Valiant

[Valiant #20: All The Things I’m Not]

Log Date: 1/10/12764

Data Sources: Kiwi

Event Log: Kiwi

M.V. Nyroc: Observation Lounge

4:32pm SGT

“Is he not answering your texts?”

I recognize the voice, and I don’t need to look to see who it is. I can see her reflection in the long glass window of the observation lounge, standing just inside the door. Lifting my phone, I check the screen again, then drop it on the window ledge that I’m sitting on. “He’s probably busy.” I shrug.

Tarocco treads into the room, hands shunted in her pockets. “I’d imagine, considering he’s gotta wrangle two teenagers. Three, if we’re counting you.”

“Hey! I am not a teenager!”

“You act like it sometimes.”

“You better watch yourself or I’ll make you eat those words.” I threaten as I recline on the window ledge. “Big talk from a small blonde.”

She shrugs. “You can’t tell me I’m wrong. You get way too wound up around him.”

“I do not.”

“It’s like watching one of those videos of a hyperactive dog trying to make friends with a standoffish cat.”

“I’m ignoring you now.”

“Mhmm. Sure.” she says, sitting on the ledge a little ways from my feet. Leaning back against the window, she pulls her legs up and wraps her arms around them. “You still believe he can survive being your handler?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you again, Tarocco.” I say, draping an arm over my eyes. “He’s my handler. End of story.”

“Fair ‘nuff.” she says, and I can almost hear the shrug in her voice. “In that case, have you started breaking him in yet?”

I take my arm off my eyes so I can squint at her. “What?”

She smirks. “He’s tangled with you. You gotta break him in.”

I stare at her, then glance at my phone. “Oh my god, you’re right.”

“And with him, you have your work cut out for you, since he’s not one of us.” she adds, wiggling her toes in her socks as she continues smirking. “It’s gonna be a pretty steep learning curve.”

“We’d planned on having a sparring session a week ago so we could get to know each other, but that kinda caught a wrench in the gears after the ambush in Hagburt.” I say, pushing up on my elbows. “I’d stopped breaking in my handlers since they never lasted very long; it just wasn’t worth the effort to get them up synced up only to have them crumble within months. But he’s actually going to last.”

“Well. The verdict’s still out on that.” Tarocco says, resting her chin on her knees. “But I’ll admit he’s held up better than any of your previous handlers have. How are you going to go about breaking him in?”

I shrug. “Same way you do with anyone else. Apply pressure. See how he holds up in a fight. Take him out on a few dates, get to know him a bit better. And then when the time is right, get into his head.”

Tarocco glances at me. “Don’t you usually do those in reverse order?”

I place a hand to my chest, feigning innocence. “Me? I would never try to dig into my partner’s head without permission! I’m a good little Mask Knight!”

Tarocco just raises an eyebrow, and I hold my faux sanctimony for a few seconds before both of us dissolve into giggles.

“So you’re going to dig into his head, then?” Tarocco says, scooting closer to me.

“Hell, I’ll do it right now. I’m pretty sure the Voliburn is close enough to get our link active.” I say, sitting up and shaking my wrist, the runemarks glowing to life. “He usually answers my texts within fifteen minutes, but I haven’t gotten a response from him in over an hour, so he’s probably sleeping. Perfect time to go poking around in that pretty blue noggin of his.”

“Oh, spicy.” Tarocco grins. “Dreams are always so revealing.”

“If I get lucky, maybe I’ll catch him dreaming about his past.” I say, turning and letting my legs hang off the edge of the window ledge. “A nonsense dream is more likely, but at least it’ll give me a glimpse into his psyche.”

“Maybe you can plant some seeds while you’re there.” Tarocco says, puffing some of her hair out of her eyes. “Get him to be a little less standoffish.”

“We’ll see. It’ll depend on what sort of dream he’s having.” I say, leaning my forearms on my knees and closing my eyes. “Alright, here goes.”

Tarocco remains silent as I take a deep breath, letting my mind drift down the link between Songbird and myself. On the other end, I can sense an incoherent blend of colors and emotions swirling around in his mind, a sign that he’s asleep and dreaming. As I reach his end of the link, I give his mind a tentative poke with my thoughts; the surface of it feels soft, membranous, and I can’t help tilting my head to the side at that.

“What is it?” Tarocco asks.

“His mind isn’t hardened.” I answer, keeping my eyes closed. “It’s exposed; I might be able to slip right in. I thought it’d be more heavily defended.”

“Yeah, you figure it would, for a Challenger.” Tarocco agrees. “He’s not messing with you, right? He’s definitely asleep?”

“Yeah, he’s definitely asleep.” I say. The colors filtering through the membrane of his mind are starting to manifest behind my eyes, forming indistinct shapes that I can’t quite make out. “Alright, I’m going to try it.”

With that, I start pushing harder on his mind, applying pressure to single spot. I slowly ramp up that pressure until I can feel the soft exterior of his mind give way, allowing my awareness start seeping into his mind. For a moment, I get a glimpse of what looks like a disorganized forest growing up in the ruins of a city—

Then without warning, the breach in the membrane widens, and pulls my entire consciousness into Songbird’s mind.

