Valiant: Tales From The Drift

[Tails #19: The Long Arm of the Law]

Log Date: 2/8/12764

Data Sources: Jazel Jaskolka, Lysanne Arrignis

Jazel’s Journal

The suffering wasn’t in having your soul peeled apart layer by layer.

It was in being exposed to the knowledge of how many layers were there to begin with.

We have lived for so very long, lived and died and lived and died again for a measure of time uncounted. We put numbers to it, at first, but even numbers lost their meaning after so long. In ten thousand years, how many lives can one live? A hundred lives, if each life measures a hundred years? But lives in the old days were often shorter than that. Ten thousand years could mean a hundred and fifty, maybe even two hundred lives.

And how many memories are there in a life? How many remembered moments, defining instances? Hundreds? Thousands? Say each life has a thousand memories, moments of joy, of sorrow, of growing, of laughing, of simply being, and remembering the instances that changed us or defined us. By that measure, all the lives in a ten-thousand-year span should produce roughly two hundred thousand memories.

Now take that number, and multiply it by a thousand such cycles of ten thousand years.

You come out to two hundred million memories. Two hundred million moments, two hundred million experiences, two hundred million instances that define thousands of different iterations of a single soul. The vastness is incomprehensible, impossible to grasp; the numbers become meaningless and blur together. They cannot capture the titanic scope of a single Aurescuran soul, trapped in relentless reincarnations during the aeon of the Cycle. Even Aurescurans themselves cannot grasp it, and do not wish to, shielded by a veil drawn between our present lives and the countless iterations of ourselves that came before. A veil that is put in place for our protection, for our very sanity.

Yet the veil can be drawn back.

It can be pierced. Holes can be poked in it. Tears, rips through which one can gaze upon the incomprehensible expanse of an ancient soul. Sometimes there is gain to be had in such glimpses, revelations from lives you once lived but no longer remember. But more often, a glimpse through the veil is a loss. A loss of sanity, of identity. It is all too easy to lose yourself past the veil, because through the veil, there is nothing but you. All those memories, all those lives, were yours. You remember who you were, in all permutations; the good, the bad, the utterly unremarkable. That’s the thing, I think.

When you remember who you were, it becomes much harder to cling to who you presently are.

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

Location: Unknown

11:55pm SGT

The harness snaps open, and I collapse to the cold steel floor, gasping and wheezing. Behind me, I can hear the machine moving back into its at-rest position; all the shackles winding shut again, the fading hum of the needle powering down. Past it, I can hear the clink of glass vials as they bump against each other on a conveyor line, the pneumatic hiss as each one is filled, and then capped.

I hate these noises; there is something about them that just grates on the ear. They’re mechanical, soulless, lifeless. And in the state I’m presently in, they just add to my misery.

“Why didn’t you catch him?”

“I didn’t expect him to fall on the floor like a corpse!”

“Well get him back up and onto the gurney! If the boss sees him lying on the ground, he’s gonna have our asses on a skillet!”

I know the voices are talking about me; I know they’re nearby. I know if I look, I’ll see them and be able to tie them to faces. But in this moment, all I can think about is breathing. All I can process is the lingering ache in my body, the unsteady flutter of my heart, the maelstrom of millions of memories spilling unchecked through the hole in the veil. Visions behind my eyes, all unbidden; memories playing out in a disjointed carousel of past lives, possessing no rhyme or reason to how they present themselves. The fragments of a thousand lives, like a library of books shredded and mixed together, present and yet incoherent.

Lost in a lake of memories.

“He’s not looking too hot.”

“Are you kidding me? He’s alive, that’s more than you can say for most people that go into the extractor. The boss wasn’t joking about this kid having more soul than a mid-sized city; I think we got enough for seventy, maybe a hundred vials out of him this time. Normally it’d take us two, three months to get that much.”

“Well, I don’t envy him. Definitely looks like he’s having a rough time of it.”

I can hear the gurney creaking as I’m placed on it. The lights overhead are bright, and my head hurts; I’m trying to make sense of things. I know what’s happening to me; that I’ve been kidnapped and I’m having my soul slowly extracted from me. What I don’t know is what to do or how to react to that — there are thousands of different memories demanding different reactions from all the different lives I’ve lived. I don’t know which one to listen to; I don’t want to listen to any of them, because none of them are the me that I’m supposed to be.

But I also don’t know which me is supposed to be me, because all of these lives were me at some point. And I’m losing track of what me I’m supposed to be right now.

“You want to come take a look at him, doc?”

“Already there. He handled the longer session without folding?”

“Well, it definitely did more of a number on him. He doesn’t really seem cognizant right now.”

“Mmm. We may have to stick to the shorter sessions, with more time in between. Mental stress can cause the body to deteriorate, and he’s not exactly built for durability. I will tell Grimes that we will need to be less ambitious with these sessions if he wants to get the most out of his investment.”

“Please do. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t listen to us if we told him.”

I can feel the jerk and the rattle of the gurney as it’s pushed into motion; I twist and fumble on the gurney, knowing only that I need to escape, but not knowing how or where to go even if I could. Hands land on me the moment I do, and a strap is pulled across me and buckled down; the same is repeated at my waist and ankles. Restrained; unable to go anywhere, and even if I could, I’m not sure I’d have the strength to. Everything hurts, and I feel sickly.

“Man, he is hella out of it.”

“Of course he is, did you see all the soul we pulled out of him?”

“No I know, but. He looks like he’s coming off a bad trip or something. Like he can’t process things at the moment. I don’t know if he can even see or hear us; he hasn’t said anything since he dropped out of the extractor.”

“Can you blame him? That was like, three, four, maybe five thousand years of past reincarnations that just got sucked out of him. His head’s probably a goddamn wreck right now.”

“Can you imagine what that’d be like? Having all those memories just disappear out of you?”

“Well, it’s not like he was born with knowledge of all his past lives.”

“Oh, true… how does that work, then? If he didn’t even know he had past lives, then losing them shouldn’t affect him too much.”

“Don’t look at me. I don’t know how this shit works; go ask the boss. He’s the one that figured all this out in the first place.”

The lights dim as the gurney rattles along; then brighten, and dim, and brighten, and dim again, until I realize we must be traveling through a hall. With the needle removed from me, the extractor no longer mining the depths of my soul, its contents are starting to settle again, like the slow drift of lakebed sediment. The memories, plowed up and set awhirl, are slowly beginning to seep back beneath the veil, though it will be many hours before they fully settle. And even if they settle back into place, some strays will linger above the veil, abnormalities of identity that threaten to displace the life I’m currently living. The life I’m supposed to be living.

It’s exhausting, fighting to stay above it. Even simple things, like my name, or when I was born, or how old I am, or what era I’m living in, are difficult to cling to and extract from the cloud of memories. There are names aplenty, because I’ve been called many things throughout my many lives, but I cannot figure out which one of those names is supposed to be me. Because all of those names were me at some point or another, but I do not know if they are the me that is now.

I can feel my consciousness slipping away as the pain from the extractor starts to subside, and all the while I’m racing to find something to anchor myself before I pass into the black. If I cannot find my name, I need something to hang onto, to remind myself of who I am supposed to be. Otherwise, I fear that when I wake up, I may not know who I am at all — just that I have been many people, and I have to choose which one to be, and I may not choose the right one.

So I search, and I search, even as the darkness closes in, and I feel myself slipping away. And it’s only at the last moment that I find the memory of a vixen, with silver tails, dark hair, and august eyes. Nosy, powerful, and sometimes comically impetuous and curious. I cannot remember her name, but the memory feels right.

So I will cling to this, and hope that when I wake up, I will know who I am supposed to be.

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

C.R. The Broken Record: Cockpit

10:44am SGT

“Alright, we’re coming up on the Ravines.” Huck says from the pilot’s chair as we cruise low over the surface of Halomorian. “I’ll drop you all at the landing pad nearest to Rock Bottoms, but you guys are on your own after that. I’m not leavin’ the pad.”

“What’sa matter, Huck? Don’t wanna come along on our little field trip?” Milor cajoles from where he’s leaning on the back of Huck’s chair.

“Your ‘little field trip’ is on the south end of the Ravines, Dusty.” Huck growls back at Milor. “The black market doesn’t even try to hide down on this side. Like, I don’t mind a little criminal activity, but this end of the Ravines is just straight-up run by the mob.” He shakes his head. “Can’t believe you talked me into flying y’all here in the first place. I paid off my favor by jailbreaking your Challenger adjutant and you still roped me into doin’ this.”

“It’s good karma, mate.” Milor says, chewing on his toothpick. “Helpin’ a soul in need and all that jazz.”

“There’s nothing wrong with helping people that need help.” Huck grumbles. “But there’s nothing wrong with wanting to get paid for my time, either. I got bills to pay, y’know.”

