Valiant: Tales From The Archive

[CURSEd #3: Resurgency Rising]

Log Date: 10/11/12763

Data Sources: Darrow Bennion

Event Log: Darrow Bennion

CURSE HQ: Gritter’s Bar

10:36pm SGT

“Am I the only one that’s tired of listening to them report on this?” Kent asks, sipping from his stein as he gives another glance towards one of the screens hanging over the bar’s counter.

I follow his gaze to the screen. It’s another late-night report about the riot on Wisconsin. Over the past thirty-six hours, most galactic news stations have provided wall-to-wall coverage of the riot, with more footage of the event filtering in over the last day and a half. Normally, galactic news wouldn’t cover something as localized as a riot on a single planet, even it was a violent riot, like this one was.

But Songbird had been sighted at the Sanctuary that got ransacked. And the media, which hadn’t heard anything about Songbird for the last month, kicked into overdrive.

“They’ve got nothing better to report on.” Whisper says from where she’s leaned back against the edge of our booth, sipping on her drink. “Plus, Songbird’s good for the ratings. People eat this stuff up. Some of the traditionalist networks can spin it all into a grand conspiracy theory for their viewers.”

“You mean those raving psychopaths that think that Masklings eat babies?” Kent grunts, staring at the screen showing another clip of SCORN protestors storming the New Bridsgard Sanctuary. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m no fan of the Masks either, but the things these SCORN people believe in aren’t even remotely connected to reality.”

“Can you blame them, though?” I say, setting down my drink. “Like yeah, the thing about Masklings eating babies is crazy… but the rest of it, about how the Masks control every major government from behind the scenes? I get why they think that. Masks know how to infiltrate governments and stay hidden for years. They’ve done it before. There are examples all over the place.”

“Yeah, but they don’t control entire governments.” Whisper says, rolling her eyes and gesturing to the screen. “Otherwise shit like this wouldn’t happen. You think if Masklings controlled Wisconsin’s government, they would’ve let this happen on their watch? Nah, that’s your old friend: institutionalized apathy. Laziest form of racism in the playbook — the one where you literally sit back and do nothing while shit’s burning down on your watch.”

“Mm.” I say, slouching back in my booth. “I’m not saying what those people did is right, just to be clear. I’m saying that they had a reason for what they’re doing, something that had to be grounded in some kind of logic. Even if the reasoning is warped, it had to start somewhere logical and get twisted from there.”

“That’s making the very generous assumption that these people use their brains.” Kent grunts again, sipping from his stein. “I’d bet you another drink that most of them just ferment their noggins in whatever garbage they read online.”

“Least it’s not our problem.” Whisper says, rubbing her nose. “It’s not public knowledge that Prophet’s working for us, so this flaming shitpile is going to fall on SCORN’s doorstep. They can deal with the fallout.”

“Why was Songbird at a Quill Sanctuary, anyway?” I say, pulling my gaze off the screen. “Do you think he’s working with them now? It doesn’t make sense; I thought the rogue Challengers were trying to group up again.”

“Didn’t you say a while back that the Masks had sent someone to get the backup archive too?” Whisper says, looking over her shoulder at me. “Did we ever find out why the Masklings wanted it?”

“Not that I heard.” I answer. “I think there was something in the archive’s files that they wanted, but upper management wasn’t interested in finding out what it was. The main priority was keeping it out of the hands of rogue Challengers.”

“That was probably a mistake.” Kent says. “Seems to me like the Challengers figured out what the Masks wanted, and might be asking the Masks to help them if they give the Masks whatever they want out of the archive.”

“You don’t seriously think the Masklings would help the Challengers, do you?” Whisper says. “Half the galaxy already hates Masklings. If they team up with the rogue Challengers, people are gonna hate them even more.”

“Y’know what?” Kent says, clomping his stein down on the table. “All this shit is depressing. What are we even doing. We’re off the clock, we’re drinking, we’re supposed to be having fun instead of moaning about a bunch of racist rioters eight systems over. Let’s talk about something else.”

Whisper and I both raise eyebrows at him. “Like what?” I ask.

“I dunno.” Kent says, scratching his ear. “Oh! Wait! I got it! Let’s talk about that pretty little recruit you’ve taken a shine to!”

My pulse starts to rise. “Wh— Kwyn? What about her?”

“Yeeeeeah.” Kent says, grinning as he leans forward over the table. “Heard the rumors ‘round the HQ. You’re personally training her, aren’t you?”

Whisper starts to smile. “You didn’t tell me about this. You’re personally training a new recruit?”

“Well, yes.” I say defensively. “She showed a lot of potential in the Challenges, and I think that sort of determination and effort should be rewarded with recognition and opportunity to advance in the organization.”

“Oh, so you want to reward her?” Kent insinuates, wiggling his eyebrows. “Does this reward involve one-on-one time? A personal tour of the HQ, if she hasn’t gotten one yet?”

I glare at Kent. “I don’t like where you’re going with this.”

“Wait wait wait.” Whisper says, waving a hand. “Hold up. This was one of the recruits from the Challenges? Was this the girl that you had a knock-down drag-out throwdown with? The one with the white hair?”

I sink down in my side of the booth, avoiding the question by taking a sip of my drink.

“WHAT?! Seriously?!” Whisper shrieks, then covers her mouth when she realizes how loud she is. “You’re training her?!”

My only response is to blow bubbles into my drink, grumbling wordlessly.

Kent grins, elbowing Whisper’s hip. “Looka him. He’s so cute. He’s redder than a strawberry.” He takes a swig from his stein, chuckling as he uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. “This is great. See, this is what we come here for. I feel better already.”

Whisper idles around to my side of the booth, giving me a sly look. “So, Dare. You wanna tell us why you agreed to train her?”

“I already told you guys why I offered to train her!” I say, shrugging aggressively. “She’s got determination and grit. I think she has potential.”

“Oh, you offered?” Kent says incredulously. “Well well well! Here I was thinking that she was the one that started it up, but no, Dare made the first move. I didn’t know you had it in you, buddy!”

“What?! No! It’s not like that!” I protest. “She’s a new recruit; I’m a Peacekeeper. It would be unprofessional to try and make it anything more than a work-centric relationship. Personnel Resources would be down my throat in a heartbeat if they thought that I was pulling rank to catch a date.”