Everything swirls together like paint in the rain, the ruins and the forest disappearing into a confusing smorgasbord of colors. I can tell right away that something’s not right; this isn’t how breaching someone’s mind usually goes. I’ve been trained to leave a part of myself outside the target’s mind so I don’t get lost inside them, so I have an anchor on the outside to reel the rest of myself back out if something goes wrong. But I’ve been straight-up pulled in, anchor and all.

As the colors start to swirl to black, I try to evacuate, but I have no idea where I am or which direction to go in to get out. I try to say something but my mouth won’t move — and with a sinking feeling, I realize that my conscious connection with my body might’ve been interrupted. Starting to panic, I try to open my eyes, but those won’t open either—

Everything is… orange.

I blink a couple times, disoriented and trying to get my bearings. I can feel my body again, but everything feels… different, weird. I realize that it’s because I’m wearing an angled glass helm, like a diver’s helmet, and wearing something skintight. And I’m submerged in thick liquid — that’s what the orange stuff is. Whatever it is, it feels like gel, or molasses — it’s a lot, lot thicker than water.

Submerged in gel, contained within a glass sphere, that’s embedded into the floor of some kind of room.

I have enough time to process that much before an explosion drowns out my thoughts. The flash of light is blinding; I feel my head get jerked back by some kind of impact towards the front of my helm, and I can feel everything tilting backwards. When the light fades away, the words POD BREACH are plastered across the interior of my glass helm… which has cracks running through it from a point of impact somewhere above my right eyebrow. The glass sphere that I'm in is peppered with tiny holes, and there are shards of shrapnel floating in the gel around me, still superheated and throwing off streams of bubbles as they rapidly cool in the liquid. Past the shrapnel, I can see warnings flashing across the interior of the cracked sphere, warning of catastrophic damage to multiple systems.

Then the cracks running through my helm start to spread, and spiderweb.

Panic rises up in me, an instinctive fear of knowing what will happen if my helm collapses while I’m still in the pod. Twisting around, I reach for the latch for the emergency exit, but it’s never been used, and won’t move when I pull it. As the cracks continue to spread across my helm, my yanking on the latch grows more desperate — I know I’m going to drown if I don’t get open.

I know I’m out of time when I hear a plink from my helm, and I screw my eyes shut just before my helm shatters and caves in under the pressure from the gel.

I don’t have time to gasp a last breath; I keep my mouth shut, not wanting to get it flooded with the gel, which might be carrying shards of glass from my helm. I don’t open my eyes, not sure what the gel will do to them; I can feel bubbles sliding around my chin from where my air supply is continuing to to pump air at the bottom of my helm.

Panic starts to rise in me, as my lungs are already crying out for air; I didn’t have a chance to take a deep breath before my helm caved. Everything’s dark, and it’s only another few seconds before I can’t hold in my breath anymore and let it out, the thick gel flooding into my mouth with a few stray shards of glass. My hand’s still on the hatch, yanking and pulling, reason slipping from me as everything in my mind goes into survival mode. It’s nothing but pure, raw terror, viscous liquid trying to fight its way into my lungs while everything’s dark—

“Kiwi!”

There’s a flash of red in the black, a ring of crimson runes that brand themselves into darkness behind my eyes with thunderous impact. My eyes stay shut, but confusion drowns out the terror for a moment, long enough for flash of crimson runes to hit again, with a familiar voice ordering my name. “Kiwi! Snap out of it!”

The darkness clears and suddenly I can see, Forecast bent over me. His brown irises are glowing with the crimson runes that have been tattooed into them; that’s the ring of red that I was seeing earlier. There’s still liquid in my throat, but I realize I was choking on my own spit, and I immediately roll over on my side, hurking it up and coughing it out with raw, desperate wheezing. Bracing my arm on the floor, I gasp deeply, hungrily sucking in oxygen. Tarocco scrambles over, placing an arm on my shoulder. “Kiwi? What happened?”

I shake my head, not ready to talk just yet. I’m still catching my breath, recovering from nearly choking on my own spit. Repositioning my arm on the ground, I rest my forehead against my wrist as I wait for my heart rate to slow down.

“Of all the stupid stunts to pull, you had to invade a Challenger’s mind.” Forecast’s irritation is apparent from his tone alone; when I get my head off my arm and look over my shoulder, I can see he’s gotten up and is sitting down in one of the lounge’s chairs. The crimson runemarks might be disappearing from his irises, but I can still read his glare. “So, have we learned our lesson about respecting the privacy of others?”

I scowl at him. “Oh, stuff it.” I rasp. “What took you so long?”

“Tarocco had to run and get me after you fell off the window ledge and started having some sort of episode.” Forecast says, nodding to Tarocco. “Both of us returned to find you thrashing on the ground, trying to pull on something that wasn’t there, choking on your own spit. A direct consequence, I presume, of your ill-advised incursion into Songbird’s mind while he was sleeping.”

I glare at Tarocco. “Why you’d tell him?”

Tarocco gives me an incredulous look. “Oh, I’m sorry! Next time I’ll just let Forecast play twenty questions while you’re drowning in your own saliva, how’s that sound? Besides, you just went prying around in Songbird’s head; it’s not like you’ve got any room to complain about respecting other people’s privacy.”

