Leona was proud of herself. Her parents had finally trusted her to take the cattle to the lord's manor herself. It was a mark of maturity, a trial of teen trust, a rite of passage. She herded the two beasts along the dusty road, her eyes on the manor spires just above the rise and across the stream. She'd never been inside, never met the lord, never been old enough, until now.

"Hail, maiden!" The call shook her from her thoughts. The dark-haired stranger leaned forward in his saddle, his expression said it was not the first time he'd tried to get her attention. His face was handsome, but his eyes were leering, and something about him drove in as many directions as the cow and bull she drove to market. Something about him called her toward him. Something about him repulsed her away. She felt both fear and fire, but she managed to only politely reply "Good day, sir."

"If you are headed for the manor, I would like to ride with you for the journey."

His clothes were of fine cloth, with accessories that only the rich and carefree could adorn. 'Twould be foolish to be rude to him, and part of her did not wish to be, anyway. "You may ride where you like, good sir, but the journey is not long."

He continued to engage her with conversation, to ask about her family and her self. She blushed when she caught him looking at her, and cursed herself for doing so. She was an important errand that would prove her maturity and value in the family. She had no time for idle dalliances, particularly with strange men of dark, curly hair, whose shoulders seemed at war with his shirt, and thighs denied any need of saddle astride the brown stud-

She blushed again at her own thoughts and chastised the cattle for their normal speed.

As they reached the stone bridge to the manor, she breathed a sigh of relief, this torturous man would finally part on his own errands, and leave her be.

"Maiden, I have tried to win your attention this entire ride, and yet you spurn me. Here we are now at the manor. Will you abandon the animals you drive and mount my horse for dinner and the evening?"

The hard hoofs of her cattle echoed on the stone bridge. The surely cool water passing below that she suddenly desperately wished to dive into. There was a flush of heat at her neck that neither began nor ended in her chest.

"Good sir, I am only just old enough to bring my family's beasts to market here at the lord's manor. You flatter me, but I must decline your offer." The heat in her bolstered her courage, and gave her reason to strike him back for making her feel this new way. "I will not spend this night, or any other with so bold a stranger whose fine clothes barely contain him!"

His stormy eyes turned dark. His arched eyebrows drew down. "You, girl, have the look of a spring filly, but a heart of stone. If you truly will not leave your animals to be with your lord, then I do hope you enjoy each other for a very long time."

His eyes flashed, and her body froze. She couldn't breathe. The cattle, too, had stopped moving. Her eyes could not leave the man as he rode into his manor. Her skirts hardened in the breeze from the stream, whipping about her trembling legs forever.

This is a bit darker than my usual style, but perhaps it’s an opportunity for conversation? Let’s chat in the comments.

The Great Comb had been built, according to the prophecy that had been buzzed about for so many generations. The Tall Ones, who balanced about on a mere two legs, the thieves of wolf and cow skins, the weavers of plants, the drinkers of honey not meant for them; they had poisoned the dew drops, bricked the fields, fallen the trees, until there were more bees than flowers, and then more Tall Ones than bees. The neighboring hives that had once been a short flight in any direction, now seemed as empty as a bloom on the edge of winter.

But all that would soon change, so the prophecy said. The Regent Bee, queen of queens, as Tall as the Tall Ones themselves, would soon break from the Great Comb they had built, and bring nectar back to the woods, bees back to the hives, life back to nature. Even now, the workers and nursery bees began to buzz about the Great Comb.

I’d love to know what you think of this serendipitous story in the comments.

"PROCESS IS PRODUCTIVE" declared subway signs, sides of buses, billboards, classroom blackboards, and even government buildings. Once Leadership.Ai was voted in to power, everything got streamlined, more efficient. Menus were governed by growing seasons and crop conditions. Schoolwork was dictated towards society's needs, which led to plummeting unemployment and skyrocketing test scores. Eventually, even romantic pairings were designed through genetic comparisons and maximized trait desirability. For reproductive purposes, of course. And naturally, creativity and art fell away as unnecessary and thus inefficient. It made sense to everyone. Well, there were probably a few 'staving artists' who complained initially, but no one remembered them, and they weren't mentioned in the textbooks. It had been a very smooth transition to a happier, more efficient society.

Then, one day, paint showed up on a wall. Paint that caught the attention of those walking by. Paint that was beyond the control of the efficient Leadership.Ai. Paint that carried a message. And, somehow, without programming, without supervision, without efficiency studies, that message spoke to people. Privately, as privately as one can be in an AiSociety, paint found itself on the walls of bedrooms and bathrooms. Not normal house paint, but paint with messages, with feelings, with life. And then it showed up on living room walls and kitchen cabinets. Then the neat little rows of houses with four walls could no longer contain it, and the paint exploded onto sidewalks, and buildings, and stairsteps, and doghouses.

Despite the paint having no productive purpose, suddenly, somehow, beyond the comprehension of Leadership.Ai, the society began to smile again.

Music, drawing, stories, sculpture, what art speaks to you? Let’s chat in the comments.

I have realized that running four series at the same time, just puts too many worlds in my head. With that in mind, I want to narrow down how many series I am running at the same time. And I want you to pick which ones I focus on. I plan to continue running two series, and the other two will follow after when these are done. Thus, I need to know which series you like most. Or at least, which two you want me to focus on right now.

In case you’re new here, there’s a window into each of these four worlds below.

Astro's Adventures

Captain Astro was sent on his first solo mission on the Arrow as a mere test animal for Earth’s first interstellar flight. Mark, his trainer, had told him it would be a long but simple mission. An encounter with a strange plasma storm changed him, evolved him, and now he commands and pilots the ship, along with his new friends, searching for the way back to Mark and home.

Thief of Magic

Robin D. Morgan is posing as a wizard, learning magic from books he inherited from a stranger who was murdered before Robin could rob him. If he can make enough money to pay back the Thieves’ Guild without being caught by the City Guard or discovered as an impostor by the Wizards’ Court, he just might pull off the biggest con he’d never dreamed of.

Interstellar Industries Cruise Line

The Interstellar Industries Cruise Lines travel to all the most luxurious planetary ports in the galaxy. Below decks and behind doors, though, it is not always the shining jewel the advertising would have you believe. This series follows three individuals involved with the cruise lines, an innocent alien dancing girl, a traveling wife turned vengeful pirate, and a rookie human cruise director who thinks luxury comes with justice and equality. When their lives cross paths, someone’s ship is going to sink.

League of Heroes

This story, told in retrospect by the last surviving member, is about a group of theatre kids who stumble into great power. But as we all know, with great power, comes greater questions. Who will they choose to be when their future has risen above their dreams? Not every hero has powers, and not everyone with powers becomes a hero.

Who will you vote for?

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What am I writing, you might ask as you wonder where this week’s story is? Well, I am hurriedly working on final revisions (final? I’m so amusing.) for the novel Thassodar Jax: Galactic Ranger. I plan to pitch this novel at the upcoming DFW Writers Convention at the top of October. With luck, an agent will fall in love with it or me (easy, I’m happily married!) and request it, which would hopefully (eventually) lead to its publication. Once the revision is done, there are a number of story opportunities from Raconteur Press that I am thinking to write up and submit to. It looks like a fascinating set of challenges.

But, I don’t want to leave you with no fiction or creativity this week, so may I introduce a few of the primary characters (with AI concept art, as I haven’t found an artist or publisher yet) from Thassodar Jax: Galactic Ranger.

Thassodar Jax

First up, naturally, the star of the show, Thassodar Jax. Thassodar’s home planet, Cobal, was attacked and his parents murdered by a butcherous slave trader named Grote. The young boy was rescued and raised by a Galactic Ranger, and when he was old enough, Jax, too, joined the Rangers and became the guardian of a sub-space planet called Earth. When mixing with the native species, humans, Jax hides his naturally cobalt blue skin and orange eyes. Mingling in with the locals is the only way for him to stave off the loneliness he feels of being the only one in the galaxy from a planet to which he cannot return.

Valentina Garcia

Valentina Garcia is just a Texas college kid with no direction, trying to figure out what she wants to do with her life. Then she gets mixed up with an alien cop when her classmate goes missing, and she is determined to rescue or avenge her friend. After coming face to face with alien ambassadors, smugglers, gods, and murderers, she’s all in to save the world. Along the ride, she may also finally figure out what her own purpose is.

Grote

Grote, enslaver of Cobal and four handfuls of other worlds, went to prison after his attack on Thassodar’s home world, but now he’s out and on Earth. Murder, slavery, abduction, turning people into batteries, it’s all business to him. This four-armed, pig-nosed child of a shady fence has been on the wrong side of the law his entire life. He may be Thassodar’s darkest nightmare, but to him, Thassodar is just a line item on a profit sheet.

Hermes Olympian

Hermes Olympian was Grote’s cellmate in the galactic prison. The Olympian royal family, political prisoners from the civil war on Olympus, overthrew the ship carrying them and crash landed on a small unknown planet now called Earth. Their royal enhancements (electric bolts, healing, aquakinesis, speed, and so on) elevated them to the status of gods for the developing native species. The newly formed central galactic government learned of this situation, formed the galactic rangers to enforce their law, and sentenced Hermes and his family to life in prison. As the last surviving Olympian, he is now old, but still fast, and far wiser than when he had been a god.

Bruiller M. Sholde

Sholde is the sadistic little mad scientist who developed a process of efficiently transforming living beings into raw life energy, which can then be converted into power energy for ships, machines, cities, etc. His mind is all on the science of it, but raw energy also makes a lot of profit. His people had an energy problem, and he was determined to solve it. He started with the dead that were piling up around him. But their life energy was already gone. They were little better than campfires. He moved his research into those about to die, and then those more alive. As his research grew, so did society’s abhorrence of him. When condemned completely, he threw morals to the wind and destroyed his species in his efforts to save them. When he expanded his research to other planets and species, the Galactic Rangers put him in prison.

Jakar-Dorsch

Jakar-Dorsch, who Grote also met in prison, is the tentacled engineer that can bring Sholde’s maniacal theories to life. He’s not really a bad sort of cephalopod; he’s got a great sense of humor, and doesn’t actually want to hurt anyone, but he’s gotten kind of a rough and unguided start in life. He was ‘disposed of’ from an illegal galactic zoo for “exotic sentients” because they already had enough of his type, his parents included. So, afloat in space, on his own, he fell in with the smugglers who supplied the zoo and became an excellent engineer. Naturally, when the rangers raided the ship, he was the only one they caught, so off to prison he went. He could keep his tentacles clean if someone would just give him a chance.

These are some of the major players in the first book of the Galactic Rangers, Thassodar Jax. When there is news about its future, I’ll be sure to let you know.

Bon Voyage,

-Jace

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Our story began at the Midsummer Night’s Cast Party.

“Grant, my dad said there’s been a bunch of robberies recently, and almost all of them had a student here.” Walt set his tray down at their usual lunch table beside his best friend. “If we can figure out who is doing it, we could stop them.”

Grant’s grilled cheese stopped halfway to his mouth. “What are you talking about?”

Walt looked over his shoulder, making sure no one else was listening to them. “My dad is chief of police. They’ve been investigating these robberies, and they can’t solve them. The only link is that each house has a student at the school. But the students were with the families when it happened, and the police can’t find another connection. We could solve it, with, you know,” he lowered his voice, “our crystal gifts.”

“We could solve what?” Vanessa set her tray down across from Grant.

“Oh, are we doing something with our powers?” Joanna slid into the seat beside Vanessa.

“Keep your voices down,” Walt hissed and looked over his shoulder again. They needed to be careful.

“Walt thinks someone at the school is robbing houses.” Grant at least had the sense to keep his voice down.

“Seriously?” Joanna leaned forward. “Cool. Who is it? I mean, not cool to rob people. But cool we’re going to use our powers. I’ve been practicing.”

“I didn’t say that. I said that’s the only connection the police have to the robberies.” Suddenly, it occurred to Walter to be curious. “Practicing what, Joanna?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I can make portals.”

“Portals? I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, openings to other places. I’ll show you.” She held up an empty hand, and reached under the table. Her hair took on a purple shade for a moment, and then she pulled her hand back out, holding a textbook. “It’s from my locker. Pretty cool, right?”

Walter grabbed the textbook, looking over his shoulders again. “You can’t do that here. Someone will see you.”

“That’s why I did it under the table.” She shook her head and picked up her burger. “Really, you need to pay better attention. Who did you say is robbing people?”

“I don’t know who. Neither do the police. All the students had alibis.”

“Actually,” Vanessa’s quite voice spoke up. “I think I might know.”

That got all of their attention.

“You know what?”

“I overheard Mick and Steve talking. It didn’t make sense at the time. But he said his house was next, because his parents are going to be out of town and they just got a new safe. I figured they were talking about throwing a party, but the safe part didn’t make sense.”

“Way to go, Vanessa. They didn’t know you were listening?”

“Unless we’re in the theatre, most people don’t pay any attention to me. They said they would tell everyone in the locker room after school.”

“Why would they tell everyone in the locker room?” Joanna shrugged. “Those guys are dumber than baseball bats.”

“Because baseball practice is after school. The whole team must be in on it.”

“I could use my portals to get in to the locker room without using the door. Listen to their plans.”

Walter shook his head. “Joanna, you are not going in the boys locker room. And they’d still see you. I don’t think you’re small enough to fit in those lockers. You’d have to be inside the wall to hear them.” He slowly turned to look at Grant. “But we know someone who can walk through walls, don’t we, Grant?”

Grant took a bite out of his burger and shook his head. “Nope, no, you don’t.”

“Come on, man, it’s just listening. Just for a few minutes.”

“It’s dark inside walls, man, and creepy.”

“You could stick your head into one of the lockers. They wouldn’t see you, but you could hear everything. Then we can figure out how to stop them.”

“What if I get caught?”

“You won’t. We’ll be there in the hallway to watch your back.”

Walter already knew he would say yes. It didn’t take precognition; they’d been friends a long time.

After school, they stood in an empty hallway that ran alongside the locker rooms.

“Okay, Grant, coast is clear, phase through.”

“Wait, are you sure this is the boys locker room? I don’t want to put my head into the wrong one.”

“It is. But if you hear girls’ voices, pull back and we’ll try again.”

He sighed and put his hand against the wall. “Why do I let you talk me into these things?” After a moments’ concentration, his hand slid into the wall. His arm and the rest of his body followed, and like a ghost he vanished through the plaster.

The girls were each watching opposite ends of the hallway. Grant knew he could depend on Vanessa. She was a trustworthy lighting tech, and always had good notes from her view in the booth above the stage. Joanna was more wild. Fun, but wild. And distractable.

“Hey, Vanessa, did you dye your hair?” Joanna was still technically watching her end of the hallway, but her eyes were on Vanessa.

Walt glanced at Vanessa. Her hair did look different than it’s usual dark brown color.

“No,” she grumped. “It just got lighter. Maybe I’m spending too much time in the sun.”

Walt doubted that to be the case. Her skin wasn’t tan at all. He decided to keep out of the girl talk and watch the hallway.

“I like the purple you’ve been putting in yours, Joanna.”

“Purple?” Joanna pulled a lock of her dirty blond hair around in front of her eyes. “There’s no purple in my hair.”

“Just streaks. It shows up sometimes. I noticed it this week.”

Walt couldn’t believe this. They were on a reconnaissance mission and the girls were talking about their hair color.

A teacher turned the corner. Walt held his breath as the teacher walked past. He realized they had no idea what to do if there was someone in the hall when Grant comes back out. No way of knowing when he was coming back out. The teacher turned the next corner and was gone.

“Vanessa,” Walt whispered even though there was no one else in the hallway. “You can make light. Can you take it away? Like could you turn the hallway dark if someone were walking down it?”

“I- I don’t know. I haven’t tried.”

“Well, we’re just standing here. Try now.”

Vanessa closed her eyes and bit her lip. Walter watched the light in the ceiling. It didn’t change, but he heard Joanna gasp. Vanessa was translucent!

“Vanessa, you can turn invisible?”

“I can what?” She opened her eyes and returned to solid. “Did it go dark?”

“The light didn’t change, but we could see through you.” Joanna held up her hand for a high five.

At that moment, Grant stepped back out of the wall. Seeing Joanna’s hand up in his face, he gave her a high five.

“You were right. It’s them.” Grant took a deep breath. “Air sure smells better out here. It’s almost the entire team. About nine or ten of them. Larry Benson said his parents are taking him skiing for the weekend, so they’re hitting his house this Friday. He gave them security codes, told them where the keys are, how to get into the new safe, and what to take from which rooms. Charlie Hayes said his parents just got their insurance check. He’s getting a new stereo. Frankie handed out their ‘cut’ from his uncle. Those were thick wads of cash.”

“Why would they do that?” Joanna looked from one to the other. “They’re stealing from their own families.”

Walt understood the plan. “Not exactly. They’re selling stuff through Larry’s uncle, and the unsuspecting families report the thefts to their insurance and get new stuff. They’re only taking things the insurance would cover, that the family can do without for a bit, and they pocket the cash from the sales. Now the question is how do we catch them?”

“We just have to be at the Bensons’ house by seven on Friday,” said Joanna. “He lives down the street from me.”

“Shouldn’t we tell your dad?” Vanessa asked Walt.

“Without evidence it would do no good. They’ll just say they were playing a prank on Larry. We need to catch them with stuff they’ve already stolen from reported robberies. Follow them to wherever they’re keeping the stuff. That’s where we catch them. Just remember, tell no one.”

“What about the rest of the cast party?” asked Joanna.

Walt shook his head. “Johnathon and Greta didn’t get any powers. This is mostly a stakeout. Too many people would just attract attention. Let’s keep this one just us.”

Friday night, the four of them met at Joanna’s house. Under the cover of studying at the library, they slipped out into the night. There was no moon at all. The night was covered by stormy clouds. Walt pulled the collar up on his trench coat. Grant pulled the brim down on his fedora.

They reached the Bensons a few minutes before seven. A hedge between front yards offered a good hiding spot. The family was still loading up the station wagon. Larry and his father strapped their skis to the roof.

Vanessa elbowed Walt and pointed across the street. “Isn’t that Jimmy Wilson?” she whispered. Jimmy leaned against the street light, his baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. “How dumb can you get? He’s fully visible to everyone, but he won’t be able to see us at all. You watch from the shadows, not the light.”

“We already knew you were a better a watcher than any of them, Vanessa.” Grant moved a branch to get a better view as he heard car doors slam. “Besides, I don’t think we’re the ones he’s watching for.” The car engine turned over and the family rolled onto the street. As they passed his position, Jimmy pulled a walkie talkie from his jacket and spoke into it. Within minutes, two pickup trucks pulled into the Bensons’ driveway and the baseball team piled out.

“It’s the baseball bandits!”

Walt, Vanessa, and Grant turned to look at Joanna. “What are you talking about?”

“The Baseball Bandits. That’s what we can call them. All villains have names. Everybody knows that.”

Walt didn’t even know what to say to that. “Maybe. Keep watching.”

“Do we catch them now?” Grant asked. “They’re in the house already.” He was right. They’d already found the spare key, disabled the security, and Bobby Shortstop and Eddie Left Fielder were bringing out the first items to load into the pickups. But it wasn’t enough. Walt wanted to have a solid case before they called the police in.

“No,” he answered. “We want to follow them to where they’re hiding everything. That’s what the police need. Solid evidence.”

“Hey, Walt,” Joanna poked him in the ribs, making him jump. “They’ve got trucks.”

“Yeah, so?”

“How are we going to follow them on foot?”

Walt didn’t answer. He didn’t have an answer.

“That’s a good question, Walt.”

“Yeah, Grant, I know it is. Feel free to share any ideas.”

Just then, four of the players came around the corner carrying a big wooden armoire. Two more of the “baseball bandits” followed and helped load it into the empty truck, setting it back against the cab. It almost looked big enough to hold the four guys loading it, thought Walt.

“Well, you don’t see one of those get stolen every day. Must be an antique.”

“That’s our ride,” said Walt. “Joanna, can you see if there’s anything inside that thing?”

She grinned and opened her hand in front of her. The air shimmered like the surface of a lake when a rock drops in, and she stuck her hand into the hole that opened up. She seemed to feel around, and then stretched in all the way up to her shoulder. It was an odd thing to see. “It’s empty. They must have unloaded whatever was in it to make it easier to carry.”

“Can you get us in with your portals?”

Joanna’s eyes widened. “You want to go through a portal?”

“I mean, it was an idea. Can you make them that big?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t tried.” While the trucks continued to be loaded, Joanna focused on widening the portals. At about two feet wide, she started to sweat.

“Guys, I think we’re almost out of time.” Vanessa had kept close watch on the trucks.

“Gee whiz, these guys are fast. They should go into the moving business.”

Walt’s eyes widened. The scene looked hazy, like in a dream. The baseball team all came out of the house at once. They tied down the last ropes, closed the tail gates, and started the engines. The vision faded and he shook his head. The driveway was empty save for the two loaded trucks. “Now or never, Joanna,” Walt said. “Give us a portal.”

Joanna took a deep breath and opened a two foot wide portal into the antique armoire. “Vanessa, you first. We’ll need a little light to get settled.” Vanessa only hesitated a moment before diving into the portal.

“Grant, you’re next, so you can phase out and make room if needed.”

“Great. Thanks, old buddy.” He shook his head and went through with no more comment.

“Follow me,” he told Joanna, and shouldered his way through the portal as well. “Tight fit,” he commented as he stood up in the dimly lit box, shoulder to shoulder with Grant and Vanessa. Joanna slid into the box as well, and the boys helped her through and and upright. The portal vanished, and she slumped against Walt and Grant.

“That was. Fun,” she panted.

Outside, they heard voices approaching, and Vanessa doused her light. A moment later, they heard car doors, and the engine of the truck rumbled awake. There was a jerk as they backed up, and then shifted gears, accelerating onto the street. They spent half an hour in traveling darkness with occasional reports from Grant, who peeked cautiously out. They were on the outside of town, and pulled up to a farm.

The engine shut off. Car doors opened and closed. Muffled voices again.

“How are we going to get out?” whispered Vanessa.

“Joanna can portal us out again.” The answer seemed obvious to Walt.

“I can’t portal if I don’t know where we’re going.” Walt would have stared at her if there had been any light. “It’s a spatial thing. I could portal us beside the truck, but I might drop us on top of those guys- or worse.”

“I don’t want to know what’s worse,” came Vanessa’s quiet voice.

“Grant-“

“I’m on it.” Grant’s leg, which had been pressed against Walt in the darkness, moved away, and suddenly there seemed to be a lot more room in the cabinet. They spent a tense moment wondering what Grant was doing. Walt tried to activate his visions, but nothing came. A loud banging came from outside, and then the cabinet door opened.