“Oh, c’mon, Dare.” Whisper says, rolling her eyes. “You think the rest of the Peacekeepers haven’t cashed in on the hero worship before? Recruits are eyeing us up all the time. A little fling with someone a couple of ranks down isn’t gonna hurt anyone.”

“See, I wish I could cash in like y’all do.” Kent says, shaking a finger at Whisper. “But I’m just a lowly greasemonkey. I gotta work for my one-night stands.”

“I’m not cashing in on anything.” I say, sitting up from where I’d slouched in my side of the booth and grabbing my drink. “For the third time, the extent of the relationship is strictly work-based. I admire her grit, and I think she can become something.”

“Like your lover?” Kent quips without missing a beat.

I choke on the sip I was taking, wheezing and bracing myself on the table. “Kent!” I cough indignantly, then motioning to Whisper. “He’s done for tonight. Take his drink away. If we let him finish that glass he’ll have no filter left.”

Whisper snorts. “It’s a little too late for that, Dare.” As she looks to Kent, he pulls his stein closer, keeping it caged behind his arms. “Besides, I’d have to pry it from his cold, dead hands.”

“Damn straight.” Kent growls. “Don’t mess with a man’s booze.”

“You’re paying your own tab tonight.” I say, giving him the evil eye. “I can’t let you off the hook for that comment.”

“Aw, damn.” he laments, peering into his glass. “I lost track of how much I’ve had tonight. Hope it isn’t as much as it feels like it is.”

“It’s probably as much as that, and then a little more.” Whisper says, leaning against my side of the booth now. “Anyway, as I was saying, there’s nothing wrong with using the social status of a Peacekeeper to catch a date, Dare. Plenty of other Peacekeepers have done it, and still do it, and get away with it. Including yours truly.”

“See, everyone else has done it, so that makes it okay for you to do it.” Kent says, giving me a knowing look and tapping a finger to the side of his head. 

I squint at him. “That’s not how that works. That’s not how any of this works.”

“Well, it is how some of it works, actually.” Whisper disagrees. “If we’re being completely honest.”

“Whatever.” I say, rolling my eyes and tapping my bracelet to the register panel in the middle of the table, paying up my tab. “I’m gonna go ahead and call it a night. I’ve got a meeting with the Administrator and Deputy Administrator tomorrow, so I need to be able to function for that.”

“Oh really?” Whisper says, moving out of the way as I stand up. “What’s it about?”

“That’s a good question. I’ll find out tomorrow.” I say, scooting out of the booth.

“Yikes.” Whisper grimaces. “Hope it isn’t bad. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”

“Boo.” Kent says. “Tapping out early so you can be responsible. Weaaaaak.”

“I’ll take that with a grain of salt, coming from you.” I say, giving a wave as I head to the door. “See you around, guys.”

“Have a good night, Dare!” Whisper calls.

“Say hi to the cute new recruit for me!” Kent adds.

I glare over my shoulder at him, then push through the door and step out into the hall, tucking my hands in my pockets as I make my way back to my quarters.

Event Log: Darrow Bennion

CURSE HQ: Administrator Tenji’s Office

10/12/12763 9:06am SGT

When the door to Tenji’s office slides open, I look up sharply. Within, Tenji is sitting at her desk, while Nazka is standing to the side of the room, flicking through a data slate; it’s clear from their expressions that they expect me to step in, so I do so, hoping that my restless pacing hasn’t creased my uniform too much.

Once I’m inside, the door slides shut again. Tenji’s office is a spacious affair at the top of the HQ’s command tower, the wall along the back made of glass so she can look down on the rest of the HQ's crescent. There’s a couple of exotic plants tucked away in the corners of the room, next to the plush chairs she keeps for dignitaries and other visitors. On the walls, there’s a collection of relics from CURSE’s history — I’m assuming they’re the ones that are considered harmless enough to be left out of a secured vault.

“Morning, Axiom.” Tenji says, offering me a relaxed smile. “Thank you for coming. How are you doing today?”

“Well, thank you.” I answer. I feel like Tenji is expecting something a little more specific than that, but with Nazka here, I don’t feel comfortable giving anything beyond the required polite answer. When I’m around him, I get this feeling that if I reveal anything that might pass as weakness, he’ll file it away behind those cold, calculating eyes and use it against me later. “How can I be of assistance today?”

“We actually called you in because of the developing situation with the renegade Challengers.” Tenji explains, flicking through a couple windows on the glass surface of her desk. “With the sighting of Songbird at the New Bridsgard Sanctuary, and some of the insider intelligence we’ve been privy to, there’s high confidence that the renegades are now working with the Masklings.”

“If this suspicion pans out, it will greatly complicate matters for us.” Nazka says at this point. “Prior to Songbird’s resurgence, the Challengers were scattered and any organized resistance from them had been crushed and wiped out. We had the law on our side against them, and officially, the remaining Challengers had no support from any legitimate government, which made it nearly impossible for them to stage a comeback. If the renegades now gain the support of an official government, then all that work stands to be undone. They will have a measure of protection — it will not be enough to entirely shield them from the Colloquium and intergalactic law, but it will be enough to allow them to regather their strength, especially if they are receiving material support from the government that is giving them official recognition.”

“The problem is that short of destroying the Dussel Mercforce, I don’t believe there’s anything we can do to stop it.” Tenji says.

“Which we are trying to do, by the by.” Nazka adds quietly.

“Yes, but we can’t hedge our bets on that.” Tenji says. “And besides that, CURSE has better things to do with their personnel than devoting them to destroying an entire mercforce. There are better uses for our rank and file, so we are outsourcing that task to a posting on the Guild job board — mercs will take care of their own, for the right price. However, we still need to prepare for a future in which the renegade Challengers survive the destruction of the Dussel Mercforce and still manage to ally with the Masklings.”

“We’ve already started tracking down the Accountants mentioned in our last Peacekeeping meeting, and our intelligence department is assembling plans of action for making overtures to them and bringing them aboard with us.” Nazka picks up at this point. “By locking them down and ensuring their loyalty lies with us, it takes them off the table for the Challengers, and grants us another asset to use against them. I’m sure the irony of using their own assassins against them does not escape you.”