“You encouraged me.” I grumble, before hacking up some more spit. “I thought his mind was undefended. It wasn’t hardened against attack.”

“Did you really think that the mind of a Challenger, privy to some of the most valuable secrets and intel in the galaxy, would be unguarded?” Forecast asks, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together. “The appearance of vulnerability is not synonymous with the reality of vulnerability. You’re lucky you didn’t come away with any permanent mental damage.”

“I dunno, I might be having nightmares after that.” I say, slowly starting to get to my knees. “I was in this… some sort of tank, filled with thick orange gel. In some sort of suit, with a breathing helmet. Something exploded, the helm broke, and I started drowning. I tried to get the emergency hatch open, but the lever was stuck.” I run my tongue over my teeth, wincing. “I can still taste the stuff. It was hella nasty.”

“You say you remember how it tasted?” Forecast says, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it tasted like… I dunno, coolant, or motor oil.” I say, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth.

Tarocco gives me a look. “You don’t know what those taste like.”

“Look, the point is, it tasted bad.” I say, sticking my tongue out at her.

“Sensations like taste and smell are hard to come by in imagined scenarios.” Forecast remarks thoughtfully. “You may have been trapped in one of Songbird’s memories, forced to relive it.”

“Yeah, well it was a hell of a memory. It damn near killed me.” I mutter.

“That may’ve been the point.” Forecast says mildly. “These sorts of defenses are put in place to dissuade, traumatize, injure, or impair aggressors that are trying to extract information or compliance from the target’s mind. The intended purpose is not altogether different from the psionic deterrence training both of you have received as Mask Knights.” He gives me a drilling look at this point. “So we have learned our lesson, I presume?”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I won’t go digging around in people’s heads.”

“That is also a valid lesson, but not the one you needed to learn.” Forecast says. “What you needed to learn is that it’s important to ask your partner’s permission before entering their mind. Just because you are tangled with him does not give you a right to infringe upon his privacy, especially in the one place typically protected from the scrutiny of others: the sanctuary of the mind.”

“If he’s tangled with me, he should expect that I’ll want to poke around in his head!” I protest. “That’s the point of tangling. Stronger together and all that sentimental jazz.”

“Perhaps he would expect that, if he was a Maskling. But he’s not.” Forecast replies tersely. “He has not grown up with our traditions; he does not understand the import and the cultural relevance that tangling holds. In fact, I very much doubt he fully understands what tangling is. For you to assume he has a functioning understanding of what you have dragged him into is unfair to him.”

“So she’s going to spend some time explaining it to him.” Tarocco says, standing up and offering me a hand to help me back up. “Since she’s so dead-set on tangling with a non-Maskling, she can do all the work that comes with it. Training him, educating him on what it means to us, bringing him up to speed.”

“Oh gee, thanks.” I grumble, taking her hand and pulling myself to my feet. “What are friends for, if not for throwing you under the bus.”

“Tarocco’s right.” Forecast says. “You have a responsibility to Songbird to educate him on what you’ve gotten him into, and what he can expect from it. Thankfully, you should have plenty of time since we’ve arrived in the Chaitokoma System for our meeting with the client that is funding the Valiant Project. The Dussel mercforce will be taking this pit stop to rebalance their personnel distribution across their ships while their top brass goes planetside to conference with the backer that is funding them. We will be joining them.”

“Oh really? So we get to meet the person that’s throwing fistfuls of credits at the Challengers?” I say, brushing down my shirt. “I was wondering who was bankrolling this lost cause.”

“Please refrain from calling it that while we’re with the Dussel mercs.” Forecast warns me, glaring over his laced fingers. “Morale has been heavily impacted by the loss of the Bulwark. The Commander in particular has been in a… less than stellar mood, as I’ve gathered from the Lieutenant Commander. That in turn has rippled down through the ranks, and we do not want to provide them further reason to question their commitment to this project.”

“I can imagine.” Tarocco says, flipping her hair to one side. “A mobile fortress is a massive investment; losing it to an ambush…”

“Extremely painful to lose an asset like that.” Forecast concurs. “At any rate, both of you need to go clean up for our visit to the client’s retreat.”

“What’s the dress code?” Tarocco asks as I start for the door. “The guy is probably rich, so I figure we’re looking at ballroom formal or business formal, right?”

“Semi-formal, as stated by the Lieutenant Commander.” Forecast says. “Jeans are allowable, but pair it with a button-down if you can. And Kiwi?”

I pause at the door, looking over my shoulder.

“Make sure you apologize to Songbird for trying to break into his mind.” he orders.

I groan. “One of his memories almost kills me and I’m the one that’s supposed to apologize?”

“Yes. Getting yourself killed while invading someone else’s privacy is very rude.”

“Fine.” I grumble, leaving the room. “C’mon Tarocco, let’s get this show on the road.”

GalaxyGuide App

Chaitokoma System

As a system comprised entirely of gas giants, Chaitokoma is not the type of system that would be widely regarded as habitable. However, the lunar systems around each of its four planets are rich with life and natural habitats, courtesy of orbital arrangements that lend themselves to clement conditions favorable to the natural emergence of life. Extolled by the scientific community as “a miracle of rarities”, at least one moon in each of Chaitokoma’s four lunar systems can support life unaided, and in at least two of the lunar systems, multiple moons meet that criteria.