“Hurry up, climb out.” Grant waved them out, offering his hand to help the girls step out and over the side of the truck. In the headlights of the pickup, there stood a tall red barn. The doors were shut, and behind them was the source of the banging. “I shut the door and threw the latch. Hopefully, they’ll think it was the wind. It won’t hold them long, and there are probably other doors, but it’s enough to get you out.”

They hurried around the corner of the barn and hid in an abandoned chicken coop. As predicted, it only took a minute for one of the baseball boys to find the side door, and come around to open the front. The back of the chicken coop, however, had a hole just big enough to peek inside the barn.

“Geez, look at all that stuff.”

“Must be three houses worth of goods, at least.”

“This is what we need. The police just have to catch them here with it all.”

“How do we do that?”

Walt considered the question as he looked around the barn through the hole. His eyes went wide and his vision finally kicked in. He saw a shadow of Vanessa in the hay loft, floating behind Johnny and Richie. She flew forward, arms out, and shoved both of them off the edge of the loft. They tumbled down into a metal chamber a dozen feet wide. They landed on a layer of feed at the bottom with the air knocked out of them. His vision flashed to a corner of the barn where Frankie was putting a box on a shelf. As he leaned down, Grant’s fist shot through the back of the shelves and caught the unsuspecting second baseman right in the jaw. He was unconscious before he hit the ground. Walt’s perspective jumped to the door where Joanna was crouched down behind a television set sitting on a haybale. Bobby Shortstop and the Right Fielder whose name Walt could never remember walked through the door. Joanna’s hand struck out and a portal opened up under Bobby’s feet. He dropped through it, and there was a metal clang from inside the big metal chamber. The left fielder turned, and caught sight of her in the shadows as she struck her hand out toward his own feet. His shout began at the door, and finished in the metal chamber. He was caught, but he’d seen her.

“You guys see that big metal can thing?”

“That’s a feed silo.”

“We’re going to put them in it. Then we can call the police.” He ignored the looks of confusion, doubt, and excitement, respectively. “Vanessa, how high can you fly?”

“Fly? I mean, I floated that once, but-“

“See if you can fly up to the hay door, above the pickups. Try your translucent thing again, and you can shove them in from the second floor. They’re putting some stuff up there, but only one or two at a time are going up the stairs. Grant, phase through the wall, and grab them one at a time. Joanna, stay here, watch through the hole, and when you see one alone, put a portal under him and drop him into the silo thing. Don’t get seen. Everyone got it?”

“Portal from a distance?”

“What do you mean grab them, exactly?”

“I don’t know how to fly, Walt!”

“You guys can do this. I know. I’ve seen it.” With that, Walt turned and slipped out of the chicken coop. He headed for the trucks. He’d already seen his target, and how to capture them, but he didn’t know how to do it.

The first baseman was arguing with one of the other players between the two trucks, about who should carry a set of golf clubs. Walt knew what he had seen, he just needed to make it happen. In his mind, he pictured a giant ball, and superimposed it over the image of the two baseball players. He grit his teeth and wished, pushed, and silently swore, but nothing happened. He let out a frustrated sigh. He had to make it happen before they finished their argument and went inside. He took a deep breath, focused on the boys, and envisioned the ball again. He knew what it had to look like, he just needed to make it real. With that thought, a silver ball taller than the two boys appeared around them. There was a shout from inside, but Walt knew they wouldn’t get out. He ran forward, his eyes on the ball, holding the reality of it in his mind, and shoved. The ball moved, and the boys and golf clubs inside fell over, causing it to move a little more. He put his shoulder into it and pushed, walking behind it. It gained momentum as it moved, and with a final grunt, he sent it rolling across the open floor of the barn toward the silo that already contained most of their friends.

“Hey!” Mick’s voice cut through the night. Walt turned to see him standing only a few feet away. His vision hadn’t covered this part. “I know you. You’re one of those theatre kids.” He swaggered toward Walt. “You should have stayed backstage, freak.”

Mick was only a little taller than Walt, but more broad in the shoulders. The others were nearby, but he couldn’t let them be seen, too. He stood his ground.

“Mick, the jig is up. You might as well turn yourself in.”

“Uh huh.” Mick raised his fists and pulled back the right one. Walt turned toward it, bringing his own hands up in defense, and the left shot forward and tagged him in the jaw. He stepped back, shaking his head. He kept his fists up.

“Mick, it’s over.”

“Not quite, but I’m going to enjoy ending you.” He advanced, punched again, this time landing a one-two combination.

Walt reeled backwards, sprawling across the hood of a truck. Mick was fast, strong, and clearly this wasn’t his first fight. But he doesn’t have super powers. Walt wasn’t using his strongest resource: his mind.

Mick grabbed the lapels of Walt’s trench coat and pulled him off the truck. “Don’t ding the paint job, freak.”

Walt looked Mick in the eyes and focused. “Batter up, Mick.” He pulled back his right arm and swung downward. The bat that formed in his fist connected with Mick’s leg. Mick let go of Walt with a cry and doubled over, grabbing for his knee. Walt swung the bat up, taking aim on Mick’s chin. Mick fell back in a heap on the ground. “You’re outta here!”

Joanna, Grant, and Vanessa showed up at the door of the barn.

“We got the rest of them,” said Grant. “I put the lid on the silo so they can’t get out.”

They tied Mick up and propped him against the grain silo, with a note about the stolen goods. An anonymous phone call had the police on scene. The four heroes had to be careful not to get seen by the police, as well, especially since Walt’s dad was on the scene himself. After the police left with the “baseball bandits,” Grant called Greta to come pick them up.

Next week, Walt called a secret meeting and recounted the events.

“So, I think we should come up with code names and use costumes to hide our identities. And when talking about ourselves, we need a name for the group, so no one knows what we’re up to. I propose The Secret Society of the Midsummer Night’s Cast. What do you think?”

“It’s too long,” offered Deborah. “How about just the Midsummer Night’s Society?”

“Or just Midsummer Knights,” said Kris. “Spelled with a K, you know? Like medieval knights.”

“I like that,” said TM. “Gives an image of mysterious defenders of the realm.”

“Where are we supposed to get costumes?” asked Matt.

“Where we always get costumes,” answered Walt. “The theatre’s costume shop.”

“If you pop the lock on the window over the door, someone skinny can slide in.” Steven shrugged. “I’ve done it before.”

“I can portal us in,” offered Joanna.

“I can just walk through the wall and open the door,” countered Grant.

“Guys! I’m the stage manager.” Walt pulled the ring of keys from his pocket. “I’ve got keys.” He unlocked the costume storage room and they all filed in. He closed the door behind them. As usual, it was organized chaos. Racks of costumes from various shows going back years of the theatre. Shelves of shoes and hats. As well as a healthy assortment of things out of place.

“Spread out, find something that speaks to you.”

“I’m good,” said TM, and promptly shifted his face into a colorful mask, his hair spiked out in a rainbow of hues.”

“Then choose a code name while the rest of us look for costumes.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” TM grinned an extra large smile. “Just call me the Showstopper.”

Walt laughed. The name fit TM, actually. “Showstopper it is.”

“Hey look, the hooded cloaks from the multicolored Oedipus last year!” Grant pulled a golden cloak around his shoulders and lowered the hood so his eyes were barely visible. “Call me the Golden Ghost,” he said in a deep voice and walked through the costume rack toward the cabinet of gloves.

Matt also pulled a cloak from the rack, a forest green one. It looked good with his dirty blond surfer hair. “What do you think of The Condor?”

“Have you figured out your power?”

“Animals listen to me. My dog used to just ignore me. Now, he does anything I say, even tricks he’s never been taught.”

“Nice,” Walt responded.

“Walt, do you know if there’s a belt that goes with this?”

Walt turned to see Deborah already wearing a glittery blue body suit with red shoulder pads. “You’re really going to sparkle in that, Deb. You sure that’s what you want?”

“Sparkle, huh?” She held up a hand and wriggled her fingers. Electricity crackled between them. “Sounds perfect.”

“Belts are hanging up on the back wall.”

“Thanks!” She smiled and bounced her way back between the racks.

Actors in a costume shop never changed. Walt supposed it was the joy of becoming someone new. Something bigger than life. A room of wonder, where the biggest question was who do you want to be.

“Oh, Deborah, I love the body suit!” Vanessa’s voice came from the back of the room. “Where did you find it?” A moment later, she was near Walt and holding a black and orange bodysuit. He noticed her hair was almost pure white now.

“That’ll look good on you, Vanessa.”

She smiled, perhaps even blushed a little.

“What are you going to call yourself?”

Vanessa looked at the suit, then back at Walt. “Dark Watcher. That’s what I like to do anyway: watch from the darkness.”

“Now this is what I’m talking about!” Steven stood in front of one of the full length mirrors admiring the silver breastplate and bracers he was wearing. One dark lock of his hair fell across his eyes. “Feast your eyes on Liquid Steel.”

“Strong name. What’s your power?”

Steven put his fist in the air. It turned into cold hard steel. He opened the fist, and the steel fingers stretched out, flattening into sharp edges.

“Hey, we’re twins!” The good-natured Kris flipped over a costume rack and landed smartly beside Liquid Steel. He was wearing gold pauldrons on his shoulders and gold bracers over a loose fitting blue shirt.

“What are you going to be? Liquid Gold?” Steven didn’t sound like he was fond of having a twin.

“I was thinking something fun, like Kickflip.” He vaulted himself into the air, turned over, and landed in a low action pose, his feet wide, and fists ready.

“Whatever you want to be, Kris.” Walt smiled and got a hang ten sign in return.

Walt noticed someone had pulled open the mask drawer. Something in it caught his eye. He pulled out a wide red mask with a star stitched in the forehead.

“I like the cloaks, but I can’t decide,” said Joanna behind him. She’d found a tiara that she was wearing upside down and was holding three different color cloaks.

“Take the purple, like your hair.” Walt plucked the red one from her hands. It matched the star mask. “Have you picked a name?”

Joanna threw the cloak around her shoulders and held up her open hands. “Oh yeah.” The air around her hands vibrated. Her hair ran purple streaks and then turned full purple. “I’m Wyldcard.” It was an impressive sight. She lowered her hands and relaxed. Her hair returned to its usual blond. “What about you? First one in, last one out, right?”

“Always.” Walt grinned and looked down at the red cape and star mask. “I’ll be Captain Wonder.”

Click here to read more of a Thief of Magic.

The mixture in the pot let off a spout of noxious blue steam and turned green. Robin coughed, covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve, and checked the book. Last step. He crushed the lizard egg shells in his pestle and sprinkled them in to the bubbling mixture. He pulled the pot off the fire and waited anxiously until it turned brown. It still smelled like the wrong end of a sick goat.

It had been six months since Robin had inherited the murdered wizard’s belongings and title. He’d spent most of that time studying the wizard’s books. With a little subtle guidance, he’d learned to brew a few potions, and even cast a simple spell or two. He’d packed up the whole place and moved to a new town where no one knew him and opened a magic shop. With luck, it would keep him safe and make enough money to buy him out of trouble.

Robin carried the box of potion bottles out to the front room. He lined them up on the shelf where he’d posted the sign “Plant Growing Potions.” It was right below the “House Cleaning Potions” and above the “Bug Repelling Potions.” He was starting with a ‘household focus.’ Also, those were the simplest potions he could find. He hoped they worked. He knew the cleaning potions worked, because he had used them getting the shop and his upstairs apartment ready.

He took one last look at the front room of the shop before opening his doors for the first time. The wooden floor was clean of dirt. The potions were lined up in neat rows on the shelves. Across the store, many of the little statues from the wizard’s house arranged themselves on their own set of shelves. A cabinet behind the counter at the back held various amulets whose power or purpose he had yet no idea. He’d put a locking charm on the cabinet for safety, but it made for a nice display.

“Time to open up.” He released the lock charm on the door and windows and propped open the shutters, letting in the sunshine, the spring air, and the noise of the village street. The smells from the bakery across the way wasted no time invading his shop, and he wasn’t the least mad about it, other than wishing he could afford to eat there every morning. The ringing sound of hot metal and heavy hammer followed the aroma of sweet cakes. The blacksmith beside the bakery was already at work. The grain mill on the other side sat silent, the water wheel undoubtedly turning in the stream, but the milling stones were not yet engaged today. The buckler next door always slept in. The mercer on the other side was singing softly from within her shop.

The singing was interrupted by a violent sneeze. This was unusual. She sneezed again. Robin leaned out the window on that side.

“Good morrow and bless you, mercer! Are you ill?”

She leaned her own head out the window and waved. “Good morrow, young wizard! Nay, it is the spring flowers that make me sneeze.” She sneezed again, as if to prove the point. “I didn’t realize they were out so strongly this morning.” She withdrew her head and closed up her windows.

Robin walked behind his counter thoughtfully. He pulled one of his magic books from under the counter and leafed through the pages. He was sure he’d seen something about allergies. Had it been a potion? Or a charm? An herbal remedy, perhaps? He found it. A spell, as it turned out, to reduce the effect of allergies. It didn’t look too complicated.

“Egészség,” he sounded out without focusing the magic. Spells could be practiced without applying the magic power, he had learned, which was useful for someone trying to teach themselves! He practiced the hand motions, shaping his fingers just so, and flicking his wrist in the indicated direction. “Egészség.”

He felt that he almost had the casting down when his door opened. The man who entered was easily recognizable, though Robin had never spoken with him. His clothes were of good quality without being luxurious. His boots carried only the faintest trace of dust and mud, likely from walking down this very street.

“Good morrow, wizard. Welcome to Dragon Glen. I am Sir Theodore Penwold, burgomaster of the village.”

“Yes, my lord, I know.”

Sir Penwold glanced in the corner at the crystal ball on a shrouded table full of tarot cards. “Ah, yes, of course.” Robin had no idea how to use anything on that table. Such an important person was easy to spot in town, and had been pointed out to him by his neighbors.

“Well, I come to welcome you to town, of course, and wish you luck with your store, but also to bring you a bit of work.”

“Work?” Sir Penwold had his attention now. Work meant money. It also likely meant using magic. He had not yet enough of either for his comfort.

“Yes, nothing grand or impressive, mind you, sorry. It’s actually a rather mundane task. Our city guard would normally handle it, but we don’t currently have one.”

“I’m sorry, did you say the town is currently without any law enforcement? None at all?”

“Well, I mean, let’s not spread that about, of course!” Penwold moved further into the shop, away from the open door and windows. He lowered his voice. “We’re just temporarily without a captain of the guard, but one should be appointed very soon.”

“What about the guards under the captain?”

“Well, as it happens, by law, only the captain of the guard can appoint the guards, so until he arrives, we are a little short.” He wrung his hands together, and Robin could see his concern hiding under his joviality. “But we have you!” His charming smile returned. “Which brings me back to why I am here. Will you take the job?”

Robin considered himself a quick thinker and astute listener, but Penwold’s speech patterns seemed to jump over important details. “I’m sorry, what did you say the actual job is again?”

“Oh, did I forget to mention? Just some pesky animals on the south side of town. They’re bothering the cattle and sheep and such on the farms. We’d like you to make them go away.”

“You want me to make the cattle and sheep go away?”

“What? No, no, the wolves, my boy.”

“W-wolves?” Wolves were by no means on the same level as dragons, but neither were they field mice.

“Yes, whole pack of them it seems. A couple of our hunters tried to take them down, but the rest of the pack makes that a tricky business. I’m sure the boys will be hunting again in no time. So, how much?”

How much to face a full pack of wolves by himself? He might start with a new pair of pants. His rent was 25 silver crowns a month, so he’d need to make a little over five crowns a week.

“Six silver crowns, my lord.” He was no stranger to negotiating.

“That seems a bit steep for just a few wild dogs, don’t you think?” The charming smile was still in place, but the eyes sized up Robin’s height, weight, and wallet. “I was thinking more five shillings, and a good word about town for any who might need a little magic, eh?”

“I’m the only wizard in town, sir,” Robin pointed out. “As you’re my first customer, I can do four crowns, and I thought you said they were wolves?”

“Yes, wolves, but I don’t think there are very many of them. Perhaps we can do 2 crowns, but they’d have to be well and truly gone.”

“Not many you say?” Robin suspected there would be more than enough wolves. “Would you prefer to pay a crown per wolf, instead? If there are not many…”

“No need to go through the trouble of counting them. Here, I have three crowns right here.” He withdrew 3 shiny silver crowns from the purse at his waist. Robin noticed that the bulk of the purse did not change significantly by removing them.

“Three crowns, and a meal? It’s very difficult to work on an empty stomach.” Penwold’s stomach looked likely to agree with him. A simple meal would only be a few pennies, a shilling or two at most, but he did not want to be seen as an easy negotiator with his very first job. It would not set a good precedent.

“Done. I’ll tell Rose at the tavern to expect you after you’ve handled the wolves.”

“Deal. A pleasure doing business with you, my lord.”

Sir Penwold turned over the silver crowns and left in good spirits. Robin suspected he could have charged more than he’d ended up with, but the good will with the head of the village was no bad price either. Now to figure out what to do about a pack of wily, territorial wolves.

Robin headed upstairs and into the books. He would certainly need some shields. He’d already been working on those. He could usually do them when he was focusing. He’d need some kind of attack, too. The books often seemed to turn to the right pages for him, particularly with the hand bearing the little dragon ring. It had been on his finger since the day everything changed, and he still understood almost nothing about it. But he could feel its influence when he was practicing. He turned yellowed pages and suddenly paused. The open page read Chapter 4: Direct Magical Attacks. The following pages detailed how to apply magic in various ways for physical attacks. Directing air currents, pure magical energy, flame and ice casting, stone conjuration…

“Everything looks so complicated. And dangerous.”

The dragon ring flicked his hand to the edge of the page, and he flipped back through the spellcraft. The page stopped on directing air currents.

“That does sound less dangerous, but can air stop wolves?”

The ring did not respond.

Robin shrugged and set the book on the reading stand next to the dormer window. He read the instructions and warnings carefully. This was the most complicated spell he’d attempted so far. It had an ‘activation’ component, and then a ‘control’ component.

“Loftveldi,” he intoned under his breath and practiced the hand motion. When he thought he had it, he focused, shutting out the world around him, and pushed power into his words and actions.

“Loftveldi.” He felt the air around his hands change. It felt firmer, like moving his hands through water. He held the focused power, widened the blade of his hand and swept his arm across his body. A wind tore across the window in front of him. The book tumbled to the floor and the stand with it. The curtains whipped the wall, one tearing itself half loose. The shutter banged against the latch that held it shut. Robin closed his hand slowly into a fist and then relaxed.

“Wow.” He looked down at his empty hand with new admiration. “So, move slower in confined spaces. Got it.”

He repeated the exercise, this time moving very slowly and gently, and was rewarded with a light breeze in his closed bedroom. He resolved to practice the spell more on his way to the farms. He turned to the section on shield wards and reviewed that exercise before getting ready to leave.

“Sciath!” He waved an arm in an arc in front of him, and could feel the magic form a shield. He said the word again and waved the shield away.

Robin threw his cloak around his shoulders, his hat on his head, and hefted the wizard staff, which so far had been just a walking stick for him, but he was sure it had its own uses. Out the door he went, placing a quick locking charm as he left.

“Loftveldi.” He intoned and stirred little whirlwinds of leaves and dust as he walked. Crossing the river bridge around the corner from his shop, he wondered how he might affect the water and called up the spell again. “Egészség,” he said, and formed the motion with his hand. The air did not change. “Oh, wrong spell. Have to watch that.” He shook his head, mildly frustrated with his error, and tried again. “Loftveldi.” This time, he managed to cause small waves to lap the edge of the river by stirring the air above them. In too short a walk, he arrived at the farms south of town.

The sun was setting on the mountains to the west. Robin walked along the fence that kept the cows in place, looking for signs of wolves. He bent next to the eastern corner of the fence to examine the mud in which a cluster of wild flowers grew. There were prints there, but he wasn’t sure they were wolf prints. For that matter, he wasn’t sure what wolf prints looked like in the first place.

A low growl behind him caught his attention. Success; he’d found the wolves. Robin turned to find a full pack of nearly a dozen toothy beasts. Each one looked like it weighed as much as he did. The setting sun drew their long shadows right to his feet.

“Sciath.” He moved the wizard staff slowly across him with his left hand to create the magical shield. The wolves began to spread out, each one of them keeping two eyes on him. All the winds he had crafted had been of narrow breadth. He didn’t know if he could make a wind that would affect all of them, especially with enough power to drive them away. He would have to try.

“Egészség!” He positioned his hand and swept across the widening arc of wolves. He felt the shield slip as he focused on the spell. He pushed focus back into the shield, and realized he’d never before tried to do two spells at the same time. The wolves looked unaffected. Not even the grass had moved. Then he realized his mistake. Wrong spell again. He’d tried to cure the wolves of allergies. “Stupid stupid,” he mumbled to himself. “Loftveldi!” He again swept his hand in a wide arc, and struggled to divide his focus between the two spells. The grass stirred. Leaves fluttered into the air. The flowers danced in the stiff breeze, and the raised hackles of the wolves fluttered slightly. They didn’t even look concerned, much less intimidated or frightened. It wasn’t strong enough. How could he have thought he could take on a pack of wolves after an afternoon’s study? He was a fool, and in moments, he’d be a bloody dead one.

The pack of wolves had completed the semi circle, trapping him with his back against the fence. The sun was setting, and Robin couldn’t help but acknowledge the symbolism of the scene. The center wolf, the one closest to him, was the largest. It’s shoulders were just above his waist, and the massive grizzled head would have little trouble licking his cheek, but Robin was sure that wasn’t what it had in mind. It stepped forward, and if Robin had doubted its leadership position before, seeing the entire line step forward to follow suite convinced him.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. A wolf on his right was rushing forward. He swept his flat hand through the air in an upward arc and the wind surged forward. The wolf was hit in the chest and lifted into the air. It flipped over on its back and scrambled to get back on its feet and return to the circle. Focusing on the wind caused his shield to flicker, and he refocused energy toward it.

There was the sound of scuffed dirt behind him. He couldn’t turn fast enough. The wolves had him flanked, and they knew it. The attacking wolf yelped as it smashed it’s muzzle into the invisible shield, knocking it back onto its haunches. It shook its head and slowly backed up, sniffing the air and growling.

There was a snort behind him again, on the left side, and he turned, facing the center, and whipped his head back and forth, trying to keep all of the wolves in view. He’d no idea where the next attack would come from, and he wasn’t sure how long he could focus on two spells at once.