“Yes, I’m sure they’ll be… unpleasantly surprised by that.” I agree with some uncertainty.

Tenji gives a slight smile, her eyes flicking to Nazka. “Nazka takes great pleasure in the poetic subtleties.” Lacing her fingers, she looks back to me again. “We’re not sparing any effort, though. I’m sure you’ve noticed the uptick in basic recruitment, but we’re pursuing other initiatives beyond the ones I just mentioned. That’s why we called you in — we want you to be one of the Peacekeepers that leads up one of these projects.”

“Gladly.” I answer, now that the tide of information coming out of these two has finally slowed down. “Will there be assignments attached to this project, or…?”

“There will.” Nazka says. “Our analysts, in their research of the surviving Challenger records, have unearthed evidence that the Challenger program kept certain superweapons in reserve to use as an ace up their sleeve, so to speak. Though the records are incomplete, there are indications those superweapons still exist, as do the means to create them.”

“And more importantly, we believe that the rogue Challengers are already in possession of one.” Tenji adds. “The resurgency is already ahead of us on this, so it is important that we catch up to them, so that we can counter them.”

“I’m happy to help, but if you don’t mind me asking…” I say, relaxing from where I’d been standing at attention. “What’s this superweapon? Is it something we can destroy or steal? Why haven’t we heard about it before now, and why haven’t the renegades used it yet?”

“They have been using it.” Nazka answers, reaching up and tapping the wall with a knuckle. A screen ripples over it, and he presses his hand to it to unlock the screen. “And you haven’t heard about it because it’s been hiding in plain sight.”

“Not it, but who.” Tenji says as a file marked High Clearance starts loading in. A second later, images of Jackrabbit start filtering across the wall screen. “These superweapons aren’t objects. They’re people.”

I furrow my brow, looking between the screen and Tenji. “Jackrabbit? She’s good, yeah, but I wouldn’t exactly call her a superweapon.”

“Not in the traditional sense.” Nazka says, scrolling through his data slate. “But Jackrabbit turns up a surprising number of times in the surviving fragments of top-secret Challenger records. Additionally, her record of combat successes is nearly unrivaled, save for a few losses — her reputation as the face of the Challenger program was earned, in part, because of her ability to turn around any situation, no matter how high the odds were stacked against her. How she was able to do this, time and time again, is unclear — but it is believed she is in possession of something that the records repeatedly referred to as a ‘Spark’.”

“We’ve heard very faint whispers of this before, but we’d always written them off as Challenger myths.” Tenji says. “But with as many times as it’s come up in the remnants of the Challenger classified files, there seems to some legitimacy to it. So we had our analysts chase the rumors.”

“Despite the resources appended to it, the answers they returned were frustratingly light on details.” Nazka says, pointing out reports that are starting to filter into the corner of the screen. “Only more rumors. Nothing solid. Claims that individuals that possess a Spark cannot be beaten in combat. Claims that they possess a very limited form of omniscience that extends no more than a few seconds into the future from the present moment. Claims that they can mimic abilities and powers they would not otherwise have for their species. The claims vary widely, so it is unclear exactly what a Spark is, or what it is capable of. What is clear from the Challenger records, however, is that the Challenger leadership realized they had at least a couple Sparks in the program’s ranks, and were intent on finding more. They funded several expeditions to that end.”

I can see where this is going, and I look back to Tenji. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but… this is what we’re going after? Just rumors and myths? Do we even have any proof that these Sparks exist?”

“We are not so desperate as to act without substance.” Nazka says tersely, pulling up another file. “What decided the matter was a fragment of a document that contained what the Challengers were referring to as a ‘chain of custody’ — the Sparks they knew about within their ranks changed hands from generation to generation. The names on the chains of custody are familiar, well-known names, Challengers that were formidable and often seemed to surpass their own natural abilities, and had unexplained abilities beyond that.”

“The problem is that the document was corrupted.” Tenji says, reaching up to adjust her glasses. “We don’t know where these chains of custody end due to the fact that the document suffered data loss during recovery. But we believe, based on what we’ve seen in our research, that Jackrabbit is at the end of one of these chains. And based on the expedition records, the Challengers may’ve figured out where to find more Sparks before the Challenger program was shut down.”

“And since we have the expedition data, we’re going to pick up where the Challengers left off?” I guess. “No offense, but isn’t this something the Preservers should be handling, instead of a Peacekeeper? Expeditions and magical stuff is their specialty.”

“In a quieter time, we would’ve sent the Preservers to investigate it.” Tenji says, looking right at me. “But that kind of leisurely approach isn’t something we can afford right now. If the renegade Challengers have a Spark, it may not matter how much we throw at them. If Jackrabbit can flip any odds against us, all the Accountants and Peacekeepers in the galaxy won’t save us.”

“While I share your skepticism as to the validity of these so-called Sparks that the Challengers were so fascinated with, I also recognize that this myth has the potential to severely disrupt the peace that CURSE has worked for over the last fifteen years.” Nazka says at this point. “If these Sparks are real, then we need a Spark of our own; preferably multiple, if we can get them. Though it feels like we are chasing ghosts and rumors, we must figure out what it was the Challengers discovered two decades ago. And replicate it, if it turns out to be authentic.”

“We need you to take point on this project, Axiom.” Tenji says. “We know you understand what CURSE provides for the rest of the galaxy, and why it’s important that we protect what we’ve built over the last fifteen years. The people of Myrrdicato may not realize it, but we are all that stands between them the chaos of conflict.”

I take a deep breath. “Yeah. I can handle these assignments, if they’re this important.”

“It goes without saying that what you have heard in here is not to be repeated elsewhere.” Nazka says, starting to close windows on the wall screen. “We do not want to tip off the Challengers to the fact that we are investigating leftover data from their Spark expeditions. You will mention nothing of this even to the other operatives that are placed on the Spark assignments with you. They will likewise be told that your assignments are high clearance; your orders while deployed on these assignments will be the final word. Whenever you return from a Spark-related assignment, you will report directly to us; your after-action report will be for the administration’s eyes only. Is all that clear?”