“If you draw up an invoice, I can send it to CURSE.” I say, leaning in the doorway to the bridge and watching as the surface of Halomor passes by beneath us. Here and there, you can still see the ruins of an ancient catastrophe, occasionally erased by the more recent catastrophe of Mercurial strip mining. As habitable planets went, Halomor and its sister worlds were pretty heavily abused.

“Yeah no, hard pass on that.” Huck says. “No way I’m doing anything to put myself on CURSE’s radar, even if it means skipping a payday. I’ve heard the horror stories about what happens if you take their money.”

“Well, can’t say we never offered.” Milor shrugs. “What’s so bad about taking their money, anyhow?”

“Because they know how to find you after that. Rumor is they’ve got an angelnet in their intelligence department that can track you down if you so much as take a dime from them.” Huck says as a gaping scar in the ground comes into view over the horizon. “That’s how they get ya. They pay you to do a job they can’t do themselves, at least legally, then the angelnet tracks the comms and the payment to nail you down. After that, they can twist your arm into doing more work for them, and if you don’t, then they tip off the Vaunted.”

“Sounds a lot like a problem that only criminals have.” I point out.

“Yeah, well only criminals can get into pirate systems without being boarded and bullied six ways to Sunday, so maybe you should check it before you wreck it, high and mighty.” Huck shoots back.

Milor winces and looks at me. “He does have a point, blondie.”

I roll my eyes. “Let’s just get this over with. I don’t want to be here longer than I have to be.”

“At least we agree on that.” Huck says, then throws a hand towards Kayenta, who is, per the usual, plastered against the window of the cockpit, staring avidly at the world below. “Would someone tell her to get off the window? I can’t see a damn thing past all those tails. Gonna fly into the side of a mountain at this rate.”

“Kayenta, why don’t you come stand back here.” I call. “Huck needs to be able to see through the window in order to pilot.”

Kayenta pushes off the window, working her way back to the doorway. “What is this world?” she asks, leaning back against the wall beside me. “There are many dead cities here, and towns swallowed up by the forests. So much ruin and destruction.”

“It’s a world called Halomor.” I explain. “The Halomorian System was once a bustling metropolitan system, with over thirty billion inhabitants scattered across three or four worlds. It is said that one of the Primordial gods was released over thirteen thousand years ago, before the War, and she came here first to punish the mortals of the universe for locking her away. The entirety of the Halomorian System was wiped out in a single day, and the only survivors of the Halomorian System were those that were abroad at the time. The devastation was so total, and the survivors were so few, that the Halomorians were never able to recover. Salvage operations, scrap companies, and looters descended of the system and started stripping the ruins of everything that was left behind by the dead, and the surviving Halomorians were unable to stop them because their home fleet had been destroyed by the Primordial. Eventually, pirates moved in to start using the system for a staging point, and crime organizations were able to find respite here under the protection of pirate fleets. More recently, Mercurial mining corps have worked out an agreement with the pirates for the right to mine the Halomorian worlds for their resources, which is why you see those massive strips of mined ground here and there. To the pirates and the crime rings, it’s just another resource to be exploited and profited from — they don’t think of these worlds as home, the way the Halomorian descendants do.”

“Why don’t they fight back?” Kayenta demand, motioning out the cockpit window. “This is their world, is it not? If they care for it, they will fight to protect it!”

“The Halomorians don’t fight because there’s nothing left to save.” Huck mutters over his shoulder. “What would they be saving? All that’s left is ruins. They’d have to build it all from the bottom up again, their entire society. And the whole time they’d be fighting against the pirate fleets that moved in. There weren’t enough of them to fight back when it first happened, and now that there are enough of them, what’s the point? There’s nothing left to save after thirteen millennia.”

“I do not like him.” Kayenta murmurs to me, staring disapprovingly at the back of Huck’s head.

“You don’t have to like me; you just have to shut up and keep your tails out of the way when I’m trying to fly.” Huck retorts as the chasm in the earth looms wide in front of us. The canyon, a miles-deep scar in the crust of the planet, stretches away for hundreds of miles to the north, and is a testament to the industrial power of Mercurial mining operations. “I’m not sure you guys should take her with you if she’s gonna run her mouth and ask stupid questions like that. She might end up makin’ a mess that’ll get you in more trouble than it’s worth.”

“There’s nothing wrong with asking questions.” I defend her. “She doesn’t understand astropolitics and the nuances of how other cultures work. Asking about these kinds of things is how she learns.”

“Well the Ravines ain’t the place to learn it.” Huck says as he pilots the ship down into the canyon, which is a couple miles wide at this end. “You ask the wrong question down there, you’re gonna catch hands for it. If y’all bring her and she starts a fight, and that fight follows you back to my ship, I’m leaving without you.”

“Don’t worry. If she starts any fights, she’ll be finishing ‘em too.” Milor says, the sunlight fading as we sink past the edges of the canyon. “That’s why we’re bringing her.”

“She better be good as you say she is.” Huck mutters. “Otherwise she won’t last five minutes down here.”

It doesn’t feel worth it to keep arguing with Huck’s pessimism, so I just watch as we descend into the Ravines. Though the canyon was originally man-made, time and rain have worn it down, sanding the edges and the sides and widening it over the centuries. You can still see some of the geometric scars of methodical mining that help shape the sides of the canyon; here and there, the moorings for defunct ore elevators are still visible along the sides. The elevators themselves have long since been demolished, or moved further south to where the mining continues, ever lengthening the span of the canyon.

“What created this chasm?” Kayenta asks, starting to drift back towards the forward window again. “It is the largest I have ever seen—”

“Get her away from the window.” Huck orders. “There’s actually going to be traffic here as we get into the lower parts, and I don’t want to start a fight by clipping someone else’s ship.”

“Kaya, come stay here next to me, okay?” I say, patting the wall where she’d been leaning. “There’ll be plenty of time to walk around and explore once we land.”

Kayenta glares at Huck, but returns back to the wall beside me. Milor pushes off Huck’s chair, sitting down in the copilot’s seat instead. “To answer your question, Fluffy McFoxtails, mining corporations made this big old crack in the earth. They started up north a few hundred miles or so, and just started working their way through the crust, following the ore deposits wherever they found ‘em.”

“This was not the work of a god?” Kayenta says, watching as the light from above dims enough that we can start seeing the lights along the sides of the canyon.

“No, this? This is the result of mortal greed.” Milor says, taking his toothpick out of his mouth and using it to motion to various installations built into the canyon walls. “This is what Mercurials do when they find a planet they can abuse. They mine the hell out of it, just start in one place and follow the veins of ore in whatever direction they lead. And after they’ve exhausted that, they just start mining in one direction, digging up whatever they can and processing whatever comes out of the ground. It wouldn’t work for any other nation, but Mercurials have become brutally efficient at it. The profit they can make outweighs the cost of what is essentially random mining.”

“But… why?” Kayenta demands as the lights from below become the primary source of illumination, and other vessels become visible, moving through the airspace above the bottom of the canyon. “They dig all of this up, just for metal?”

“Metal runs the galaxy.” Milor shrugs. “Metal is how cities are built. Every ship in the galaxy that’s not part of the Collective is made of metal. Every computer requires metal for its electronics. This ship that we’re riding in right now? Probably almost every ounce of metal in it was sourced from a Mercurial planet-stripping operation like the one here. The galaxy’s civilizations need metal. The Mercurials provide it.”

“I am starting to like this world less and less.” Kayenta murmurs.

“You guys brought coats, right?” Huck asks as we drift past a bridge that connects both sides of the canyon, which have been turned into multilevel terraces with buildings carved into their sides and streets running past them. “We’re almost two miles down. The only time this place sees the sun is at high noon, when it’s directly above. The rest of the time, the bottom of the Ravines is only ten or fifteen degrees above freezing if you’re not in a region near a magma plume or an active mining operation.”

I tug at my field jacket. “I’ve got this; it’ll do, and Milor’s got his duster. We’re not planning on staying here long anyway. We’re just gonna get in, get what we need, and get back out.” I look at Kayenta, who’s in her hoodie and cargo shorts. “You can deal with the cold for a little bit, right, Kaya?”

She shrugs. “I have endured winters on Vissengard. I will be fine.”

“We’re gonna be parking here.” Huck says, nodding to what looks like a series of honeycomb parking garages for ships, cut into the side of the canyon. “You need to take the elevators down to the canyon floor; Rock Bottoms is a bit of a walk from here, a mile-ish to the south. Keep your heads down, don’t lollygag, and don’t take any detours.”

“C’mon, Huck. You know you wanna tag along.” Milor drawls. “You didn’t come all this way just to sit in your ship and be bored out of your mind while you wait for us to get back.”

“If it’s a choice between bored out of my mind and getting into trouble with you lot, I think I’ll take bored out of my mind.” Huck says as he maneuvers the ship into one of the open honeycombs.

“So what, you’re just gonna sit in here all on your lonesome for three hours?” Milor says, standing up. “That’s just sad, man. Why don’t you tag along; I’ll get you a drink on my dime once we get to Rock Bottoms. We’ll call it a little thank-you for helping us out.”