Chaitokoma is also the capitol system of the Shifter nation, which sustains its small economy through the tourism and vacation industry on its exotic moons, and through leasing out luxury real estate on its tropical moons. Because of the heavy emphasis on the sustainability of each moon’s natural environment, the amount of real estate available on the most clement moons is highly restricted, and the bidding on leases often running into hundreds of millions of credits. The bidders seeking these leases are often C-suite executives, celebrities, former heads of state, and stars in the entertainment industry.

Despite the Shifters being part of the Colloquium, and Chaitokoma being classified as open space, the system is commonly regarded as a neutral zone for powerful and influential figures to conduct business away from critical eyes. Alongside the luxury cruiseliners often touring the system, one will occasionally see mercenary ships loitering in orbit during meetings with clients, and ships from opposing political factions or nations holding their fire while their leaders or representatives meet for bilateral talks on neutral grounds, sometimes brokered by third parties. Vaunted presence in Chaitokoma is accordingly very light, at the request of the Colloquium, who informally recognizes the need from a grey zone where business can get done that would otherwise be hampered by the law or by political pressure.

Event Log: Kiwi

Hale’ohe: Aquarius Regilis Estate Arrivals Pad

7:07pm SGT

“Jeez. This place looks like it’s straight out of a movie set.” I say, tromping down the ramp of the Featherfell with Tarocco and Forecast following behind me. The landing pad we’re on is ringed by giant, ornamental mushrooms with wide, spreading caps that provide a lot of shade — not that we need it, with the sun disappearing behind the green gas giant dominating the sky. Other skippers are lined up around the landing pad, but they’re of the luxury variety, with sleek designs and glossy trim. Much different than the angular black profile of our stealth skipper. “Talk about money. Why’s this guy own so many skippers?”

“These are not the client’s skippers. They’re his guests’.” Forecast explains as the ramp of the Featherfell pulls up once he steps off it. “My understanding is that he’s currently hosting a conference for various CEOs and industry leaders.”

“It looks like the mercs are already here.” Tarocco says, nodding to a big, clunky troop transport that takes up two parking slots and stands out like a sore thumb amid all the other civilian skippers.

“Well, we better catch up with them, then.” I say, starting down the walkway that leads from the landing pad to the big old seaside mansion. “Wouldn’t want to miss out on meeting this mysterious client.”

“Do try to behave yourself.” Forecast says drily. “Tarocco, stay on her and make sure she doesn’t get into more trouble than I can bail her out from.”

“That’s supposed to be her handler’s job, isn’t it?” Tarocco says, tucking her hands in her hoodie pockets.

“Regrettably, he’s not currently present, and even if he was, I doubt he’d be assertive enough to keep her in line.” Forecast says, digging his phone out of his pocket. “You two go on ahead. I’m getting a call from the Council, so I need to take this.”

I grin over my shoulder at Tarocco. “So you’re gonna keep me in line, then?”

“Please just behave.” she says, catching up to me. “We both know I’ve got nothing to threaten you with.”

“Aw. Well, since you asked nicely, I’ll give it a try.”

We continue down the walkway, eventually ending up at the mansion’s main door after winding through the cultivated grounds. There’s an elven butler at the door, given away by the pointy ears, who gives one look at us before moving to block the door slightly more than he was before. “May I ask what party you’re with?” he asks politely.

“Valiant Project.” I say, and when that doesn’t get a response, I go on. “Y’know, the Challengers, except they don’t want to be called Challengers anymore.”

The butler raises an eyebrow. “We have no such group in attendance tonight.”

“It’s the group of mercs. The Dussel Mercforce.” Tarocco adds.

The butler’s eyes rove between me and Tarocco. “Is that so.” he says, sounding unimpressed. “In that case, I will need to see some identification.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Behind the butler, the door slides open to reveal Songbird standing there in his weathered longcoat, hands tucked in his pockets. “These two are representatives of the Maskling government, which is providing support to the Valiant Project. They are with me.”

The butler turns to see Songbird, then goes pale — whether that’s because it’s Songbird, or because there’s a sudden vampire looming in the doorway behind him, is unclear. “I see. My apologies, then.” he says, stepping out of our way and motioning to the door. “Please, come in.”

“My hero.” I coo, bouncing up on my toes to give Songbird a quick kiss on the cheek as I step inside. I don’t wait for his reaction, instead taking in the lavish hallway and the dead animals stuffed and mounted on the walls. “Wow, look at this place! Dude must be a hell of a hunter. That’s so old-fashioned, sticking your kills on the wall.”

“Certainly interesting.” Tarocco agrees, following me inside.

“The main dinner event and presentation just ended, so most of the guests will be mingling.” Songbird says as the door slides shut behind us. “The client is taking private audiences now, and our group is next in line.”

“Who’s first in line?” I ask, turning around and walking backwards down the hall so I can face Songbird as I talk.

“Dussel.” Songbird answers, following down the hall behind us. “He wanted a private word with the client without the rest of us there. Presumably it’s not going to be a happy meeting. Take a left up here, by the way.”

I look over my shoulder where a side hall branches away to my right, and adjust my course. “Who else is in our group? The Lieutenant, I’m guessing?”