I nod. “Understood.”

“Our intelligence department is still in the process of compositing the information we have into an assignment.” Tenji says, tugging at the cuffs of her button-down shirt. “Once they have something, we will begin pulling resources, and the assignments will be placed on you as they become available. If you feel you have need of something for an assignment, don’t hesitate to let us know. If we can spare the resource, we’ll dedicate it to the assignment.”

“About that, actually…” I speak up at this point. “I have a new recruit I’m training. If the assignment seems like a good training opportunity, can I put her down as my preferred on the support staff rotation?”

I can see Nazka raise an eyebrow. Tenji, on the other hand, just smiles and steeples her fingers. “Is this the recruit that gave you a run for your money during the Challenges?”

I nod, hoping mightily that there aren’t insinuations to follow. Hearing it from Whisper and Kent was bad enough; hearing it from the Administrator would be downright mortifying.

“Well, I see no reason not to, assuming it is in fact a valid training opportunity and not an attempt to impress the girl.” Tenji says, looking askance to Nazka. “What do you think, Nazka?”

“You appear to have already rendered your verdict, so I do not see what purpose my opinion would serve in this instance.” Nazka mutters as he shuts down the wall screen and focuses on his data slate.

“Oh c’mon, Naz. Humor me.” Tenji teases, leaning forward and resting her forearms on her desk. “I saw your expression earlier. You had something you wanted to say.”

“I do not think it is appropriate to say it now.”

“Why was it appropriate then and not now?”

“The moment has passed. It would not have as much weight now as it would if I had said it earlier.”

“I still want to know. My curiosity is killing me.”

“Very well.” Nazka says, rolling his eyes and looking towards me. “I was going to remind you that these are assignments, not dates. They are opportunities to change the fate of the galaxy, not bonding time for you and your new fancy.”

I scowl at that. “With respect, sir, that is a warning that you should be giving to other Peacekeepers, not me.”

Tenji grins. “Now now. That’s enough, I’ve heard what I wanted to hear. We know you’re dedicated to CURSE’s mission, Axiom, that’s why we have you on this project. We know you wouldn’t abuse our trust for the sake of fooling around with impressionable new recruits.” She leans back in her chair, smirking somewhat. “Leave that to Headache and Gossamer.”

I raise an eyebrow. “So you know about them?”

“Such things do not pass under our radar.” Nazka mutters from where he’s returned his attention to his slate. “We monitor those types of interactions, and discipline where necessary.”

“We’d be disciplining more often, if it was up to Nazka.” Tenji says, winding a lock of her long scarlet hair around one finger. “But I take the view that such flings help manage the tension among the staff. Serves as a release valve, if you will — it lets them vent some of the pressure that would otherwise build up. A spoonful of sin keeps the tension at bay.”

“And it occasionally lends itself to distraction in the field.” Nazka mutters.

“Instances in which it is appropriate to discipline for.” Tenji says. “But the idle gossip aside, is there anything else you wanted to ask before we dismissed you, Axiom?”

I hesitate, but after a moment, I go ahead. “What happened in Wisconsin, with Prophet and the Masklings. I had… some questions.”

“It was a dumpster fire of unprecedented proportions, and formally, we do not condone the actions of the SCORN mob on that day.” Nazka says sharply. “It was useful for flushing out Songbird, and you will not catch CURSE complaining about anything that weakens the Masks, but the optics were catastrophic. Video of rioters storming the Sanctuary and attacking Maskling civilians is running rampant on the galaxynet, and SCORN now has a PR mess on their hands that we would like no part in.”

“Nazka’s right. The optics were terrible.” Tenji agrees. “The Masklings need to be dealt with, but that wasn’t the right way to do it. We will continue partnering with SCORN, but we plan on making it clear to them that if they cannot keep their people in line, we will lay the blame for future incidents like this squarely at their feet. CURSE cannot afford the sort of reputational damage SCORN’s so eager to inflict on itself.”

Nazka squints at his data slate. “And though I hate to be the bearer of bad news—”

“Nazka, please. Bad news is your middle name.” Tenji says, rolling her eyes.

Nazka narrows his eyes, then makes a flicking motion with his slate to the window wall of Tenji’s office. A screen that was on Nazka’s slate transitions to the window. “Jokes aside, the fallout produced by SCORN’s mob may be more extensive than we first imagined. This just aired to all of Myrrdicato’s major nonpartisan news networks.”

Tenji swivels in her chair to face the window; I take a couple steps forward. On the window is a feed from what looks like the Colloquium’s briefing room; the chyron along the bottom makes it clear that the representative from the Maskling government is giving a statement on the riot at the New Bridsgard Sanctuary.

“…should come as a shock to all civilized nations, but to the Masklings, this is no surprise. This extremism and racism has been allowed to fester for decades, and now the galaxy can see for itself the violence and cruelty that the SCORN bloc of nations encourages and enables.”

“Senator Nikeu! There are reports that several rioters were killed and dozens more injured during the incident, and that Maskling special forces employed deadly force against the rioters. What do you have to say to these allegations?”

“I say that they are true. We had a Mask Knight unit on site at the time. The squad leader authorized deadly force to ensure the protection and evacuation of the Masks, Masklings, and Quills in the Sanctuary at the time. Several Quill and Maskling lives were sacrificed to protect and evacuate the children and civilians within the building.”

“Senator! There are several leaks from major intelligence agencies stating that the Maskling government is suspected of harboring rogue Challengers, which would be a breach of several intergalactic laws. In particular, there are reports that the infamous Challenger Songbird was in the Sanctuary at the time of the riot. Does the Maskling government have a statement on these rumors?”

“Thank you. I had planned to address that later on in this conference, but since you’ve brought it up, I’ll go ahead and address the topic now. Yes, the Challenger known as Songbird was onsite. In fact, we can credit him with saving the lives of dozens of Quills and Masklings — without his action, the mob would’ve stormed the Sanctuary much sooner, and killed many more civilians.”

The briefing room erupts in a volatile mix of gasps, demands, and shouted questions. The Maskling senator’s mouth can be seen moving, but nothing can be heard over the tumult in the press room. Nazka taps on his slate, turning down the volume. “In short, it seems that what we feared has come to pass. The resurgency will very likely have the tacit backing of the Maskling government now.”

