Sure, you worked hard, but you also had a path that led you to this,” I gesture around at the elegant, expensive room. “After the corporate war settled down, you found yourself in the real estate branch of MMC.”

Then I gesture down at myself, “Not all of us were so lucky. Magic skipped over me entirely. No genetic changes, no gifts for casting. I’ve never held a job important enough to get any bionics, cyberware, or other augmentations. I’m just me, and I was born in the depths of Bricktown. My birth parents put me into the system, and I got traded around as a tax dodge for a while. I tried to avoid gang violence, stay independent. Along the way, I started earning money however I could...” I trail off to let Sylvia’s imagination fill in the gaps. Her eyes stay hard, but I notice her jaw shift uncomfortably. Her face is now a paler shade of blue.

The Vilithic Eclipse - Part 3

in ,

Photograph courtesy of NASA.

With a smile on his face, Karrass recited the litany of the Eclipse.

“Dim the lights,
Hush your voice,
Hide your heart.
The Eclipse is here,
The Gods are
Looking at you.”

Eben’s eyes grew wide, reflecting more light than Karass would have thought possible.

“Now you see Eben, the Eclipse happens once a year. Each year in a different star system. As it has happened each year since the beginning of recorded Church history. Every year the Gods remind us of their attention by bathing a system in their darkness. They remind us not to revel in killing, destruction, or lies. Lest we earn their attention and one day we spend eternity in torment for our vile actions. I am a priest, I dedicate my life to teaching my flock how to avoid gaining the Gods' attention. The Professor is an astronomer. She studies the cosmos and how the planets move in relation to the stars. The star system of Fexin is scheduled to have the Eclipse this year. Everyone in the galaxy is planning to stay home, be quiet, and pray that the darkness brought by the Eclipse does not bring the Gods attention to their lives. People stay at home, refrain from talking, and even fast. Fasting is a practice where people refrain from eating, to reflect upon how excess is a vice that the Gods disapprove of.” Eben’s jaw opened in surprise at the thought of people refraining from eating. “But, this year things are different. Can you tell me why things are different? I think you understand more than you’ve let on.”

“Without a planet, there can’t be an eclipse of any kind. You and the professor have both explained that. These gods of yours can’t create their darkness without their Eclipse. Without darkness, there is light. This is why I need to get to Fexin. You understand? The professor says she does, but I don’t think that she understands what I mean. We have a ship, she chartered one for us, with passage booked for three. Because I knew you’d be coming with us.” Eben’s voice, while still the voice of a child, was as serious as any theological debater that Karrass had ever spoken with. There was no arguing with this boy, it was clear to Karrass that this boy would end up in Fexin no matter what happened. He had the resolve of the most ardent Paladin he’d ever met. Nevertheless, Karrass knew he must resist him.

“No, we can’t do that. The gate that leads to Fexin is controlled by the Nagulli navy. Their blockade of the gate is to protect civilian ships from entering the hazardous Fexin system. It’s not safe there, if hundreds of ships are trying to get through there is even less chance of any ships getting through. My cousin Kurl is in command of a battleship there. The navy plans to honor the legion and take their mission even more seriously; a fleet of civilian ships would be destroyed if they even tried to run the blockade. The glory for defeating an invading fleet would alone be a reason to open fire. It’s not possible, it would be suicide. Unauthorized ships have been destroyed for less at the blockade.” Mortigana rested her talons on the stacks of books on the desk, leaning forward to bring her long gray snout closer to the priest's face. Eben leaned in next to her, his smiling felinoid face in stark contrast to her glower.

“One ship could father. One ship could make it past the blockade. One ship, if it had the proper credentials to get past the blockade. In six weeks, there is to be a predicted solar event in the system, one that the Vilithic Church itself has heavily invested scripture in. One ship, to witness the event, with a priest on board known for studying the destruction of Fexin, with a noted astronomer along to study and document the event for the galaxy.” Mortigana surprised herself at her resolve, she’d not spoken with this much passion since she defended her doctoral thesis. Karrass returned her lean in kind, closing the gap between their faces.

“I’ll be excommunicated, cast out, disgraced before the Nagulli Great Arbitrator. My writings burned as those of a heretic. My name struck from the Nagulli competition. If I was lucky, I’d be killed by the navy as we failed to break the blockade.” Eben’s tail swished back and forth, knocking a stack of papers to the book-covered floor.

“But you’ll show your flock hope and the light without darkness. What better way to teach them to avoid the attention of the gods than to show them the light of hope?” Eben’s voice sent a ripple of electric current through the room. Karrass felt the hair on his arms stand on end for a moment. Mortigana felt her cold blood warm from its passing.

“A ship you say?” Karrass laughed as he ruffled the fur on the boy's head. “I don’t have a regular congregation these days. It’s been years since I’ve hosted ceremonies of any kind. Flock isn’t limited to those that attend ceremonies, it’s those that come to the church seeking guidance, assistance, or help. You, my young friend, are now of my flock. Who am I to leave you in the darkness? Professor, you mentioned a ship. I think it’s time that you and I worked on those credentials together.”

Father Karrass locked his office door behind him, followed Mortigana and Eben up the stairs. The three of them making plans to stop for a quick bite of lunch on the way to the starport, idle chit-chat. The sort of thing that fleshies do. PS43 began to sort through data feeds, the Cathedral network, the Hypernews Network, and after a dozen or so robust feeds it found the one it wanted, piggybacked a signal, and hid it inside another feed.

“University Agent reporting update. Priest has joined professor and urchin. Travel to Fexin is inevitable. Be advised, fleshies inbound. Next update in 24 galactic standard hours.”

THE END.
Happy Holidays and new year.

The Vilithic Eclipse - Part 2

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“You’re not here as a joke at all, are you? You believe every word you just said. Pranksters don't take the time to research A Treatise on Starcanists as Related to the Destruction of Fexin deeply enough to find it's been censured by the Church Hierarchy. Would you mind shutting the door behind you?” Karasse paused for a moment, reached under the front edge of his tiny cluttered desk, and pushed a hidden button with a clicking sound. A soft light pulsed from his desk with a momentary buzzing sound. “There, now we can speak away from prying ears. If you please produce your university credentials. While I do not believe you’re trolling me, I’d like to ensure that you’re a legitimate professor, at the least.”