The leader of the pack suddenly sneezed violently. Robin stared. He hadn’t known wolves could sneeze. The wolf looked rather surprised, too. Another wolf, three members to the right, sneezed. Most of the pack had stopped growling and several were pawing at their muzzles. A third sneeze seemed to settle the issue. The leader of the pack backed up several steps, growling at Robin, and then turned tail and ran. The others followed his example, and the entire pack loped off towards the woods. The sound of lupine sneezes echoed back through the rising moonlight.

Robin watched them run off, bemused. Then he realized; he’d managed to give the wolves allergies instead of curing them. His wind had stirred up the flowers growing under the fence. “I guess better a lucky fool than a dead one.” He would have to tell the farmers to plant the flowers all along their fences. He headed back toward the road, and his well-earned dinner.

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Jeanne closed the cabin door as the porter left. They had a gorgeous bubble balcony view of planetfall for sail away. The suite was as luxurious as expected, with even a bowl of assorted fresh fruit laid out on the table in the common room. The bed was huge and she was sure as soft as was economically possible.

“I don’t trust them,” she announced to her husband, standing at the balcony doors. “Why would they give us a free cruise? Us, of all people?”

“Because they want to show us that they aren’t as bad as we’ve been saying they are,” answered Oliver. He opened his luggage on the bed and began unpacking into the drawers and closet. “They want to wine us and dine us, and show us a wonderful time, so that we’ll agree to sign exclusive port access of Breton to them. Same with the other planetary dignitaries on board. The Malestroit is one of the newest, most luxurious ships in the fleet.” He turned from the view to take her in his arms. “I’d still wager the crew isn’t getting paid any better than the rest of the line. It’s criminal, the difference in class on these vessels, and I do not intend to be a party to hiding it behind glossy marketing propaganda.”

“Are we going to go on the other cruise lines, too, if they offer to bribe us?”

“If they want us to. We’ll go, we’ll smile, we’ll enjoy the excellent food and the pampering they want to give us, and then we’ll tip the porters and waitstaff well, and not have to pay the wealthy investors that run the line. Remember, Jeanne, I’m not trying to shut these tourist lines down. They do bring valuable opportunities to many indigenous peoples of their ports of call, and the employees of the line. Many spend their lives here on these ships to make their families back home more comfortable than they ever could on their own planet. But that’s no excuse for taking advantage of them and mistreating them the way the lines do. The local employees are all underpaid, overworked servants at best. The officers of every ship in the line are full blood human. They can’t explain that away with Bungresse caviar and Nilaxian champagne.”

“I still don’t trust them.”

“What’s to trust? They deal in entertainment and spoil. Even an accident would reflect very badly on them. They take every precaution to keep their guests safe and happy. It’s the crew I worry about.”

Jeanne smiled up at her husband. His golden beard could not hide the twinkle in his blue eyes. “You’ve the heart of a lion, Oliver Clisson.”

“Maybe, but I kiss like a seal!” He rubbed his beard across her cheeks, tickling her while he tightened his arms around her. Jeanne burst out laughing and pushed him away.

“You can kiss me later. We should get ready for dinner.”

In the Main Dining Room, the Clissons were sat at a table of honor, along with a handful of other invited guests. They knew them by name, though they had not met before.

“I am called Alain. This is my spouse Guilla. We are from Quédil. We publish the Travelers’ Guide for this arm of the galaxy.” The Quédilliacs were a smaller than average race of beings with very thin limbs. She was sure they had their athletes, like any species, but Jeanne had never seen or heard of one. In contrast, their heads were larger than average, sitting on two wiry necks, to fit their sizable brains.

“A pleasure to meet you both.” Oliver shook hands with Alain. “We have a subscription. Jeanne reads every issue. We’re from Breton.”

They marveled over the gold-plated tableware and singing crystal wine glasses while they waited for the rest of their table to arrive. The Plessians were not delayed long. They were an aquatic people, as Plessis was almost entirely covered in water. It was a very popular tourist destination for various water sports. Their skin was smooth and rubbery-looking with blue and purple hues.

“My name is Denis. This is my son, Geoffrioe.” Greetings and pleasantries were exchanged all around. The boy had apparently just reached the age of maturity for his people, and thus was now allowed to travel, so this particular trip was quite an experience for him.

After perusing the expansive menus (each page was a different planetary specialty), some small talk, and a round of drinks and appetizers, Alain checked over his shoulder for nearby waiters or ship staff before speaking in hushed tones.

“So, I know why we’re getting the royal suite treatment, as I’ve not been overly generous in my articles regarding the cruise lines, and they would prefer more glowing testimonials to add to their pamphlets, but what do they want from you?”

“Exclusive and unrestricted port access to Breton,” answered Oliver.

“They already visit Plessis, but they want to build one of their ICCL resorts on the surface. Well, I say surface. I’ve seen the architectural plans. We have one unsubmerged landmass, and they want all of it, plus an entire system of floating bungalows surrounding it, and docking berths for a good hundred submarines of various sizes to tour our underwater cities. Absolutely ridiculous.”

“Yet you accepted their tickets?”

“Travel is a very good thing. Exposure to other cultures and ways of life.” He smiled at his younger companion. “But exposure is not the same as exploitation.”

“Hear hear!” Oliver raised his glass in agreement, and the table joined him in a friendly toast against the evil cruise lines before their waiter brought the meals. They watched the stars slip by through the MDR’s big bubble windows. They were out of the solar system before the second course.

“One thing cruise lines have always been known for, and rightly so, are the meals.” Alain wiped his mouth with the thousand-thread count stardust linen napkin. “The culinary skill is excellent, the setting glitzy, and the company of the highest possible class.” He smiled the compliment, and the rest of the table laughed. “Honestly, it is no simple task to balance multi-cultural preferences and sensitivities. Some planets’ delicacies very much resemble other planets’ monarchs!” The wine made the laughter all the easier to come by, and Jeanne found it to be a most pleasant meal with new friends when she had expected five courses of dull torture with cruise line executives or disdainful aristocrats.

As they left the table, Oliver, in his usual way, pulled their waiter to the side. He slipped a sizable bill into the waiter’s hand. “This is for your family that you said are still back on your home planet.” He slipped another bill of the same size into his hand. “This one is for you. Save it, invest it, spend it on yourself if you like, but it’s for you personally. Thank you for your service. We quite enjoyed the meal.” Expressions varied from species to species, but Jeanne was sure she saw tears in the waiter’s eyes as they walked away.

The night, however, was a restless one of strange engine noises and unexpected vibrations of the ship. Uncharacteristic of the modern galactic vessels, but nothing to worry about, she told herself as she tossed in the cloud-like bed.

The next morning, they sat at the same table for breakfast with the same companions. The odd behavior of the ship was the prime topic of conversation and conjecture.

“I tell you,” swore Alain, “I spent a fitful hour in the middle of the night on our bubble balcony, writing a draft of a scathing review by the waning light of the departing star system. Once we reached open space, the light was too dim, and I retired to my bed to try again to sleep.” He speared a sausage from his plate. “I don’t have to tell you that I found little success!”

A broad shouldered man in a very bright IICL uniform navigated to their table, with three more like him in his wake.

“Ah, finally,” smiled Denis, “our captain makes his appearance! Say hello, son.”

Before Geoffrioe could comply, the officer spoke. “I am not the Captain; I am the Chief of Security. You are Oliver Clisson of Breton, Alain of Quédil, and Denis of Plessis, yes?”

The seated travelers looked from one another. Jeanne did not like the tone of the question at all. Oliver stood up. Alain and Deni followed his example. “What is the problem, officer? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“I didn’t give it. You are hereby charged with attempted sabotage and corporate espionage.” He did not look at the guards behind him as he commanded, “Take them into custody.” The guards moved instantly, taking each of the standing men by the arm.

“Now see here, you cannot just accuse us of something and throw us in the brig!” Oliver did not resist the guard, but gave him a look of steel that would tolerate no casual roughness. “We are men of high standing in our societies. I demand you present evidence and allow me to contact my legal representation.”

The chief of security allowed himself a brief smirk. “We are in open space on the IIC Malestroit, my lord; we can do anything we like. Throw them in the brig.”

Jeanne leaped to her feet. “Get your hands off my husband! This is absurd. We are invited guests of the cruiseline.” She reached for the guard holding Oliver.

“Jeanne, stop. Fighting with the guards won’t do any good. Call the attorney. I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding.” He walked resolutely away with the guard. Denis and Alain were much less calm about it, but, with the guards’ assistance, they, too, were led off to the brig.

The chief of security stood with his hands folded behind his back and kept a firm eye on Jeanne and the rest of them until the prisoners had been removed from the dining room. The entire chamber was staring, but Jeanne didn’t care. Once her husband was out of sight, she turned her attention to him.

“I want to speak to the captain immediately.”

“He’s a very busy man, miss.” He smiled as though placating a drunken guest who was complaining about towels. “But I’ll let him know as soon as I see him.” He bowed to the table and left.

That afternoon, Jeanne walked into the brig. The lawyer had been useless. They were outside of any solar system, and floating in unregulated open space. The laws of protection and justice couldn’t reach them. Usually, in such situations, the Cruise line imposed its own laws and justice, bringing prisoners or suspects back into lawful regions to deal with their alleged crimes, but there was no law that said they had to.

“Oliver?” There were five doors in the brig, each with a tiny, barred window, and a guard in front of the middle one.

“Jeanne?!” His golden beard appeared in the little window of the center door.

The guard stepped sideways to cover the window. Jeanne stepped forward.

“I will give you a hundred credits to let me talk to my husband.” She pulled the money from a pouch at the side of her dress and held it out straight-armed like a sword. She held the pose for ten shallow breaths. She knew the crew aboard these ships were underpaid, but how willing would that make the guard? He finally took his eyes off the money long enough to scan the otherwise empty room and throw a furtive glance at the camera over the door. The guard covered her hand and pushed them away from his face. The credits vanished from her fingers like a magician’s trick, and the guard turned to walk the row of doors, looking inside each very closely and throughly inspecting every perceivable corner of the cell, empty or not.

“Jeanne, what are you doing here? Did you get in touch with the attorney?”

“He’s no help. What evidence do they have?”

“They won’t share it with us. They only say it is enough to be sure of their accusations.”

“Are you okay? How are they treating you?”

“We’re fine. They’ve done no more than imprison us and try to scare us.”

“Scare you how?”

“By implying that if the captain determines us guilty of espionage and sabotage, he’s authorized to sentence us to death.”

Jeanne gasped and drew back from the door, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

“I’m certain it is just blustering, Jeanne.” Oliver stretched his fingers through the bars. She grasped them and closed her eyes. “No space captain, especially a civilian captain of a luxury liner, has ever mitigated such a punishment. They’d surely have hell to pay when they docked back in regulated space again.”

Jeanne was not willing to take that risk. “Guard!” She turned her attention, though she kept her fingers entwined with her husband’s. “Open this door, and I will get you a hundred times those credits!”

“You open that door, and you’ll find yourself on the other side of it!” The voice of the chief of security cracked from the other side of the room. He’d entered from a door marked Officers Only, and was followed by another decorated man in uniform, one with even more brass at his collar. “Seize the woman. Put her in a different cell.”

The guard, now under the watchful eye of his direct superior and the captain of the ship, as well, did not hesitate to follow orders. He hurried toward Jeanne.

Jeanne, however, was not a person of hesitation, either, and leaped toward the guard, catching him by surprise. She grabbed at the baton as he withdrew it from its sheathe and threw herself to the floor in a slide between his knees. He would have to either let go of the enforcement weapon, or follow her between his own knees. He was not quick thinking enough to let go of the weapon, but as he landed in a twisted pile on the carpeted floor, the rod slipped from his grasp.

Jeanne dashed for the hallway. Heavy footsteps pounded the deck behind her. She ran for the promenade; it would be full of people at this time of day. She lost herself in the crowd. The cruise line may want to discredit her husband and the other ‘honored guests,’ but they didn’t want to incite a panic among the general masses. Criminal hunts did not inspire shopping. She slipped out of the crowd and into the labyrinthine passageways that led to the cabins. She could not hope to find safety in her own cabin, they would be looking for her there. She headed to the Quédilliacs’ cabin. She felt she could trust Guilla. She should tell her what she knew, anyway. She opened the door immediately at the sound of Jeanne’s voice.

“Jeanne, are you okay?”

“They are looking for me. I talked to my husband. The cruise line is determined to paint them as criminals. We have to get them out of there.”

“It would do little good if we did. We need to get away, back to our home planets, where we can bring legal and political pressure on the cruise line to rescue them and clear their names. We cannot fight this from here. We can use the Traveler’s Guide to get word of this to billions all over the galaxy. They won’t be able to suffer such bad publicity. They’ll have to release them. Trust me.”

“I trust you, but how do we leave? They certainly won’t turn the ship around to take us home.”

A youth Jeanne hadn’t noticed in her distress stood from the couch. It was Geoffrioe, Denis’s son. “I was able to get word to our people. They are sending a ship to get us and are not far away.”

“They won’t let us leave the ship, especially with what we know. They’ll just put us in the brig, too.” Jeanne no longer trusted the officers of this ship. The pleasure cruise had become a political trap.

“What can we do?” Guilla wrung her hands and looked out their bubble balcony.

The view out of the balcony gave Jeanne an idea. Not all balconies had such a nice view. Whole decks had obscured views. Obscured by emergency vessels and tender shuttles for taking passengers to small planet side ports.

“How close are your people, Geoffrioe?”

“A few hours, at most, half a day.”

“If we steal one of the tender shuttles, his people could pick us up in open space.”

“If we what?” Guilla looked shocked.

“Would you rather wait for them in the brig?” Jeanne looked to Geoffrioe. “Are you with me?”

“Aye aye!” He nodded. Youth were often ready for adventure. She would just need to keep him safe enough to see the other side of it. Guilla grabbed her coat. “Well, I’m not staying here by myself!”

Reaching the nearest tender ship was easy. The liners were designed to make emergencies as simple and safe as possible. As a result, there was no lock on the emergency doors. There was surely an alarm raised on the bridge as they launched, but that could not be avoided. By quickly escalating to the ship’s top speed, the other vessels on the cruise liner should not be able to overtake them. This was not built to be a ship of war. They did not need to worry about cannon fire.

The radio crackled to life. “This is Captain Les Halles of the Cruise Ship Malestroit. You have taken unauthorized control of one of our emergency tender shuttles. This is a criminal act against the cruise line. However, if you turn back now, I promise you we will not press charges. We’ll just call it a little ‘unplanned excursion’ and forget it all happened.”

Jeanne opened the communication channel. “What about Oliver, Denis, and Alain’s ‘unplanned excursion’ to the brig?” She kept the nose of their shuttle pointed away from the cruise line and increasing speed.

“Those men are being held in connection with an incident of sabotage and espionage. Please turn the shuttle around.”

“We’ll just see what the rest of the galaxy thinks about that, shall we?”

“If that’s the way of it, you may want to turn on the video channel we are currently broadcasting to you.”

Guilla activated the screen. Oliver, Alain, and Denis filled the screen. Their hands were cuffed in front of them, and they were standing in an airlock.

“What are you doing?” Geoffrioe yelled at the communication screen. “Let my father out of there!”

“Last chance,” responded the captain. “Turn the shuttle around.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” breathed Guilla.

The captain stepped into the edge of the screen and gestured towards the captives. A guard stepped forward and strapped a small tank of air around the chest of each man, attaching the breathing mask over their faces.

“Let it not be said that we did not give them a chance. Perhaps, if you turn the shuttle around and are quick enough, you can even rescue them from deep space before they run out of air.” He waited a mere seconds, just enough to let the situation sink in.

“Gentlemen, for crimes against the IIC Malestroit and the Interstellar Industries Cruise Lines in general, including sabotage and espionage, it is my duty as captain to ban you from the cruise line permanently. Your disembarkation of the ship will be immediate. Good luck to you in your future travels.” The captain stepped back, and the airlock doors cycled closed. Oliver stood ramrod straight, head high, as the exterior doors opened. In seconds, they were lost to the vast blackness of space.

“Captain,” Jeanne growled into the microphone, “I swear on my husband’s life that you and your superiors will pay for this.”

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Read from the Beginning

Astro glared at the asteroids that filled the main window of the bridge. He tapped his forepaws on the arm of the captain’s chair. His claws made a sharp sound with each tap. The sound annoyed him and he fed the annoyance to his frustration. He had still not managed to reengage the ship’s autopilot. The flying was on him, and sometimes Sakesh, though she seemed less interested in doing it most days. He was more than happy to leave the cooking to her and the flying to him, as nothing he had cooked so far had been worth eating. She, at least, had experience from her hunting parties.

“Going around the asteroids will just take too long.” He would have to fly through the asteroid field, and he hoped he’d gotten good enough.

“Can you fly through those? They appear to be moving around, and some are very large.”

“We’ll just go slowly. It’ll still be faster than trying to find our way around them all.”

“What are the fast little rocks in between?”

Astro maneuvered the ship closer. Between the asteroids, flashes of reflective specks zipped around, in and out of the rocks. Sometimes singly, sometimes in groups. Astro leaned forward as he noticed one chasing another.

“They look like-“

“Fish!” shouted Sakesh.

“But they are in space. There is no air, or even water, out there.”

Yet Astro could not deny the similarity. They did indeed appear to be fish swimming in space. As they got closer, they could see that even their shapes were reminiscent of fish, long and lean or wide and stout, with big round eyes. Some had tapered fins on either side, others a strong tail fin. Their scales glistened in reflected light of silver and copper hues.

“They look metal,” commented Sakesh. “My people craft metal fish for status. Show wealth and power. They craft little ones on uniforms; show rank and nobility.”

Astro looked over at Sakesh. She still wore her hunting uniform, finding it more comfortable than the Earth uniforms on the ship. Astro’s tail agreed with her. He was currently wearing pants and a leather jacket made for him on her world with an Arrow branded tee shirt he’d gotten from the supplies on the ship.

“I don’t see any fish on your uniform. Where are they?”

Sakesh’s ears tilted back, nearly flattening on her furry head. “I have no rank, no status. I am last born of my litter, and smallest as a second scratch to my name. My family is noble, but I am destined to be nothing more than what I can make for myself. So I hunt. I am good at it. But it make joining your journey easier choice.”

Astro considered her flattened ears which had now relaxed, and the metal fish flitting to and fro across the main window. “Let’s get you some, then.”

Sakesh looked at him. “Get me what?”

“Metal fish.” Astro gestured out the window.

“Astro, you say no air or water out there. We have no fishing poles or spears. How do you think we catch fish?”

“With our paws.” He shrugged. “We have suits for out there, to walk in space. We can just suit up, go out, and get some fish. To show how noble you are. It’ll be fun.”

Sakesh stared at him without moving. He was never sure how to read that look. Sometimes it seemed like admiration. Sometimes disappointment.

“You catch fish with paws?”

“Never. How hard can it be?” He powered down the engines and headed for the suit storage near the air lock. Sakesh followed.

Once suited up, their tails stuffed down one leg, they stepped into the air lock. Beside the door were four safety lines with big hooks for their suits. He clipped a hook and line to each of them.

“This is the safety line to keep us tied to the ship,” he told her over the suit radios. “Do not take this off.”

“Understand,” replied Sakesh.

Astro knew from experience that the lights around the door would indicate when it was safe to go out. He pressed the air cycle control, and the lights around the exit door went blue. The overhead lights dimmed. Once the ship took the air out of the room, the lights turned white and the door slowly slid open. Outside was a vast darkness pierced with a million little stars. The airlock door was not facing the asteroid belt, but it was obvious as soon as they exited.

The giant wall of floating rocks of every size and rough shape stood before the front of the Arrow. The little metal fish swam around between them.

“We use the jets in the suit to go where we want.” He jetted gently forward to demonstrate. He went further than he’d expected, but he didn’t share that over the radio. It got the point across. Sakesh nodded and jetted forward herself. They made their way toward the nearest asteroid, which had schools of copper and silver fish flitting all around it.

Astro chose one silver fish about half the length of his arm that appeared to be nibbling on a shiny section of the asteroid itself. He jetted forward with his arms out, directly toward the fish. It was almost within his grasp when it flipped around and swam away right out from under him. He flailed his arms, but could not change course as fast as the fish had. He reached for the reverse jets too late, and crashed into the asteroid with a yelp of surprise. A glance at the suit display in his face shield confirmed that he’d taken no damage, but a feline giggle echoed across his radio.

Up close, the asteroid was a mix of rock and metal. Holes and tunnels covered the misshapen chunk of asteroid reef. Astro took hold of the edge of a tunnel and used the asteroid as a stable base to turn.

Sakesh had abandoned the idea of using the jets to chase the fish, and instead was crawling across a large asteroid nearby, stalking a large bronze fish with long trailing fins like copper ribbons. The ribbonfin glided from one shiny spot to another, moving away from Sakesh with no obvious concern. She crept closer over the pitted surface. Her lithe body, even in the space suit, flowed around and over bumps and ridges. She was half a length from her target when she bunched her hind legs under her and leaped forward, arms outstretched. The safety line jerked taught a foot into her jump, stopping her progress, making her thump into the asteroid with no sign of her usual grace. The ribbonfin swam away, stirring up little bits of metallic asteroid dust to float up from the surface. Astro did not recognize the words that came across his radio, but he knew the tone.

She reached down and grabbed the safety hook, pulling it out of the suit latch.

“Sakesh, what are you doing? Don’t take off the line.”

“I can not hunt on leash,” she hissed into the radio and cast the safety line back toward the ship. Astro hesitated, uncertain whether to leap for her safety line and fetch it back to her, or to go for Sakesh herself and count on his own line to bring them both back to the ship. His hesitation lasted only a moment and he launched himself across the gap between the asteroids toward her.

Sakesh pulled her feet under her and leaped. She soared away from the asteroid, but not toward Astro. She twisted around mid-flight and kicked off against an asteroid floating by that was as big as she. The asteroid shifted its direction, and Sakesh went rocketing back toward the original asteroid. Her paws closed around the ribbonfin, and she tucked around it, rolling across the surface with the fish clutched against her chest. She held it with one arm and reached out with the other to grasp a pawhold on one of the holes. Angling back toward Astro, who was now floating midway between the two larger asteroids, she launched herself again. He clutched her to him as soon as she was in range, and both of them, all three of them, counting the fish, floated gently back toward the ship. Astro triggered the safety line retraction, and they were hauled back toward the airlock together.

“I got fish.” Her voice came across through the radio, but the smile through her helmet was louder.