“No, this is worse than that.” Tenji says quietly, running her fingers over her lips. “The Masklings could’ve taken credit for defending their own Sanctuary and saving their own people. They could’ve denied that they were working with rogue Challengers, so that they could avoid the sanctions the Colloquium would throw at them. But they’re not doing either of those things.” Standing up, she walks to the window, running her fingers over the glass as she traces the border of the screen. “They’re freely admitting that they’re working with the Challengers, and they’re giving the credit for saving lives to Songbird.”

Without warning, her hand curls into a fist and she slams into the glass beside the screen. I can suddenly see the tension in her jaw, as if her teeth were gritted, and when she turns to look over her shoulder at Nazka and myself, I can see the fire in her crimson eyes. When she speaks again, there’s a low, muted fury in her voice.

“They’re trying to make him a hero again.”

Event Log: Darrow Bennion

CURSE HQ: Mess Hall, Officers’ Deck

2:22pm SGT

“I’m tellin’ you, dude: it had to be planned.”

Leaning back against the wall, I sip on my grape fizzwater while listening to the conversations on my end of the officer’s deck in the mess hall. News of the Maskling press conference had traveled through the HQ like wildfire; by the time I’d gotten to lunch, there wasn’t a person on the station that hadn’t heard about it. And most of them had already formed opinions, some of them even spinning off their own conspiracy theories.

“C’mon, Markos.” Onslaught says, rolling her eyes. “You’re telling me that you believe that bullshit? Y’know what, walk me through it again. Just so I can laugh at you when I hear how stupid it all is.”

Markos pushes away from his table, standing and taking his drink with him. “Okay, fine. Let’s walk through it again. Let’s think about this. How convenient is it that Songbird is at the exact Quill Sanctuary that the SCORN mob attacked? This happened on a day of galaxy-wide SCORN protests, yet Songbird just happens to be at the one Sanctuary where a SCORN mob gets out of control and storms the building?”

“Alright, that’s fair. I’ll give him that.” Headache says, nodding to Onslaught.

“Fine. Point there.” Onslaught says, waving it off. “But one coincidence doesn’t mean the whole thing was planned. How do you explain the mob?”

“So get this: we know that this guy named Prophet was there.” Markos says, pointing with his drink. “I’ve asked around, and it turns out this Prophet guy, though he works for SCORN now, used to be a Challenger. A friend of mine dug up the Challenger roster and took a look through it, and guess what recruitment class Prophet was a part of?”

“Here we go.” Onslaught says, rolling her eyes.

“He was part of the same recruitment class that Songbird came out of.” Markos says, overriding her. “These two were buddies back in the day, and Prophet just happens to be the one egging on the SCORN mob against the same Sanctuary that Songbird just happens to be hiding out at? I don’t think so. These two know each other. Prophet wound up that mob like a clockwork toy, and set them loose so that Songbird could swing in and save the day. The Masklings can then play Songbird up as a hero, which gives them cover to protect the rogue Challengers.”

“Yeah, but why would Prophet do that?” Headache demands. “He’s a leader in SCORN. SCORN hates the Masklings and a bunch of other species. It doesn’t make any sense for him to create a fake mob attack so Songbird can play hero so the Masklings can partner with the Challengers. What does Prophet get out of all of that? For that matter, what does SCORN get out of all of that?”

“They don’t get anything out of it. That’s the thing.” Markos says, tapping a finger to his head. “It seems like a completely natural thing for a SCORN leader to do, whipping a mob into a frenzy, but from the news, it’s obvious that’s a bad move. Bad publicity. And a SCORN leader would know that. They wouldn’t be that stupid. The only reason Prophet would do something like that is because he’s because he’s been mind-controlled.”

Headache coughs and chokes on her diet fizzwater. “I’m sorry, what? Mind control? Are you going to tell me the Viralix are somehow involved in all this?”

Markos points to Headache. “I thought that at first. But that’s the obvious misdirect. Most people would assume that mind control comes from a psion. But it had to be someone that was on Wisconsin that day, and there’s no way a Viralix would’ve been able to get close enough to Prophet to mind-control him. Prophet was in the middle of that crowd, and SCORN hates the Viralix too; one wouldn’t have been able to get close enough.”

“Okay, so… where’s the mind control thing coming from?” Onslaught says slowly, clearly struggling to keep up with the tangled mess that Markos is weaving.

“The only person on that was on that planet that we know can control people: Songbird.” Markos says. “What do we know about Songbird? One: he’s a vampire, so he can smolder people. Two: he’s a sonic sorcerer, so he can use his voice to hypnotize people. Put those two together, and he has mind control out the wazoo. Haven’t either of you guys ever seen the Challenger anime that airs on weekends?”

Both Onslaught and Headache groan.

“Seriously? You’re basing your crackpot conspiracy theory on a kid’s show?” Headache demands. “Do you realize how stupid you look right now?”

“No, hear me out.” Markos says quickly. “We all know that the Challenger anime is based on the actual exploits of the Challengers, right?”

“Dude! I am a former Challenger!” Headache says, pointing at herself. “Trust me when I tell you that that show is not an accurate representation of what the Challenger program was really like. I mean, the big picture is mostly accurate, but all the small details about the people they portray — those people you see in the anime are nothing like the real Challengers.”

“Then answer me this.” Markos says, leaning on the back of his chair. “Since you’re a former Challenger, what were Songbird’s real powers?”

“I don’t know!” Headache explodes. “Nobody knows, because nobody gave a damn about Songbird until he murdered Nova! He was literally a nobody; half of us probably didn’t even know he existed!”

“Exactly!” Markos says triumphantly. “Even former Challengers didn’t know what Songbird was capable of. In a way, it makes him a perfect sleeper agent; neither his enemies nor his former allies know what to expect when dealing with him.”

“Okay wait hold up.” Onslaught says, putting up her hands. “You’re telling me that because Headache doesn’t know what Songbird was capable of, then by default, the Challenger anime — a cartoon that airs on Saturday mornings and is meant for kids — knows more about Songbird than a former Challenger does? You would rather trust a cartoon over a living survivor of the Challenger program?”