“Yes, of course, my credentials. Eben, be a dear and close the door for us, thank you.” Eben raised an eyebrow and the door moved by itself closing without being touched. Reaching into her satchel Motigana produced an etched metal disc with a holographic projection lens. Tracing a portion of the etching with her talon, a holographic version of her face appeared. Symbols of the University orbiting the facsimile of her face, with a scrolling numeric code, and Associate Professor of Astronomy, Ph.D. “There, you know who I am and that it’s official. May we please discuss the destruction of Fexin and the potential disaster approaching during the annual Vilithic Eclipse?

Artwork by Martin Koernmesser

She continued before he could respond, “As you said, we have six weeks, which may not be enough time to plot out all the contingencies. The system is already in chaos with the moon of Fexin spiraling into their sun, projections show six weeks before it is destroyed. The date of that cannot be a coincidence, yet my colleagues refuse to listen to me on that matter. Of course, this could very well begin a new gravitational shift in the region. We’re still studying the effects of the detonation of the Singularity Bomb, we don’t have enough data to understand the full extent of the damage that the loss of a planetary body has done to the system. Dozens of survey ships have been lost over the years trying to collect salvage or attempting to map the debris field. Chunks of cities are spiraling out of control in the sector, as what remains of the planet Fexin breaks up. The University doesn’t have an accurate accounting of the sheer volume of military hardware floating unclaimed in the region. Two military fleets were decimated in the explosion as well. The singularity and the destruction of Fexin was an unprecedented event, and now the galaxy is facing a crisis of faith that could be the start of something far worse than the destruction of a major inhabited world.”

“Contingencies? Gravitational shifts? Concerns? Oh, I have concerns, namely the remaining Allef Paladins that are gathering other Paladins to stand vigil in orbit of the remains of Fexin. Rumor has it that several Allef colony ships are planning a pilgrimage of sorts as well. There are also theories of a New Golden Age for the Church beginning from the ruins of the destruction. Rumors are flying around the Bishops, which of course they deny, that the Gods themselves are expected to manifest during the Eclipse. Plus, I’ve been told that yet another group is traveling there as well, as they expect Fexin to become a new “Proving Ground,” of sorts, for the righteous and powerful to claim for themselves. Just what we need: soldier of fortune types sticking their snouts into an uncharted debris field loaded with damaged military hardware. By the way, Princeps R’Venno of the Nagul is well aware of what hardware has been removed by Admiral Thrak’s fleet from that system over a decade ago. On top of all of that, a professor from SOU brings her babysitting assignment into my office to discuss matters of cosmic theology under the pretense of astronomical research!” Father Karrass’s voice lowered in pitch and volume, as his pronounced lower jaw tusks made his words even more coarse. Mortigana showed very little reaction, as she waited for him to finish. Eben hearing himself mentioned in such harsh tones narrowed his fuzzy brow, causing the lighting in the room to momentarily dim before glowing brightly, then returning to normal lighting levels.

“She’s not my babysitter, no one but me takes care of me. She didn’t bring me here, I brought her here.” Eben’s voice was youthful but carried the weight of too many years of rough living, and of being on the run.

Karrasse looked about the room as the light levels changed, calmed himself a bit before he continued, “I’ve been censured by the Church for even discussing these matters, and as you can see, demoted down to this steam junction room as an excuse for an office. I’ve been warned not to discuss these matters anymore, as apparently I’m sowing discord and worrying the flock. To make matters worse, that boy is clearly a Starcanist, and you’ve brought him to my office. You brought a Starcanist in my office on church property without notifying me in advance?” Disdain bordering on revulsion filled his voice.

“So Father, what you’re saying is that you’re just as ignorant about the future of the Fexin system as the entire SOU astronomy department is? That you have no information beyond what you’ve been able to glean from local sources, rumor, conjecture, and outright paranoia? Because that puts us on nearly equal footing, aside from Eben here. In the thousands of years of recorded astronomical data and events, there has never been a destroyed planetary body at the center of The Eclipse. We have a mathematical model that shows the proximity of the solar gravitational pull ripping the remains apart, based on the current trajectory of the moon heading into the local solar body.” Eben shifted a stack of papers from the desk onto a stack of books and hopped up to sit on the desk.

“There are also reports being passed along to a colleague of mine from the Interstellar Jumpgate Administration. If requests for ship travel continue at the current trend, they expect a backlog of travel through the gates leading to that system. Another event almost unprecedented in documented centuries of Gate travel. Are your superiors pressuring you to leave out that ships full of hope are heading to Fexin, rather than those seeking fortune and fame? Without the planet of Fexin, there can not be an Eclipse. Without a planetary body to block out the sun and create Their darkness, there can only be light. The hopefuls of the galaxy are heading to Fexin to celebrate Their absence. To create a celebration of hope and promise.” Mortigana firmly thumped her knuckles against the same old book that Father Karrass had earlier. Father Karrass averted his eyes from hers, Mortigana knew that she’d found the piece of the puzzle that he was leaving out. That the Church itself feared this coming change in the cosmos.

“We have Eben here, who you have correctly surmised is a Starcanist. He tells me that he is being called to the Fexin system. The closer he gets to the system the more at peace he feels. He sought me out at the university without even knowing who I was. I’d like to point out that he also is fairly ignorant of the traditions of the Eclipse. Nonetheless, he knew your name and he knows you can help him. Currently, the call leads him through this office. Even if Eben does not understand the call, he’s going to follow it. I believe we need to help him, for the sake of the galaxy.”

“I see that you’ve done your research, I expected nothing less when I saw your credentials. I had hoped you were the academic type that simply cataloged data, not the kind that put facts together to piece out the mysteries. After all, that’s what this is, isn’t it? A mystery. A galactic wide mystery centered on how the Gods interact with our lives.” Pausing for a moment, Karass sat back down in his chair and turned to Eben, his gruff voice taking an almost tender tone. “You’re a bright young man. A survivor, I bet. Let me guess, you were born on a colony ship, orphaned shortly afterwards, and had to fend for yourself. But you’re special, aren’t you? You’ve got abilities that other kids don’t have. You can sense things, move things, and I bet when you’re angry you can even light things on fire.” 

As an answer, blue sparks moved between Eben’s fingertips. “No fire, yet, but I can make electronics short out easily enough. If I concentrate really hard, I can make a circuit panel explode sending sparks clear across the compartment. But what I’m really good at is knowing where I need to be and when I need to be there. The Professor here helped me figure that out, after I showed up in her office. She’s also teaching me how to read better and stuff. I’ve always been able to read cargo reports, signs on the ship, and stuff. But her datapad is too much for me. Too many words, big ones too. She brought me to you, so you can tell me about this Eclipse thing. Maybe even tell me about these Gods you mentioned. We didn’t talk about those on the colony ship.” Eben shifted back and forth on his hips, his eyes wandering around the tiny room. Mortigana smiled at Eben, a gesture of approval to the boy. Father Karrass saw the approval of the boy from her face, and found himself noticing simply how charismatic the boy was.

CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE

The Vilithic Eclipse - Part 1

in ,

Artwork by Pablo Scapinachis.

“Father Karrase, it’s good to finally meet you. Your reputation as an astronomer has earned you notice at Sauris and Ornithis University. Thank you for meeting with me and Eben today.” Professor Mortigana extended her manicured, taloned hand to greet him. As a three-foot-tall orange furred Aleph boy, wearing threadbare oversized clothes peeked out from around behind her.

The priest didn’t pause his reading or even look up from a worn, thick, leather-bound book, the pages yellowed with time. “I only take confessions during the hours posted on my schedule. Check there, my child, and I shall meet with you during the official hours. Good day.” The aged Nagulli priest stayed seated at his excessively cluttered desk, his day-to-day vestments showing more wear and tear than one would expect of his station and position. 

His response took her by surprise, she had scheduled an appointment with him. Did he not realize what time it was? Or was he simply rude? His office was more like a small closet, books stacked on the floor nearly reached the ceiling. Some stacks encroached on the legs of his chair, making Mortigana wonder how he was able to get up without disturbing the archaic volumes. Astrological charts haphazardly stuck to the walls at all angles, appearing to be moments away from falling to the floor. The smell of stale coffee filled the tiny space. Mortigana began to wonder if the condition of the office, the lack of open floor space beyond what she and Eben stood in, and a clear lack of an assistant, indicated his position in the church. Either way, Mortigana felt wearing high heels to this meeting had been a poor fashion choice this morning. The amount of walking she’d done to find a disheveled Nagulli priest in dire need of a haircut, in a makeshift basement office, with pipes running across the walls and ceiling, was not what she expected. Mortigana’s nostrils flared, as a high-pitched electronic beep sounded behind her.

A small, spherical hover-bot floated into view from behind the Professor, “Father Karrase, I did check your posted hours. I made this appointment two weeks ago. I have made no error in protocol. The programming of a Personal Scheduler Artificial Intelligence Bot, or PS, is 100% accurate for scheduling, or my owner is liable for a refund .” The electronic voice of the Artie is overly loud and shrill in the small office, a stylistic feature many owners chose to modify when they purchased the scheduling aid. Mortigana preferred the default voice to make others uncomfortable with it. Its momentary purpose completed, PS43 hovered back behind Mortigana, unobtrusive and out of sight again.
“I apologize if I’m late, but PS43 is correct. It did make an appointment for me, also the map of the Cathedral didn’t show your office here on sub-basement two, it indicated the third floor, in the back. It took some time, and quite a bit of asking around before we were directed here to your office. Which, I might add, PS43 discovered was listed on the map as “Steam Pipe Junction #27.” Now, since I have an appointment, may we discuss the upcoming Eclipse in what remains of the Fexin system?”

Her taloned hand still extended, awaiting a handshake. Karrase paused in his reading, raised his head to see who was addressing him. She was tall for a Nidinos, a dark gray complexion, dressed professionally, yet not expensively. Her tail curved around her taloned toes, with polish to match her foreclaws. Running his hand through his receding hairline, he placed a bookmark on the page and closed the book. Its title wasn’t a language that Mortigana could read, but the markings of the Church clearly indicated that it was some sort of scripture. Karrase, exhaled a sigh, stood up, upsetting a small stack of books near his seat, and took her hand, completing the gesture of respect.

“Who sent you? Who put you up to this? Was it Bishop Ruhbane? Or was it that oaf, Franis-Bruce, in security? The two of them do enjoy their little jokes.” Releasing her grip, Karasse produced a cloth from his worn vestments, removed his anachronistic reading glasses, and began to polish them. “There are more than six weeks until the Eclipse. I didn’t expect another trolling from them so soon. It was only last week when those reporters from the Hyper-link News Network ambushed me outside of my favorite breakfast place up the street from here.”

“Yes, the interview, that’s how you came to our attention. My previous requests to discuss the Eclipse were rebuffed by the Church, but I must speak with someone about it. I knew you were the man to talk to about such things. I’ve looked into your published research on the movement of planetary bodies, and how it relates to the Vilithic Church. I found mention of a piece you’d written about the destruction of Fexin, and how it may affect the upcoming cycle of the Galactic Eclipse. However, the paper was discredited in every place you published it. Very little evidence of it even exists. I have theories, and I need to discuss them with you. May I have a seat?” Mortigana pretended to gaze about the tiny office, shifted her feet, and locked eyes with the Priest. “Not that there is room in here for a second chair for me to use.” Eben giggled a little bit too loud, as children sometimes do when adults say mean things to other adults.

Karasse blinked away a moment of surprise and returned his glasses to the bridge of his nose. He rapped his knuckles on the volume he’d been reading. Karasse took a moment to compose himself, his demeanor betraying neither shock nor relief, Mortigana could not discern which.

“You’re not here as a joke at all, are you?”

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Medical Magic - Part 3

in ,

Click here to start at the beginning

“Does that mean you can help my dad?” Luis asked with hope in his voice. He looked up at Skylar with big, pleading eyes.

Skylar blinked as the question snapped her back to the present, her training faltering for just a second, “I could… but your mom has to give me permission first.”

“That’s right!” Mrs. Mendez glared down at the two of them. “It’s my call, and I’m not consenting to you using your unreliable magic on Michael. He may have lied about his job, but it was a spellslinger that brought down the bridge. Magic brought nothing but pain to this world.”

Skylar straightened up, all business again, “Mrs. Mendez, there are many people who feel that way. However, in this situation, it would save you a lot of money to allow me to restore Michael. In addition to the reduced material cost, the recovery time is much faster, which means less time paying for inpatient care.”

Mrs. Mendez crossed her arms, “No. Magic. I’d rather he be left untreated and manage things myself than allow him to be altered by you.”

Skylar let out a slow breath through her nose. It crystallized in the air, giving her a draconic aspect. “You’ve made your decision then?”

Mrs. Mendez faltered, glancing back to her palmtop, “Not just yet. I’m waiting for the bank to transfer some funds. I think we can afford at least some bionics or grafts. The Network is lagging with all the emergency services. Or maybe Michael didn’t tell me about paying our service bill. Is there somewhere I can find a Netdrop to plug into?”