“I fly you into a pirate system and to the south end of the Ravines and you think a drink is supposed to break us even?” Huck says skeptically.

“You could always stay here and be lonely for few hours, if you prefer.” Milor shrugs.

“Fine.” Huck mutters as the landing gear comes out, and the cargo runner slowly settles onto the pad within the honeycomb. “I’ll go get my gun and shit while the Record’s powering down. Gimme ten minutes to lock up and pay the garage fee, and then we can go.”

“You get your stuff, I’ll cover the garage fee. We’ll make that part of the thank-you.” Milor says, starting towards the door. “C’mon, girls. I been craving a walk through the gritty underbelly of the galaxy. All those shiny cities we visit get real boring after a while, don’t you think?”

“If it means not getting mugged on the street, I’ll take one of those cities over this shit any day.” I mutter. “C’mon, Kaya. You’re going to need to stay close to us. Your tails are going to pull a lot of attention down here, so no running off, and try not to stare at other people for too long.”

GalaxyGuide App

Halomorian System

Classified as a pirate system, the Halomorian System has been a hub of criminal commerce for several thousand years. Though most records of its former glory have been lost to time, the records that do remain show that Halomorian was once a thriving metropolitan system, with a population of over thirty billion and several developed industries. All of this is said to have come crashing down when a Primordial entity escaped containment thirteen thousand years ago, and Halomorian was one of the first systems in its path as it began its rampage. By some accounts, the entire population of the system was destroyed in a single day and night, and this interpretation has been popularized through countless adaptations of the legend by the entertainment industry. However, while many historians agree that Halomorian’s population was destroyed extremely quickly, most believe that the ‘day and a night’ account is a creative embellishment intended for dramatic effect.

In the current era, the Halomorian System is one of the major criminal bastions within the galaxy. Pirate fleets and crime syndicates operate out of the system, with many fleets and criminal organizations using the system as their primary base of operations. Attempts by the Colloquium and the Vaunted to reclaim the system have generally gone poorly, as the system has become a cluttered mess of sentient drone swarm minefields, salvage operations, and general space debris. While the criminal elements within the System largely maintain a mutual defense pact with each other to ward off outside assays, management of the system itself generally goes by the wayside, with each criminal organization responsible for maintaining the planets and moons that they control, and no overarching authority to coordinate them.

A textbook result of this lawless approach to governance is the H3 Minefield Ring, located just outside the orbit of Halomor, the capitol planet of the system. The H3 Minefield Ring is a defense constellation that was once controlled by one of Halomorian’s criminal groups; however, the destruction of this group meant that management and upkeep of the ring of mines was largely left up to an artificial intelligence known only as ‘Fred’ in surviving records. It was several years before the leading factions in the system realized that none of them had direct control over the H3 Minefield Ring, and that all information on how to control Fred had been lost with the destruction of the criminal organization he had belonged to. Attempts to assert control over either Fred or the minefield ring have ended poorly, and as of this writing, the core factions of Halomorian have agreed to recognize Fred, and by extension all his mines and his mine production facility, as their own sovereign nation, in return for his agreement to defend the system against attack. However, out of an abundance of caution, other minefield constellations have been deployed by other factions in other areas of Halomorian space, in case Fred does not honor his agreement. Control codes for the AIs attached to these minefield constellations have, for the most part, been rigorously recorded and backed up, with killswitches installed to prevent them from going rogue.

While Halomorian is largely known as a pirate system, the rule of criminal elements is not uncontested. Descendants of the surviving Halomorians still live in the Halomorian System, making up a percentage of the population on each of the habitable worlds. Though these communities participate in the illegal economy out of necessity, many of them harbor ambitions of building their power and returning the system to the control of the descendant faction. This often brings them into conflict with the pirate fleets and criminal elements in the system, who fear that a return to ordered governance would result in the loss of Halomorian as a safe haven, and a place from which to freely conduct their illegal economy.

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

The Ravines: Rock Bottom Road

12:21pm SGT

“I’m guessing zoning regulations and infrastructure bylaws aren’t really a thing here.” I remark as we walk down what could be generously described as a sidewalk, and is more along the lines of a wandering ribbon of cement draped along the side of the buildings. The purpose seems less to provide a place to walk, and more to demarcate the acceptable distance between the main road and the buildings carved into the sides of the ravine. The road itself isn’t in much better shape; it’s just as bumpy and uneven as the sidewalk, and has absolutely no markings or posted speed signs whatsoever.

“Don’t need ‘em.” Huck says, taking his vape out of his mouth. “There’s no regulatory body here to tell you what you can or can’t do. Just the local pirate gangs and crime rings.”

“It’s a wonder this place hasn’t collapsed in on itself yet.” I mutter, looking up. Down here, the bottom of the canyon is divided into a series of even smaller ravines that function like irregular streets. The walls that divide these ravines are sometimes bridged by arches of stone, upon which buildings or roads have sometimes been built. The entire region is a weirdly multilayered city, with several levels starting at the floor of the canyon and traveling all the way up its sides. “Some of these features look like landslides waiting to happen.”

“You’d be surprised. Mercurials do good work.” Milor says, tipping back the brim of his hat to take in the distant, weak sun overhead. “They know their way around rock formations. Those arches will probably last for a while unless someone starts popping off tank rounds in here.”

“She’s wandering again.” Huck growls.

I turn to see that Kayenta’s starting to drift towards what looks like a barbecue truck parked on the side of the road, and I hurry after her, grabbing her wrist. “C’mon, Kaya.”

“But it smells good!” she protests as I pull her back to our group.

“I’m sure it does.” I murmur, eyeing the truck as we pass it. “But you don’t know what they put in their meat down here. Or even where the meat comes from.”

The wolf Halfie leaning in the window of the truck grins at me. I shiver, and pick up the pace until we catch up with Milor and Huck.

“That’s it, up there.” Huck says, pointing ahead of us to a bar that’s carved into the base of two arches that join together, where the ravine divides into two smaller ravines on either side. A big holoarray flashes the words Rock Bottoms into the air across the second story of the bar in garish colors, though the holoarray projectors are showing their age with how they flicker and glitch. The lights are on inside, figures moving around inside the cloudy windows.

“Ah, now that’s a proper frontier bar.” Milor sighs happily, picking up his pace. “Old, worn, covered with a layer of dirt and grit. Reminds me of my hometown. C’mon guys, I’m looking forward to this.”

“Remember, we’re not here for the drinks.” I say, crossing the street after them as they head for the front door. “We’re here to talk to Medukat and ask where Grimes is.”

“Yes, true, but drinks can be involved in that.” Milor says, the door sliding open for him. Taking a deep breath, I follow them in after making sure that Kayenta is still with us.

Inside, it looks like the afternoon lunch rush is here; while it’s not exactly crowded, there’s still a good number of people here. Most of them men; some of them are clearly Mercurial mining workers, dirty and scrappy, while others are clearly crime muscle or pirates. The overhead lights are a dim shade of off-white, fading into yellows, reds, and oranges in some corners of the room, especially over the card tables on the side of the room. Near the door is a karaoke machine or a jukebox that looks like it was forcibly relocated from a far classier establishment; at the moment it’s playing something that sounds like it could be Mercurial blues. The bar counter, meanwhile, is stretched across the back of the room — and seated at it, I can see a familiar set of uncomfortably broad shoulders stuffed into a business suit. My fears are confirmed when the head turns to look over the shoulder, and I see that it’s Jawny, Medukat’s right-hand orc.

“Shiiiiiit.” I mumble as the door slides shut behind Kayenta.

A whistle cuts across the bar. “Ayyyyyyy now that’s a foine fawx you got there! How much does she go fer?” calls a rangy-looking wood elf sitting at one of the card tables, baring his sharp teeth in a greasy grin.

“Stuff a drink in it, Cark.” Jawny rumbles, coming off his barstool. His boots thud over the wooden floor as he lumbers in our direction, meeting Milor about halfway and standing between him and his path to the bar. “Gonna say it once, and I’m gonna be nice about it: out.” The order is articulated with one of his meaty arms pointing back towards the door.

“Sorry mate, no can do.” Milor says, taking his toothpick out of his mouth. “We need to talk to the boss. Won’t take but a moment.”

“The boss is busy right now.” Jawny says, his gaze rising to take in the rest of us. “And you are leaving.”

“Oh, uhm, I’m not with them.” Huck says quickly, turning back towards the door.

I reach out and grab the collar of Huck's jacket, keeping him from running. “We need to talk to your boss.” I say to Jawny. “We’re not here to make things hard for him. We just need to ask a few questions about a black market participant that… let’s say there’s a score that needs to be settled. Once we get what we need, we’ll be on our way, and you all can go back to whatever lawless pursuits you enjoy.”

Jawny snorts. “You think one of the Four Ravens would be caught dead working with Preservers? Ratting out the same people that we make our money from? I’d make a dumb blonde joke, but it’s practically writing itself every time you open your mouth.” He raises an arm again, pointing at the door. “Last warning: out.”