“I’ve got a friend that works for a journal that covers the animation industry that says that he has a contact that says that the studio that makes the Challenger anime has someone on staff that used to have high clearance in the Challenger program.” Markos explains, somehow all in one breath. “He says—”

“Alright, I can’t do this anymore.” Onslaught says, hooking an arm over the back of her chair and looking back towards the buffet table, where Ironfist is walking away from it with a salad. “Ironfist! Get your green ass over here and talk some sense into this fool. Kid’s got a few screws loose and I don’t have the right screwdriver to get them tightened back in place.”

Ironfist holds up a hand as he walks past their table. “Hard pass, thank you. I just got back from an assignment and I’d like a break from the crazy train for a bit.”

Headache groans and slouches in her chair as Onslaught and Markos go back to bickering. I lift my head as Ironfist heads my way, ending up on the wall beside me; I’m not sure what to say, because Ironfist is one of the more senior Peacekeepers, and he’s never really made a point to hang out around me. But ever since the Challenges, his demeanor towards me has changed, and I’m not sure why.

“Something looks like it’s bothering you.” he remarks as he uses his fork to stir around his salad and the dressing on it. “I presume you’ve been listening in on the conversation those three have been having.”

“Less a conversation and more a debate.” I mutter, sipping from my fizzwater again. “I’m sure you’ve seen the news by now?”

“I’ve seen clips of the press conference.” he answers, navigating a forkful of salad between his tusks and into his mouth. “A very savvy move by the Masklings. They took what was a bad situation and flipped it around to their advantage.”

I pause, and glance at Ironfist. Given his reputation for punching criminals and problems into submission, he’d never really struck me as the intellectual sort. “Really? I thought it benefitted the Challengers more than anything else.”

“Oh, without a doubt.” Ironfist agrees, crunching on his salad. “The rogue Challengers got more benefit out of that presser than anyone else. But the Masklings did it for a reason. By turning Songbird into a hero, the Masklings have laid the groundwork for justifying their partnership with the Challengers. If the Colloquium tries to sanction the Maskling government for harboring rogue Challengers, the Masklings can portray the Colloquium as the bad guys. They can claim that the Colloquium is trying to punish them for nothing more than trying to protect their own people.”

I scrunch up my face at that. “But by harboring the rogue Challengers, the Masklings are harboring outlaws. Criminals. That’s what Challengers are.”

“No, that’s what they were.” Ironfist corrects me, stabbing his fork into his bowl again. “The Masklings turned them into heroes again. Well, they did for Songbird, at least. And there’s the problem: you can’t sanction a hero. It makes you look like a bully, especially when that hero is standing up for people that get pushed around and mistreated a lot. What the Masklings did was smart: they turned Songbird into a hero, and now they’re using him as a shield. They didn’t do it because they care about the Challenger resurgency. They did it because it gives them a layer of political protection from the Colloquium.”

Reaching up, I massage my forehead. “Between this and Markos being a crackpot conspiracy theorist, I think I’m starting to develop a headache.”

“Aye, I hear you.” Ironfist says, munching on another bite of salad. “Never was a fan of all this political nonsense. The maneuvering, the media machine, the manipulation of public opinion. It’s all just power games for people that don’t want to get their hands dirty. They leave that part to people like us, and other decent people that are just trying to do their best to live honest lives.”

“So we’re just pawns?” I ask uncertainly.

“No.” he says immediately, looking at me. “Never believe that. The moment you believe that is the moment you accept it. Yes, the orders come from the top, and yes, we have to carry them out, but we can be the ones that choose how to interpret those orders. You will only be a pawn if you let yourself become a pawn.” Setting his fork in his bowl, he claps a hefty hand on my shoulder. “And I know you are not a pawn. I know you are the type of man that will stand up and do things differently, if you feel like the way that everyone else is doing things is wrong.”

I blink at the hand on my shoulder. “O-oh. Thanks?… out of curiosity, why do you think that about me?”

He takes his hand off my shoulder, picking up his fork again. “I saw you at the Challenges. You did things differently. That was brave. You were brave to take a risk. You were brave to lose in front of an entire class of new recruits. And you were gracious in defeat. Where I come from, that is something of great value.” He spears more leaves onto his fork, digging around in his bowl until he gets a few cucumber slices as well. “You reminded me of something I had lost sight of. We’re not just teaching these recruits why they should respect us. We’re also obligated to earn that respect by how we conduct ourselves, and you earned my respect that day.”

For a moment I’m speechless. “I… thanks. I’ll… I’ll do my best not to let you down.”

“I know you will. You’re not the brightest bulb in the box, but you’re an honest and upright fellow. At least from what I’ve seen.” he says, corralling the remainders of his salad into one spot in his bowl. “Anyway, rumor around the HQ is that you took on the recruit that Challenged you. Word is that you’ve taken a shine to her.”

“Arrrgh!” I groan. “Who the hell is spreading this rumor? Why does everyone think I’m trying to get between her sheets? I’m not!” I start chopping my hand at intervals to punctuate each of the following sentences. “I complimented her. She asked me to train her. I agreed. That’s all there is to it!”

“Hey, whoa now, calm down, little buddy.” Ironfist says, making a pacifying motion with his fork. “Nobody said you were trying to pick the petals off that flower. They just said that you seemed really sweet on her, that’s all. Besides, even if you were, no judgement from me. In ancient orcish culture, courtship involved challenging your romantic interest to combat so you could measure up whether they’d be a good mate for you. So in that sense, you’re already at the orc version of first base with her.”

I just stare at him. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.” I say after a long moment of awkward silence.

“Well, if she’s willing to accept you two thrashing each other as a first date, it’s a good thing.” Ironfist says, before lifting his bowl and scooping the rest of the salad into his mouth. “If you ask me, it’d make a great ‘how I met your mother’ story. Orc teenagers would love it. That’s the sort of thing that fairy tales are made of.”

I know I should be hiding my incredulity, but I just can’t. “…what sort of fairy tales did you grow up with?”