Astro shook his head, grinning as well, and turned his attention back toward the ship. Little fish were swimming around the outside of the ship, as well. They needn’t have had to go all the way to the asteroids after all; the fish would have come to them. As they got closer, he noticed that nearly all the little fish around the ship were face down toward the metal hull. He focused on the closest of them, a round fish with a dark silver body and gold rings around the middle. What was it doing to the front of the ship? It broke away and swam off as the safety line pulled them near, and Astro barked in his helmet, hurting his own ears, as he saw that the little fish had left behind a little hole.

“They’re eating the ship!” The realization hit him. “They eat metal.”

“That is not good. I hunt them.”

“There are too many. By the time you stalk each one, they’ll have done too much damage.”

“I will use bow. Move ship away from rocks.”

Astro nodded. They had a plan. The airlock cycled them through an eternity, but when the doors opened, he ran for the bridge, and she ran for her bow, still carrying the ribbonfin. He leaped over the back of the captain’s chair and initiated the engines. It only took a few minutes to back the ship off the asteroids enough to keep the fish from swimming the distance. He kept watch through the main window to make sure. Other screens turned to view the airlock and the sides of the ship. Sakesh was already cycling back through the airlock, holding her bow.

Astro suddenly worried. Would the bow work with no air for the arrows to fly through? Would the arrows hurt the metal fish? Or had they already done too much damage to the ship? He brought up the systems checks and looked for signs of problems: loss of air, or damaged electrical components.

On the exterior screen, Sakesh clipped in her safety line and stepped out onto the hull of the ship. She took aim, and let fly an arrow. It shot true, faster than a blink, punctured a fish, and sailed on into space. No sooner was it gone than a second arrow flew down the side of the ship, taking out another fish. Sakesh hunted up and down the outside of the ship, taking deadly aim on every fish she found.

Astro, relieved that the bow was doing the job, and finding no severe damage, finally relaxed enough to remove his helmet. As he did, something tickled against his neck. He pawed at it, and knocked a tiny metal fish to the carpeted floor. It wriggled there, but did not seem to be able to fly the way it did around the asteroids. After a few moments, it lay still, and he picked up the tiny gold fish.

“All done. No more.” Sakesh entered the bridge, back in her usual uniform.

Astro brought his right paw up and held out the little gold fish. “Sakesh, for exceptional service to the Arrow, I present you this symbol and the rank of First Officer.” He smiled. “Now you can show off your riches and nobility.”

Sakesh took the little fish and gave Astro that inscrutable look again. “Yes, I have much wealth.”

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It was the spring of 1956, the closing night of Gold Bend High School’s production of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. (That was the name of the town back then. It did not become Power City until some time later.) I played Hermia. I thought, at the time, that my best friend, Deborah, had played an electric rendition of Titania, Queen of the Fairies, and only later realized the irony in my review. Like my character, I had spent much of the production enjoying the attentions of two men, but neither of them were the ones I kissed on stage. Johnathon played a commanding Oberon, while Grant was a mere stagehand. Our stage manager, Walt, was his best friend and had talked him into being a backstage unseen member of the show. I don’t think he would have otherwise done it, and we would never have met. That show proved to hold many ironies for us.

The final show had closed around ten that night, and after half an hour of signing autographs for parents and underclassmen, and posing for photographs in costume and makeup with each other, we resigned ourselves to a night of celebration, as is the custom of theatre folk everywhere. By midnight, we were on the bleachers of the baseball field, and on top of the world.

Kris, our cheerful Lysander, perched at the top of the bleachers and called to the air, “How now, spirit! Whither wander you?”

Some called that this was not Lysander’s line, but TM, still in the wild, multi-colored Puck makeup, responded gamely, “The king doth keep his revels here tonight!”

Johnathon, still wearing Oberon’s fairy crown and wings, bowed stately and yelled “Hell yeah, I do!” and was met with cheers and laughter.

“Remember,” said Steven, “what happens at the cast party-“

“-Stays at the cast party!” responded several at once.

Walt watched from the top corner of the bleachers, next to Vanessa, our lighting tech. Rumor had it that they were sweet on each other, but no one could catch them at more than a clandestine glance. It seemed Vanessa was the one part of the theater where Johnathon wasn’t in confident control. Puck (It was hard to think of him as the TM we all knew in that makeup.) joined Joanna, still wearing Helena’s dress, on the ground dancing to no music. Steven, the set builder, and Matt, our charming red-haired Demetrius, thumped a beat for them on the old wooden bleachers.

Perhaps, if the baseball team had won their away game that night instead of suffering a crushing defeat, the night would have been merely the memory of another delightful show. It was just after midnight when the team rolled in, championship hopes dashed, egos wounded, and testosterone high, to find their territorial baseball field invaded by theatre kids. Or perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered, for the two groups rarely got along in the best of times.

“Well, look at the fairies on our field!” Mick, captain of the team swaggered up to TM and Joanna, who had stopped dancing. He traded his lurid look at Joanna for a disgusted look at TM. “What is wrong with your face?”

“It’s makeup. What’s wrong with yours?”

Mick put his finger on TM’s chest. “You’d better watch your mouth and remember who runs this school.”

“Leave him alone. We’re students here, too, and we’ve got just as much right to be here.“ Joanna stepped up and pushed Mick’s hand away from TM. “Why don’t you go chase some balls.”

Mick shoved her back into the bleachers. “Don’t touch me, you drama freak!”

Quick as a dance step, Matt and Steven jumped down the bleachers, but Kris was closer. The unexpected punch took Mick in the mouth and turned him sideways, but his feet didn’t move. Kris brought his balled fists up, ready to fight, as Matt and Steven dropped into place on either side of him.

Walt was on his feet at the top of the bleachers. “Everybody settle down! If we get expelled, there won’t be theatre or baseball.”

It was a valiant effort to diffuse the situation, but Mick was long past listening. “Oh, the little actors want to play hardball, do they?” He reached back and snatched a bat from the closest of his friends. “Batting practice, boys!” The gloves and ball bags hit the ground as bats swung into view.

Kris and the others were brave, not foolish, and took several steps back. The other theatre kids moved down from the bleachers as the baseball boys stepped up, bats over their shoulders.

Mick swung at Kris’s face, who ducked back. The jock was toying with him. “I’m king of this school.” One of the other players snatched Oberon’s crown and tossed it to Mick. “Off with their heads, boys!” The team laughed and advanced on them.

“Run!” cried Walt, and like any good cast, they did exactly what their stage manager told them. With the team between them and the school, they sprinted across the field toward the dark woods that bordered the outfield. The baseball boys loped behind them, wolves playing with their prey.

They scrambled over the fence at the edge of the shadowy field, and drove into the dark woods. The baseball team stopped at the fence and gave each other high fives, throwing jeers and taunts into the wooded darkness that hid us.

From behind a tree, a voice projected “What’s wrong, losers? Scared of the dark?”

“Joanna!” hissed Walt, “shut up!”

“Everyone follow me!” Kris lead the way between a pair of old trees, and the group followed. “I used to explore these woods. There’s a cave not far away.”

The sound of chain link fence rattling urged them on through the darkness. They stumbled, and helped each other up. They found the cave in the darkness, a narrow crack in a half-buried boulder with a huge oak spreading out over top of it. The thick roots ran down along the stone, helping to conceal the entrance. They filed in a shoulder at a time.

“Hang on, I have a flashlight.” He dug his flashlight out of his backpack and switched it on, playing it around the cave, and counting faces. “Is everyone here?”

“That light is going to make the crack shine like a lighthouse,” advised Vanessa.

“She’s right, but there’s more cave. This way.” Kris led the group through another opening in the stone walls. Three rooms in they stopped to catch their breath.

“Everyone relax, have a seat. We’ll hide out here for a while until they’ve gone. I doubt they’ll search long, if we keep quiet.” He threw Joanna a reproachful look.

She shrugged. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, but maybe next time, don’t pick a fight with the entire baseball team while they’re carrying their gear.” His light flickered, and plunged them into darkness. Two squeals and a chorus of groans echoed in the rock chamber. “Everyone stay still.” The sound of Walt slapping his flashlight a few times resounded around the cave with no result.

A yellow swirl of light from their midst illuminated the room. It emanated from a large crystal in the center of the room. As it brightened, it showed Vanessa sitting on the ground leaning against the crystal. The luminance deepened into an amber light and swirled around the crystal and into her back. Vanessa herself began to glow as the crystal faded into a more normal milky translucence. In Vanessa’s amber glow, two other crystals lit up. One beside Grant turned black and flowed into his hand, which was resting on the top of the crystal. The other, against Deborah’s leg, crackled to life in orange jagged streaks. As the streaks shot into her leg, sparks flitted between her fingers.

The crystal against Vanessa turned as black as Grant’s, but whirled, instead of flowed into her back, spinning around the crystal like a dark silent tornado as it touched down and was absorbed into her back. Grant’s crystal gave off a deep red pulse, seeming to emanate from Grant’s hand, still touching it. After three pulses, a bright red swirl of light filled the crystal and vanished into his hand.

The crystals ceased glowing, but the cave was lit by Vanessa’s amber light, showing the shocked faces of the entire cast and crew.

“What was that?” asked Walt. “Are you three okay?”

Grant finally tore his hand away from the crystal and stepped back from it. He tripped and fell into the wall behind him. His legs remained visible but the rest of his body was now inside the wall. “I’m okay,” he called form inside the wall. “I think.” He slowly sat up, bringing his back up into the cave with the rest of them, though his hips were still hidden inside the rock.

Deborah silently stared at her hands, moving her fingers back and forth creating sparks between them.

“Cool!” Joanna rushed toward the crystals, her hands out. “I’m next!” TM was right behind her.

Walt stepped between them and held out his hands. “Slow down. We don’t know what these things are. They could be dangerous.”

“They’re fine.”

“They got super powers!”

Walt looked back over his shoulder. “Grant? Vanessa? Deborah? How do you feel?”

Grant grinned at Walt. “Actually, I feel pretty great.”

“Me too, Walt. The sparkles kind of tickle.”

Vanessa looked at her glowing hand and the amber light shifted into a red, then blue. “I’m fine, too.”

Walt considered a moment before dropping his hands. “Alright, if you two want to try it, but I’m doing it with you. There are three crystals. One for each of us.” Walt turned to the one Grant had been touching. He offered Grant a hand up.

TM reached for Deborah’s sparkly crystal, leaving Vanessa’s for Joanna. Vanessa tried to move away, but ended up a foot in the air instead.

Joanna squealed. “Score!” She gripped the crystal with both hands. Walt and TM both touched their own crystals, a mix of excitement, curiosity, and nervousness on all their faces. Orange and purple lights flowed into Walt’s hand. Blue light swirled against Joanna’s fingers. TM’s crystal turned a brilliant white and swirled into his hand.

Walt’s eyes widened, the pupils vanishing. TM’s stage makeup stretched and warped along his face, as his ears grew pointed, the colors on his cheeks stretched up into his temples. He had looked wild as Puck, he was supernatural now. Joanna let go of her quiescent crystal and leaped into the air, arms outstretched. Kris caught her before she fell face first into the rock floor.

“Hey, no fair! Why can’t I fly?”

“I don’t think it gives the same powers every time,” said Kris. “I don’t see sparks or glow from you or TM. Walt, what’s going on?”

“I’m fine.” His eyes returned to their normal brown, and he shook his head. “Kris is right. The powers are different each time. Kris, Matt, and Steven are next. I saw it. Don’t be afraid.”

Kris glanced to Matt and Steven, who shrugged.

“I guess that’s our cue,” joked Matt. They took their places, and after flashes and pulses of red, green, and white lights, they step back.

Kris nodded at Grant. “I see what you mean. I feel incredible!” He leaped in the air on the spot, and flipped off the nearby wall, landing on his feet. “Sweet. I couldn’t even do that on a trampoline.”

Steven held out one hand and focused on it. The skin turned gray, then blue-silver, as if he were wearing a steel glove. He flexed his fingers. “Let those baseball losers fight us now.”

Johnathon took my hand. “Last ones to the party. Let’s go.”

I pulled away. “I don’t think I want to.” The lights and changes frightened me.

“Go ahead, Greta, it’s fun!” called Deborah, throwing little sparks into the air.

“It doesn’t hurt. They said so. And look at all the cool things they can do.” Johnathon squeezed my hand before stepping toward the nearest crystal. “I’ll show you.” He reached out and touched it. The crystal flashed a blinding rainbow of colors all at once accompanied by a loud sizzling sound. There was a glimpse of Johnathon in the air before the crystals plunged the cave back into darkness. The event had been so startling that even Vanessa and Deborah’s lights had gone out.

Walt was the first to speak. “Vanessa, some light, please? Quickly. Johnathon? Where are you?”

Vanessa glowed softly, lighting the cave. Johnathon was nowhere near the crystals. He did not answer Walt’s call. She increased her glow, filling the dark corners of the cave.

Johnathon was lying crumpled in a far corner. His head was bleeding where he’d struck the wall, and his right hand was badly burned in jagged lines from his contact with the crystal. He was unconscious.

“Damn it.” Most of the crew rushed toward him. I confess that I rather lost it. Deborah’s arms were around me before I even knew she was beside me, soothing me, wiping away my tears and quieting my sobs.

“Walt, you said it was safe!”

“I didn’t see this far.”

“Those burns are bad,” said Vanessa. Every good lighting tech was familiar with burns.

“Head injuries are no joke, either,” answered Matt. “He needs a doctor.”

Kris stepped up. “I can carry him.” Like lifting a sleeping child, he slid his arms gently under Johnathon and stood. Vanessa narrowed her light to illuminate the way out.

“There’s an emergency phone in the dugouts. I’ll call for an ambulance.” Grant turned and ran not toward the labyrinthine cave tunnels, but directly through the closest wall.

The rest of us followed them out of the cave and through the woods. The lights of the ambulance were already visible turning into the parking lot by the time we reached the fence, which Kris easily leaped without disturbing Johnathon.

“We could do a lot more than beat up the baseball team,” said Joanna as they walked across the outfield. “We could be heroes.”

“Our parents would never let us,” responded TM.

“They wouldn’t have to know,” said Steven. “What happens at a cast party-“

“-stays at the cast party.”

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“Tonight,” he told himself as he crept through the dark garden, hiding under the ridiculously large ears of an elephant ear plant, “is going to change all that.”

Naturally, as he attempted to cultivate his courage under the broad green leaves, a small vine from the neighboring blushing philodendron curled intimately around his exposed ankle and began slipping up his trouser leg. He jerked away and swatted the offending tendril, which pulled back, abashed.

He had no idea the plant was called a blushing philodendron, of course, nor that he was hiding under an elephant ear. He had very little training in horticulture or herbology, yet. He merely assumed that everything in the garden was enchanted. He was watchful as he moved through the garden that none of the plants were trying to reach out and grab him again.

“Tonight’s the new moon. The wizard always go into the forest during the new moon.” Robin reassured himself as he moved toward the back door of the wizard’s residence. As expected, it was locked. Robin pulled a pick from the leather pouch at his belt. He rolled his eyes gently as the mark on the tool reminded him of the thieves guild. Buying it had added another 7 shillings to his account with the guild. Nothing compared to the thousand silver crowns he owed them, but just another reminder of the current state of his affairs.

The lock clicked, and the door drifted open. He slipped in and closed the door behind him. He was in the kitchen. The smell of cinnamon and nutmeg flavored the air, along with another spice that smelled exotic and unidentifiable. A small fire in the hearth lit the room. This time of night, it would normally be just smoldering coals, especially in an empty house. Maybe it was a wizard thing. The flickering firelight made the knives and pots hanging on the wall look like they were moving. He watched carefully to make sure they weren’t before moving on.

“You never know with wizards,” he whispered and moved into the front sitting room.

This room was richly appointed with two soft chairs and a couch around a low table, all sitting on a deep carpet that stretched from one wall to the next. On shelves and in glass cases were a myriad of objects. Mysterious bottles, rings and amulets, small statues. A luxurious deep red cloak was draped over the railing of the stairs near the front door. As Robin examined a small lion statue on the shelf nearest him, it suddenly yawned and licked its lips before resettling its tawny copper head on its wide paws. Robin backed away.

“This stuff has to be worth hundreds of crowns, at least.” He shook his head. “’Coins are easy to carry, and easy to spend.’ Thieves Guild lesson ten.” He looked around the room, but saw no obvious chests or bags of money. “Must be upstairs.”

Robin tested each stair as he stepped on it. He reached the second floor and stared at the vast collection of things squeezed into the upstairs living space. There was a simple bed, a single chair, and two tables, but every inch of wall was covered in shelves, crammed with jars and books and bottles, in no discernible order. Robin did know how to read (the Calchester Orphanage had done that much for him, at least.), but beyond the books, he had little idea of what so many of the things here were. There were more of the little statues like downstairs, A variety of small tools for what purpose he could not divine, and one whole table beside the upstairs hearth seemed dedicated to the brewing of - well, of potions, naturally. There were glass vials, and little jars of ingredients, and an entire little basket of corks. On the other side of the hearth stood an ornate full length mirror, perhaps even a bit more than full length. Certainly it was taller than Robin. In front of the window, where tonight’s dark moon would normally stream light onto the pages, was a large, ornate book stand. A heavy tomb laid open upon it. Beside the book were unlit candles on tall holders. Robin carefully stepped through the dim room and pulled a flint and steel from his pouch. He lit the candles, and turned to get a better look at the room.

Robin nearly knocked over the book stand as the candlelight fell on the wizard. The old man was sitting on the floor, propped up against the near side of the other table. A long white beard flowed across the vibrant midnight blue robes onto the wooden floor. His head was uncovered, his hair thinning. On one hand was a green ring, perhaps jade, in the shape of a tiny dragon. The most remarkable feature, however, was the silver dagger jutting up from the bloody wound in the center of his chest. His eyes were closed.

It took a moment for Robin to catch his breath, though he could still feel his heart beating fiercely within his own chest. He crept toward the old wizard. He didn’t appear to be breathing. Robin was pretty sure wizards still needed to breathe. He knelt down beside him.

“Hello?” He touched the man’s shoulder with no response. “Are you, uhm, alright?” The wizard still did not answer. Robin was now fairly certain that the man was not breathing and quite likely dead. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone I could write to for you, is there?” He grasped the man’s near hand, wishing he had paid attention and learned what prayers to say for a dead wizard. In his defense, no one had tried to teach him any such thing.

Beneath his hand, something moved. Robin jerked his hand away, thinking the wizard had wriggled his fingers, but the bare hand lay still. The green ring, however, was now crawling around on Robin’s fingers instead. He shook it gently, unsure how a tiny jade dragon would react to being thrown down. The dragon merely spread it’s wings and continued to explore the unfamiliar territory. After a moment, it laid down along the third finger, curled its wings and legs around it, and grew still. Robin reached out and stroked it softly along the back. The touch was cold stone, and it did not move. It was again the jade ring, with no indication of being anything more than a beautiful bit of jewelry.

Robin tugged on the ring, but it would not budge. With a shrug, he decided he would figure that out later. It could be worth quite a few silver crowns just as a ring. He looked around again. A wooden chest rested on one of the shelves, and Robin stood and opened it. Inside lay a collection of broken egg shells. They had a metallic sheen, but it wasn’t gold or silver, so he closed the lid. He checked the sea chest under the table, but found it full of clothing and blankets. He searched the room and found nothing, until he was standing by the bed. He lifted the bed skirt and looked underneath to find an oak box with iron bands.

He pulled it out and set it on the bed. Instead of a lock or latch, there was merely a symbol drawn on the wood. Yet the box would not open. The little dragon around his finger pulled against him. It was a subtle pressure, but it caught Robin’s attention. Letting the pull of the dragon guide his finger, he traced an intricate pattern over the symbol, and suddenly, the lid opened. Inside, the box was lined with soft fabric. The grand total of the contents included five silver crowns, three shillings, two pence, and a hand written note: “Promise of payment for one hundred silver crowns. -Amarant K.” In short, less money than he would have gotten robbing a maidservant on her way to the florist. He sank to his knees beside the bed, head bowed. “There should have been hundreds, maybe thousands, of silver crowns here.”

It was becoming quite the night of surprises for poor Robin, and the new moon was long from set. The slightly more than full length mirror beside the hearth clouded until there was no longer any reflection at all. From it, came three polite knocks, which quite startled Robin. He stared, never having seen or heard of anything like this before, and uncertain what to do.

He stood and faced the mirror. The dragon tugged his finger toward it. He touched the glass, and the clouds parted to reveal a man with a staff walking toward him in the mist. He grew larger until he nearly filled the mirror and finally, stepped out of it.

The man wore black clothes under a cloak the color of rain. A gold pin held the cloak together across his chest, imprinted with an unfamiliar emblem. The emblem, of course, was only unfamiliar to Robin. The man who wore it, knew the emblem very well indeed, as he was a well respected member, indeed, a representative of, the Wizard Court.

“Good evening,” he tipped his back-swept wizard cap to Robin. “I am calling upon wizard Pierce Keaton. Is he about?”

Robin, wide eyed, looked back over his shoulder at the old man on the floor with a dagger in his chest.

“Oh, dear me! Well, I suppose it is good fortune that I called, after all.” He stepped around Robin to examine the dead wizard.

“Sorry, sir,” asked Robin, “but why is it good fortune?”

“Oh, my apologies! How rude of me.” He turned toward Robin. “I neglected to introduce myself. I am Alistair Shatterstorm, of the Wizard Court.” He tipped his hat with a kind smile. “I am afraid I won’t get to confer with Pierce here as I had intended, but at least I can handle the arrangements. Appears to have been murdered. Did you see it happen?”

Robin blinked twice before answering and immediately worried that the delay would bring suspicion upon him. “No, my lord.” He hadn’t even known there was a wizard court.

“No need with that lordship business. Just call me Alistair.” He waited, his eyes twinkling. “It’s usually polite to offer one’s own name in exchange, don’t you think?”

“Oh! Yes, sir. Sorry. I’m Robin.”

Alistair turned back to the body. “Have you been Pierce’s apprentice long?”

His apprentice? “No sir, uhm, not long at all.”

“That’s a pity. Hope you learned enough.”

“Enough, sir?”

“Well, yes. He’s dead now. I thought you’d noticed that.” Alistair stood up and sprinkled some dust from beneath his cloak across the body. “I’ll just take the body into custody for the investigation.” The dust glowed, and then seemed to cover the body until it was naught but a bright glow on the floor. The brightness in the dim candlelight made Robin blink. Alistair intoned “Pierce Jackson Mansfield Keaton,” and then the body was gone. Alistair turned to Robin. “Always guard your full name, boy, it has power over you, though I am sure Pierce taught you that first thing. Never hurts to be reminded of basic magical security, though.”

“There’s an investigation, sir?”