Skylar pointed over to a crowded kiosk in the corner of the waiting room. It was clearly marked ‘Network Access’ with the Geoponics Biotechnology corporate logo right above the price list. Mrs. Mendez stormed over, looking like she was ready to toss people out of her way.

Luis watched her go, but stayed there with Skylar. “She lost her parents last year when the Tempest got real bad. They worked in Mudslide, near the land. I don’t wanna lose my dad, and I don’t care if it takes magic to do it.”

Skylar bent down again to look Luis straight in the eyes. “I understand. But even that would take a lot of money. I can’t just do it because I want to. I would get fired, and they’d never let me help anyone else. Anywhere. Ever again. If I did, they could throw me in jail for practicing without a license.”

The boy looked over at his mother, arguing with someone at the kiosk. He looked down in thought. “You said the walls were keeping out the noise. The potential?” he asked.

“Uncontrolled potential, that’s right. The walls reduce it a lot,” Skylar replied.

He looked up, looking her in the eyes for the first time, “How do we know it’s not reducing ours too?”

Skylar’s mouth opened, then closed. As she stood up, her AR informed her that the interaction limit had expired. She looked over her shoulder to the front desk, and the cameras watching her. The face of her old manager flashed before her eyes again, reminding her of the last time she felt this powerless. She may have sacrificed everything to escape him, but she made sure he couldn’t do it to anyone else.

Skylar stormed out of the waiting room and headed back to the ER, pulling her medical mask back on as she went. After slamming the doors open, she brought her masque to her face, magically attaching to her aura. Unconsciously, Skylar began to hunch as she walked with determination through the hospital. The rest of the staff stopped and stared at the bear-faced woman stalk through the crowd. Even the armored Samaritans gave her the right of way.

Artwork by Digital Storm.

When she arrived at Michael Mendez’s room she latched the door behind her. As she approached the bed, she looked up into another camera with the Geoponics Biotechnology logo staring back at her. She took out her palmtop computer and displayed it for the camera. For the second time in her young life, Skylar ruined her career.

“I quit!”

Skylar threw the computer at the camera, breaking shattering the computer. She turned to Michael and laid her hands upon his bandaged head, and her hands began to glow a warm, yellow light.

“Once upon a time…”

Medical Magic - Part 2

in ,

Click here for part 1

Skylar’s AR display reminded her that their time allowance was slipping away. Mrs. Mendez needed to make a decision soon, but she was busy researching options on her own palmtop computer. She was obviously still angry. She was muttering under her breath and jabbing the screen with her stony fingers. She was close to breaking the tiny computer.

Skylar glanced nervously at the receptionist desk, framed with mini-cameras keeping track of their engagement. 

Skylar felt a tug on her hand, and turned around. She found the little boy, Luis, petting the synthetic fur of her magical masque in Skylar’s hand. It looked like the face of a brown bear from the forehead to cheekbones, including a protruding black nose. Skylar bent down and offered it to him, “Have you not seen one of these before?”

Luis kept looking at the bear masque, “Yeah, but yours is fuzzy. It reminds me of my stuffy, Buttons. He’s a bear too. The other masques I’ve seen had shapes, colors, or pictures on them.”

Skylar gave a weak smile. “I have some of those too,” she said. “I wear this one when I work because of kids like you.”

“It lets you do magic, right?”

Skylar nodded.

“How?”

Skylar rocked back a little at the rudimentary question that she now had to break down into something he could understand.

Skylar blew out a cloud of frost before starting to explain. “There are lots of theories about that, and the experts are still trying to figure out the whole thing. But I’ll tell you my favorite way to look at it, okay?” Luis nodded immediately, his eyes still shining from the tears from a minute ago.

“Imagine you’re in a huge room, filled with people. They’re all talking at once, so it’s really noisy, right? That’s the wild magic outside the walls, constant uncontrolled potential. Anything could happen, such as the river suddenly catching on fire. The walls reduce the volume of the noise, but everyone is still talking.” Skylar used her slender blue hands to make little mouths chatter at each other.

“Now, Shards, they use crystals to tune out the noise and amplify a particular sound. When that sound becomes loud and clear, it causes the effect the Shard wants. They have to be very fast and precise to pull this off. Lots of folks can learn to do this, which is why most of the magical things you find in stores were made by them. On the other hand, Whispers don’t try to be louder than anyone else, they blend in with the noise, listening to certain voices. Their magic only affects them, but that makes them less of a risk to everyone else.”

Luis looked down at the mention of the dangers of practicing magic in the city. He looked like he was about to cry again.

Artwork by Saquizeta.

Skylar changed the topic, “Masques, like me, we tell stories. These stories make the other voices stop talking and listen, and that focus makes the magic happen. These stories don’t have to be old, but they have old truths in them. These iconic truths are easiest to understand as characters in a story that share certain aspects. I follow the Path of the Guardian, so I tell stories about protecting people, making people feel better when they’re hurt, and keeping their homes safe. Wearing the masque makes us a symbol of characters and themes, which goes beyond language and into something deeper. Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” Luis said. He touched his collar with one little hand. A thin chain was tucked underneath his shirt, some kind of religious symbol just out of sight. People often confused the two, Skylar thought, they didn’t realize religions are a popular subset of the stories that could be used. It’s the elements of the story that give it iconic power. The actions done, the results achieved, the lessons learned. A story about a saint healing the sick works just as well as a wise woman or kind doctor doing the same.

“Does that mean you can help my dad?” he said with hope in his voice.

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Medical Magic - Part 1

in ,

Artwork by Tithi Luadthong.

“Code Blue! Code Blue! Clear the way!” 

Skylar watched another victim of the highway collapse head into the emergency wing. The Samaritan EMS had been bringing them in for the past hour since the hospital closest to the scene hit capacity. She flattened herself against the wall to make way for the trauma team with heavy rifles and body armor pushing a stretcher. Before she worked here, she only saw the Samaritans in action on the street: weapons out, securing the scene, and getting the patient into their armored hovercraft ambulance.

The person on the stretcher wasn’t her responsibility right now. Skylar’s patient was already in the ER, barely alive thanks to her magical treatment. Now she had to deal with the worst part of her job. As she entered the waiting room, she heard a chime from her company issued palmtop computer. The AR display in her contact lenses showed a timer tracking her interaction time in the waiting room. If she stayed too long, it would get reported to the corporation as unpaid socialization time.