Milor sighs. “Fair ‘nuff.” he says, putting his toothpick back in his mouth. Turning around, he walks back towards us.

“What?” I hiss at him. “Are you kidding me? We came all this way just for this!?”

“Calm your tits, blondie.” Milor drawls as he clumps past me.

“Y’know, normally I wouldn’t mind walking away from this, but I’m kinda with her.” Huck agrees. “You’re not seriously telling me I flew y’all all the way out here just to turn around and head back after two minutes.”

“Your tits also need to be calmed, Huck.” Milor says. Instead of going for the door, he reaches the jukebox and starts fiddling with it.

I let out an aggravated sigh, looking around the room. Jawny’s lumbering back to his stool at the counter, and everyone else is starting to go back to our drinks, though some are still casting glances at us now and again. “There has to be someone here that knows where we can find Grimes. We can’t leave yet.”

“Perhaps we can start killing people until they give us what they want?” Kayenta suggests mildly.

Huck, who was about to say something, just stares at her with his mouth hanging open, then looks at me. “Did those words just come out of her mouth?”

“She’s got a unique approach to problem-solving. You get used to it after a while.” I mutter back to him. Before I can say anything more, the Mercurial blues in the background stop; there’s only a moment of silence before they’re replaced by what sounds like a frontier banjo, performing the lead-in to some kind of bluegrass honkey-tonk frontier folk song or some shit like that. I look back to the jukebox. “Milor, what are you…”

But he’s no longer at the jukebox. He’s at the door, turning the lock, and as we watch, he takes his plasma pistol out and blows out the access pad with a single shot.

Every head in the bar turns to us.

“Oh no.” Huck says, the fear in his voice palpable as he looks up towards the speakers pumping frontier music from the corners of the bar. “Oh no, it’s this song.”

Jawny, who was just about to sit back down, stops short of his barstool. He looks over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes as Milor holsters his pistol.

“You wouldn’t.” Jawny growls.

Milor shrugs. “You didn’t want to do this the easy way.” he says as he saunters over to the nearest table. Reaching up, he cracks his knuckles, then straightens the brim of his hat with a single hand. “So now we gotta do this the hard way.”

After a second, one of the Mercurial miners stands up, slams his hands down on his table, and yowls “BAAAAAAR BRAAAAAAAAAWL!!!” as the fiddle and a saloon piano join the banjo.

And with that, the entire bar explodes into chaos.

Almost immediately, I lose track of what the hell is going on. The two skinheads at the closest table lunge out of their chairs at us; I stagger back, throwing my hands up, while Huck takes a swing at one of them. A second before the other one reaches me, Kayenta lunges out in front of me, grabbing his head and slamming it against the wall. I can hear bottles shattering, people shouting, the meaty thumping of punches being thrown, and above it all, the gravely baritone of whatever hicktown song Milor put on.

On a frontier world there lived a man

With the fastest fists in all the land

He fought and kicked and punched and brawled

’Twas Billy Long, who we joked and called

The Long Arm of the Law.

My first instinct is to turn and run, to get out of danger. But with the door locked and the access pad blown out, no one’s leaving the bar, so I’m stuck in here with a bunch of brawling drunks. Beside me, Huck and the skinhead are going at it, hands in each others’ clothes for leverage as they try to get good punches in on each other. “Don’t just stand there, blondie, help me out here!” he shouts, wincing as he takes a punch to the head.

The sound of a beer stein shattering against the wall a few feet from me has me flinching. The brawl is showing no signs of stopping, and I realize that hiding in a corner isn’t going to save me. We’re trapped in here, and Milor’s made it so that these people are going to fight us whether or not we want to fight them.

So I look around, and catching sight of a broom beside the door, grab it and start beating the skinhead with it.

Now Billy boy was a fine young lad

Loved to fight, but he weren’t half bad

He’d raise a fist for the sick and poor

To the women, kids, and many more

He was the Long Arm of the Law.

Once the skinhead has had enough and is crawling away, I take a breath and look around while Huck wipes his bloody nose. The rest of the bar is a mess, with Milor in the middle of it and throwing hands like he does this for a living. There’s already three guys laid out on the floor and the table around him, and as I watch, he blocks another punch with his face, then reaches up and grabs the guy’s head while kicking out his leg, giving him the leverage to slam the dude’s noggin against a nearby table. He follows that up with a hearty kick to the stomach while the guy’s down, then pushes him away, twists around, and throws his arms to either side as he shouts at Jawny. “THAT ALL YA GOT?!”

“Goddammit, Milor!” I seethe, swinging the business end of the broom at one of the Mercurial miners that’s coming at me with a chair. “You’re gonna get us all killed!”

So we said to him, ‘Oi Billy mate!

Run for sheriff, you’ll keep ‘em straight!’

And Billy boy, he took the bait

The town all voted an’ sealed his fate

Now he’s the Long Arm of the Law.

“I need some help over here, blondie!” Huck shouts. I can’t really answer, because I’m reeling from getting whacked in the head with a bottle, and realizing that bottles are a lot sturdier than they show in the holos. Staggering back, I shove the broom’s end at the miner attacking me, but he swats it aside and comes right at me. I throw up my free hand, gritting my teeth as I feel the bottle slam against my arm; letting go of the broom, I swing at him, but only manage to graze him. He hits me with the bottle again, this time in the face, and I go staggering to the side, stumbling into the wall. Twisting around, I bring my fists up in boxing stance, spitting out some blood as he comes at me again.

Gods, I hate this.

So Billy boy, he got to work

Cleaned up the streets and din’t shirk

Kind and cheery when he did the rounds

Patient an’ firm with the hooligan hounds

’Twas the Long Arm of the Law.

“I’ll help you out in jussa sec, Huck!” I shout as I skip away from the miner with the bottle, keeping my fists up. He’s got a bloody nose and a bloody lip now, and it looks like he’s rethinking the wisdom of going after me. Behind me, I can hear Huck getting pounded by one of the pirates on shore leave, who’s got him on the ground and is going to town on him. Milor is still staggering around in the middle of the room, piling up guys around him like it’s a goddamn contest, hat missing and his scruffy hair all in his face. It looks like the rest of the bar has decided to stay away from him, but now Jawny’s put down his drink and has pushed off the counter, and is starting to lumber towards him.

“ ‘Bout damn time!” Milor shouts at Jawny. “Square up, big guy! I’m gonna enjoy this!”

Jawny starts to unbutton his cuffs, rolling up his sleeve. “That’s my line, redneck.” he rumbles.

“Idiot.” I hiss, then look back at the miner with the bottle. “C’mon, you wanna give it another go? Go on, try it. See what happens.”

He hesitates, sizing up my stance and perhaps evaluating his chances, but he doesn’t fold like I was hoping. Instead, he tightens his grip on the neck of his bottle, and I can tell from the way that he angles his arm that he’s gearing up for another pass.

At least until one of bar’s tables slams into him, knocking him flat against the wall.

I look in the direction that the table came from to see that Kayenta’s hooking a hand under another mahogany table, flipping the whole thing on its side and then kicking it. It goes flying across the room, plowing over another couple of miners and some gang muscle. Reaching down, she grabs the ankle of a pirate that’s trying to crawl away, and slings him across the room like a sack of potatoes, where he slams into the pirate that’s pounding away at Huck.

It’s times like these that I remember why we keep Kayenta around, despite her dietary requirements and how often she taxes my patience.

Yet came a day when a brawl broke out

At the old saloon, and we gave a shout

‘Call up the cops, bring the deputy!

A bigger fight you’ll never see—

Get the Long Arm of the Law!’

“You okay?” I ask, grabbing Huck’s arm and helping pull him back to his feet. He’s probably gonna have a black eye tomorrow, and there’s blood running down from somewhere in his hair.

“Can’t believe I let that dumbass talk me into this.” Huck growls, wiping blood from his split lip. “I should’ve known he was gonna do something stupid, but I didn’t think it’d be stupid as starting a bar brawl on the south end of the Ravines.” He pauses for a moment to grab a bottle off a table and sling it at one of the muscleheads that was starting in our direction. “That’s right, you stay over there, bitch! Sit yo’ ass down unless you want us to sit it down for you!”

“So what next?” I ask, grabbing the broom off the floor. “Please don’t tell me we have to beat down everyone in this bar. I don’t think I can keep this up for long.”

“Yeah, that’s how it goes.” Huck grimaces, rolling his shoulders. “If we’re not the last ones standing, we don’t get what we came for.”

“That’s stupid.” I huff, getting a good grip on the broom while Huck grabs a chair. “But that seems par for the course around here.”

And our lad showed up in record time

‘Cause this ol’ brawl had crossed a line

’Twas a rock ‘em sock ‘em free-for-all

A throwdown showdown world-class brawl

For the Long Arm of the Law.