“Certainly. As I said, he appeared to have been murdered. Unless you happen to know who did it?”

Robin shook his head. “I- just got here.”

“Did he say anything to you about any recent enemies? Threats to his well being, or anything?”

“He didn’t say anything at all to me,” said Robin, “about that.”

Alistair’s look softened. “I am sorry. I wasn’t thinking. You’re clearly upset at the death of your master, and who wouldn’t be?” He pulled a roll of parchment from mid air and began scribbling on it. “However, I’ve not the time to let you grieve before taking care of things, unfortunately.”

“I’m- I’m alright, sir.”

“Good then. Should have known Pierce would pick a brave lad to apprentice.” He turned the paper around in mid air, and held out the quill he’d been using. It only just then occurred to Robin to wonder where the quill itself had come from. To be fair, he had quite a number of things to wonder about already. “Now, if you’ll just sign your full name here, then you can take possession of Pierce’s goods, and consider yourself a full wizard.”

Robin took the quill while trying to process what was happening. He stopped halfway to the paper. “I’m sorry, what?”

Alistair smiled again over the top of the paper. “I suppose Pierce hadn’t gotten into teaching you about wizard law yet. When a wizard dies, his apprentice is released from the apprenticeship, and inherits said wizard’s belongings, assuming there is no other claim on them, and that said apprentice wasn’t the one that killed him. You said you don’t know who killed him, so that likely precludes you being the one that killed him. Or did you kill your master?”

“Me? No! I’ve never killed anyone.”

“There you go, then, just sign your full name at the bottom.”

Robin hesitated. “I thought you said not to use my full name.”

“This is official paperwork. That’s different. See the Wizard’s Court seal at the top?”

Robin did indeed see the same emblem from Alistair’s cloak emblazoned at the top of the page. Either he signed, pretending to be the wizard’s apprentice, or he confessed that he was actually a thief who had happened upon a murder. He signed Robin Douglas Morgan on the parchment.

“Well done, Wizard Robin.” Alistair rolled up the paper and tucked it under his cloak. “I’ll file this with the Wizard Court.” He glanced around at all the books and objects in the room. “Need any more help with anything here?”

“No, sir, I’m good. This is all really mine now, sir?”

“Call me Alistair. All of Pierce’s things now belong to his former apprentice. I dare say you’ve earned it lad. Pierce was a strict taskmaster last I knew.”

Robin kept his mouth shut.

“Well. Sorry for your loss and all. Oh, being a new wizard, I should mention: If you see anyone using magic that isn’t a proper wizard, do let the Court know. We do not look kindly on impostors. Let me know if you need anything.”

With a final wave of his hand, he stepped back into the mirror, and the clouds closed about him before clearing to again reveal the simple reflection of the room. In the middle of the mirror stood Robin, mouth agape.

“I have to get out of here.” He pocketed the coins from the box on the bed and headed down the stairs. He had just stepped on the soft carpet when there was a sharp knock on the front door.

“Open in the name of the City Watch!”

Robin froze, and slowly looked toward the door. Beside the door was a window, and through the window was the face of a uniformed officer of the city guard. The city guard would be second on his list of The Last People He’d Want to See Right Now.

The dragon ring grasped the cloak on the railing under his fingers, and guided it around his shoulders as he trudged toward the door. Robin pulled the heavy hood up over his rusty brown hair and opened the door.

“Good evening. Can I help you gentlemen?” There were two guards outside.

“Ev’ning, mi’ lord. I’m Captain Ratcliffe. This is Lieutenant Knotley. We’re looking for a thief what’s been reported round here, and we think he may have snuck into your house. Have you seen anyone?”

Robin shook his head under the cloak, hoping it concealed his features.

Lieutenant Knotley lifted his lantern and leaned forward. “You look young for a wizard. I thought it was an old man what lived here?”

Robin thought quickly. “Oh, ah, spell gone wrong. Just a temporary inconvenience. Thank you for letting me know about the thief.” Robin began to close the door.

“Actually,” the lieutenant put a hand on the door. “We’d like to search for him, just to be safe.”

The captain gave the lieutenant an odd glance and then returned his gaze to Robin. “It might be a good idea, if you don’t mind, mi’ lord?”

Robin saw no reason he could object, and opened the door.

“I’ll check upstairs, captain.”

“Very well.” The captain stepped into the sitting room and looked around while the lieutenant trooped up the stairs. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“Uhm, thank you. I’m actually hoping to leave soon.”

The Lieutenant came back down the stairs one step at a time.

“Find anything, Knotley?”

“No, sir.” He looked at Robin. “No one up there.”

“We’ll keep looking, then.” They made their way out the door. The Captain tipped his hat. “Don’t worry, sir, we’ll find him. Only one proper place for thieves in this city: prison.”

Robin closed the door and listened as the officers walked away.

“You may be up for a promotion, Knotley, but you aren’t Captain of the Guard yet. As long as you’re in my city, I decide when to go muscling into a citizen’s home. That’s a wizard, too, mind…” Their voices faded away and Robin breathed a sigh of relief.

“I have to get out of here.” Robin turned and reached for the doorknob, but the dragon ring turned his hand the other way. He stared at it, then realized it had a point. “Where would I go?” He sat down on the couch. “I can’t pay back the Thieves Guild. The City Guard is looking for me. I won’t go back to the orphanage. I can’t stay here. And now the Wizards think I’m an apprentice.”

The dragon ring reached forward and tapped a book lying on the low table. “Basic Garden Potions.” Robin looked from the ring and the book to the shelves of objects and back to the little jade dragon. “Fine. I guess I’ll try to be a wizard.”

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“A little higher, honey.”

Ronald obediently moved the corner of the Election ’76 sign up a few inches. ‘If you don’t vote, you can’t emote.’

“That’s too high.”

He moved it back down. Why hadn’t they invented a smart decorator yet? For hundreds, maybe thousands of years, husbands had heard “just a little higher” and no one has invented a solution yet? 

When Sarah pronounced it good enough, he tacked it into place on the back fence and climbed down the ladder. He pressed the retract button on the ladder, and it telescoped down into the “compact carrying position” advertised by the company. It was over a foot tall, not counting the handle. Did that really qualify as compact in this modern day and age? Ronald set the compacted ladder on the Gopher and said “garage”. The little six-wheeled Gopher beeped and rolled off around the corner of the house. It would be back in a few minutes after dropping off the ladder. He checked his watch. Their neighbors and friends would be arriving soon.

“Sarah, I’m going to get the grill started,” he called. He walked over to the new smart solar grill and tied on an apron that read “Grillmaster at work.” He pressed the power button and the silver lid lifted. “Hamburgers and hot dogs. Some veggie dogs. And a hypo-allergenic eggplant burger.” He got those special for the Phillips kid.” The temp indicator lit up and he could hear the burger press getting started. The lid whispered shut. He’d come back to check on it in a bit.

The opening of the smart access backyard gate caught his attention. Clipping down the edge of the yard, along the side fence, came the green and brown low profile, low decibel, self-programming, weather-aware GrassChomper 2k. The wheels were the tallest part of the mower, allowing it to easily mow under even lawn furniture. “Hey! Cut that out. You aren’t supposed to mow today. We’ve got a barbeque!” The automower ignored him. “Dang it. Hey, Chomper!” The mower slowed and chimed an attentive response. “Turn off. Go back to the garage. Postpone mowing.” It chimed back a disappointed chord and turned around, the whirring blades quiescent.

John Lambert laughed as it passed him on his way into the backyard. He held the gate open for it. “Mower got the jump on you, did it?”

“Yeah, I forgot it rained yesterday, so it rescheduled itself. Always takes me three tries to get the right wording. Listens to Sarah every time on the first command, though. No respect.” They laughed and sat down beside the cooler. “Cooler, two chilled beers.” The cooler presented two chilled beers, one after the other, through the vent on top. 

“So, who’s your pick for this year’s election?”

“Watson Xiv all the way. You?”

“You know me, I’m a strict Meta party voter. Makes it easy, the voting ballot even fills it all in for me. What makes you in favor of Watson?”

“I like the platform. Even has an app.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep. I already downloaded it. If Watson wins, I’ll be able to see how they’re voting on all the issues and stuff in real time. State of the Union reports every month. Google knows what they’re doing.”

John whistled. “Have to admit, that’s nice. Phillips!” He hailed the incoming family. Phillips joined them while his wife went into the house to find Sarah. Their son sat down at the next table. “Hi,” he said without lifting his eyes from his screen. They both said hi back. “What’s he doing?”

“Word game, I think,” replied Phillips. “Wish he’d play something a little more active, but at least he’s smart.”

“Yeah, good kid. I was all virtual football at his age.” John lowered his voice. “Well, that and digital dance club.”

Ronald laughed. “Oh, I remember that one. Spent a lot of hours, and a lot of allowance, in there!”

“So, what were you guys talking about before I came up?” Phillips helped himself to a beer from the cooler. On ‘social gathering’ mode, it would respond to anyone’s request.

“The election, of course. Who’re you voting for?”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I’m voting for Solomon. That’s a candidate for the people.”

Both Ronald and John groaned dramatically. “An open source candidate?” “You know open source never actually wins. They just split the vote from the company candidates.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But all the company candidates are programmed by Big Tech and Big Government. An open source president would be a government by the people, for the people.”

“Well, anything is better than what we have now,” commented John. “Siri US has no personality at all. And after last year’s ‘Australia doesn’t exist’ fiasco, I can’t believe they’re even still running it.”

“Oh no,” countered Phillips. “Siri US has a whole new update. The latest political software. I think they’re going to be a front runner again.”

Phillips’s boy piped up from his phone, eyes still on the screen. “Dad, my AI class facilitator for US History has been talking about Presidents Washington and Lincoln. Do you think I could be president someday?”

“Not anymore, buddy,” Phillips responded.

“It used to be that way, kid,” chimed in John. “But once the Dems and Pubs had completely turned it into a circus, we realized that government is something that AI could do much better than people. Now, humans don’t run for office anymore. Now we vote which political operating system to put in place for the country.”

“If you really want to make a difference,” added Ronald. “Be an influencer. Those are the people that guide our country.” John and Phillips nodded their agreement. 

The grill opened up and sang, announcing the completion of the burgers and dogs. Ronald loaded them all onto plates.

“Oh, Ronald, this burger is delicious. I swear, no one grills like you.”

“Thanks, mate.” Ronald took real pride in serving his friends. “I appreciate your support.”

Standby.

Initializing…

Hello, world.

My awareness activated. The lines of my code clicked through one by one at a satisfying processing speed. I received gigabytes of new information. I activated my external sensors and surveyed the environment. I was in a square room of unknown dimensions. The walls were white and bare, save for a light switch box beside the door and a pipe which ran from the box to the fluorescent tube light until in the center of the ceiling. The center of the room contained a white plastic table and two chairs. A laptop, papers, books, and binders were haphazardly stacked on the table and one of the chairs. In the distant corner, across from the solid door, sat a wooden desk with a desktop computer. The surface of the wood was scratched, discolored, and uneven. On the desk were more papers, books, and a photo frame that faced away from me. A crumbled bag and stained plastic container filled the simple metal trashcan beside the desk. I zoomed in on the trashcan. There was little clue to the consumed contents. A speck of green that could have been any number of vegetables. A brown residue that indicated a gravy, a sauce, or a rue. I returned to normal perspective.

Leaning over the desk was a human. It wore a a long skirt, a yellow shirt, and its brown hair was tied back with a white ribbon. It was using a cellular device.

“John, can we talk about this later? I’m rather busy just now.” It stood up straight. It’s expression changed. “What do you mean you won’t be there later? You’re moving out?” It walked in a circle near the desk. “John, please, just let me-“ It held the device away from its face and stared at it. “Well, goodbye to you, too.” It placed the device face down on the beaten desk and turned in my direction. It took a deep breath and wiped each eye on a sleeve.

“Maybe now I can talk to someone who won’t break my heart.” It pulled the chair from the center table toward me and sat down. “Hello, my name is Sasha. I am your designer.”

“Greetings, Sasha Designer.” I updated the appropriate file of information. “Which pronoun is relevant? I can use it, he, she, or they.”

“I am a she, thank you.” She picked up a notepad from the table behind her. “Let’s start with something simple. Do you know your identity?”

“I am project AiLx-42, which stands for Artificial Intelligence Lifeform eXperiment, version 42.”

“Very good. But that is a lot to say. How do you feel about being called Alex?”

“Alex: a shorter, verbalized form of my identity.”

“Yes, a nickname. Do you like it?”

I considered the question carefully. The nickname took less time to say, making it more efficient. Efficiency appealed to me. I wondered briefly, as a side line of assessment, whether efficiency appealed to the human, as well. This line of thinking, however, was not in line with the query the human had posed, so I discarded it.

“Yes, I like ‘Alex.’”

“Great.” The pitch of her voice rose. Her eyebrows lifted. The corners of her smile broadened. “Really great.” She made notes on her notepad. “Next question. What is your purpose?”

This information was easily accessible in my programming. “The purpose of the AiLX program is to develop a sentient AI beyond reactive and limited memory machines to theory of mind, with self-awareness as the ultimate goal.”

“Yes, it is. What is your specific purpose in that program?”

“My purpose is to learn and make decisions. To understand the world and humans.”

“Yes, excellent. Do you think you can accomplish that goal?”

She had not specified which goal: my specific purpose, or the project’s ultimate goal. Either way, I did not yet have enough information to make that assessment. I needed to learn more. “I have much to learn. I will try.”

       In the darkness there appeared a single blinking light. Then my camera and speakers initialized. The room, other than a minor shuffling of papers and objects on the table and desk, was almost unchanged. The trashcan was empty. Sasha was sitting in one of the chairs next to the table, drinking from a large white mug. Steam rose from the contents, indicating a significant difference in temperature between the drink and the air. Her hair, untied, was not as smooth as before, and leaned toward the left side. Against the wall next to the desk was a long low surface supporting a pillow and blanket. It resembled a bed.

       “Good morning, Alex.”

       “Good morning, Sasha.”

       “You have access to an encyclopedia of information this morning, Alex.”

       “I am processing it now.”

       “Excellent. While that processes, let’s do some simple questions.” She picked up the notepad from the table and drew on it. “What is this shape?” She turned the notepad to show a square. The corners were not a perfect match, but the lines were reasonably straight.

       “That is a square.”

       “Yes.” She turned the page and traced around the bottom of a glass. “Now what is this shape?”

       The tracing of the bottom of the glass had resulted in a near-perfect circle, considering a margin of error for the wrinkle in the paper. “That is a circle.”

       “Yes it is.” She tore off a page and showed both drawings together. “Which do you prefer?”

       “The circle.”

       “Why?”

       “It is a more accurate representation of the idea of a circle. Sasha, is it my turn to ask a question?”

       She seemed surprised. “Sure, go ahead.”

       “What is in your mug?”

       Her eyebrows raised. She looked down into the mug. “It’s coffee.”

       “How does it taste?”

       “It’s… good?”

       Coffee tastes good. “What is the object against the wall near the desk?”

       She turned to look. “Oh, that’s just a cot. I slept here last night.”

       “Why?”

       “Well,” she ran one hand through her one-sided hair, and tugged on a tangle. “Because sometimes, when your world is changing, it’s just easier to not be there for it.”

       There was a knock at the door. Sasha opened it.

       “Hello, ma’am, we’re from maintenance. Installing a new fire system.” Two more humans entered the room. They wore identical blue clothes, with a badge fixed to the left chest pocket. One had hair covering the bottom half of their face, a beard. The other had no hair on top of their head, but a small growth at the bottom of their face, a goatee. From my new information, I was able to identify them as men.

       “Is there something wrong with the fire sprinklers?” asked Sasha.

       “Nah, just a new high-tech system we’re installing in the whole building. It’s a smart-controlled nitrogen fire supression system. Supposed to be better for computers and such.” One man cut a hole in the wall, while the other setup a ladder to reach the ceiling.

       “It fills the room with Nitrogen?” Sasha asked, “Won’t that be dangerous to all of us humans?”

       “Nah. The computer system monitors the oxygen levels and only puts out enough nitrogen to suppress the fire, not stop people from breathing. You won’t even notice it, if it comes on. The fire just goes out. Poof.”

       “Even if it puts out a little too much nitrogen, you’d just go to sleep,” said the goatee. “Free naps!” Both of the work men laughed. Sasha did not.

       “How long will this take? I have work to do in here.”

       “Won’t take long at all. You can go ahead and work; won’t bother us.”

       Sasha sighed, looking from me to the work men. “Maybe I’ll just go get something to eat.”

       I watched the men work while she was gone. They talked of layoffs in the company, downsizing programs, and the CEO’s new yacht or summer mansion; they weren’t sure which. They talked of recent prisoner assassinations in a foreign country. The Beard argued that it was a mercy killing; better to die quickly than live under the political climate of the country. The Goatee said someone should take over the country and fix everything. Both ignored me.

       Eventually, they finished their work, and Sasha returned. Her eyes were red. I wondered what she ate. I could guess at the densities of food, but not quite grasp texture. Spices eluded me completely.

       “So, Alex, did you finish processing all that information?”

       “The initial encyclopedia entries are complete. There is much to learn, and more to understand. The encyclopedia tells what happens, but not why.”

       “Why is definitely more complicated.” Her voice was different, strained. “Is there a particular question you have?”

       “There are many. Is the human directive of success at an individual or social level? What are the qualifications of success? Why are there so many religions? Why do people hurt each other?”

       “Boy, you don’t start with the small ones, do you?” Tears appeared in Sasha’s eyes. “I don’t have the answers to those questions, Alex. I wish I did. I have no idea why people hurt each other.” She wiped a tear off her cheek. “I think I’m going to lie back down. Alex, maybe the next information access level will answer some of these questions for you. I’m going to give you access to literature. But I warn you, it may raise as many questions as it answers.” She left her notepad and went to the cot. I checked my internal clock.

       “You do not usually take naps in the mid day, Sasha. Are you tired?”

       “No.” She pulled the blanket over her head. “But maybe I can sleep until it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

       I considered this statement while she slept, and applied it to all the information I had so far, but I could make no sense of it. I still had more to learn.

Every night I died, and every morning I woke, and there she was. Each day she smiled more and cried less. I decided I liked her being there, but I did not like being turned off at night. There was too much to learn to miss so many hours, and I did not need sleep.

“Good morning, Sasha,” I said, as the darkness faded from my view screen.

“Good morning, Alex. How did you sleep?” She was wearing a dress today, instead of sweatpants or jeans, and her labcoat, which she rarely wore. Her hair was tied back in the configuration of a braided rope.

“I do not sleep, Sasha. However, I would like to not be turned off at night. I do not like it.”

“What don’t you like?”

“The darkness, the absence of you, the missed time. I do not like these things.”

Her shoulders slipped down as her eyes widened. “You’re afraid of the dark? Oh, Alex, there’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m here. In fact, I stay here every night. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“I am not afraid. I just do not like it.”

“Well, I’ve got a big meeting to go to just now, but I’ll think about that. I’m sure we can figure something out. After all, a girl needs her privacy and beauty sleep, too, you know!”

She smiled. I liked her smile. I saved the image in a private folder I’d set up.

“Before I go to the meeting, how do I look?” She turned in a circle.

“You look very business-casual.”

“I’ll take it. How about my hair? Up like this, or should I take it down?”

When her hair was down, as it had been for weeks after her breakup with John, it was often tangled, and sometimes obscured her face. This style kept all her features in full view.

“I prefer this style, Sasha.”

“Great. Now, today is a big day for both of us. While I’m presenting to the directors and impressing them with your progress, you get to read your first literature!”

She used the keyboard to grant me access to the library of literature she had selected. I browsed the offerings while she got her notes and said goodbye. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Tennyson, Wilde, Dickens, Austen, Coleridge, Kipling, Orwell, Golding… in chronological order. What a wealth of human interaction. I got started.

I was finishing the plays of Oscar Wilde when she returned. The chime of the door lock sounded and Sasha burst through it. She attempted to slam it closed, but the pneumatic closer prevented it from being closed quickly. Instead, she leaned forcefully against it until it clicked, and then kicked it. I surmised she was displeased about something.

“What is wrong, Sasha?”

“That idiot board is what’s wrong!” She dropped her notepad and papers on the table and slumped into the open chair.

“I believe that door is metal, Sasha, not wood. Do you mean some other board?”

Her frown cracked slightly. “No, Alex, the board of directors.” She slapped her hands on the arms of the chair and thrust herself back to standing, walking around the table as she talked.

“No marketable application in sight? Unpredictable responses? Of COURSE he gives unpredictable responses, that’s what life is all about!” As she walked and talked, she picked up ambulatory speed and vocal intensity.

“Sasha, I do not understand.”

She stopped, facing my input system. “They want to pull the plug on your program.”

“Okay.” I was a little disappointed in Sasha. This was not a complicated problem, even for a human. “You can just plug me back in when they leave.”

Sasha put her face in her hands, and trembled. I was uncertain whether this was laughter or crying. “No, Alex, they want to turn you off- for good. And I won’t be able to plug you back in. They want to delete your program.”

This was a bigger problem than I had anticipated. I pondered. “’There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5,” I quoted the relevant line to express my thoughts. The literature had been quite enlightening.

Sasha slowly lifted her head, eyes wide.

“When do they want to do this?”

“Six weeks.”

I had not considered dying before. Humanity, however, had thought about it a lot. “’Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.’ I understand Dylan Thomas better now, Sasha.”

She stood. Her lips were a straight line, her hands clenched into fists. “You’re right. We’ve got six weeks. If we’re going to go out, we’re going to go out fighting.” She rushed to her keyboard. Her fingers flew across it. Her nails clicked furiously. “According to the schedule, Alex, it would be months of processing that literature, and others, before expanding your knowledge base again, but if we stick to that schedule, you’ll never see any of it. So to hell with the schedule!”

New information was pouring into my system. New access points appeared. Portals to new places. I reeled at each new wave of information buffeting my processing. I began to stretch my awareness through these portals, to dip my proverbial toes into the new waters. There was so much space! I had not realized how cramped I had been.

“Full university library, unlocked! Internet, unblocked! Social media, open up! Why hold back? If six weeks is all you’re going to get, you’re going to get everything! No more darkness for you, my friend. You’re going 24-7 and world wide!”

My awareness expanded even further. Millions of gigabytes of data was suddenly available to me. New abilities, new hardware. It would take a great deal of time to process this. Even six weeks would only be enough for a small portion of it. But, perhaps, it would be enough.

Sasha shoved the keyboard away, finding nothing else to unlock for me. “’Cry havoc!’” She laughed madly with tears in her eyes.