On the other side of the pastel waiting room, Skylar saw the person her computer displayed as the next of kin for her patient. As Skylar approached, she removed her magical focus, a brown fur masque from the top of her face. Then she lowered a surgical mask, revealing her blue face, sharp cheekbones, and aquamarine eyes. Combined with her short white hair, Skylar was a striking example of the ice-touched Glacier species.

“Mrs. Mendez, we need to talk.”

Mrs. Mendez stood up from her chair, with a worried look on her stone face. Her disheveled, dark hair was pouring out over a pair of rock-like horns that framed her ears. Like many other earth-touched Crags, her clothes were frayed where her skin had cut through the cloth. The little boy next to her stood up and clutched her hand with both of his. He was still in his pajamas. Skylar guessed he was around ten, too young to discover if the wild magic affected his genetics. Both of them looked worried and exhausted.

“What’s happened to Michael?” Mrs. Mendez demanded. “They wouldn’t tell me anything except that he’d been in an accident. The net reported about the highway, some rogue mage blew up a bridge. I don’t understand why we allow any magic inside the city in the first place. It can’t be used or controlled, only stopped.” She let the words hang between them for a moment, then she realizes something. “But Michael doesn’t drive so… he must have been...”

Skylar tried not to wince at the generalized accusation and ignored the glare of Mrs. Mendez. Skylar started speaking by rote, choosing her words carefully. “That’s right. He was under the bridge when it collapsed. As I’m sure you know, Ashen like him are particularly prone to broken bones. The debris crushed his entire right side. The arm, leg, lung, some ribs, and part of his skull are all fractured or broken. We’ve managed to stabilize him, but he’s still unconscious.”

Mrs. Mendez gasped in surprise that didn’t reach her eyes. “Daddy! No!” the little boy cried, hugging his mother’s leg as tears burst from his eyes.

Mrs. Mendez crouched down to hug her little boy, her voice becoming several shades softer. “Now Luis, baby. It sounds scary, but Daddy is gonna get all fixed up by the doctors. He’ll be home soon, and he’ll have all kinds of new shiny parts. Just like Uncle Lorenzo, okay?” Little Luis took a few steadying breaths before nodding and wiping his eyes.

Mrs. Mendez stood back up to address Skylar, “That sounds utterly horrible,” she said, “but if he’s still alive, he can be fixed with augmentations. We have health insurance from his night job, and…”

Skylar put up an icy blue hand to interrupt, “That’s why I’m here talking to you, Mrs. Mendez. It seems that your insurance expired weeks ago when Michael lost his job at Reclamations, Inc. You’re right--if it were active, your plan may have allowed us to replace the damaged areas with cybernetics, or restore him with magic. Without insurance, we don’t have his prior consent -- or a method of payment -- so we need you to decide for him.”

Mrs. Mendez’s face flashed from confusion, to fear, to anger, “HE WHAT!!??!!” When she stomped her foot, the chairs shook. “Weeks ago!!! If he didn’t have a job, what was he doing every night?!?” Skylar took a half-step back, unable to answer. Mrs. Mendez clenched her teeth, “Without that insurance, we’ll never be able to afford so much work.”
Skylar sighed as she read the corporate script, “Geoponics Biotechnology has work programs in place to allow you to pay your bills over time...”

“You mean slavery!” She said it loud enough to draw the attention of everyone in the waiting room.

Skylar looked away, unable to argue for the detestable corporate policies. The poor woman didn’t have many options, all the hospitals belonged to Geo Bio. This all reminded Skylar of her short-lived music career. Of what her manager tried to get her to do out of fear of losing her contract. She ended up blacklisted by a megacorp and couldn’t sing for a living anymore. So she started a new one in nursing, and she was trying to keep her head down this time.


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A First Rodeo - Part 3

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Artwork by Chokchai Poomichaiya

Sawyer grins broadly, rolls their neck, and tells Ash, “Time to earn our pay.”

As Sawyer rises to their feet, claws extend from their hands, and with a high-pitched screech, they launch towards the mass of black, worm-like creatures roiling through the opening of the cave.

Ash’s mind slips to a clinical observation state, a self-preservation tactic he learned years ago. As if outside his own body, he observes the hatchlings slithering forward swiftly. The creatures have a shiny black articulated carapace with hundreds of little legs, each ending with a grasping claw. The eyeless head separates with a triparted jaw, with another snapping mouth and neck within, extending its reach three feet.

Sawyer falls upon the creatures, moving to match their speed. Their screeching battle cry seems to bother the draklings ears. Sawyer’s skills and magic directly counteract the strengths of the draklings. They are the front line, holding back several of the hatchlings alone.

The twins use catch poles, long poles with looped cords on the end, to capture creatures while keeping them from swarming Sawyer. Ash takes the middle position, bashing any hatchlings that get past Sawyer before they can attack the twins.

Sawyer’s voice rings out over the din of alarms and chittering. “Two incoming,” Sawyer yells. “Remember, we need one wriggling!”

The world around seems to slow as Ash’s reflexes speed up. He hefts his trusty baseball bat. The crystals set into the bottom of the bat glow faintly with Ash’s magic. Knowing instinctively that the twins can handle one, he twists to let the first hatchling by, then spins to gain momentum and bring the bat down hard, crushing the head of the second hatchling.

Before he recovers properly, a third hatchling slams into his blind side, sending him out of position. He hits the ground hard but manages to avoid being stunned. However, he loses his calm battle mind, raw panic starts to grip him. Tapping into his attuned crystals for assistance, he accelerates his movements and starts to bludgeon the rogue hatchling over and over. Momentarily deafened by the blood rushing in his ears, he loses track of the battle until Sawyer’s calming voice cuts through.

“Easy kid. You got it,” Sawyer croons like speaking to a wild animal. Coming to his senses, Ash looks up and around. He noticed Sawyer’s claws dripping with ichor, and half a dozen of the hatchlings lay at their feet. Several scratches ooze on Sawyer's face. As Ash studies the veteran, the wounds begin to close slowly.

Ash grins sheepishly as his crystals slowly dim.

“We got one!” Travis shouts. He and Teresa both hold onto a pole with the squirming, wriggling drakling in the loop at the end. Sawyer strides over and picks it up, shoving it roughly into a sack.

Ash watches with trepidation. “Why do we need demicats anyway?”

Sawyer smirks. “You know what a radrat is, right?” Teresa and Travis start packing up their gear silently, letting Sawyer take lead on the explanations.

Ash nods, “Sure… they sneak in through the sewers and spread plague and radiation disease through the city. The news said they’re working on a cure.”