“Better fairy tales than the sappy stuff you humans have.” he says, his fork clinking into his bowl. “I’ve got to get to the gym now. Gotta work off all the calories that were in that dressing. If you need help training that new recruit, let me know. I’ve been through a few trainees of my own, so I know how it is.”

I nod, raising my glass to him as he heads for the door. “Thanks for the advice, Ironfist. It was nice talking to you.”

“I enjoyed our chat. You should come work out with me sometime. I can show you how to put some muscle on that anemic Marshy frame of yours.” he offers, dumping his bowl in the dirty dish receptacle. “Stay frosty, Axiom.”

“Yeah, you too.” I say, looking down at myself. I stay fit, but next to an eight-foot orc that can bench-press a small car, I probably do look a little frail. Still, you could probably say the same about most people on the HQ.

Oh well. You can’t win ‘em all.

Dan Splainsworthy’s Encyclopedia of Sentient Galactic Species

Orc

As one of the many products of the Rantecevang Diaspora, orcs are a relatively recent addition to the major races of the Myrrdicato Galaxy. Like most other Rantecevangian species, orcs have been a space-capable species for fifteen thousand years, and have a rich culture and history both within the Rantecevang colonies, and as a race on their own.

The common image of an orc is that of a towering, green, musclebound humanoid in excess of six feet tall, but the reality is much more diverse. Tall orcs with high muscle density are considered “classic” orcs, but over the fifteen thousand years of the Rantecevang Diaspora, evolutionary pressures in various colonies and orc communities have resulted in “domestic” orcs, who resemble average humans in all but skin color, and “tuskless” orcs, who obviously lack tusks. Other variations on the classic orc exist in smaller numbers, and will be addressed later on in this entry.

Orcs are frequently portrayed as antagonists in medieval and pre-industrial stories in Rantecevangian mythos, and in old stories, they have a strong association with violence and brutal rule. This is due in part to outside observers misunderstanding tribal tradition, customs, and value systems, though there is some historical foundation for the tendency of orcs to raid neighboring communities. In the modern day, orc traditions continue on, though adjusted for or adapted to modern values and communities, with some of the more violent aspects of the culture being left behind, or considered optional and not necessarily vital to an orc’s cultural identity. In many orc communities, there is still an emphasis on physical prowess and a respect for combat, which is reflected in a higher percentage of military employment for orcs as a race, when compared to the rates of military employment for other races. However, this does not preclude valuation of more intellectual or service-based careers, as there are many orcs in the sciences and medical fields, though overall representation is lower in corporate and political careers.

Much has been done, through awareness campaigns and outreach efforts, to combat the stereotype of orcs as unintelligent, aggressive, and primitive. However, the continued presence of orcs in criminal organizations has hampered efforts on this front, and the lack of proper economic support and investment has left many orc communities with less opportunity for social and economic mobility. This institutional disadvantage is believed to be a factor in the higher rate of orcs turning to criminal conduct, with generational poverty being the primary motivator for crime among orcs in surveys of prison populations…

Event Log: Darrow Bennion

CURSE HQ: Post Office

4:04pm SGT

“Here to pick up a package for Whisper?” I say, leaning forward at the station at the post office onboard the HQ.

The postal worker behind the counter gives me a flat look. “Hon, I know you bigshots all got cool names and stuff, but I don’t know who the hell Whisper is. Gimme a legal name. Something I can work with.”

“Oh. Umm. She didn’t give me a legal name, she just said to go to the post office and pick up her package.” I say, rubbing my shoulder. “Lemme text her real quick and ask what name she put on the package.”

Pulling out my phone, I pull up my text conversation with Whisper, and start thumbing out a message to her, hoping she’s not in hyperspace. She’d deployed on an assignment this morning, but her package came in after she left, so she’d asked me to pick it up for her and hang onto it to keep the post from sending it back if her assignment ran long. Once I’m done typing out the text, I look up to see how long the line is behind me. It seems like there’s a lot of recruits here, probably to pick up care packages from friends and relatives, but a flash of white a couple stations down draws my attention. Leaning back a little, I squint past the people between me and that station.

It’s Kwyn, and it looks like she’s mailing off a package.

“Hey. Hon.” My postal worker snaps her fingers, and I jerk my head back around. “I’m growing a beard over here. You gonna give me a name sometime today?”

“Oh. Uh.” I look down at my phone, but Whisper still hasn’t replied back. “She hasn’t texted back yet. Think she might be in hyperspace right now.”

“Alright, well why don’t you come back once she’s answered you, okay?” she says, motioning for me to move on. “Her package is still gonna be here. It’s not going anywhere.”

I nod, tucking away my phone and moving on from the station while the postal worker shouts “Next!” Maneuvering around the line, I move back to the open front of the post office, tucking my hands in my pocket as I keep an eye out for Kwyn. After another minute more, she appears, moving around the line of recruits waiting to pick up their packages. She’s in her usual jeans and tshirt, but she’s got a brown leather jacket on today, and a messenger bag slung across her chest, resting on her hip.

“Hey Kwyn!” I call. She tenses up, looking around, then relaxes when she catches sight of me. Changing directions, she heads over to me.

“Hey, Axiom.” she says, offering me a smile. “What are you doing here? Mailing something or picking up a package?”

“Trying to pick up something for Whisper, but she didn’t give me a name, so I’m waiting for her to text me back on that.” I say, starting to idle my way back out into the hall. Kwyn falls in step with me as I go. “She left on an assignment this morning, but her package came in after that, so she asked me to pick it up and hold it for her.”

“That’s nice of you. She must trust you a lot.” Kwyn remarks. “Are you two dating?”

I glance sharply at her. “What? No. No, we’re just friends.”

“Oh.” Kwyn says, tucking her hands in her pockets. “I just noticed you two hang out with each other a lot. She was sitting beside you during the Challenges, and she always seems to tag along when you go to Gritter’s. Plus, y’know…” She shrugs and gives me a sidelong grin. “…she is pretty cute.”

“Nah.” I say, waving it off. “I mean yes, she is attractive, but nah, we’re just friends. She’s a good person. Likes to speak her mind and stands up for her friends.”

“She sounds like a nice friend to have.”

“She is, yeah.” I say, glancing at one of the observation decks on the left, and turning to head towards it. “What about you? Were you sending off or picking up a package?”