“The Lieutenant, Jackrabbit, Valkyrie, Ridge, and Renchiko.” Songbird explains. “Sierra turned Luci loose so he could go terrorize the snack table and cozy up to some of the industry heads that showed up to the conference. Having allies in various industries would go a long way.”

“Who all is in attendance?” Tarocco says as we stray down the side hall, this one filled with glass tanks, each one containing an exotic fish that’s presumably a prize in much the same way the stuffed animals in the other halls are.

“I don’t recognize most of them.” Songbird explains. “Gigacorp leaders, probably… I did see the head of Viralis Industries at one of the tables. So definitely big names.”

“What were they here for?” I ask, skimming my fingers over the glass of one of the tanks, finding it cool to the touch.

“A summit on why they should take all the money they’ve got lying around and put it to something other than adding a third luxury cruiser to their personal fleet.” he answers as we reach the end of the hall and turn the corner to a corridor that slopes downward, growing dimmer as it goes. “The presentation was actually making the argument that they should be funding us, the Valiant Project. If not with cash, then with donations of materials, resources, training, or personnel.”

“Did it convince anyone?” Tarocco asks.

“We’ll see. Most of them probably want proof of concept, first.” he says, reaching into his coat and pulling out his flask.

“In other words, they actually want to see you guys saving the day before they’ll start chipping in.” I guess.

“Precisely. Businessmen pretending to be philanthropists.” he says, screwing off the top and taking a sip. “Greed makes the galaxy go ‘round.”

“Pity we can’t just… steal their stuff from them.” I remark.

“Kiwi!” Tarocco hisses.

“I disagree on principle, but on moral, she’s not wrong.” Songbird says, capping his flask. “I can’t begin to state how sickeningly rich some of these people are. To say nothing of the gigacorps that they lead. When I made a remark earlier about someone adding a third luxury cruiser to their personal fleet, that wasn’t a joke, or an abstraction. They actually called someone out for that during the presentation.”

“I’d be okay with them buying a luxury cruiser… so long as they’re giving it to us.” I say as we reach the end of the descending corridor, and step into what looks like a wide, oval waiting room, with relaxing lights and couches hugging the walls. Couches that look like they’re occupied by the rest of the aforementioned group. “Oh hey, here’s where everyone else has been hiding!”

“Hey hey, it’s the strawberry Kiwi!” Jackrabbit cheers, hoisting her drink towards us as we enter the room. She’s in a tux and looking chipper as ever, while Valkyrie, sitting beside her, is in a silky dress and looking more reserved. “ ‘Cause your eyes are strawberry-colored and your hair is kiwi-colored, get it?”

I snort at that. “I’ve been called worse.”

“Does that make Songbird Blueberry Cherry?” Sierra asks from where she’s reclined on her portion of couch. “Mix it with Strawberry Kiwi and you’ve got a fruit smoothie.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” Songbird says, tucking his flask back in his longcoat.

“I dunno, fruit smoothie. I like that.” I grin aside at Tarocco. “S’cute, isn’t it?”

“I have no desire to find out what your definition of a fruit smoothie is.” Tarocco says, shaking her head.

“Right, bring it back in, guys.” Songbird says. “Keep it clean. The kids are here.”

“Not kids.” Ridge says from behind his phone, where he’s sitting on the couch on the side of the room opposite from Sierra. Renchiko is next to him, similarly thumbing through her phone and looking up every now and then.

“You’re kids until you’re twenty-five. Your brain doesn’t stop maturing until around that time.” Songbird says.

Further debate on the issue grinds to a halt as one of the double doors on the end of the room is yanked open, Dussel ducking through it. Based on the scowl he’s wearing and the way each of his booted steps thud on the floor, he’s not in a good mood. Tarocco and myself step out of the way, as does Songbird, as the Commander stalks through the waiting room and back up the corridor we came in through. Nobody says anything until his bootsteps have faded away down the corridor and around the corner.

“He looks bent out of shape.” I say, peering back down the corridor.

“He’s been like that all week.” Sierra says, picking up her champagne flute and sipping from it. “Been in a foul mood ever since we lost the Bulwark.”

“I don’t think he’s been that pissed off, though.” Jackrabbit says doubtfully. “Seems like he just got some more news that he didn’t like.”

“At any rate, it’s now our turn.” Valkyrie says, standing up and offering a hand to Jackrabbit. “It’s about time we met our benefactor.”

“Oh yeah. I think you guys will enjoy this.” Sierra says, getting to her feet and marching through the double doors. “Hey Drill, what’s up!”

“Wait, Drill?” Jackrabbit demands, hoofing it after Sierra and leaving Valkyrie and the rest of us to filter in after her.

“Drill?” Songbird repeats, leaning forward after the kids, who are tentatively stepping into the room beyond.

“Am I missing something? Are we being funded by a sentient piece of mining equipment?” I ask, trailing everyone else as we step into the room beyond. It looks like a big, subterranean man cave; the far wall is mostly glass, and submerged beneath the waterline of the coast that the mansion sits on the edge of. You can’t see very far into the water since the sun has gone down, but it’s still a mesmerizing view. The walls of room are lined with various weapons ranging from classical, wooden-handled battleaxes all the way to modern plasma rifles and coilguns. Against one wall is a work bench with tools; in another corner is an old-fashioned, acoustic drumset; against another wall is a massive, U-shaped desk with dozens of screens, and a single chair.