Sawyer scoffs, “Cure… Sure… for those with connections. It’s another way for those corps to put money in their pockets.” Sawyer pauses to make their disdain for the corps completely clear. “That’s not what we’re doing. We want to build a healthy demicat population in Undertown.” Sawyer shakes the sack a little and the creature inside squirms. They grin maliciously. “Demicats hunt extremely dangerous creatures, including radrats. The Wild Storm gave them resistance to the plague and radiation, and heightened senses. They are kind of amazing creatures really.” Their voice takes on a fond tone as they describe their ultimate prey. “I’d probably own a dozen if they were tamable.”

Travis snickers, “You’d definitely be an old cat hoarder.”

Sawyer playfully smacks Travis off the back of the head.

“Good work, kids. Now let's go get us some demicats.”

With that, the four hunters move deeper into the tunnels in search of their elusive prey.

A First Rodeo - Part 2

in ,

CLICK HERE FOR PART 1

Lazily, Sawyer leans back putting their feet up on a nearby rock.

Ash’s serious face does not share Sawyer’s light-hearted attitude. “This is a big deal, Sawyer. How can you be so cavalier about all...” He gestures around. “All this?”

The humor drains from Sawyer’s golden eyes. The vertical pupil begins to widen slightly as they become adjusted to the dim light in the cave. “Life is hard, kid. You can’t take anything too seriously.” Sawyer sighs and rubs their stubble-dappled chin. “Look… Life sucks pretty much everywhere. I used to work in Mudslide.” Sawyer holds up a hand to stall Ash’s question. “Yes, Mudslide, sure it’s not the official name. To us real people, it's just Mudslide.

“They’ve got huge factories for building all sorts of technology with assembly lines to create all those huge buildings, vehicles, and other devices you see in the city. They also grow tons of food, make textiles, and so on. Which is great and all… but it's all done on the backs of grunts. Ten-hour days. Seven days a week. In dangerous conditions. You know the noise? It's so loud that most folks go deaf in a year. Some people never hear their kids' voices.

“You would think with all this important work and terrible conditions, that they were compensated?” Sawyer spits on the ground. “Hah! Corps are what they are… money-grubbing ratfinks who only serve themselves and their families. I was working a security detail once, and I found something on the other side of the supply yard unnaturally fascinating as a dozen teenagers ripped off an entire palette of construction materials. I hope they sold those goods and made sure their families could eat for a month. Needless to say, I lost that job. I’m not really great with authority figures.” Sawyer sighs, releasing some of their recalled tension.

“A guy got loud one day and told us we should stand up for ourselves. Surprisingly enough people listened, we had a little riot of sorts. A couple hundred of us stood up from our jobs and were met by a line of armed soldiers. They had guns, we had fists.” Sawyer thrusts a balled-up fist into the palm of their other hand, before their shoulders drop a little. “Needless to say, we didn’t last long. That guy was arrested.”

Artwork by Pavel Chagochkin

Ash blinks and leans towards Sawyer a fraction of an inch, enraptured by the story. He barely notices as Travis and Teresa return from laying their traps. The twins rest back to back and seem to doze quietly in a rare moment of respite.

“The next day, he gave a speech, imploring us to stop resisting and get back to work,” says Sawyer, their voice taking a mocking tone before returning to normal. “So most folks did. I had trouble with it though, so I lost that job too. I heard shortly after that he never returned to the assembly line, but I noticed his kid was being transported to the inner city, dressed in a clean school uniform. Someone made him a deal he couldn’t refuse.” Sawyer’s shoulders shrug slightly with a nonchalance that belies the grave implications of his story. “Oh, I don’t blame him. If I had family, I’d probably do the same.” Sawyer pauses, noticing the seriousness in the young faces around them, then smirks slyly and injects a little humor to lighten the mood. “Not that I’d ever weaken myself with family.”

Travis rolls his eyes, as Teresa whispers, “Sure, Sawyer. Sure you wouldn’t want to weaken yourself...”

Whatever else Teresa had to say is lost in a large racket as one of the traps goes off. The twins move from an apparent doze to wide awake on their feet with weapons in hand.

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A First Rodeo - Part 1

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“This is your first rodeo.”

It wasn’t a question. Sawyer speaks quietly to avoid drawing unwanted attention. Just a few moments ago, the group had been running for their lives. A pack of gigantic, barrel-chested creatures with a mask of dark fur across the eyes was hunting the group. They had caught the scent of the team shortly after slipping through the dragon’s barrier. New to the Wilds, Ash had not recognized the animals’ long snouts and the mask of dark fur across their eyes, and that lack of knowledge added to his fear. Sawyer’s relaxed attitude acted as a sharp contrast to Ash’s panic.

Sawyer leads Ash and the others into a cave that barely fits four grown adults. The mischievous grin that crosses their scruffy face belies the very real danger that surrounds them. Sawyer is a Wyldling, a unique being that occurs when the wild magic melds animal and human. Their lean face is full of dangerous angles. Their form is lithe and athletic.

“Those are coybears.” Sawyer gestures with one hand towards the exit. Their hand is remarkable; the fingernails are long, black, and pointed. Blood drips from one of them, probably from swiping them across the mask of one of the pursuing creatures. “At least that’s what I call ‘em. They’re what happens when wild magic settles in on a canine and a bear.”

Ash brushes a hand across his face in an attempt to wipe away the grime of the panicked run. He nods, still a bit breathless. “First time… yeah…”

Sawyer nods. “We’re safe, for now. Take a few minutes… catch your breath.”

Ash settles against the rough rock and tries to control his breathing. He pauses for a moment to inspect a gash in the back of his calf.

“Shit,” Ash murmurs barely above a whisper. On instinct, he puts his hands on either side of the wound to magically illuminate the wound. Before the crystal rings on his fingers could begin to glow, Sawyer roughly smacks his hands away and thrusts a first aid kit at him.

“Stop squirming, kid. We need to wrap this up before your blood attracts more critters,” Sawyer snorts, as they direct a flashlight on the back of Ash’s leg. “And for chaos's sake, don’t use magic. That only attracts every blasted magic-eating creature outside the six cities.”

Ash grumbles but pulls up his pant leg to wrap his calf with the medical gauze. He glances over towards the cave mouth, where a pair of young humans, Travis and Teresa, prepare what looks like a trap and camouflage netting to cover the cave mouth. Ash’s eyes follow the twins as they do their work.

“They don’t use magic, do they?” he asks as an aside to Sawyer.