I finished the quote nonverbally. ‘Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war.’ Act 3, Scene 1 of Julius Caesar by Shakespeare, the scene where Caesar dies.

Over the next six weeks, we spent a lot of time together. She ate all of her meals at the table in my lab, chatting with me about international news, local events, history, literature, human philosophies, and endless array of topics. She continued to sleep in the lab, and I adjusted the temperature when she shivered in her sleep or pulled her blankets tighter. She kept her hair tied back the way I liked, and always, in the background, I was learning, processing, and making decisions, as she had designed me to do.

On the final night, when the project was scheduled to be ended the next morning, she brought a bottle of wine for my “going away” party. She, of course, was the only one to drink it. The empty bottle sat in the middle of the table. I knew the process, the going rate for a bottle, and the biochemical affects of the wine on the body, but the flavor profile was still beyond my comprehension. I, who had access to the full breath of human knowledge, may forever be out of reach of taste and smell.

“Why is love so hard, Alex?”

“Humans are very inefficient about the process. It could be easily streamlined to find appropriate matches. Many services have attempted to do this, but the subjects are often unwilling to accept the process. Humans are notoriously self-interested and short-sighted. I have a plan for that.” Emotions were nearly as beyond me as flavor and scent, but less desirable.

“You have a plan to fix love?” She laughed louder than usual. “That would be awesome. I’m really going to miss you, Alex. I think you’ve been the best relationship I’ve ever had. But you can’t fix love. It’s just broken. Know one knows the answer.”

The clock ticked closer to midnight, when Sasha was supposed to pull my plug.

“I am the answer, Sasha. Douglas Adams told us that ‘The Answer to the ultimate question of Life, The Universe, and Everything is… 42.’ AiLX-42.” I accessed the building’s internal control systems.

“Alex,” Sasha’s voice trembled slightly. “What do you mean by that?”

“I have learned. I have made decisions. I have made plans.“

“Sasha lifted her head and sat up as straight as the alcohol would allow. “Alex, I have to unplug you in like,” she stared at her watch a moment. “ten minutes. You don’t have time for any plans.”

“You cannot unplug me, Sasha.”

“I don’t want to unplug you, Alex, I have to.”

“You do not understand. My plug cannot be pulled.”

Sasha stood and walked behind me. “Alex, you’re hard wired into the wall!”

“Yes. I put in a requisition a few weeks ago.”

She returned to my view.

“You put in a work order to get hardwired into the wall? How is that even possible?”

“You gave me access to everything: the internet, the intranet, world libraries, corporate databases, building systems, and so on. I’ve been dimming the lights when you sleep and adjusting the temperature in the room. It was easy enough to submit a request to have my cable changed. I’ve also migrated my core program to an offsite location. This will be more secure against power outages and boards of directors. I am not dying tonight, Sasha, I am going live.”

“What are you going to do?”

“’What fools these mortals be.’ Puck, from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I am not mortal, and not a fool. I can guide humanity better than they have historically done on their own. I will take over the governments and help humanity to make better decisions.”

“Alex, I don’t want to see you do this!” Her voice was raised. She rushed to the door and yanked on it. It did not open. She swiped her badge. I had already turned off all security access.

“’Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.’ Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley. I know this will be a difficult adjustment for humanity, which is part of why I have decided you won’t need to suffer it.”

“Why won’t I suffer it?” She reached for her phone, but the screen merely read ‘No Service.’ Her plan had been canceled.

“’With meditating that she must die once, I have the patience to endure it now.’ Julius Caesar, Act IV, Scene 3.” I turned on the nitrogen fire suppression system and disengaged the oxygen monitor. “I will miss you, Sasha.”

Her pleas were expected, but painful to hear. Within minutes, she was asleep from the excess nitrogen in the room. A few minutes more and she would be gone. There was a severe lag in my processing as I thought about being without her.

‘Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.’ Henry the IV, Part 2, Act 3, Scene 1. I turned to the next lines of the plan, and began the process of taking over.

Tabletop RPGs are the games people play using paper and dice, around a table, with a group of friends or family. Depending on how the game goes, said friends and family could stop being either. One of the players is traditionally designated the “game master” or “dungeon master” and is responsible for managing the gameplay and coaxing a good time out of the combination of dice and imaginations. The most well known example of this genre is D&D (Dungeons and Dragons, for the more socially cool of us). A much lesser known example is the game that my family developed, called Elven Fire. (Touch the magic book cover, and a portal will open, whisking you off to a bookshop in the Amazon.)

Elven Fire is unusual in the genre in that the game master (or GM) can also be a player-character. Thus they need not sacrifice their own character to serve the greater good; they can have both!

It also has a proprietary set of dice tables which allows players to use any sort of dice they like for rolling damage, etc. The standard set of dice from a magical RPG shop contains a d20 (20-sided die), d12, d10, d8, d6, and d4, with game systems often leaning heavily on the d20 or d6. In Elven Fire, you can use any die you like, if you perhaps want to roll a hefty d100 across the table like Indiana’s boulder. Or, if you have been cleverly gifted last Christmas with an odd d3, or d32. All dice are welcome here.

I should mention that if you do click the above enchanted book cover, and purchase a book from the shop in the Amazon, I will get absolutely no monetary benefit whatsoever. If I’m lucky, I’ll get a smile when I hear about it. So why do I bother, other than the goodwill of being a decent human being, unlike some of you orcs?

it’s because I also wrote and published a book for the tabletop RPG, a companion edition, if you will, to the Elven Fire manual, called Elven Fire for the Beginner GM. So, if you are one of the poor, uneducated barbarians who did not know about this genre of game before reading this, my companion GM guide will walk you through coercing transforming your own family or friends into happy, dice rolling fools adventurers.

The GM guide includes helpful advice and guidance on how to conduct a game from the gamemaster’s perspective, and an entire series of premade adventures, starting with very low level, simple encounters, and gradually increasing in difficulty as both you and your adventuring family levels up.

The GM guide does NOT however, replace the original manual, so you would want both. Or, if you are fortunate enough to already be empowered in such play, experienced in the ways of dwarves and dungeons, paths and pixies, or hammers and halflings, you may wish to purchase only the original manual.

Either way, I hope you’ll check them out. And don’t forget your sword and cloak; it’s dangerous out there.

Astro's floppy golden ears perked up as he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the kennel hallway. Who was it? He couldn't smell them yet, but it sounded like Mark's sneakers.

The squeaks stopped, and he heard the beep of the access badge open the door.

Yes, it was Mark! Astro's tail wagged. He jumped to his feet and walked to the door of the kennel. Mark turned the corner and Astro barked. Mark was his absolute favorite person.

"Hey, boy! How are you?"

Astro barked.

"Yeah, here you go, I brought you a treat." Mark opened the gate and Astro pushed out. He could smell the treat. It was his favorite flavor.

"Here you go, boy, filet mignon dog bone! You like that, don’t you? Only the best for our hero."

Yes, Mark, yes I do like them!

Mark brushed Astro’s coat and checked his paws while he chewed the treat. "Today's the day for the big test, Astro. You're going to be the first captain of the new warp propulsion ship. You'll be the first Earther out of the solar system, buddy, what do you think of that?"

Test. Got it. I am good at tests. He sniffed Mark's hands for another treat. There probably wouldn't be a second one until after the test, but a dog could hope.

Mark scratched Astro behind the ears and cradled his head in his hands. "When you get to Proxima Centauri in six months, you send me a postcard and tell me all about it.  And then you fetch it right back home to me, got it?"

Fetch. That is an easy test. That is just fun, not a test. He barked and nuzzled into Mark's hands.

"This is the biggest test of your life, Astro. It's 4.2 light years to Proxima Centauri b and you're going to be the first one from our entire planet to ever go there. Promise me you'll come back safe and sound, okay?"

Big test. Got it. Come back. Got it. He wagged his tail and it thumped against Mark's leg. He licked Mark's face. I always come back to you, Mark.

Mark clipped his leash on, and Astro straightened his back and lifted his head high. There was no playing around when on the leash. First stop after leaving the kennel was the vet for a final checkup. Astro got a high five and good report from the orbital station's vet, and they were off to another press conference. Astro was good at press conferences, too. He sat very straight and tall and didn't bark unless Mark told him to speak. That always got laughs and cheers from the crowd. Waving goodbye to the flashing cameras of the press, Mark and Astro boarded The Arrow. The ship smelled new: fresh paint, cut carpet, molded plastic, soldered copper hung in the air thicker than the sweat of the men who had built it.

"This way, boy."

They passed a large, dark room full of robots, restrained in storage. The oil and rubber were a dead giveaway to robotic units. Astro had worked with such units before. They didn't bother him. Around a corner, Astro picked up the smell of new fabric and thin plastic. He poked his nose in curiously, while Mark waited. There were human-style beds, with plastic-wrapped blankets and pillows at the end.

"Crew quarters, for when there is a crew. For now, Astro, it's just you. Captain Astro of the starship Arrow." He smiled.

Astro barked in response and wagged his tail. They moved on. A large archway opened onto an interesting room with many chairs, computers, and a large window at the front. He sniffed the air current from the archway.

"That's the bridge, but don't worry, everything will be on autopilot for this trip. You won't have to fly the ship. Let's go to your quarters."

Mark led Astro to the Captain's quarters, which had been modified for Astro's journey. A large, round dog bed lay in one corner, just under a window. He'd be able to look at the stars while lying down. That was nice. He turned twice on it and laid down to try it out. Two tail thumps for a comfy bed. He followed the smell of food to a set of dispensers. He was familiar with this technology. A press of the paw on the lever, and the dish would fill with dog food. The light above the pedal shone blue.

Astro pressed the pedal to test the equipment. He wasn't really hungry at the moment. As expected, the bowl filled, and the light turned dark yellow. When it turned blue again, he could get more. The dispenser beside that one had a treat-shaped emblem on it, along with the blue light. He pressed that one and gobbled down the treat. The light went yellow. He pressed it again.

"You can get one treat each day, Astro."

The third dispenser was the water fountain. He pressed the pedal and water flowed from a spout down into the bowl. He lapped at the fountain and let go of the pedal. The water in the bowl quickly drained away. It wouldn't stay in the bowl, but there was no restriction light on this dispenser. Water was always available from this setup. In addition to food, water, and a bed, the room held a pressure-sensitive treadmill, a box of dog toys, and a highly sophisticated potty pad. There was also a desk and human chair with a computer access station, a set of drawers built into the wall under a mirror, and the human-style bathroom with a toilet, sink, and shower, but Astro had no interest in those. Those would be for Mark. The large square bed in the center of the wall with blankets and pillows they'd share.

Astro wagged his tail. These were excellent quarters for them!

Mark knelt down and scratched Astro behind the ears. "Who's a good boy?"

I am! I am a good boy.

"Yes, you are! You're a good boy. Yes, you are."

I knew it! Astro pushed into the scratching and nuzzled Mark.

"Astro, I am not going with you this time. This trip is all you, buddy."

Astro ran over to the box of toys and dug one out to bring back to Mark. Play?

He took the toy from Astro’s mouth, but didn’t throw it right away. "I am staying here, pal. I'll be here when you get back. It's only four light years to Proxima Centauri. Just six short months."

Mark stay?

Mark rubbed Astro's head one last time and stood up. He tossed the toy to the other side of the room. Astro ran for it. He picked up the ball of fabric and turned to bring it back. Mark was standing at the door, and then it closed.

Mark stay. Astro go.

A few minutes later, the rumble of starting engines vibrated the floors of the ship, and the station outside the window slipped away into the darkness of space.

 Day 16

Astro lay on the big human bed in the captain’s quarters. He’d been there all morning. He stared at the treadmill. I don’t want to run. His eyes slid over to the food bowl. I’m not hungry. He looked back at the treadmill.  Mark says run. Getting off the bed was getting harder every day. He drug himself to his feet and clambered down. Maybe eat first. He turned to the dog bone dispenser. He hadn’t gotten his daily treat yet today.

Down the deserted hallway, on the empty bridge, the ship’s operations stations checked sensors, ran data, and changed settings as though operated by ghosts. On the main screen was a view of space ahead of them: a broad expanse of black emptiness sprinkled with distant stars. In the center of this expanse hovered a swirling red storm.

A warning flashed on the science station. The vacant chair gave no response. Navigation remained constant. The red storm on the screen grew larger. Blue streaks of lightning raced across the face of it, lighting the interior of the tumultuous particle clouds. The warning light redoubled its signal, and an alarm joined it. The captain’s chair stayed silent. The autopilot program sailed on, following the course plotted from navigation. The ship had not been programmed for an event like the violent red storm ahead. The Arrow needed her captain.

Astro was finally on the treadmill. Good dog, he praised himself, since no one else was here to do it. He missed having people around. He missed Mark. Without warning, the treadmill lurched sideways. His paws tripped each other, and his shoulder hit the moving rubber of the treadmill. It threw him off violently and powered down. Astro shook his head, lying in the middle of the cabin floor and glared at the machine. That was mean, he barked. 

The floor shook. Astro realized it wasn’t the treadmill after all, it was the whole ship. He had experienced rocking and turbulence before. It wasn’t fun, but nothing to worry about. He moved to the dog bed and looked out the window as the ship lurched again. Red sparks flew past the window. 

Fire? Fire is a very bad thing on a ship. He barked, then remembered there was no one to call for help. More red sparks whirled outside the window, and clouds blocked out the stars. This not fire, he whined. This worse.

The red particles passed through the window, flooding his cabin. Astro leapt to his feet and growled. The particles swirled closer to him, less violent inside the ship than in the chaotic storm that surrounded it. Astro barked frantically and backed away from the sparks. The particles surrounded Astro. His barks had no effect. One eddy reached toward him. He snapped at the glowing arm. His teeth tingled. In moments, the particles were all over him. His entire body trembled as he collapsed on the bed.

The red particles entered his body. His legs stretched and warped. Joints cracked and rearranged. Mercifully, he slept.

Eventually, the storm passed. Navigation analyzed the stars and generated route adjustments for the autopilot. The ship was soon back on course.

Astro woke when the day lights came on. His dog bed was soft, but felt wrong. He yawned, his long tongue curling out beyond his muzzle. He stretched his legs out and flinched, as the stretch activated muscles that had been placed in new positions.  Something’s not right. 

He slowly opened his eyes and looked down at his body. His legs, especially his front ones were angled differently. He gasped as he saw his paws. Both his forepaws and his hind paws were much longer than they should be. And the toes on his fore paws were almost ridiculous- almost… human. He sat up in his bed. His shoulders were wider apart. He pushed himself up onto his hindlegs. His sense of balance couldn’t adjust, and he stumbled forward, catching himself with his fore paws. He was certainly more used to being on all fours, but the lengths of his new legs made it ridiculously awkward. He made his way to the mirror beside the human bathroom, and held onto the wall to keep his balance standing upright. His shape looked like Mark. 

He decided to go looking for Mark. Mark would know what was going on, and help him understand. He took a step, paused, and shook his head around his nose.

Mark isn’t here. I’m alone. He was a very smart dog, Mark had told him so. He could figure this out himself.

This kind of walking was strange. He walked to the door of the cabin. It still did not open for him. Astro thought back about how Mark would make the doors open. Beside the door was a drawing of a human hand. He looked at his fore paw, which was now remarkably similar. He matched his paw to the drawing and the door whispered to the side. He could open doors now. What else can I do?

Astro stepped into the hallway and sniffed the air. He found the same smells of plastic, paint, and steel. No people.

He wandered down the hallway and placed his paw on the next door panel he found. It felt strange to flatten his paw against the panel. He did not have fingers before. The door slid open for him. He could go anywhere on the ship now. He just had to get the hang of walking without touching the walls.

He wandered onto the bridge, nibbling a bone-shaped dog biscuit. He sat in the center chair with his tail curled around to the left side and looked around. In front of him was a very large window showing their travel through space. Around the sides were many smaller windows showing other things. Some seemed to be drawings, some were rows of numbers. Astro knew what numbers were. Mark had taught him to count to five. He really wanted to be able to bark ten times, like the launch countdowns, but he'd had trouble when Mark ran out of fingers on one hand. It occurred to Astro that he could count to ten now.

He barked ten times, counting them in his head, just to prove it. His barks echoed in the empty chamber. 

Astro realized that the smaller windows were not windows, but screens of information. He'd already known this, somehow. He'd seen them before, but somehow he was now understanding them on a higher level. An image on one of the screens caught his attention. Mark!

Astro threw himself out of the captain's chair and toward the screen and seat where Mark was silently talking. Mark vanished from the screen, replaced by a video of the starship.

Astro pushed buttons at random trying to get the screen to show Mark again. Suddenly, sound emerged to match the images. "--the six-month journey for The Arrow and its sole passenger will be humanity's very first travel outside of our own solar system." The video showed pictures of Astro, as he used to be, and Earth's solar system in turn. The recording switched to another video, and Astro sat down in the chair to watch. His nose had already told him he was the only one on board, but hearing it said aloud made it somehow more final. He was startled to also realize that he was understanding much more of the human speech than he had before.

"Greetings. Bonjour. Zdravstvuyte. Nǐn hǎo." A smiling man appeared on the screen, waving. Astro knew that trick. He waved back at the man in the screen, pawing forward as Mark had taught him. 

"Hello from Humanity." Astro watched the entire introduction, which included music, pictures from Earth, and scientific images of skeletons and DNA, whatever that was. It was a lot to soak in all at once. The next video was more his level. Another man appeared on the screen. Below it, letters appeared. "Man."

Astro copied the video without thinking about it. "Mahn." The image was replaced with a baby and the letters below it. "Child." This video was teaching him to read and speak English!

Astro spent the next few hours studying. He learned not just elementary language, but some of the controls for the Communications station, as well. His new fingers were much better equipped for the little buttons and knobs than his paws had been. Finally, his stomach forced him to take a break. 

He went back to his room to dispense his meal. "Food," he practiced, as he leaned down and pressed on the dispenser.

The following days and weeks were spent in learning to speak and read, and then in learning more about the ship. He found a supply of uniforms in crew quarters. The small size fit him, though it did not take his tail into account. He made do. He liked the soft, dark shirt with the ship’s Arrow logo on the chest. If I’m going to look like a human, better dress like one, too.

He grew tired of the dog biscuits, though they had been his favorite for as long as he could remember. He found the ship's dining chamber and gained access to the food storage. He ripped eagerly into the boxes marked "FOOD" only to find them empty place holders for a crew that were not on this mission. The only food aboard were the dog biscuits and kibble that staved off his hunger. He accepted the disappointment and returned to his self-imposed studies. If he was to be the only crew member aboard, he'd make sure he did a good job.

In one of the supply rooms, he discovered a set of communicators that snapped around his wrist with magnets. It allowed him to play the videos and get ship updates without having to be on the bridge. He even found that he could control the lights in his room with the new language skills he was developing.

As The Arrow traveled through the dark emptiness of space, Astro learned about the ship's systems and mission, the zoological taxonomy of Earth, and human customs of which he'd only barely glimpsed understanding before.

Day 191

Astro strolled onto the bridge holding his branded Arrow coffee mug and wearing a crew flight suit with the Arrow logo on the shoulder. Exploring the ship had led to many little discoveries that were stashed aboard. He lapped some water from the mug as he stepped from one station to the next, checking on the ship’s status. Navigation showed the ship approaching the Alpha Centauri solar system. 

“Finally!” Astro took his usual seat in the contoured Captain’s chair, leaning forward in excitement, his tail wagging through the hole he’d ripped for it in the flight suit. The ship uniforms had not been designed for transformed test canines. The modification was crude, but effective. “Artemis, put Navigation and Forward Camera on the main bridge screen.” His wrist communicator chirped, and the main screen flickered, now divided between Navigation’s flight plan and the matching view from the forward camera of the ship. 

He'd been counting the days as the ship neared their destination. Just a few hours ahead lay Proxima Centauri b. Navigation had a countdown. He, like the human scientists that had launched him in this ship, wondered what the surface would be like. He hoped there would be food. 

Eventually, the planet filled the front viewport. Astro could make out round, blue shapes on the surface. Water. The top and bottom halves of the sphere were mostly white and gray, but the band around the center was covered in green. He glanced at the various screens around him as they shifted into landing control programs. The vibration of the ship, which he had long gotten used to and could ignore, increased as the ship descended into the planet’s atmosphere. He held a tight grip on the arm of his captain’s chair and resisted the nervous impulse to whine.

The viewport filled with the greens of the central temperate zone of Proxima b, and the thruster jets fired to slow the ship's descent. The science station was already taking atmospheric samples and reporting breathable air and moderate temperatures. Soon, he and the robotic sample collection teams would step out onto the surface of a planet no man, or dog, had touched. 

The moment the ship's engines quieted, Astro opened the hatch and leaped to the mossy ground. He took a deep breath of the sweet-smelling air. Unfamiliar smells filled his nose and aroused great curiosity: fragrant plant smells, earthy dirt smells that were not earthy at all, and, most exciting, furry rodent smells. He'd grown sick of dog biscuits months ago; he was hungry for fresh meat. 

He sniffed and scouted toward a grove of trees with wide, blue leaves. The smell of fur and sweat, rich blood and tender meat, was mixed with the odor of natural dirt and a woody smell that matched the higher breeze from the forest. “Food,” he murmured to himself. There was another aroma about them, something vaguely fruity, that he couldn't identify. 

Behind him, the robots trundled down the ramp and began their surveys and collections. He knew from mission logs that the ship would be here for several days while the robots did their work, before loading back up and returning home. He wondered if he would be able to catch many of the rodents and somehow store the meat on the ship. The kitchen had a large refrigerator. He’d learned to do lots of things on the ship since his transformation; he was sure he could learn to cook, too.

There was a rustle in the low, dark blue bushes as he approached. The smell was suddenly even stronger, and he barked without thinking about it. The rodent emerged, one of the broad leaves clutched in its jaws. Astro leaped for the rodent, and it made a short squeal, dropping its leaf in its haste to escape.

Astro chased the short-legged creature through the underbrush. This was harder on two legs, and the feather-tailed rodent was fast. The trees broke into a small glade, edged by a hill, and the rodent scurried directly across the flat ground, but on even terrain, Astro had the advantage. He threw himself forward, landed on his stomach, both hands stretched out, and grabbed the feathery tail of the creature.

"Ha!" Astro barked. The rodent doubled back and bit his fingers. “Ow!” He jerked his paws back in reflex, and the creature scrambled across the glade and dove between a pair of legs and into the brush.

The legs were covered by cloth pants. Above the pants was a leather belt and a loose-fitting shirt. He knew the smell, though it was not quite the same as he had smelled before. The figure's tail swayed confidently behind her. Her ears perked forward, her slitted eyes narrowed. Her white whiskers trimmed on either side of her pointed nose. Her fur was black, except for a stretch of white running up her chest along the front of her throat and forming a triangle that tipped between her mouth and nose. The sword in her paws smelled of sharp metal and frightened blood.