A chair that swivels around to reveal a dark-skinned dwarf with an afro that’s been shaved to resemble a spiraling drill tip, wearing dark shades, a silk robe, and fluffy loafers.

“Long time, no see, Challengers.” he smirks over steepled fingers.

“Oh my gods, it’s Drill! I thought you were dead!” Jackrabbit shrieks, throwing her arms out. “You been hiding out in Chaitokoma this whole time?”

“Well, I’ve been here and there over the last fifteen years.” he says in his impressively deep voice, flapping a hand. “But I eventually settled here, yes. They were offering a nice deal on this seaside resort and I just couldn’t pass it up.”

“Are you a Challenger?” Ridge asks, lowering his phone. “I don’t remember reading about you on any of the wikis.”

“Wait, are you the Drill Sergeant that Mom always talked about? The one that put all the Challengers through basic training when they were first recruited?” Renchiko says.

“Ah, now that’s got to be Ratchet’s kid. She’s sharp.” Drill says, shaking a finger at Renchiko. “You look just like yer ma. She was a spicy little thing in basic training. Picked a lot of fights she couldn’t win. She turned out okay, though.”

“It’s good to see that you’re alive and well, Drill.” Valkyrie says politely.

“Ah, cut the shit, Val, you don’t have to act like you’re happy to see me.” Drill scoffs. “I know you’re still sore over all those recruits that ended up in the infirmary over the years. Oi! Songbird! I see you skulkin’ back there! Stop trying to hide behind the ladies.”

I look around to see that Songbird has, in fact, sunken to the back of the group. “Hallo, Drill.” he mutters, somewhat less than enthusiastic.

“Getch’er scrawny ass up here and introduce me.” Drill says, waving a hand at Songbird to motion him forwards. “Who are these fine young specimens you’ve brought along with you? Masklings, I presume?”

“This is Kiwi, and this is Tarocco. Both of them are Mask Knights, representatives of the Maskling government.” Songbird says, moving around to stand beside Ridge and Renchiko. “And this is Renchiko, Ratchet’s daughter, and Ridge, an orphan we picked up on Valcorria. Both of them are recruits for the Valiant Project.”

“Oh, we’re already recruiting, are we?” Drill says, pushing out of his chair and standing up to all of his just-over-five-feet height. His loafers make little flopping sounds against the ground as he walks over to size up Renchiko and Ridge. “Startin’ pretty young. We didn’t start taking them until eighteen in the Challenger program. They look pretty scrawny as well. What you been feedin’ them? Ain’t no way they’ll hold up in a fight when they look like you can pick ‘em up and snap ‘em like soup crackers.” He articulates that point with jabbing a finger into their ribcages, one after another, prompting sounds of protest from both of them.

“I assure you, we’ve been feeding them plenty.” Valkyrie says. “I’ve been keeping their measurements as well. As teenagers tend to do, they’re growing vertically, not horizontally, and probably will be for the next couple of years.”

“Besides, you made the same remark about me when I joined the program, and I turned out fine.” Songbird points out.

“I still believe the reason you got into shape was ‘cuz you were goin’ vampire and you didn’t want to spend the rest of eternity lookin’ like a starved cheetah.” Drill retorts, shuffling around the kids to size up up me and Tarocco. “Here’s an idea. If we’re recruiting, why don’t we recruit these two fine young lassies? They look to be in the prime of their youth.”

“ ‘Fine young lassies’?” Tarocco repeats in disbelief.

“We’re kind of already employed by the Maskling Republic.” I add.

“Oh, pish posh.” Drill says, waving a hand. “I’m sure they’ve got thousands of Mask Knights. It’s not asking too much to borrow a couple, is it? Besides, if we get you two in on the ground floor, we’ve already got Masklings in our ranks and the Maskling Republic won’t have to worry about trying to sneak some in later.” He lowers his sunglasses to peer over the rims at us, which isn’t too hard, considering how short he is. “You see all these groups and governments across the galaxy tryin’ to keep Masklings out, but it’s a lost cause. It’s just impossible; y’all are too good at it. So instead of waitin’ for y’all to infiltrate the Project, we’ll just open the front door and let ya in.” He taps his temple, grinning. “Can’t steal what you already have.”

Tarocco opens her mouth, then closes it, and looks at me. “Not gonna lie, he makes a pretty good point.”

“Suppose it would be redundant to have sleeper agents in an organization that we’re already a part of.” I admit.

“Thinkin’ outside the box, ladies! That’s what used to make a Challenger.” Drill declares, turning away and sauntering back to his desk chair. “Much as I hate to admit it, I learned that from the blue vampire. Makin’ friends gets you a lot further than goin’ with the flow and maintainin’ status quo. As you can clearly see from the conference upstairs.”

“So you’re the one that’s been funding all of this?” Tarocco asks. “The Dussel mercforce, finding and recruiting former Challengers, the decoding of the backup archive?”

“Right you are, my dear.” Drill says, sitting back in his chair.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why?” I ask, coming forward a little more. “You’re up against ridiculous odds. I mean, have you seen CURSE? They have an insane amount of clout.”