“Alright, I’m outta steam.” I pant, throwing my broom down on the ox Halfie that we’d just ganged up on. “I need to take a breather.”

Huck slams down his chair and leans on the back of it. “C’mon, you can’t stop now. We still gotta deal with the big guy.” he pants in return.

I look over to the middle of the room, where Milor’s getting slammed onto a table by Jawny. It looks like Milor’s nose is broken, and his face is covered in blood, but he’s still kicking and punching, getting a leg up and jamming his boot up under Jawny’s jaw to keep him from getting in swinging range again. “C’mon, granny smith! I can do this all day! Sucks for you, ‘cause I’ve been gettin’ back into shape recently!”

“If you fought as well as you ran your mouth, I might be impressed!” Jawny snarls, reaching up and trying to dislodge Milor’s boot.

“What are we supposed to do about that?” I huff, motioning to Jawny. “Look at him, he’s seven feet tall and built like a space freighter!”

“Fair ‘nuff.” Huck says, wiping some more blood off his mouth. “Maybe we could go after someone else?”

I look around the bar. Not a lot of people are left standing. What remains are a few miners, who are scrappier than the pirates and the gang muscle, trying to fend off Kayenta with chairs and barstools. She’s got another pirate by the ankle, dragging him behind her, and occasionally swinging him at the remaining miners like a meaty flail.

“Nah, Kaya’s got it.” I pant. “Let’s just, ah. Take a moment. Catch our breath.”

“Works for me.” Huck says, sitting down in his chair.

Now Billy boy, he curled a fist, and

You could tell: he was mighty pissed.

“Shame on you! Shame on you all!

Y’know how much I love to brawl!”

Said the Long Arm of the Law.

“Alright, I think I’m ready to give it another swing.” I say, pushing off one of the tables.

“Ugh. Thirty more seconds.” Huck groans.

“C’mon, Huck, up and att’em.” I say, bending down to pick up the broom. “Milor’s bit off more than he can chew.”

Huck looks over his shoulder, to see that Jawny’s got Milor in a headlock, swinging him against tables and the bar counter and such. Milor’s cussing up a storm, throwing punches at Jawny’s midsection to no avail.

“Guh. Fine.” Huck grunts, pushing up out of his chair and grabbing it up. “Only because he owes me a drink, though.”

Then they all cried “Oi Billy mate!

What’s the deal? You showed up late!

Now c’mon lads, let’s make some space

For in a brawl, there’s always a place

For the Long Arm of the Law!”

“Shit shit shit shit!” Huck yelps, dropping his chair as Jawny manages to get a hold on the back of his jacket, and proceeds to chuck him across the room. While he’s doing that, I wind up and clock him on the side of the head with the broom; Jawny staggers a couple steps, turning around and grabbing the broom next time I swing it. He uses it to yank me towards him, and I don’t let go fast enough, so I catch a full-on orc uppercut that throws me into the air, landing on one of the bar tables with my breath knocked clean out of me. I have to lay there a moment, rolling around and trying to get some air back into me, and as I do so, Jawny lumbers into view above me. “You got a bad habit of picking fights you shouldn’t, Preserver. This’ll be the second time I’ve knocked some sense into y—”

He’s cut off by Milor skidding into view, kicking out one of his legs; Jawny goes to one knee with a grunt, and immediately catches a right hook from Milor when he looks up. That knocks his head to the side, and he growls, looking back around. “Alright, hicktown, I’ve have enou—”

He’s interrupted by Milor’s fist again, nailing him in the face the moment he looks around.

“Alright, now you’re askin’ for it!” Jawny roars, reaching up and catching Milor’s fist on the next punch, and shoving it back towards him, making Milor punch himself in the face. Then he catches Milor with a rising uppercut as he stands again, and Milor goes sprawling back against a near table. Leaving me, Jawny stomps over to Milor, putting his hands together and raising them over his head. As he starts to bring them down, Kayenta bounds onto the table that Milor’s sprawled against, standing over him and catching Jawny’s fists as they come down. The table creaks beneath her bare feet, but Jawny’s fists don’t move, and Kayenta doesn’t yield under the pressure.

“The hell?” Jawny grunts, teeth gritted as he tries force his fists down and overpower her.

“You are very strong!” Kayenta observes cheerfully. And in the next moment, her yellow-orange eyes develop a mischievous gleam. “But I am stronger.”

So Billy boy jumped in the fight

And they fought and they fought and they fought all night

Til in the end there was only one

And Billy boy, well y’know he won

‘Cause he’s the Long Arm of the Law.

There’s a crunch of shattering glass as Jawny slams into the ceiling, smashing one of the light fixtures. When he starts to fall, Kayenta uses her hold on his arms to sling him clear across the bar, where he slams through one of the wide, cloudy windows. The shattering of glass has people on the street outside peering in, and stepping gingerly over where Jawny’s sprawled on the sidewalk.

“Jeezus, Kaya.” I mutter, then look at Milor, who’s still sprawled out against the table that Jawny knocked him against. “You okay, Milor?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” he says, spitting out some blood, then pointing up with a bloody grin. Kayenta’s still standing above him. “It’s a nice view from down here.”

I glare at him. “You deserve every punch got.” I grunt, starting to roll over on the table where I got thrown, groaning as I do so. “Gods, I’m gonna be feeling this tomorrow morning. Huck? Are you okay?”

“Just shove a bottle of painkillers in my mouth, I’ll be fine.” he moans from across the room. “You promised me a drink, Milor!”

“Yeah yeah, I’m working on it.” Milor mumbles, pushing off the table and staggering to the bar counter.

“We get our answers now, yes?” Kayenta says, hopping off the table and looking around the bar.

I look around, searching the bar through the pounding headache I’ve got. There, next to the counter, is a staircase leading to the second floor. “Yeah. We’ve earned our answers.” I growl, starting towards the staircase.

“Hey now, slow your roll, blondie.” Milor calls. “We go together. Wait for Huck to get back up.”

“Fine.” I grumble, slumping against the wall next to the staircase while I wait for the others to catch up. Reaching in my jacket, I fumble around, looking for something to arm myself with; when my fingers stray over the handle of my buzz baton, I pull it off my belt and stare at it. “Goddammit.” I’d completely forgotten I’d had that when the brawl started.

“Our answers are up here, yes?” Kayenta asks, peering up the dim staircase as she pulls one of the spirit blooms out of her hoodie pocket and starts picking off the lush petals, sticking them in her mouth and chewing them one by one.

“Should be, yeah.” I say, staring at the spirit bloom. “Where’d you get that?”

“Jazel kept them in the lab. They’re what I eat when I can’t get souls.” she answers, stuffing the rest of the flower in her mouth. “It’s a good thing he grew some of them before he was stolen from us.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.” I mutter, then look over when Milor arrives with a beer stein, his hat recovered and toothpick back in his mouth. Huck is staggering along behind him, a stein clutched close to his chest and occasionally sipped from as if it was the only thing keeping him alive. “Unbelievable.”

“Look, blondie, we earned it.” Milor says, starting up the creaking stairs. “The barkeep said the boss was upstairs, so let’s go have that talk with him.”

“He better talk.” I growl, following him up the stairs. “Otherwise I’m gonna throw hands.”

Proceeding up the stairs in single file, we reach the top, where the hall bends away to the left, leading to a singular unassuming door. Upon reaching it, Milor tries it, only to find that it’s locked; passing his stein back to me, he motions for us to step back, a moment before kicking open the door with the sound of splintering wood.

Within there’s an office that’s a good deal more respectable than the bar downstairs. Bookshelves line the walls, sharing space with display tables that hold relics or other collector’s curiosities; a desk is at the back of the room, away from the chair and couch set that take up the middle of the room. On said desk is the familiar cat bed, and within it, Medukat; on either side of the desk are his orc bodyguards, both of which have hands on their pistols, which are still holstered for now.

“Nice digs.” Huck mutters, peering into the room along with Kayenta.

Milor holds his hand out, and I pass his stein back to him. “Alright, you limey bastards. We’re here looking for one of the Four Ravens. Point us in the right direction.”

“Nice to see you as well, Trickshot.” Medukat says in his alarmingly deep baritone. “I see you’re still in the business of depriving a village of its idiot.”

Milor, who had been taking a sip from his stein, spits it back out, coughing and wheezing. “What the—” he sputters, wiping his mouth and squinting closer at the desk and the cat bed on it. “Razor? Is that you? The hell are you doing here?!”

“I might ask you much the same.” Medukat replies drily. “I was led to believe you’d been released back into the native environment that most rednecks thrive in after the program clearly failed to domesticate you.”

“Wait, you two know each other?” I demand. “What the hell?! You’ve known one of the Four Ravens this entire time?!”

“What? No!” Milor protests. “I didn’t even know he was alive, much less that he was some kind of mob boss! Speaking of which!” Milor turns to Medukat, throwing out his free arm. “What gives, dude? Black market? Crime rings? Seriously?”