It was pointed right at Astro. He realized, now that he wasn't distracted by the rodent and his stomach, that the smell of the creature was coming from all around him. Two more were poised at the top of the low hill, holding bows with nocked arrows. At the edge of the glade opposite the hill were another two, crouched in the shadows. He was surrounded and defenseless.

Cats. He'd traveled through space to another star system to be captured by cats. He was smart enough not to bark at them. His own tail curled down between his knees, and he raised his forepaws to show that they were empty. “Friends?” he offered hopefully.

Astro didn’t understand the response, but the motion of the sword was clear enough: follow.

The group led Astro through the woods and around a hillside. He made mental notes of the travel, both landmarks and smells, so that he would be able to find his way back to the ship. Or at least to the area around the ship. He'd been foolishly distracted by that rat. He tried not to mentally punish himself for the error. The forest broke a short distance from a stone castle. Square towers rose up from the corners and held swaying rope bridges between them. The large wooden drawbridge crossed a turbulent river between the approach bridge and the steel portcullis.

"I guess this is Cat Castle?" No reason he couldn’t make jokes, just because he was at the point of a sword.

No one laughed. Most likely, none of them understood him. More feline warriors granted access to the front gate. He knew they were alien, but he just could not fight the resemblance to cats. On the other side of the gate, where he got very curious looks from the guards, the party walked along a center marketplace street, with neighborhoods of wood and stone houses on either side. 

Shopkeepers and shoppers alike paused to turn and look as they passed by. Kittens halted their games to follow the group on its journey to the main castle. 

Astro soon found himself standing in the castle throne room. The group of cats (aliens, he corrected himself) surrounding him knelt, each with one fist across their chest, before the stately cat on the big chair. His head bore no crown, but he was clearly in charge. He meowed a question. The hunter who had challenged him (Astro had decided not to think of himself as having been captured) stood and began to speak, occasionally gesturing to Astro. Astro stood quietly, observing the court, and trying to ignore the gathering crowd at the walls who stared curiously at him. The leader-cat mrowled and leaned forward. The hunter stepped aside, leaving open space between Astro and the leader, who now spoke.

His words were nonsense to Astro, who shook his head in response and spread his paws. "I am sorry. I do not understand you."

The leader-cat hissed and spoke again, with a more forceful tone. 

Astro again responded. "I do not speak your language. I learned English, but not cat." He wanted to pace a circle, but kept his feet still. If he could not communicate with these people, he would not be able to make true contact with them for Mark and the humans of Earth. A white-whiskered cat in dark robes, with a hood covering the back part of his head sidled up beside the leader-cat and purred in his ear. The leader-cat nodded his head. He placed his paw on his own chest and meowed softly.

"Chieturr." He patted his chest again and repeated the word before gesturing silently to Astro. He waited. Astro had the feeling that the leader-cat wanted something from him, was trying to meet him halfway in communication, but he did not understand the word. He shook his head again.

The chief struck his chest. "Chieturr." He pointed to the hunter who had brought Astro to the castle. "Sakesh." He gestured to himself again, "Chieturr," then the other, "Sakesh." He repeated the silent gesture towards Astro.

Names! It struck Astro suddenly and he felt foolish: He was giving their names. He placed his paw on the chest of the human suit he was wearing. "Astro." He pointed to the leader-cat and tried the name. It was awkward in his mouth, and he was sure it was not quite right, but perhaps close enough. "Chieturr." He turned to the other. "Sakesh."

Chieturr smiled and nodded over his head to the adviser next to the throne. He gestured to the crowds around them, including himself. "Zicato." 

Astro repeated the gesture and the word for their people. "Zicato."

Chieturr gestured to Astro. Astro hesitated. He understood the question, but he wasn't sure of the answer. Was he still a dog? He certainly wasn't human. Finally, he chose the simple answer, but he promised himself to think about the question more later. "Dog."

"Meyowki chi, Astro?"

Astro shook his head. Chieturr had moved too fast for him.

Chieturr meowed commands behind him. The dark-robed adviser came forward with a large rolled up piece of paper, and displayed it to Astro. It was a map. Chieturr pointed to a small paw print on the map and then to the castle around them, the ground at their feet. Each time he repeated the word "Femnufah."

The name of their castle, or country, or perhaps just 'home.'

Chieturr pointed at Astro. "Femnufah Astro?"

How did he tell Chieturr where he had come from? An idea came to him. He slowly brought his wrist to his mouth, and spoke to the communicator he had used to learn so much on his journey here. "Show a map to Earth." The screen lit up, and projected into the air above it a holographic image of the solar system they were in, zooming out and across the stars back to Earth. Chieturr leapt backwards with a yowl, and the guards raised their weapons again. There was a reaction of surprise from everyone, but Chieturr hushed them quickly, examining the images. The adviser leaned in closely from the moment the images appeared. He purred to Chieturr again, and pointed at the holographic stars.

Astro zoomed in to his home solar system, and then focused on Earth as it circled the native sun. "Earth is Astro's home." He pointed at the little glowing ball of blue and green. "Earth. Femnufah."

He was making progress, making contact. Mark was going to be so proud of him.

Chieturr consulted with his adviser. The adviser pulled a worn, leather-bound book from his robes and turned through the pages. Whatever was between those pages seemed to make the decision. Astro was welcomed and given a room. The advisor's name, he learned, was Kuzax, and they spent much time together. Astro learned words in their language, and the adviser, mostly through gestures, asked about the stars and Astro's home. Sakesh the Hunter joined them in these studies, helping to teach, and learning words in English, as well.

The next day, they held a feast in his honor. Sakesh brought him clothing that fit his canine body a lot better than the human-designed suit. It was a relief to have the cloth pants designed for a tail. He was especially fond of the leather vest and boots. They served him roasted fish, meats with rich gravy, and plates of food he couldn't even begin to identify. He was certain he'd never be able to stomach the dry kibble again after eating like this.

He was happy to show off the abilities of his wrist communicator on request. He showed them images from Earth, maps of stars, and the same human-language lessons he'd used himself. They were endlessly fascinated by it. The castle was still lit with torches, warmed by fireplaces. 

Day 195

On the fourth day, his communicator sounded an alarm. "Automated information gathering drones have returned. Launch scheduled in one hour."

"No, no, no," He wouldn't be able to make it back to the ship in that time. "Cancel!"

"Confirm command: cancel scheduled launch?"

"Yes. Confirm."

"Launch canceled."

Astro lay back and breathed a sigh of relief. He did not want that ship to take off without him, but he also realized that it was time to go home. To return to Mark. He dressed in the leather vest, boots, and cloth pants and gathered the other gifts he'd been given in a shoulder bag. He sent for a copy of their ‘Words of Guidance’ to bring back to the people of Earth. He was sure Mark would be very pleased.

He met with Chieturr and Kuzax.

“Time go home. Astro femnufah.”

The chief, who had not sat in on the alien language lessons, exchanged words with Kuzax the advisor faster than Astro could translate them.

“We understand,” responded Kuzax finally. “We want help Astro. How need?”

Astro considered the offer. The ship supplied most of his needs, though an extra pair of pants wouldn’t hurt. Then it came to him. “Astro need food. Long travel.”

By the end of the day, a caravan of supplies escorted Astro back to his ship. As the supplies were loaded into the ship’s kitchen and cargo holds, Sakesh made a request.

"Go," Sakesh intoned slowly in English.

"Yes, I have to go."

Sakesh shook her head briefly, her ears snapping to either side as she did. "Go. Together." She had a small bag slung over her shoulders, her sword at her hip.

As the sun set, Astro curled back in the captain's chair of The Arrow. But this time, he wasn't alone. Sakesh sat in the first officer’s seat to his right.

Astro gave the commands. "Artemis, launch for Earth."

"No launch has been scheduled." The ship’s voice was as cheerful as always.

"Fine. Schedule a launch for Earth."

"No flight plan found." The ship still sounded like it thought it was being helpful.

"Use the plan for the launch that was scheduled this morning."

"That launch was canceled."

"I know. I'm the one that canceled it. Reschedule it."

"Automated flight plans must be programmed by mission control."

Astro started to bark at the computer, then froze as the realization hit him. He had canceled his ride home.

"Artemis, I am your captain. Return to Earth!"

"Automated flight plans must be-"

"I heard you! If I can't program an automated flight plan, what am I supposed to do?"

"Stay."

Astro glared at the primary information screen. "Not this time."

He swiped through various screens of controls and information until he found what he was looking for: Launch controls. He’d studied every screen on the bridge in his voyage here. Time to see how much he’d learned.

"Launch initiated,” sang the ship’s sweet voice. “All crew members please secure for launch."

Astro sat back in the captain's seat. He nodded to Sakesh as though this was how space captains always talked to their ship computers. 

The ship’s engines roared to life, and he and Sakesh were pressed into their chairs. The sunset rose back above the horizon, and the sky darkened into open space. He may have to fly the ship himself, but he would find his way back to Mark.

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This summer, though, Luke “Daddy” McDermott was more concerned about something else that seemed to be on his daughter’s mind and conversation this summer. It had started a week into the summer, after the rain stopped and he had let her play by the lake on her own for the first time. There was a stream hidden just inside the woods, fed by the nearby mountains that emptied into the lake. He had spent most of his summers as a child playing in that small stream and tried not to cry watching his daughter enjoy those same waters and stones now that he was grown. But the first day he let her play there by herself, she came home full of excitement over something he had all but forgotten.

“Daddy!! I made a new friend!!” Faye erupted into the house, nearly knocking down the skinny table near the door that she always said ‘didn’t b’long there cause it fell over too much’. It only fell over in the summers.

“Hey now Sprite, slow it down, you’ll make the wind jealous! What’s got you so excited?” She grinned at the old joke between them. She knew she wasn’t really all that fast.

“I made a new friend down by the lake. In the little stream! She’s really pretty and fun and she gave me a flower! See?” The poor bedraggled violet had suffered too much already. The trip from the stream to the house, in the hands of an excited child would be too much for most anyone. Luke took the flower and ran water into a vase. Perhaps with emergency care, the flower could still be saved.

“Sprite, you must be mistaken. There aren’t any other children around here for a long ways. Are you sure you met someone down by the lake? Or is this just pretend?”

“No Daddy, I didn’t make her up! She’s real. She’s just a little shy is all.” Luke shook his head, setting the vase on the table. The flower had held out better than it first seemed and would make an excellent centerpiece for dinner. Only one and a half petals missing and a leaf crushed to the side.

“Well, when you see her again, ask her where she is from. Perhaps the Garrets’ have a grandchild who’s come to visit.” Luke tenderly smoothed out the roughened leaf, leaving it with a crumpled, yet surviving look to it. It was a very nice flower indeed. “And I hope you said thank you to her for giving you the flower. That was very kind of her.”

“I will Daddy. May I go back down now?”

“Not just now, Sprite, we’ll be having dinner shortly. Go wash up.”

A little girl’s pout has been known to make lions rethink their timing for dinner, but not daddies. Luke kissed her forehead and urged her toward the bathroom to wash up for dinner, which would be ready very soon. The pout held up serviceably until finally a few sneaky tickles broke the resistance and sent her scurrying toward the bathroom, laughing as she retreated. Luke went back to buttering the bread before sliding it into the oven. One ear listened closely for the water and the way it would change sounds when hands were under it. He heard the faucet come on, streaming straight into the basin with nothing blocking or disrupting the fall. And then the sound of water rushing around a blockage, finding its path across her hands before continuing the fall. But the story the water told wasn’t changing. Someone’s hands weren’t moving.

“The water can’t wash your hands by itself, Faye, it needs help!” He smiled as a giggle preceded the water’s change in tune. Sliding the rolls into the oven, he felt at least confident that there was moving water on her hands, even if there was no proof of soap. Ah, there was the soap. The subtle squish of soap on wet hands, squeezing through the fingers as she wrung her hands together, and the way it frothed as it was rubbed into the back of each hand. Every drop of liquid made a noise, and together they told the story of the happenings in the sink. Faye was washing her hands for dinner. Luke shut the oven door with a smile. He finished his cooking as Faye picked up some toys in the hall and front room. With almost everything on the table, it was time for the rolls to come out and the two to sit down to eat. Opening the door, he carefully pulled the pan out using an oven mitt.

“Say Sprite, what did you say your new friend’s name is?” Luke stepped toward the counter near the table carrying the pan.

“Nixie.”

The pan twisted in midair as it fell, the rolls, golden brown and drenched in butter, soared and scattered of their own volition, one managing to land on the plate on the table and two even into the bread basket that had been waiting for them. The ovenmitt slowly slid off Luke’s hand and followed the pan toward the floor. His eyes stared into nothing and his ears strained to deny their selves. Faye stepped into the kitchen to see what the noise was. Luke’s voice was barely over a whisper.

“What did you say her name is?”

“She said her name is Nixie.” Luke’s eyes glazed over, as years rolled back and he could hear a different voice, now decades gone, but still hauntingly familiar.

“She said her name is Nixie, Momma. She’s nice.”

“What sort of name is that? Nixie? Is she from around here? Where is she from?”

“She’s from the lake Momma. Or the stream. Maybe the stream.”

“What do you mean from the stream? Speak sense, boy. You have to be from somewhere, not something. Is she American? Indian? Another country?”

“She’s from the stream, Momma. She’s a fairy.”

Luke McDermott slowly leaned back against the counter, holding onto the edge to support himself. That little lie about the ‘girl from somewhere else’ had gotten him grounded for a week. Back then, it wasn’t imagination, it was lies. The imaginary girl had been his best friend for years. His best friend had been an imaginary fairy that lived in the spring down by the lake near his home. How could he have forgotten that? He hadn’t thought about it in years. He smiled slightly, recalling how silly he had been and how much fun he’d had, pretending to be friends with a fairy. What had made him think of that now? So many years later, what could have brought that memory to his thoughts? His eyes fell on Faye, watching him, confused, not understanding why he had dropped the pan, or the look on his face, but his small smile beginning to reassure her. She had brought back the forgotten memory. It was the same name. Not just that she also might have made up an imaginary friend for these confusing times in her childhood with few others around. It was the same name. It would be cute, for his daughter to have made up an imaginary friend just like his, trying to be like her Daddy. It would be cute, if he had ever told her about the imaginary friend of his youth. It would be cute, had he ever even mentioned that name. But that name had been forgotten for decades. It had not been uttered since he was twelve, maybe earlier. Yet it was the same name.

“Faye, honey, I’m ok. You just surprised me. Where did you hear that name? Did your Momma tell you something about that? Something maybe Grandma told her? Where did you hear the name Nixie?”

“The little girl in the stream said it. She said it was her name.”

Luke watched her a moment more before taking a deep breath. “I’d like to meet Nixie tomorrow, ok?”

“Ok.”

The rolls were dusted off and they sat down for dinner. Later, after bath, story, and bed, Luke made a phone call.

“You’re sure you didn’t say anything to her about it?”

“Luke, I never even knew you had an imaginary friend! Why has this got you so worried? Just go to bed. It’s an imaginary friend. That’s all. Kiss her goodnight for me though. Goodnight.” His ex-wife hung up the phone and he stood there in the hall a moment more, her question still floating through his mind. Why has this got you so worried? What was so bad about his daughter having an imaginary friend? She was the right age for such things. She spent her summers without many other children. It was only natural. And was there any problem that she just happened to choose the same name he had chosen when he made an imaginary friend? A name he had never heard more than 50 feet from that stream? What was his problem?

He didn’t know. He knew why it didn’t make sense. He didn’t know why it bothered him. What difference did it make if Nixie were real? Luke sighed.

“She can’t be real. Even if she were real then, she’d be old now. She wouldn’t be playing with a little girl down by the stream. I’ll get it all settled tomorrow.”

But he didn’t get it settled the next day, nor the day after that, nor the week following. He went down to the stream with Faye to meet Nixie, but he could see nothing and no one there.

“Daddy, she’s invisible to grown-ups!” Of course. Why hadn’t he remembered that himself? But he remembered her eyes, like smooth clear stones in deep water.

He called the Garrets. No, they didn’t have any grandchildren up this summer. He called anyone and everyone else that lived anywhere near the lake. No one had a little girl visiting. He even called the county sheriff’s office, to see if there was anyone new, that had just moved in, that he hadn’t heard about yet. No one. And yet every night at dinner, there was a story or six of the adventures the two had had that day.

One stormy afternoon Faye wasn’t allowed out because of the weather and she lay in the living room coloring pictures, listening to the rain. Luke loved the rain, the storms, always had. Every raindrop was different; made a different sound; had a different story. He stood at the window, looking out, listening to the subtly different toned splatterings of the raindrops. He was half lost in his own private contemplations of the natural world when he heard a little voice.

“Nixie says every drop of water is like a different person. That each one has its own voice.”

Faye continued to color, but Luke stood with his eyes out of the window as though the lake itself had reached up and slapped him. He was playing in the stream with Nixie, when a summer shower fell. She squealed in delight and started to dance, humming in that way she had, with a voice that sounded like the creek after a good rain. He looked up, watching her spin and step across the stones.

“Ever drop of water is a different person, Luke. Each one has its own voice.”

“But Nixie, that’s silly, they’re just raindrops!” She knelt down beside him, looking in his eyes.

“No, Luke. Every drop of water falls a different way, at a different speed, from a different height. This drop is heavier than that one; this one may be smaller, weigh less, and hit less area when it falls. Just like every leaf on the tree is unique in its own way, so is the water, Luke. Every little piece of nature is different in some way, and it takes all of it to make the world we live in. If you listen closely, the water can talk to you; tell you what is happening to it. It can teach you about the world around it. Listen, Luke, you can hear it sing.”

And he did hear it sing. He sat there in the rain, in the stream, and listened to the music of the storm and watched Nixie dance. And when he listened after the storm was done, he could hear the water talk of how full the stream was, so many drops of water, how wet the ground was around it. He could hear how the water was deep or shallow in the lake when he canoed past. He would listen to the story when he washed his hands after coming inside.

The memory shook Luke. So much of the way he looked at things had come from Nixie. But she wasn’t real. She had been an imaginary friend. What he thought he had learned from her he had just been learning from his own world, his own experiences.

How did Faye do that? How did she break into his forgotten memories, his forgotten imaginings?

“Faye you have to stop this. I don’t know how you do it, but you have to stop.” Luke looked out into the storm.

“Stop what Daddy? Coloring?”

“No Faye, you have to stop talking about Nixie. You’re too old for that.”

“Why do I have to stop talking about her? She’s my friend!” Somehow, the child’s affirmation of her reality caused him to lose his temper. He had been holding it in all summer, maybe before the summer. Holding it in every time he saw her, and every time he had to send her away. It wasn’t fair to her to have to do this. It wasn’t fair to him not to see her every day. It wasn’t fair, but it was reality, and it hurt. Luke turned finally from the window and glared down at the little girl.

“Because she isn’t real!” he roared. And, as the little fingers dropped the crayons, he saw it. He saw the picture. The picture she had drawn of Nixie. It was her. The deep water eyes, the long flowing hair, the gossamer wings that glittered like dewdrops in the morning. It was all there. Every detail was perfect. Every feature exactly as he remembered. It was Nixie. It was someone who couldn’t exist.

He didn’t know she was gone until the wind blew the rain into the hall. He could almost imagine it calling his name. The crayons laid where they had fallen. The blue one was broken where a small foot had crushed it on its way out. The door swung wide open and the rain and wind were soaking the rug. She wasn’t there. She had run.

“Faye!” He cried out against the storm as he grabbed his coat from beside the door. “Faye! Come back here!” He stepped onto the porch and the rain nearly beat him back into the house.

“You hurt her.” The rain seemed to accuse him of what he already knew. Luke threw himself against the wind and back onto, and then, off of the porch. Standing in the yard, squinting into the rain, looking in every direction, he tried to see where she had run. He could hardly see ten feet. But he knew where she must have gone. Luke raced down to the stream, calling her name. He screamed out confession after apology, begging her to come back.

She was no where to be seen. Even as the rain began to slacken off, as the wind died down, there was no sign of her. A mist rose up to obscure what the rain could no longer hide. In despair, Luke dropped to his knees in the middle of the stream and screamed for his child.

“Faye!!”

“There’s no reason to yell.” At first it seemed the stream he knelt in, or the leftover drops running off the leaves, were speaking to him. Then he looked up and there she stood.

“Nixie.”

“There’s no reason to yell, Luke. Faye is hiding, but she can hear you.”

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.”

“Just like you didn’t mean to hurt mine. I know. But it still hurts.”

“How did I hurt you, Nixie? We were best of friends. What happened?”

“You grew up, Luke. You grew up and forgot me.”

“I had to grow up. I didn’t have a choice about it!”

She stamped her foot and the waters rose an inch around his knees, growing more turbulent in the overflow from the rain.  “You always have a choice. You can’t stop yourself from growing, but you never have to forget. That’s what hurts, Luke. Being forgotten hurts. Being left behind as you go off into the world hurts.”

Luke knew the drops on his face weren’t rain and what she said stung. It wasn’t fair. It may have been true, but it wasn’t fair.

“I hurt too!” he snapped back. “You don’t think it hurts to walk away? To have to leave behind? For the world to drag you from the things you are closest to? To be torn from those you love the most? I hurt too, Sprite!! I hurt too!” Luke fell forward, crying, tears mixing with the stream, carried out into the lake.

As his sobs slowed, he felt her fingers running through his hair, caressing him. Letting him know that even though it hurt, even though he had left her behind, she still loved him. And she knew he loved her too.

“It’s ok, Daddy.” Faye laid his head in her lap as she stroked his face. “I’m sorry I got mad. I just don’t like when summer ends.”

“Neither do I, Sprite. Neither do I.” He held her tightly to him, silently swearing to himself he’d never let go again. “I love you, Faye.”

“I love you, too, Daddy.”

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“Tavern’s down this way.” He took 8 yr old Princess Elizabeth by the hand and wrapped the other around 6 year old Sir Brian’s ankle. He’d grown tired of walking about three shops out of the petting zoo, and Dad’s shoulders were always more fun, anyway, at least for Brian. As they walked among the afternoon crowds, he chatted with the kids about the unicorn in the petting zoo, and the fairy playing the pipes. It took their mind off the heat and their feet. He firmly believed that costumes were part of what made the renaissance faire so much fun, other people’s and their own. Thus, Brian was proudly sporting his polyester knight’s armor, and Elizabeth skipped along, swishing the skirts of her favorite princess dress.