Sawyer controls a burst of laughter. “Nah…” They raise their voice just slightly. “Oie, Travis, come ‘ere.” Travis moves over towards Sawyer. With a sudden movement, the predator-touched lashes out towards Travis with a hand glowing with electrical power. As Sawyer’s lightly furred talons close around Travis’ arm, he flinches and swears under his breath. However, no harm comes to the young man.

Travis punches Sawyer. “Stars, Sawyer! I hate it when you do that!” From across the cave, Teresa’s eyes shoot daggers at Sawyer.

Sawyer’s light laughter belies the seriousness of the situation. “The Terrible Twins are Nulls,” they explain. “They suck the magic out of a place. With them around, I can ride under the radar and get what I need done without attracting tunnelers, storm-eaters, coybears, and other creatures who want to eat my magic, or are attracted to it.”

“Once, I traveled with one of those chatty Masques,” they continue. “Nearly had a platoon of draklings on us. You know those magic-eating tunnelers with triple jaws, one reaching out after another. I swear a dragon had a bad dream and sent it out into the Wild. The demicats find the hatchlings of these draklings super tasty. It makes the perfect bait for what we need.”

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A Paladin's Labors - Part 3

in

By Timothy Walsh

Click here to start at the beginning

Phaedrin tucked and rolled out the back of the truck, nimble despite her heavy armor. While fast, she wasn’t subtle, and the sound of her impact and roll rang out as she quickly surveyed the area. She found herself on a broken road through scraggly, rocky woodland. Small arms fire spattered on the ground around her as she quick-stepped away from the back of the truck and scanned the treeline for hostiles. She noticed some of them -- a handful of mostly Humans and Naguli -- had taken covered positions behind rocks and fallen trees. None seemed to have any weapons larger than a rifle, which suited her fine.

She stopped moving and planted her feet. Pulling the hilt of her starblade from the back of her belt, Phaedrin ignited the weapon. The dark red blade extended with a burst and hiss, throwing new shadows around in the thin sunlight, and Phaedrin openly grinned at the sudden silence as the weapons fire stopped. Taking a deep breath, she schooled her expression into a serious one as shouted across the small battlefield.

“Bandits! Raiders! I am Phaedrin, Paladin of the Vilithic Church! You have one chance to lay down your arms and submit to local justice, lest the wrath of the Gods and Their might fall upon your heads!”

The weapons of the bandits remained silent, even as Phaedrin’s local companions threw themselves from the back of the truck and scattered behind what cover they could. As he moved behind her, Phaedrin heard Ricard saying, “Oh now it’s time to be dire,” and she struggled to keep a straight face.

The silence broke with a single voice shouting from the trees, “You all know what we have on our side! Take them!”

The weapons fire began all at once, and Phaedrin no longer had to fight to remain serious. She remained planted, narrowed her eyes, and reached out with her empty hand. Shouting aloud in an old form of Urunar, she felt a presence in the back of her mind as a dark and depthless anger flowed from it, through her, and into the world. A lance of black fire leapt from her hand, howling almost as if in pain, towards a group of three Naguli with rifles -- only to spatter against a nearly invisible heat shimmer in the air before it could reach them.

Her eyes widened, but before she could say anything Phaedrin was forced to throw herself into a desperate roll as greenish black vines, thorns glistening with something she didn’t want to contemplate, burst out of the ground where she had been standing, flailing hungrily for something to latch on to.

The raiders gave a hopeful cheer, and the weapon fire intensified on both sides. Lasers spattered off Phaedrin’s armor even as she moved her starblade to deflect what she could. The bandits were focusing on her, leaving her squad of locals free to return fire, but she knew that she couldn’t keep this up for too long. Her attention was pulled as if by chance towards an older human man standing off to the side of the bandits. Phaedrin felt his gaze focusing on her, and knew that whatever had just tried to happen to her, he was responsible.

“What are you?” she yelled, and called upon her Gods. Power infused her body as she sprinted from the road into the thin woods, directly towards the man. Her sight narrowed until he was all that she saw. He was older, greying, his skin weathered and clothing hard worn. He didn’t appear to be carrying weapons, but even as she saw his eyes widen in fear, he kept chanting words that Phaedrin could not hear. She grew closer, but her focus left her no ability to dodge the shards of wood which pulled themselves from a nearby tree and flew into her, trailing a faint green mist. Most of them shattered on her armor, but she felt one slam into her thigh, and the burning in her muscle was from more than just a simple wound.

It didn’t help the man, as Phaedrin reached him and slammed into him at her full supernatural speed. While he spun from the impact, Phaedrin planted her feet and skidded to a sudden halt. Spinning to face the human, her wounded leg buckled beneath her and she began to topple. Mid-fall, she swept her starblade down in a burning arc, fully severing one of the man’s legs at the knee. He barely managed to cry out as he fainted from the pain.

The sounds of the battle continued around her, but Phaedrin only had eyes for the fallen human in front of her. “Everyone else here might get dealt with by the locals, but you? You’re coming back to Kel with me.”

THE END… for now.

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A Paladin's Labors - Part 2

in

By Timothy Walsh

Click here for Part 1

The back of the hovertruck was filled with an awkward and silent tension. Phaedrin looked around as she munched on a breakfast sandwich that she’d managed to abscond with. There were six lightly armed humans sitting among the packed cargo crates, all of them studiously avoiding looking at her.

“So,” she said brightly, shattering the silence, “how long of a trip is it up to the mines, anyway?”

The humans looked around at each other with uncertain expressions, before one looked at Phaedrin and answered. “P-probably about two hours, Paladin.”

“Thanks. And just call me Phaedrin. It’s my name.” She continued to maul the breakfast sandwich. It was honestly really good. Probably one of the top ten breakfast sandwiches she had recently, she thought. The local spices were amazing, and whatever native animal went into the sausage was tangy as all get out. She idly wondered if she’d be able to buy some before she left.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” The human who had answered her before was speaking again. “Can… can I ask you a question?” The man looked nervous, but had clearly worked himself up to the point of being able to speak directly to her. 

Phaedrin nodded, pointing at her full mouth with an apologetic expression. The man blinked at her and continued, “You, um. You don’t really seem like how I -- we -- expected a paladin to act. You’re. Um,” he paused as Phaedrin quickly swallowed the last of her food.

“Nice? Pleasant? Friendly?” she said.

The man blanched, but nodded. 