Medukat merely flicks an ear. “At least I retained my dignity and did not accept a demotion to overpaid meter maid.”

“Oh, you know damn well that I did a lot more than hand out parking tickets—” Milor begins.

“Hold up, hold up.” I interrupt him as Huck and Kayenta creep into the room behind us. “How do you two know each other?”

“S’not important.” Milor mutters, taking another sip from his stein.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” Medukat says, leaning against the back of his cat bed. “Your redneck friend is a former Challenger by the name of Trickshot. Not as famous as Nova or Songbird, of course, since you obviously didn’t recognize him. He’s something of a joke in the comics, which sadly, is an accurate representation of what he’s become in the time since he accepted the resettlement agreement.”

Milor snorts. “Yeah, well at least I didn’t cross over and become a crime lord like a certain someone I know—”

“Wait, you’re a Challenger?” I demand, then don’t even wait for him to answer that. “Hold up. If you’re a Challenger, and the Drift is an old Challenger ship… that’s how you’ve been getting around Dandy and accessing the parts of it you’re not supposed to have access to! Hell, that’s probably how you’ve been avoiding surveillance when you want to!”

“Honestly, I was surprised my permissions were still in there.” he admits. “Either CURSE was too lazy to fully wipe the mainframe, or they couldn’t strip out the old Challenger programming.”

“This… this explains so much!” I exclaim as the last few months start to click into perspective. “How you kept sneaking into the biosphere, why you were so interested in the news whenever the Challengers were in it… wait, is that why you were being all skulky while we were at the CURSE HQ? You were trying to avoid being noticed by the Peacekeepers!”

“Let’s focus on the matter at hand.” Milor says, brushing that to the side. “We’re here because we need to ask you where someone is, Razor.”

“So I gathered.” Medukat says, motioning to one of his guard orcs, who turns to the bookshelf next to the desk and starts pulling out a little set of tiny whiskey glasses to pour a drink for his boss. “Unfortunately, Jawny has already given you my answer.”

Even though I’m still fuming over the revelation about Milor, I stuff it down and focus on Medukat. “We’re not here in our capacity as Preservers.” I say, stepping forward. “This isn’t coming from the institution; it’s personal.”

“Whether or not you’re here in your capacity as Preservers is immaterial. It may be personal, but to everyone else, all they will see is that we were working with Preservers.” Medukat says, reaching up to take the tiny glass that his guard is handing him. “As much as I would like to help you, which I do not, I cannot offer you assistance.”

“Jesu christi, you’ve become an asshole since crossing over.” Milor says, hitching a hand on his hip. “Look, Razor, here’s the score. This guy, Anselm Grimes, went and kidnapped one of the kids I was supposed to be guarding, and he’s gonna be trying to strip the soul out of him. We don’t need you to provide revenue or resources. Just tell us where he is and we’ll take care of the rest.”

“Kidnapping children, you say?” Medukat says, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, he’s twenty-eight—” Milor equivocates.

“That is not a ‘kid’, Trickshot.” Medukat says flatly. “That is a young adult.”

“Look, anyone ten years younger than me is a kid to me. And besides, young adults still need supervision because they’re still doing stupid shit well into their twenties.” Milor retorts.

“Yes, as you so amply demonstrated fifteen years ago.” Medukat replies without missing a beat.

Milor lets out an aggravated sigh, looking to me. “You see what I had to deal with when I was a Challenger? Goddamn insufferable. It’s no wonder I turned out the way I did.”

“I don’t give a damn about the history between you two. We’re here because they kidnapped Jazel and we need help getting him back.” I snap at him, then turn to look at Medukat. “Are you going to tell us where Grimes is or not?”

“I am not going to repeat myself, young lady.” Medukat says, sipping from his glass.

“Fine.” I say, looking over my shoulder. “Kaya, he knows where Grimes is, but he won’t tell us.”

I can see Kaya’s pupils starting to narrow to narrow. “Then we will wring it out of him.” she says, a growl starting to build in the back of her throat as her tails start to glow blue. The orcs start to reach for their guns again; Kayenta drops to all fours, crouched on the ground as arcs of electricity start to dance along her body.

I know what’s coming, so I back up and cover my ears.

The entire room is rattled by a thunderclap, filled with a flash of merciless blue light; by the time I can track its path, one of the orcs is buried in the wall while the other has been slammed against the bookshelves. Kayenta leaps off him, twisting in the air towards the desk, her hands outstretched and fingers tipped with blue energy claws. On the desk, there’s a flare of purple light as Medukat throws a wing over himself, a protective sphere forming over him; sparks fly as Kayenta’s claws meet the sphere, trying to dig through it.

“Holy shit!” Huck says, now very much perked back up after the lightning bolt. “The hell?!”

“Kaya, be careful!” Milor shouts. “He’s a sorcerer too!”

“You will tell us where the man who stole my witchling is!” she seethes, leaning her weight on the purple sphere, crushing it down into the desk with raw strength. It’s burned through the cat bed, and is now starting to scorch against the desk beneath it.

“Goddammit Milor, what kind of feral bitch did you bring into my office?!” Medukat shouts, bringing one of his wings up. Violet light starts to gather along the edge of it; Kayenta notices and lets go of the sphere, rolling out of the way as Medukat swings his wing towards her. A slash of purple light rips through the office, following the curve of his wing and leaving a ruby scorch mark across the ceiling and down the wall, cutting clean through several books and the shelves they’re resting on.

I duck behind one of the couches on instinct as another crack of lightning rattles the office, followed by another violet slash that paints a razor-thin scorch mark across the floor and wall. Huck shortly joins me, still clutching his beer and peering around wildly. “What the hell! I didn’t sign on for a couple of wizards trying to beat the shit out of each other!” he pants.

“It’ll be fine, Kaya is… well, she’s Kaya. It’ll be fine.” I try to reassure him, then jump when a purple spike pierces through the back of the couch, inches from my face. A similar spray of spikes lodge in the wall above the couch, and I can hear Kayenta shriek in fury. “It… will probably be fine.”

Milor thuds to the ground next to us, crawling around the couch. “They’re goin’ at it.” he grunts. “I dunno who’s gonna win. Razor was pretty good fifteen years ago and he might’ve only gotten better since then. Fluffy McFoxtails is pissed, though.”

“They can’t kill each other!” I shout over the sound of another thunderbolt, and books tumbling off a broken shelf. “We need both of them alive!”

Milor opens his mouth, then jerks back as a curtain of purple light races between us, leaving a scorch mark along the floor and slashing the couch in half. “Yeah, try telling that to them.”

“We need to get out of here before they kill one of us on accident!” Huck hisses, peering around his side of the couch and measuring the distance to the door.

“We can’t leave until we get what came for!” I snap back at him, glancing up as Medukat’s purple ball ricochets off the wall behind us. Seems like Kayenta’s swatting him around the room like she’s playing a game of racketball. “Is there something we can offer to Medukat? Maybe a favor, or money, or something?”

Another slash of purple light goes across the room before Huck or Milor can answer, and I can hear Kayenta scream. Sitting up, I see that one of Kayenta’s silver tails has been sheared off near the base, leaving a dripping trail of blood on the carpet. “My tail! You cut off one of my beautiful tails!” she screams. She wheels on Medukat, who throws another slash of purple light at her, but she just bats it aside, sending it razing across the room and narrowly missing us. Pouncing over the coffee table, she seizes Medukat’s sphere and slams it on the floor, her remaining tails flaring with golden light. “Mother Radiance, lend me your rage!”

Nothing happens for a moment, but the room starts to rumble, and a spot on the roof starts to glow before a blaze of solar energy burns through it and slams into the room, detonating like a small bomb. Huck, Milor, and myself are all thrown flat as the halves of the couch slam into us and bowl us over; on the wall behind us, books tumble off the shelves, pelting us with hardcovers. Only when the light starts to fade do I uncurl, pushing books off myself and coughing, pulling myself up on one of the overturned halves of the couch.

“Alright alright, I give up! I yield! I yield!” I can hear Medukat shouting. His shield has been thoroughly shattered, with his fur singed and scorched, and Kayenta currently has him trapped beneath her fingers, the energy claws digging into floor around him. “I’ll tell you where to find the person you’re looking for!”

“Don’t kill him, Kaya, we need him!” I shout, struggling to get up on shaky legs and get past the couch. Kayenta’s teeth are peeled back in a snarl, a growl rumbling out of her chest. Her tails are still glowing golden, though the severed one lies on the floor, silver and inert. “We’ll find a way to reattach your tail, just don’t kill him!”

“It will have to be regrown through the consumption of a soul.” she growls, leaning her hand down on Medukat. “Tell us where to find the man that stole my witchling!”

“I will, I will! Just ease up already!” Medukat wheezes.

There’s a clumbering of books as Milor fights his way out from beneath one of the couch halves and a pile of times. “Gotdamn! Since when could you call in orbital strikes, Fluffy?!” he sputters.