Drill takes his sunglasses off, folding them and setting them aside. There’s a clanking from the other end of the room where Sierra’s wandered off to root through a fridge, and Drill turns his head to shout at her. “Oi, Nympho! Grab me a diet Spritz while you’re over there.” Turning back to us, he laces his fingers together. “That is the question, ain’t it? Why are we doing this?” He looks to Jackrabbit. “Why are we doin’ this, Jack?”

Jackrabbit shrugs, sitting on the edge of his desk. “It’s the right thing to do.”

Drill nods, then looks to Valkyrie. “What about you, Val?”

Valkyrie looks caught off guard, and doesn’t seem to have a ready answer. “I…” she begins, before shaking her head. “There’s a lot of reasons. But we could be doing better than what we’re doing now. There were a lot of Challengers forced into the resettlement agreement that could’ve given a lot more to the galaxy than working a nine-to-five and pretending like they don’t have the skills to do something more.”

That earns another nod from Drill, who reaches out to take his drink as Sierra returns from the fridge. “And what about you, Nympho?”

Sierra shrugs. “Shit’s fun.” is her answer as she sips from her drink.

Drill smirks at that, then turns his attention to Songbird. “And what about you, Songbird? Why are we doing this?”

Songbird doesn’t answer, just staring at Drill. Drill doesn’t back down, staring right back at him, waiting, and the silence grows tense. After a moment, Songbird turns without a word and starts towards the fridge and the kitchen counter, leaving the rest of us to watch.

“Some of us do it because we’re haunted.” Drill says as Songbird walks away. “By what we did, or what we didn’t do back then. Haunted by those we couldn’t save, either from the gears of the political machine, or worse yet, from themselves. We do it because we tell ourselves this time, it'll be different.”

“Where’d you get the money, Drill?” Songbird asks as he reaches the counter, pulling out his flask as if he hadn’t heard anything Drill just said. “No offense, but you’re not funding the Project off what you made while you were with the program. This sort of investment requires backing by an entity with a steady revenue stream. A large company, an inheritance, something along those lines.”

“Donations, licensing rights, and consulting, actually.” Drill says, kicking his feet up on his desk. “Where do you think the Challenger comics get their storylines from?”

I can see Songbird freeze in the middle of unscrewing the cap of his flask, and he slowly turns around. What I see sends a shiver running through me — his pupils are starting to flare a luminous, lightning blue as he hisses. “You’re selling our stories?”

“Leasin’ out the rights. There’s a difference.” Drill says, reclining in his chair. “It’s like letting the production companies borrow the story for a bit before they have to give it back. Except they have to pay for borrowing. So more like renting, I s’ppose? They get to rent th’ story for a bit.”

“You have no right to profit off our stories.” Songbird hisses, slamming the flask down on the counter and stalking back across the room, his incandescent pupils leaving glowing aftertrails as he goes. “Tell your own story if you want, but how dare you profit off the rest of us. All those that lost so much, those of us that died for the program, turning our struggles and our lives into entertainment for an ungrateful galaxy that kicked us to the curb without a second thought—”

“Jack.” Valkyrie says, her voice low with urgency.

“Yeah I know, I see it.” Jackrabbit says, pushing off the desk in a rush and moving to intercept Songbird, catching him by the shoulders before he reaches the desk. “Feroce, slow down. Take a breath. Drill’s not doing it for money’s sake. You know that.”

“The money made off leasing out the rights to comic, holo, and merchandising companies gets cycled back into the funds that are propping up the Valiant Project and the Dussel Mercforce.” Sierra explains from where she’s slouched on Drill’s desk. “It’s all we have in terms of revenue. That intellectual property is one of our only assets.”

“That’s the poetry of it.” Drill says, motioning his drink to Songbird. “The Valiant Project is born out of the ashes of the Challenger program. Allowing others to retell the stories of our past is what will allow us to build our future.”

“How those stories are told, and who gets to tell them, matters.” Songbird snarls over Jackrabbit’s shoulder at Drill, his hands curled into fists. “You have no right to make those decisions on your own, not for the dead, especially not for those of us that are still living. Our lives, our stories, are not anyone’s ‘asset’ but our own.”

“The dead ain’t here to speak for themselves, so we gotta speak for them.” Drill maintains calmly, sipping from his drink. “And the living can be a little difficult to get ahold of, ‘specially those that took the resettlement agreement. You’re a case study in that. I had a devil of a time trying to track you down over the last decade; we didn’t have any leads until someone in the Vaunted got a little too mouthy and let something slip.”

“I don’t care how hard it would’ve been to get ahold of the living!” Songbird snaps at him. I can feel the air getting charged with more than just tension — I’m starting to sense an actual buildup of energy around him, and it’s making my wristmarks feel prickly. “You had no right! The stories that are told about us can make us or destroy us; they are the only thing left of us when everything else has faded away! Those were not your choices to make! They are still not your choices to make!”

“Feroce, that’s enough!” Jackrabbit orders. Tarocco nudges me with her elbow and nods to Jackrabbit; I follow her gaze to see that Jackrabbit’s pupils, just like Songbird’s, are luminous bright. Hers are a lightning yellow, though. “I know you’re upset, hon, but this isn’t the time or the place. Not in front o’ the kids, not in front o’ the Masklings. Take a breath. Go walk it off.”