“Sending off.” she says, turning to follow me.

“Sending something to family or friends, or…?” I ask, maneuvering around one of the couches, then realizing it might come across as prying. “If you don’t mind telling, that is. If it’s personal, you don’t have to answer.”

“It is kinda personal, but…” She looks at me. “You don’t seem like the type of person that will run your mouth to other people.”

I snort. “No, that’s my friend, Kent. Don’t tell anything to him that you want to keep private.”

She smiles at that, slowing as we come to the glass wall of the observation deck. “If you don’t mind, can I ask you for advice? Figured I’d get someone else’s perspective on this.”

“Sure.” I say, glancing through the glass at the rest of the CURSE HQ’s orbital fortress spread out beneath us. This observation deck is at the base of the command tower, so it offers a good view of the rest of the station from this side. “I’m pretty sure I’m only a few years older than you, so I can’t promise I’ll have the answers, but I’ll listen.”

“I mean, listening is okay too.” she says, rocking back and forth on her feet. “So, there’s this guy that’s over in the Steinhjerte system, and I’ve known him for a long time. We met online, and we’re good friends, I think. I feel like we’re good friends.”

I take a deep breath. “I think I know where this is going…”

“Okay yeah, but hear me out.” she says quickly, rocking a little faster on her feet. “So, we’ve known each other for a long time, and we’re good friends, and… I’d say two or three years ago? He was into me, and wanted to date, but I wasn’t really ready for it at the time, and told him as much. And then like… a year ago, I was making some major changes to my life and how I treated myself, and I felt ready, so I reached out to him to see if he’d be interested in dating. But he said that he was in a different place in his life at that point, and though he still wanted to be friends, he didn’t want to— or well, the way he phrased it, he said he wasn’t ready to be in a relationship at the time.”

I roll all this over in my head for a moment, then glance at her. “You think he was trying to get back at you for you turning him down a couple years earlier?”

She looks at me with those wide tawny eyes. “What? No, no. Like, this whole time we’ve been talking with each other, we’ve stayed good friends. We’re honest with each other, we tell each other how we feel, we’re sensitive and we listen to what the other has to say. When we’re having a hard time, we usually message each other. Well, we used to message each other. More and more often, it’s me messaging him and him not responding back. And it’s not because he’s avoiding me, I don’t think. I think he’s just got a lot going on in his life right now and he might not be able to respond, but…”

“But it’s hard to know when that online connection is all you have.” I surmise.

“Yeah.” she says, rocking from side to side now and looking back out the glass wall again. “I dunno, it’s just… I like him, I do, I like talking to him, but he’s kinda stopped talking to me and…” She gives a mighty shrug and a sigh. “…like, what am I supposed to do? I value our friendship, but it’s not much of a friendship when only one of us is making the effort to connect, and there’s nothing but silence on the other end.”

I’m quiet. The words sound familiar, painfully so. Lots of effort from one end, and minimal or no reciprocation from the other end.

Kwyn notices how quiet I am. “I’m sorry if that was a bit much.” she says, sounding a little more reserved now. “I’ve just been thinking about it a lot, and I needed to get it off my chest.”

I glance quickly to her. “What? No, it’s okay. I was just… thinking about it too. I think I know kind of how you feel, actually. I lost a friend recently, and… it hasn’t been easy.”

She looks to me, and I can see the pity forming in her eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you’d lost someone—”

“Oh no! No. Not like that.” I say quickly. “She’s still alive, she just… decided she didn’t want to be friends anymore. I guess she felt that we were just too different, and that was… hard. But I couldn’t really do anything about it, y’know? Just like you can’t really do anything about your friend not messaging you back. You’re trying your best to make the friendship work, but if the other person doesn’t want to be part of that relationship any more, there’s really nothing you can do about that. And it makes you feel helpless. That’s the part that really sucks, I guess.”

“Yeah.” she agrees after a moment, looking back through the window. “Yeah, it’s kinda like that. Feeling like no matter what you do, they’re slipping away from you, and you can’t stop it. And you feel sad because it even after all the effort you put into that friendship, it feels like you lost it.”

“Yup.” I agree. “That exactly. It’s a tough feeling.”

“I just… don’t know when I should let go.” she says. “I mean, it feels like he’s already let go, and I’m just sending these messages for my own sake, to pretend like he still sees them. And in my head, I justify the silence, telling myself that maybe he’s busy, or he’s having a hard time with his family, but I’m starting to get to the point where I realize I’m doing this more for my sake than I am for his.”

“Was that package you sent — was that for him?” I ask suddenly, connecting the dots perhaps a little too late.

“Mm? Yeah.” she admits. “His birthday’s coming up soon. I always send him a little care package for his birthday.”

“Why, though?” I ask. “I mean, if he’s not responding to you, and he’s not putting in the same amount of effort as you are… or any effort at all, really…”

“I considered not doing it this year.” she says, placing a hand against the glass. “I… had a moment. Of resentment, I suppose you could say. There was a part of me that was frustrated by the silence, the weeks-long gaps between replies. I wasn’t angry, persay, but I was resentful. And I thought to myself, what if I just stop messaging him? Just to see if he would notice that I’d gone silent. To see if he’d even miss my presence. And I thought about not sending him a package if he didn’t answer.”

“But you chose to send it anyway?”

“Yeah.” she says. “I recovered from that dark place I was in. I realized that if I chose not to send that package, I’d be doing it out of a place of spite. And that’s not who I wanted to be.”

“But you don’t get anything out of sending that package.” I point out.

“No, I don’t.” she agrees. “But being kind to someone else isn’t something you should do because you think you’ll get something out of it.” She looks at me and smiles. “I do it because it’s nice to be nice to other people, even if you don’t get anything out of it. The galaxy needs a little more kindness in it. More people that are kind for the sake of being kind.”

I don’t know why, but the way she smiles at me as she says that — I find it profoundly inspiring and sad at the same time.

“You’re gonna make a great Peacekeeper.” I say, giving her a pat on the back, and looking back out the window. “If he doesn’t message you back, though, you better not send him a package next year.”

“Oh hell no. He better message me back, or he ain’t getting anything next year.”