“I do not know what an ortal shrike is, smelly human.” Kayenta growls as I reach her and grab her hand, trying to pry it off Medukat.

“What the hell just came through the roof?!” Milor demands, kicking away some of the books before starting to dig out Huck from beneath the literature avalanche.

“My mother is the sun goddess. I call upon her power when she is in the sky. At night and in the storm, I draw upon my father’s power.” Kayenta rumbles as I pull her hand away from Medukat. “Answer me, little winged fox! Where is the man that stole my witchling?”

“I heard you the first two times!” Medukat coughs, rolling over and trying to crawl away. “What’s the name?”

“Anselm Grimes.” Milor says as he pulls an unconscious Huck out from underneath the books. “Grey hair, looks like he’s in his seventies or eighties, likes to wear suits and steal souls. He runs with a gang of elves that go a little too heavy on the shadow magic.”

Kayenta shakes me off and pounces again, slamming her hands down on the floor ahead of Medukat, keeping him from crawling away. “You do not flee until you have answered our questions!”

“Okay, fine, fine! Let me think!” he says, holding one of his winged hands up as if to ward her off. “That name’s familiar. Souls are a niche market. Very difficult to harvest and process. If it’s a commercial operation, it’ll probably be based out of the Primsex.”

“The Primsex?” I repeat, racking my brain. I’ve heard that somewhere before. “That’s the… that’s the mobile black market, right?”

“Yes. It’s a favorite stomping ground for riskier ventures, since the Primsex roams, making it harder for law enforcement to catch it out.” Medukat says, lowering his wing.

“But that’s inside knowledge that only people in the underground would know.” I say, trying to stay ahead of him. “Where is it now? Where is it going to be next?”

Medukat hesitates. Milor notices, and calls out to him while he’s getting Huck’s arm over his shoulders. “Just tell ‘em, Razor. Don’t piss off the fox. The boy is her meal ticket, and if you don’t help us get him back, you’re going on the menu in his place.”

“Okay, fine!” Medukat says quickly as Kayenta bares her teeth. “It hangs around in the Moros System most often. It’s supposed to be doing a tunnel jump to the Mascarpanat System sometime in the next week, and it was supposed to hang out there for two or three weeks.”

“Alright. Perfect, that’s all we needed.” I say, grabbing Kayenta’s hood and giving it a tug. “We’ve got what we need, Kaya. Let’s get out of here.”

“I should kill him for taking one of my tails.” she growls, not moving.

“We’re Preservers. That’s not how we do things, even if we’ve been wronged.” I say, giving her hood another tug. “We came here to get what we needed from to find Jazel, and we’ve got it. Let’s go; the more time we waste here, the less time we have to save Jazel.”

Kayenta gives an impatient huff. “Pray our paths do not meet again, little flying fox.” she warns him, before pushing to her feet and turning away, one hand going back to cradle the stump of her severed tail. “Let us leave. I am in a bad mood now.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” Milor mutters, already hauling Huck towards the door. He only pauses to look back at Medukat. “Razor? Next time, just tell us where the damn sorcerer is, okay? I’m not a fan of your career change, but having to bust your ass over this doesn’t make me happy.”

“You show your face in these parts again, I’m gonna have someone rearrange it for you, Trickshot.” Medukat snaps. “Get out of here before I change my mind and call up the rest of the neighborhood.”

“Don’t make us regret leaving you alive.” I shoot back at him, putting a hand on Kayenta’s back and guiding her to the door. “Because we’ll come back and fix that if we have to.”

“Big words from someone that wasn’t doing any of the fighting.” Medukat spits at me.

“Lysanne, just leave it.” Milor says over his shoulder. I grit my teeth, shaking my head, but follow them out anyway. Departing on this note was gonna leave a sour taste in my mouth.

But now we have what we need to find Jazel, and that's what matters.

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

Location: Unknown

2/10/12764 4:36pm SGT

“Go on.”

I stare at the elf, then at the open door before me. It leads into a room, but I don’t know what’s in the room. All I can see from here is a fireplace. Shelves on the wall. Hardwood floors.

“It’s not a trap, if that’s what you’re wondering.” the elf says, motioning to the open door again. “If you keep loitering out here, the boss is going to get impatient.”

I take slow steps to the door, stepping through the threshold cautiously. So far, I’ve only been allowed outside of my padded cell whenever they want to take me to their operation lab and extract soul from me. So this is different, and I don’t know what to expect.

Inside is what appears to be lavish dining room. Hardwood floors, as mentioned before, but also a long table bedecked with a full spread of food. A chandelier, hanging over the table. Trophies and relics mounted on the walls. It is a room meant to entertain and impress guests.

And at the head of the table is Grimes, happily eating what appears to be his dinner.

“Ah. There he is. Good to see you’re up and about and coherent again.” Grimes says as the elf steps in, and the door slides shut behind me. “Go on, make yourself a plate and sit down. I figured I’d let you have first pick of our celebratory dinner before I let the rest of the staff come get their share.”

My steps remain cautious, only approaching the table slowly. The food is certainly celebratory; this is a feast spread, ranging everything from meats to pastas to salads to stews to desserts, all of it professionally prepared. I can pick out signature dishes from a number of cultures down the length of the table; all of it looks fresh. Either made here onsite, or made shortly before this and transported here.

“You take your time, don’t let me rush you.” Grimes says, flapping a hand at me as he returns to what looks to be a chicken pasta. “I’ve had a lot I wanted to talk to you about, but after your most recent extraction session, the physician made it clear we pushed you a little too hard and you needed time to rest. The next session will be shorter, I promise. We’re in no rush; a single session usually nets us almost two months’ worth of soul.”

I curl the fingers of my left hand within my metal glove as I approach the table, sizing up the plates, knives, forks, and spoons. All biodegradable; nothing that’s metal. Nothing I could use to stab or kill him.

“Suffice to say, our production and profit margins have widened considerably. One would imagine that would result in less work for me, but it’s actually more work, just because we have to start retooling the business. Standard operations now are going to have to change considerably as we pivot to the new model.” Grimes says, raising a glass of white wine in my direction before sipping from it. “Before this, we made a habit of hitting Ranter colonies and trying to pick off wereckanan stragglers where we could find them, but now the business is going to have to revolve around New Aurescura. I imagine there’s plenty more where you came from, back on your homeworld.”

That catches my attention, and my gaze locks onto him.

“That’s right.” Grimes nods, leaning back in his chair. “We’ve been doing our homework. Lots of it, actually. You would not believe how much we’ve read about the people of Aurescura over the past couple of weeks. Their history, their lore and their myths, their cultures, the modern Aurescurans and the extent of their spread across the galaxy. Your people own a few systems, but those are still in the middle of terraforming and colonization. Everybody’s mostly still on New Aurescura, it turns out.”

My eyes flick aside to one of the plates, then a bowl of cold pasta salad, weighing the viability of picking it up and throwing it at him.

“I know what you’re thinking. Please refrain.” Grimes says, sipping from his wine again. “You have to understand, this is just business, and it is the sort of business that I could sustain for a very long time, with a planet full of old souls like yours. If it makes you feel better, we will do this ethically and sustainably. We should only need… what, three Aurescurans a year? In order to maintain a stockpile while carefully controlling supply and demand. The business model we’re looking at is effectively infinite. We’ll run out of Aurescuran souls eventually, I’m sure, but it will be in a far, far distant future. And your people won’t even notice those that go missing.”

Reaching down, I pick up one of the knives, and run my thumb along the dull serrations on the edge. Dull, but I’m sure that with enough force, it could still break skin.

“Well, I can tell this is bothering you.” Grimes say, sitting forward in his chair. “So let’s talk about something else. I have to admit that I had more or less ignored Aurescurans up until now, but now that I’ve taken a deeper look into your history, I must admit, you all are fascinating. And I realized, during our dive into witch culture, that you are not just any witch, are you? That grimoire tattooed into your hand gives you away. You are a witchling, effectively a ceremonial prince in the coven you were born into.”

After a moment of staring at him, I take the knife and start sawing it against the metal glove on my left hand, seeing if it’ll get me anywhere.

“Personally, I found it interesting, given that Aurescuran witch covens are matriarchal in nature.” Grimes shrugs. “Witchlings have status but not authority within the coven; they are weapons or backup sacrifices, but are not allowed to hold positions of leadership. It’s a curious contradiction; you’re viewed almost as assets. Things to be coveted and controlled and protected; being married to a witchling confers status on a witch, even though a witchling himself is barred from leadership roles within the coven.” Setting down his glass of wine, Grimes laces his fingers together. “It makes me wonder what your upbringing was like. What was it like to be regarded as such? Nothing more than a prize, a trophy for some young witch to win over one day?”

“For someone that intends to drain the life out of me bit by bit, you take an unusual interest in my culture.” I finally rasp, still sawing away at my glove.