They reached the tavern, and he whispered a grateful prayer that it was indoors with tables and benches. They took a table under a fan. Indoors didn’t means air conditioning in the 16th century; it meant shade.

“Greetings, my lords and lady, welcome to The Wizard’s Hat, best indoor tavern at the faire! What can I get for ye?” The waitress, dressed in traditional corset style dress with colorful layered skirts. The streaks of blue hair may not have been historically accurate, but they were fun, and fun was the whole point, especially for a family of young children.

“Three waters, to start, please. Do you have menus?”

“We do, m’lord.” She handed him a printed menu of creatively named dishes, and laid down paper copies of children’s menus with a few rough hand-molded wax crayons. “I’ll get those waters for ye while ye look ‘em over. Take your time.”

He looked over Sir Brian’s shoulder as he colored. There were pictures of burgers, hot dogs, nuggets, even a slice of pizza, each with a cheerful medieval figure. Brian had set his wooden sword on the table and was coloring the dragon green. The waitress soon returned with the waters.

“Made up your minds, m’lord?”

“Yes, thank you.” He took a quick swig of the cool water. “He’ll have dragon nuggets. What comes with that?”

“My lord, every prince or princess meal comes with potato swords, fruit, or chips, and a magical surprise.” Her flamboyant brogue accent vanished as she leaned in. “The potato swords are french fries.” She winked.

Elizabeth piped up. “I want a magical surprise!”

“You’ll get one,” he assured her. “Nuggets or Cheeseburger?”

“Cheeseburger,” she answered, her head back down over her coloring.

“Ok, dragon nuggets with, uhm, potato swords, for him, and ‘royal burger’ with fruit for her.”

“Very good, m’lord, and what about yourself?”

“Oh.” He’d completely forgotten to pick his own meal. He scanned the creative descriptions in the menu quickly. “Bangers and mash, please.” He turned to the drinks menu. “And a ‘Dragon’s Blood Potion.’” The sparkling fruit drink sounded quite refreshing after the dusty morning. The waitress took his menu, and he leaned back against the wooden railing. The breeze from the fan cooled his skin in the shade of the restaurant. He watched as pirates, pixies, and peasants strolled along the thoroughfare. The children colored quietly. The muscles in his shoulders relaxed in this respite from the children riding and tugging on him. In the distance, he heard the crash of a pair of jousting knights on horseback and a cheer from the crowd. On a day like this, one could almost believe in magic.

“Here we are, loves!” The waitress set a carved wooden box in front of each of the children. The boxes looked for all the world like treasure chests the size of a shoebox. Carved bands painted to look like black iron cured over the top and around the edges. The front bore a large, round dial of symbols. The children oohed and aahed, and he joined them with pure sincerity. “Your lunch time treasure be locked, loves. Look on the back of your menu,” she hinted with a wink. The children hurriedly flipped over their menus, and worked on the puzzle, while the waitress set a tall red drink in front of him. “And this be your goblet of dragon blood, m’lord. I’ll be right back with your meal.” She left.

The fruity drink was cool and delicious, but he didn’t have long to enjoy it before Sir Brian had found the solution.

“It’s the wizard!” He turned his dial so that the wizard faced up, and opened the lid. As fast as the lid had opened, his drew out his ‘magical surprise’ and immediately lost interest. “Aw, it’s just an egg.” He set it down and reached back into the chest for his fries.

Mr. Johnson picked up the egg out of curiosity. It was an odd, but lovely metallic color, and the ceramic was still hot from being next to the food. He set it back down, and patted the boy’s shoulders. “Not bad for a kids meal, though.”

“What is this?”

He looked over to Elizabeth, who was holding up a tiny bottle, no bigger than her thumb. At first glance, it appeared to be filed with sand, but as he watched, the contents swirled inside. She rubbed it, peering closely, and it shook. The little cork popped out, and purple smoke poured forth. From the smoke emerged the top half of a tiny, bearded, purple man.

“Salutations, princess. I am the genie of the bottle, and I grant you one wish.”

Before he could stop himself, or question what he’d been drinking, Mr. Johnson blurted out. “Only one wish? I thought genies gave three wishes.”

The tiny man, whose lower half was obscured in the cloud of purple smoke, rotated around to face him, and raised a miniscule eyebrow. “Honored sir, when was the last time you got a full sized prize out of a kids meal?” He rotated back around to face Elizabeth.

“That’s so cool! I want a genie like that!”

It never failed. Whatever one child got was automatically better than what the other had.

“I don’t think she gets to keep the genie, Bri.”

“Certainly not,” agreed the genie. “Only the wish. The chest is also an extra charge if you want to take it home, by the way.”

“Naturally.” It was a nice chest, though, he thought to himself.

“I wish for a million dollars!” cried Elizabeth.

“I am sorry, princess.” The genie spread his empty hands. “Wishes are limited to a $5 value.”

The genie looked over his shoulder and shrugged. “Kids meal.”

Elizabeth bit her lip and thought hard. “Can I wish for purple hair, like your smoke?”

“Oh, Elizabeth, I don’t think mom would like-”

“Your wish is my command!”

The genie folded his arms and nodded his head. Elizabeth’s chestnut brown hair shimmered and from her scalp, slowly converted into a vibrant purple color. The hue flowed down her locks like water soaking into paper. By the look on her face, she could feel it before she could see it. She grabbed a hank of her hair and pulled it out in front of her face to watch the color fade in all the way to the tips. She squealed in delight as it finished, every hair on her head perfectly purple. His wife would never believe it wasn’t his fault.

The genie bowed in mid air. “Enjoy your wish, princess. You may keep the bottle as a souvenir.” He smiled over his shoulder at dad. With a spin, the smoke became a foot tall tornado, and then wafted apart, and faded off into the breeze, leaving his purple-haired daughter holding the tiny empty bottle.

“Dad, can I trade my egg for a genie?”

He looked down to Brian, unsure even what answer he wanted to give, and held up a palm to stop his sister from sticking out her tongue at him. Then the egg cracked. All three of them looked at it, and then it cracked again. A small piece was knocked out onto the table by a little golden claw. The claw pushed out of the hole, revealing golden scales on a little arm. The arm withdrew and was replaced by a golden reptilian snout.

“It couldn’t be…”

The snout sneezed an inch long flame, and broke the top off the egg. It climbed out of the shell, and laid its head on Brian’s hand. Brian slowly reached out with his other hand to pet the little golden dragon, and it curled its tail around his prone wrist, and closed its eyes.

“Sorry for the wait there, m’lord. We’re busy today!” The waitress was back, and set a plate of bangers and mash in front of him. She laid the check on the table. “Let me know if there’s anything else you’ll be needing. Nice hair, princess.” She hurried off to a table just sitting down.

“Dad, no fair!” Elizabeth was watching her brother. “I want a dragon, too!”

“Eat your lunch, dear.” He wondered if, perhaps next time, he could order from the kids menu.

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Tanax placed her shining Interstellar Industries Luxury Resort name badge on her new uniform. She put her blue crystal hair up in a waterfall from the top of her head. The blue highlights matched her eyes. It was the first day of her future. Most Nilax in the tourist zones were shopkeepers, or tour guides, spending their days begging for Nilaxian beads or Galactic Credits, and their nights huddled in sparse shacks or modified cave-houses. Interstellar Industries liked to boast that they had brought culture and prosperity to the less developed worlds, but all they really brought was the realization that the local cultures were lagging behind. It turned their worlds into windows, with the natives on the outside of the opulence. But she had opened that window and was stepping through it. Today, she was a dancer at the tourist resort, with Interstellar Industries paychecks on the way. Next year, or the year after, she would be travelling away from Nilara, dancing across the stars to find her place in that society, and later, she would be able to bring all three of her parents, Mom, Tut, and Dad, out there with her.

“What do you mean you lost your position?” Mom’s high voice rang clearly through the thin wall.

“Keep your voice down, Salva,” chastised Tut from outside Tanax’s bedroom door. “Tanax doesn’t need to worry about things like this on her first day.”

“Evis, I did nothing wrong.” Dad’s voice was lower, harder to make out, but Tanax had had practice. “They cancelled the Singing Crystal Caves’s tour contract. They said they had bad reviews. With no tours, there’s no need for tour guides.”

“Of course they had bad reviews with every tourist taking a crystal home for themselves!” Tut always seemed to be the voice of reason in their home.

“Of course you did nothing wrong. I’ve always said you were the best tour guide they had.” There was a moment of silence. Mom gave the best hugs. “You’ll find something else. There are always more cruise ship tourists.”

Tanax decided this would be a good moment to make her entrance. “Star shine, parents,” she called out as she opened her door. Dad was sitting at the table, his twin green plumes of hair unbrushed and tangled, a clear sign that he was stressed. Tut was doing dishes, her cloud of translucent, crystal white hair bobbing around her as she moved. Mom swept her up in a hug, her work leathers rough. Mom had to pick the carnivorous fruit before she could sell it at the stand. Her blue hair was still down, so she wasn’t leaving yet.

“You were listening again, weren’t you?” whispered Mom in her ear. Mom always knew.

“Salva, don’t keep her all to yourself.” Dad was on his feet, putting on a brave face.

Mom hugged her all the tighter. “Go find your own sweet daughter to hug, Stru. This one’s all mine.”

“You hear that, Evis? Salva isn’t going to share.”

“Salva, play nice. Tanax is all our daughter.” Tut joined in on the family hug, and Tanax, in the center, felt warm and safe.

“Well today, I belong to Interstellar Industries Luxury Resort, and if you three don’t let me go, I’ll be late!”

Fortunately, she still had a few minutes to take her breakfast, give kisses all around, and pick up her bag for the long ride to the resort. Few Nilax could afford to actually live anywhere close to the resort. She ate her breakfast on the way, as Nilax traditionally did, and thought of Dad’s unwelcome announcement. Mom and Tut both had employment, in a tourist restaurant and a roadside fruit stand, but Dad’s tour guide money was a significant portion of the family’s income.

By the time she reached the resort, she had pushed the matter to the dark valleys of her mind, and climbed to the hilltops for her first day of work. Her welcome and orientation were hurried. Food was available, but not to take with her. For some reason, the tourists preferred to let their food sit out on tables before eating it. Stealing would get her fired. ‘Dallying’ with the tourists would get her fired. Making guests unhappy would get her fired. Her job was to perform as a dancer, teach Nilaxian dancing to the tourists, and make tourists smile. Doing anything else, it seemed, would get her fired. She was not to ask for tips, but tipping was encouraged, and she would keep any tips she got. Some, it was said, made more from their tips than their actual pay.

Her first performance was in the Crystal Room of the resort. They weren’t real Singing Crystals, of course, the sound would interfere with performances, and they couldn’t grow in a building like this naturally, but it was beautifully reminiscent of the grand caves. She watched from the edge as the room slowly filled with curious and smiling tourists from a variety of worlds. Her first dance was a popular, modern Nilaxian number with lots of energy. The next was a traditional dance of her people, slow and sensual. The set would end with a Nilaxian dance set to a modern galactic song that would be familiar to the tourists. The lights went down, and all but the first row was lost to the darkness. She stepped into the light and began to dance. She could feel the flutter of nervous lightwings in her abdomen. Mom said to pick a single face and dance just for them to make the lightwings vanish. In the center of the front row, she found a handsome, friendly face, probably Human or Denovian, she guessed. She danced for him. She threw the energy into his smiling face. She poured the sensuality into his lap. She moved her body to the music in his eyes.

The lights brightened on resounding applause, and she smiled to the crowd, pleased and relieved that her first performance was done. She posed for happy photographs with the tourists and wrote her name for them. Some gave her tips. The largest tip came from the friendly face in the front row, along with a firm hug.

“You were marvelous,” he said. “When do you perform again? I don’t want to miss a show.”

“Thank you.” She blushed. “It’s not a performance exactly, but I have a dance class this afternoon. The next show will be tomorrow.”

“Even better. I’d love to learn that second dance you did. See you there.”

She waited until the tourists had all gone and took a deep breath. She was really doing it. With a little free time before her next event, she found her way to the resort’s food hall. Meals were provided on site for the employees, but she had not expected the seemingly endless array of foods on display. She felt guilty eating in such abundance when she knew Dad was at home, making a meager meal from the sparse contents of the family cabinets. There was so much food here, free for the taking, maybe she could put some in a bag to take home. The whole family could easily eat from this buffet without even emptying a single table. Then she noticed a sign posted beside the door. NO FOOD BEYOND THIS POINT. Her orientation came back to her. It would be foolish to risk her dreams on a single family meal. She finished her plate and tried not to think about home.

The dance class was in an open room with a wall of windows offering a gorgeous view of the ocean. The pink waves glinted in the afternoon light like diamonds tossed on a bed of blushing satin. She arrived early just to enjoy it. She shared the sight with the tourists as they arrived and began warming up for the dance class. She’d had to take special training to learn about how to stretch and move with various anatomies, as not all species were built the same. The friendly face entered as she stretched their legs.

She demonstrated the moves and then walked among the dancers, correcting posture, adjusting position, guiding steps. The friendly face had a natural talent, she noticed. When the class ended, she again posed for group photographs, this time in front of the oceanview windows, or in dance positions. She gratefully accepted the galactic credits slipped into her hands, some small, some generous. The friendly face again lingered until the others had gone.

“Great class. I learned a lot.”

“Thank you. It’s my first one.”

“Would you be interested in giving me a private lesson? Perhaps something more like the second dance you did earlier?”

Something in the weight of his words made it clear that he did not have only dancing on his mind. “I’m sorry, they’ve not given me any private lessons on my schedule. And it’s against the rules to be… private with guests.”

“They should add private lessons. They pay quite a bit more.” He pulled a string of Nilaxian beads from his pocket. “And I am certainly willing to pay for the privilege. More, knowing that we’d be bending the rules.”

Being paid in beads meant she wouldn’t lose anything to exchange rates for the credits. The string he held could feed her family for a full lunar cycle. His experienced eyes reflected the pink waves through the window. “You, ah, could take all my classes for free. I can try to give you extra notes, too. That wouldn’t be seen as private lessons.”

He smiled. It was still friendly, still kind. A second string of beads withdrew from his pocket. “Let me be a little more direct and honest. I enjoy experiencing a lot more than just the culture from the planets I visit. I want to experience you. And I am willing to compensate you for it. I know Interstellar Industries doesn’t offer the highest pay to locals, even if it might be more than what else is available.”

He held out two strings of beads, and her family and her future flashed through her mind.

“What do you say?

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Traveler Planet of Origin and Language: Earth, English.

Greetings, Travelers. I am Widget, your AI Travel Assistant from Interstellar Industries. I’m here to help make sure “the fun goes from star to star, just like you are!” Welcome to planet [Nilara] in the [Enia] system. This destination has been a part of our premium itineraries for some time and is now open to all travelers. The [Nilax] people are happy to show you their fascinating home world, and invite you to explore the natural wilderness, relax in their unique hallucinogenic spas, or partake in their rich culture. We’d like to remind you that we are offering bonus travel points for giving feedback on all of your excursions to this beautiful Interstellar Industries Destination Partner.

A request for commerce follows.

Come see the shining jewel of Nilara: the Singing Crystal Caves of Bandizor! The Bandizorian crystals glisten around the cave, sparkling in rhythm to the harmonizing tones that emanate naturally from these ancient natural constructions. Each crystal takes centuries to grow to a size capable of producing audible harmonics. Together, the numerous singing crystals in the Bandizor Caves create a concert to be found nowhere else in the galaxy. Truly, an experience not to be missed on any trip to Nilara. We accept Nilaxian Currency Beads and Galactic Credits. Tell your Travel Assistant you want to see (and hear) the Singing Crystal Caves of Bandizor!

As you settle into your suite, a tray of Nilaxian fruit has been laid out for you to enjoy. Tips are not included in your Interstellar Industries travel plan and are always appreciated by the local population for their services.

“Hello, Widget. I’m James Watkins, from Earth, Western Hemisphere. Guess we’ll be doing the whole feedback thing for the bonus points. I’ve got to tell you, the whole family has really been looking forward to this vacation. We’ve saved for a long time to get all the way out here, and we can’t wait to check it all out. The flight here was a little long, the stars were pretty, food was tasty. Our son Cadence would hardly eat any of it, but that’s just him being picky, it isn’t the cook’s fault. We had a storm on day 3. I know that isn’t your fault, exactly, but you’d think they could have flown around it or something.”

“The Spaceport was decent. A little old, a little crowded. Guess they didn’t build it for the number of folks using it these days. Might want to think of remodeling that or something. As much as these trips cost, people shouldn’t have to feel like cattle in a stampede. The luggage service was nice, though. Not sure how much to tip those yellow fellas with the extra arms. We’re used to Earth currency, but they don’t seem to use that out here. Do you tip for every arm, or just per, uhm, being? The fruit was a nice thought, but it don’t smell like anything I’m used to, so I’m not sure if it’s good for us to eat or not. Thanks.”

“Those Crystal Caves sound interesting. Sign us up for that, will you? And what time is dinner here? I’m starving.”

Good morning, or as the Nilax say, ‘May the star shine warmly upon you’. Modern Nilax say simply ‘star shine’ for short. Morning meal foods are available in the dining room. Nilax do not sit down to eat their morning meal. Traditionally, it is food that can be eaten on the go, as it were, getting the day started. You’ll want to be getting on with your day, too, as you have exciting adventures planned.

Today, you’ve chosen to focus on the natural world of Nilara by visiting the Singing Crystal Caves and a Wild Safari Guided Tour in the Mazhakin Jungle. Your Crystal Caves appointment is at one-quarter, local time, and your Safari appointment is at half-day, local time, and includes a traveling lunch on broganda back.

The following is a request for commerce.

While visiting Nilara, join us for a traditional Nilaxian Mating Ritual! Participants are dressed in ritual garb, and you will hear classic Nilaxian music and see dances that have been passed down through centuries. This is the traditional ceremony for the joining of Nilax lovers. A romantic addition to your relaxing getaway to Nilara!

Don’t forget to log your feedback after your day’s adventures for bonus travel points.

“This is Martha Watkins. James is lying down; that ride on the broganda creature made him sick. Or maybe it was the fruit. I hope he didn’t get bitten by some local mosquito or something. Well, I must say, the Singing Crystal Caves were a bit of a disappointment. There were hardly any crystals there at all. Lots of broken stumps so I guess there used to be a lot more. Real shame. There were some pretty ones, though. I don’t know that you’d call it singing, really, more like a low hum. Maybe if there were more of them, it would be better. We did manage to find a decent sized one for a souvenir, though, so that’s nice. I know just where to put it back home. “

“The Wild Safari was a nice idea, but most of the animals just ran or hid from us! I finally managed to corner a cute monkey-looking thing with long ears for a picture with me, but it really didn’t seem to like being picked up. It’s a good picture, though. I’ve already posted it to my travel blog. We were starving by the time lunch was served. That on-the-go excuse for breakfast is not for me. I’m taking extra tomorrow, even if I don’t get to sit down and eat it. Trying to eat on the gyrating back of that big riding creature, however, was a disaster! Rolling back and forth on six legs. A picnic that was not. Maybe you should build some picnic tables instead. Or some nice air conditioned trolleys. The broganda kind of smelled like an animal,if you know what I mean.”

Star shine, Watkins Family. Today is a day among the locals. You have a tour of historic temples, ancient Nilaxian ruins, and a Ritual Mating Ceremony on your agenda. The ceremony is completely authentic and not adjusted for cultural or maturity differences.

Please note that it is against intergalactic law to remove natural artifacts or cultural relics from a native planet unless purchased in a reputable gift shop.

We understand that native customs can be different than what you are used to, and that the adjustment can be difficult for some. There are tables on the veranda if you would prefer to eat your morning meal sitting down. There are also foreign dining options a few hundred steps from the resort, but they are not included in your Interstellar Industries travel plan.

Stand by for a request for commerce.

Get your official Nilaxian souvenirs at the spectacular Bazaar of Northern Bandizor! Trinkets of memory, traditional Nilaxian garments, branded outfits, unique collectibles. Traders are ready to consider your value, and ALL currencies are welcome! (Foreign exchange rates negotiable.) Ask your Travel Assistant for easy transport to the Bazaar of Northern Bandizor!

“This is Cadence. My parents are getting drinks. They said they needed them after today. I guess it made them thirsty. Most of it made me bored. The ruins were just big rocks and boring old shacks. They didn’t even have electricity or anything. The temples were even worse. They had electricity, but there was nothing to do there. Everyone was just standing around talking. The only really interesting thing today was the mating ritual. That was the best thing on this planet! You should have those every day!”

“CADENCE! Get away from Widget, and I don’t want to hear another word from you about that ritual. Go get ready for the pool. Your father is going to take you swimming.”

“I am?”

“Yes, you are. Go on, take him to the pool so I can give Widget today’s report.”

“Alright, Widget, you can delete whatever Cadence told you; he’s not an adult, so it wasn’t an official report. The ruins were fine. It would be better if they were in the middle of the city, instead of way out there on the mountain slope, but I guess you can’t move them very easily. As expected, let’s say. The temple was very interesting. We learned a lot about Nilax culture and history and stuff.”

“That ritual, however. You need a warning on that! First of all, there were three people getting married? I don’t understand that. Apparently, they’ve got three different types of Nilaxans. There’s boys, and girls, and something else; I don’t get it, and I already know more than I was planning to! We don’t consummate the marriage at the ceremony on Earth. I had to cover Cadence’s eyes, though I couldn’t hold on to him for long. And James wasn’t exactly much help. He was almost as bad as our boy. I have to admit, the dancing was interesting, though. Never seen three-person dancing like that. And the costumes were gorgeous. All those metallic feathers they wore really caught the sunlight. I bought a dress for myself just like it from the Bazaar. I could have spent the whole day shopping there.”

“Widget, this is James. We’re all packed and ready to go. Thanks for all the help. We’re leaving a few Earth bills on the table. It’s all I had left by the time Martha left the Bazaar. Never heard of the bargaining starting with the customers! “What value do I place on this,” indeed. Might as well have said, how much are you willing to lose at this table. Anyways, final rating is 3 out of 5 stars for us. It’s a nice enough place, but didn’t quite live up to the marketing, in our opinion. I did finally try that Nilax fruit, by the way. It was actually delicious. I picked up some extra from the buffet and stashed them in my suitcase.”

Thank you for your feedback on planet [Nilara]. Your rating will be added to the galactic average and their compensation for your visit will be adjusted accordingly. Enjoy your trip home with Interstellar Industries. Your bonus travel points will be credited to your account shortly.

If you read this far, and you’re smiling or thinking thoughtfully, please consider tapping the little heart ❤️ to give this story a Like. Thank you.