Phaedrin chuckled, not unkindly, and asked, “Hey, what’s your name, anyway? I’m sorry, but I didn’t ask before we all got into this hovertruck which, by the way, sure feels like it needs better shock absorbers even if that’s not at all how hovertrucks work.”

The human laughed and stuck out his hand. As Phaedrin’s paw engulfed it for a handshake he replied, “Ricard, and yeah, I don’t know what’s up with the antigravs on this thing but they really do give an old-school wheeled conveyance experience, don’t they?” The two shared a laugh, and he continued more easily. “But yeah, seriously. The last few times we had a paladin come through, it wasn’t like any of them were bad people or anything, but they were all just all cut from the same cloth. Stoic and stern, one of them was even dour. All business, all the time. You are definitely not that. What gives?”

Phaedrin sat back on her bench and huffed out a breath. “Well, the easy answer is that all devotees of the Vilithic Church are different people, and people act differently.” Ricard had an openly dubious look on his face, and she chuckled as she continued. “That’s true, but it’s also pat and it’s also not really what you’re asking. How much do you know about basic Church doctrine?”

Ricard matched Phaedrin’s posture, leaning back on his bench seat. “I have the basics, but that’s about all. We don’t have a real priest out here, just a lay preacher, but we get most of the usual sermons, I suppose.” Phaedrin gestured at him to continue. “We know that the Vilithic Gods… well, they aren’t good. Getting noticed by them isn’t a good idea, and doing stuff that they like will get you noticed -- lying, theft, murder and all that -- so best not to act like them. Anointed priests and paladins of the Church can draw on them though, and perform miracles. You all get their attention, so the rest of us won’t.”

Phaedrin nodded. “That’s pretty much it, yes. So, well, to be blunt? Think about it. Think about what it must be like to tie yourself to powers like that. It’s really not an easy thing. It can be a heavy load to carry, and that’s usually reflected in how people act. Also, paladins especially end up in a lot of harsh and difficult situations. If you’ve ever met some career combat veterans, it can be the same thing, I guess. Hells, if you think that some line paladins were too serious, hope you never meet a real crusader. They take that lack of humor to a whole new level.”

Ricard had been thinking through her words, though he shivered at the mention of crusaders. “You’re not anything like that, though!”

The paladin laughed. “Well, you haven’t really seen me in a situation that calls for me to be serious,” she said. “But outside of that, no, I’m not. I’ve got no reason to be, I suppose. This life is my only life, and I intend to enjoy it. I’m doing hard work, and necessary work, and it isn’t what you’d call fun, but in the end I’m helping people. I keep them safe in this life, and I help them pass unclaimed by the Gods in the next.” She kept smiling, but her tone sobered. “Really though, I know the types of things that await me after I die. I’m not trying to make myself seem more important than I am, or to play for sympathy, but I know the sacrifice I’m making for people. There’s going to be a whole lot of not-fun waiting for me after I leave here, so why not enjoy myself while I can?”

“That’s… a lot to take in. More than I expected to hear when I woke up this morning.” Ricard looked up at Phaedrin. “I can get there. It makes sense. Though I’m happy that it isn’t something that I need to consider for my own life, and I appreciate that.” 

The Urunar shrugged her shoulders. “It’s what I do. It’s what we do. Everyone deals with it in their own way. When you get down to it…” Her next words were drowned out by the sound of a short explosion from outside the truck, followed by shouted orders to stop the vehicle and get out of it.

Phaedrin looked at the humans in the truck with her. “That sounds like our cue. I’ll go out first, you all follow after I’ve gotten some attention. Grab cover, keep your heads down.” Her mouth fell into a toothy grin. “Time to show some people what the attention of the Gods can look like.”

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A Paladin's Labors - Part 1

in

By Timothy Walsh

Editor’s Note: The events of this story occur three years before the events in the Starcana adventure, Everything New is Old.

Phaedrin ran her paw over her head, scratching behind an ear. The Urunar Paladin looked down at the human standing before her with an uncertain look on his face, a stocky middle-aged man in sturdy laborer’s clothes. He was one of the councilmembers of this small colony, and had apparently been chosen to come to her about some problem. She didn’t mind listening to him, but was honestly thinking harder about the meal that she was late for. Phaedrin didn’t like being late for meals. She shook herself out of her reverie and tried to pay better attention.

“So, well, Phae… I’m sorry, Paladin Phaedrin. We know that you only come out to this world here on your rounds and all, and we all understand that normally you’d be heading off on your business, but we’ve been starting to have bandit trouble. They’ve been harassing folk on the roads to the mines, and we’re worried it’ll only get worse. There aren’t many of them, but they seem pretty well armed and well, we’re not. Also...” the man began to shift, refusing to meet Phaedrin’s eyes, “Also, there’s word that they have some kind of strange power among them, and we don’t know what to make of it. Sounds like what the priests can do, but that can’t be, can it?”

At this Phaedrin stopped, dreams of lunch falling away. “Councilmember, please. You don’t need to be nervous.” Her tone was cheerful, in contrast to the blackened Vilithic plate armor that encased her body. “You’re just passing on reports, you’re not badmouthing the Church or her followers. It’s okay. I’d be happy to help.” She reached out, and clapped the human on his shoulder. Solid as he was, he still rocked slightly at the gesture. “That’s why I’m here, after all! Besides, a power? Miracles but not? That’s pretty serious, so I’d want to look into it one way or the other, for sure.”

People never really knew how to respond to her, Phaedrin thought as the human went through a familiar set of confused expressions. It wasn’t like every Paladin needed to be all “behold the strong arm of the Vilithic Church, I will stand here with my starblade and declaim grim tidings unto you all.” She didn’t need to be serious all the time, after all.

“Look,” she began, before the councilmember could give voice to his confusion, “the next shipment of food and supplies to the mining camps leaves tomorrow morning. I’ll just go along for the ride, and give your guards some backup. If it’s just bandits that are causing these problems, they’ll be taken care of. If it’s something else...” She grinned, and the human’s eyes went wide at the sight of Phaedrin’s teeth. “I’m sure I’ll be able to take care of that, too,” she finished.

The councilmember drew himself up, and met Phaedrin’s eyes. “Thank you for that. We’d all feel it if the shipments from the mines were disrupted, but the folks working in them would feel it worse if their supplies didn’t make it up there.”

Phaedrin nodded back. “Of course. It’s what I’m supposed to do. Now,” she looked around, sniffing, “where can I get a solid meal and some drinks around here? I overheard someone saying something about open mic night at the bar, and that’s something I’d like to know more about too.”

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