Grimes smirks. “Amazing! He speaks. To answer your statement, I take interest in your culture not for your sake, but because of the possibility that others like yourself are similar repositories of soul. It did not escape our notice that there are some peculiar rules and expectations regarding witchlings. Only one permitted for each coven, by the tradition of the witches, so there is a certain limit to the overall population of witchlings. We noticed also that each witchling is a tribute to Maugrimm, the original Witchling.”

I stop sawing at the glove, my eyes flicking up. “You would take the Witchling’s name in vain?”

“Does that offend you?” Grimes asks archly, resting his chin on his laced fingers.

“It is in poor taste.” I answer, slowly returning to using the knife to pick at the metal seams of the glove. “But it also lacks wisdom. Those who call her name idly may find that she answers, and not to their benefit.”

“So you do believe in your antiquated superstitions.” Grimes deduces. “And here we thought it was a dying religion, and an inane one at that. We couldn’t grasp why the original Witchling was a woman, but the covens always selected males for their witchlings.” He leans back in his chair, waving a hand. “That being said, religion has never been known to overflow with internal consistency or anything approaching logic.”

“It is not a religion. It is our way of life.” I say as the knife snaps when I apply too much pressure to it. Dropping the halves on the table, I pick up a fork next and get right back to it.

“What is a religion, if not a way of life?” Grimes posits. “But I digress. I admit that part of the reason I brought you here is because I wanted to discuss your culture with you. We can read and read and read about it all day, but that cannot afford us the kind of insight that can be offered by a native such as yourself. Someone that’s lived the culture, someone that knows it. And since we will be delving into that culture not too long from now, the input of someone that has been immersed in it will be invaluable.”

“I will not dispense the secrets of my people to you so you can abuse them the way you are abusing me.” I reply. I’ve noticed that my speech patterns have become more formal, stiff; leftovers of past lives that still linger in the back of my mind, of versions of me that lived more elevated lives than the one I presently exist in. It’s eloquence unbidden, and another sign that the longer this goes on, the harder it becomes to hold onto who I’m supposed to be here and now.

“Humor me, then, with something less critical to our business venture.” Grimes says, sipping from his wine. “Sing me the song of Aurescura.”

I look up from my gloved hand. “No.”

Grimes raises an eyebrow, snapping his fingers. A crackle of red lightning arcs between his thumb and forefinger. “I recommend you revise your answer.”

My lips draw tight at the flicker of crimson lightning. I know, from unfortunate experience, how excruciating it can be. It was something I learned the first time they took me from my cell for an extraction session, and since that time, I’d gone to all lengths to avoid experiencing it again. It wasn’t just electrocution; there was something about that magic that was actively agonizing, as if it targeted the neurochemical transmitters for pain and sent them into overdrive.

“May it be to your undoing.” I mutter, setting down the fork on the table. Turning, I make my way over to stand in front of the fireplace, taking a moment of silence as I recall the words that every Aurescuran knows, and carries within them. Staring into the embers of the fire, and watching the flames dance around the logs, I start to sing the ancient and sonorous story of my people.

In ages past, we reached on high

To touch the foot of god

We breached the cloudy roof above

To stand where angels trod.

For their pride, our fathers paid

The price with fire rife

Our god struck back; her angels sent

To force us down with sword and knife.

She drove us out from heaven’s gate

And sealed the skies above

We only wished to come back home

And show our mother love.

But mortals cannot share the sky

With those that gave them life

For mortals made of light and dark

Are predisposed to strife.

Though it was halting at first, the words come more and more easily to me as I go on. There is a simple cadence to the words, something I’m remembering now that I’m speaking them; they could easily be sung, or set to music, or chanted, as was often the tradition in the churches of Aurescura. The rhymes were simple and straightforward, each verse flowing into the next with an ease that was divine. Still, for all the beauty of the song, it was a mournful, somber thing, chronicling the history of how our people became cursed, and trapped in the cycle that nearly destroyed them.

And yet that only gave it a richness that made it all the more beautiful.

Fools that they were, our fathers tried

Once more to gain the skies

And we, the children of our god

Were now what she despised.

She repented that she made our kind

And condemned us all to die

She cracked the seal and sent on down

A beast to blot the sky.

But in her image we were made

And so we did defy

The sentence from our mother god

Condemning us to die.

I continue staring into the fire as I sing, watching the flames dance and curl. I’m not sure if it’s just me, but I can see images within the flames, which bend and twist to form the scenes of Aurescura’s past: the great and terrible war between creator and created; the sealing of the heavens; the commissioning of the holy beast meant to wipe clean our world. They are scenes that I should not recognize, and yet I do; events that I recall as if I had been there in person.

Because in previous iterations, I had been.

And the more I sing, the more I find myself slipping into memories of my past lives; or perhaps it is my past lives welling up to enfold me. Yet I cannot stop myself, even knowing what this is doing to me; because a song cannot be stopped halfway through. I had to see it through to the end, and with every word I can feel the past rising up to meet me. I hear other voices, my voices, and memories of all the times I have sung this song before this. No matter what life it had been in, the words were always the same, the only constant in the unending cycle we were trapped in. A song to help us remember how it all began, lest we forget how we became trapped in a prison of relentless reincarnation, and were denied the relief and release of an afterlife.

We fought and strove and sealed the beast

With blood and stone and sacrifice

In every field and city and town

A carpet of corpses was the price.

Twixt earth and sky now hangs the moon

Which traps the holy beast

And up above, the heavens sealed

Reject all of our deceased.

I feel myself unsteady, the flames in the fireplace swimming with the reenactment of Aurescura’s first judgement. Vaguely, there is some part of me that is aware that I am still in the dining room, but it is dim and far away. In the here, and now, I am reliving the history of Aurescura, of which I am part; I am watching the many judgements of our people, recurring every ten thousand years, and always the same each time. I am remembering my part in each one, as one of the souls always tasked with helping to reseal the beast at the end of its hundred-century imprisonment.

Remembering, and realizing, that Aurescura may have created the profane cycle — but we, her children, were the ones that perpetuated it, refusing to yield to the judgement she had decreed for our world. That the cycle would only end if we accepted our destruction.

And we refused.

Trapped in this world, we live and die

In circles oft-repeating

Our forgetting souls, always born again

In a cycle self-defeating.

One day we shall rise up once more

And crack the heaven’s seal

To stand before our mother god

Our sentence to appeal.

I am on the floor.

I don’t remember falling down. But there I am, lying on my back, staring up at the ceiling, my head filled with the thousands of times I’ve sung this song. Grimes and the elf in the room have rushed over to me, and soon the physician has been called, all of them leaning over me; I can see their mouths moving, but the sounds they make are muted and distorted, as if filtered through the voices of my past life, all singing the song of Aurescura. I can feel my lips moving, as if I was still trying to mumble the song, but I cannot hear myself.

Or at least, I cannot hear myself over the voices of all the people I have been up until this point. All I hear is me, thousands of me, each one singing that rueful song that our people have sung for millions of years.

Time slows down; Grimes and his physician appear as if they were moving through molasses. Distant, and then growing nearer, I hear the measured click of polished shoes over the hardwood floor, eventually stopping behind my head. Someone leans down into my field of view; it is a slender young man, dressed a whitecollar shirt and a black slim-cut vest, with a simple ebony tie knotted at his neck. It is the affair of a consummate professional; and yet it is altogether terrifying.

For his head is enfolded with a writhing mass of black cats, twisting and winding around him in sinuous, flowing patterns, so that only his face from the nose down is visible. They clamber on his shoulders, slink around his head, and every now and then, one will jump off his shoulders and trot away, only to be replaced by another that comes from god knows where. And it will jump back onto his shoulders, joining the sleek, sinuous mass that always seems to mask his eyes from view; and yet never blind by any stretch of the imagination. For there are always yellow eyes in that shifting miasma, and the cats see everything that they prevent their wearer from seeing.

Be not afraid.

The words enter my head as a ripple; not the touch of another mind, as I’ve experienced from psions, but the fundamental altering of the fabric of reality itself. As if the universe was being rearranged here, in this little patch of reality, so that its truths could be surfaced, and made known to me.

The Witchling has heard your prayer, and you are not forgotten. Your purpose is not yet fulfilled. Take your rest, endure what lies ahead, and await the day of your liberation, child of Aurescura.

He reaches down, unbound by the temporal lethargy that possesses Grimes and his physician — neither of which seem to realize what is standing mere feet from them. A single finger is extended, touching to my forehead, and a great calm overtakes me. The lingering suffering of the past two weeks fades away, if only for a little while; the voices of my past reincarnations all fall silent, granting me a blissful silence I hadn’t realized I’d been desperately craving.

As I start to slip into the relief of dreamless sleep, my lips still move, trying to finish the last verse before I drift away. I can’t hear myself, but I do see the angel’s lips moving, and I can feel the last ripples of the song of our people, just before the darkness takes me.

Yet speed the day, for up above

Cracks in the moon appear

The day of judgement we delayed

Is drawing ever near.

And then nothing.