Songbird’s clearly still fuming at Drill, but he takes a step back so that Jackrabbit’s no longer holding him in place. He raises a hand as if to run it through his hair, then pauses when he notices the blue glow that his pupils cast on his fingers. After a stunned moment, he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Fine.” he mutters. When he opens his eyes again, the glow has faded from his pupils, leaving them dark and black once more. “I’ll take a walk.”

Nobody says anything as he turns and strides for the door at a clip that leaves the hem of his longcoat flaring behind him — dramatic, but probably unintentionally so. If the way he slams the door is any indication, though, I can tell he’s still pissed. This anger, whatever it is, seems to run on a deeper level than the last time I saw him angry.

The first sound to break the silence is Drill blowing out a breath that it sounds like he’d been holding. I look back around to see him staring at Sierra. “You didn’t tell me he had a Spark.”

Sierra snorts, sipping from her drink. “I didn’t know he had a Spark. He’s been hiding it this whole time just like he’s been hiding all of his other powers. You did a hell of a job getting it to come out, though. You’re lucky Jack was here.”

“You okay, Jack?” Valkyrie says, resting a hand against Jackrabbit’s arm.

“M’fine.” Jackrabbit mumbles. Now that Songbird’s gone, she’s leaned back against the desk, one hand massaging her closed eyes.

“Sorry, I’m just a little confused here.” Tarocco says, raising a hand halfway. “What’s a Spark…?”

“It’s nothing.” Jackrabbit and Sierra say at the same time.

“Oh really?” I say, raising an eyebrow as I tuck my hands in the pockets of my jacket. “‘Cause that didn’t look like nothing to me.”

“It’s a conversation for another day.” Drill says, setting his drink down on his desk as he leans forward again. “There’s other conversations we need to have right now.”

“No, I think you should go apologize to him.” I interrupt before they can go any further.

Drill raises an eyebrow at me. “ ‘Scuse you?”

“Yeah, I think you should get your lazy loafer ass out of that chair and go ‘pologize to him.” I say, motioning one of my pocketed hands and the whole half of my coat towards the double doors.

“Kiwi!” Tarocco hisses. “Manners! This is the guy that’s funding our partners!”

“So what, that gives him a free pass to be an asshole?” I demand, looking at her. “You’ve seen a few episodes of that Challenger anime; you see how Songbird gets portrayed. If this guy’s the gatekeeper of entertainment content based on the Challengers, it means he signed off on that portrayal.”

“If you’re talking about Courageous, then yes, I did.” Drill says, leaning an arm on his desk. “That was a tactical decision. Funding for the show comes from CURSE and they pay through the nose for those rights — but only if they get to push the narrative that aligns with their agenda. The punchline is that CURSE doesn’t know their money is being used to support the same group they’re trying to stamp out.”

“Oh, well I’m sure Songbird thinks that’s very funny. We get funding, and in turn, trillions of kids across the galaxy that watch the show think that he’s a bad guy.” I retort. “You get your money, he gets thrown under the bus. Gee, I wonder why he’s so pissed about you making unilateral decisions about who gets to tell the stories of other Challengers?”

“Kiwi.” Tarocco growls through gritted teeth.

“Y’know what, Tarocco, you’re right. Now’s not the time for incisive commentary. We’re here to kiss the ring and make sure the money keeps flowing.” I say, turning around and marching to the doors. “Don’t get up on my account, Drill. I’ll see myself out.”

The room stays quiet all the way to the door, the same way it was when Songbird was seeing himself out. I’ve got no doubt that they’ll start talking again in my absence, and I’ll have to be filled in on whatever was discussed later. I won’t be surprised if I end up getting a lecture from Forecast about mouthing off to powerful backers and influential figures.

But right now, I’m going to go track down my handler and see how he’s doing.

Event Log: Kiwi

Hale’ohe: Aquarius Regilis Estate Seaside Garden

7:56pm SGT

You figure it’d be easy to track down a blue-haired vampire.

But it’s not, and it shows in how long it takes me to figure out where Songbird’s gotten off to. I spend a fair amount of time snooping through the rooms in the mansion, and ignoring well-to-do stragglers from the conference that Drill was hosting here. I figured the staff would know where he’d gone, but when I asked them, they seemed to be as clueless as I was.

So I gave in, activated my wristmarks, and started using our link to track him down.

Now I’m here in the paved statue garden behind the mansion, winding my way among the pedestals and carvings of people that I mostly don’t recognize. A few of them have rung some bells — I did recognize Nova in her Starstruck regalia, and then a couple other big-name Challengers from years ago. Based on that, I’m pretty sure the rest of the statues in this garden are Challengers as well, just ones that I don’t recognize.

I find Songbird sitting on the ledge underneath a statue of a smaller woman in a plugsuit, head cradled in his hands, facing the sea. He doesn’t say anything as I stand in front of him, my hands tucked in the pockets of my highcollared jacket. “Got pretty worked up back there.” I remark. “That dwarf got you more bent out of shape than I’ve ever seen you before. I’ve never thought I’d see you ready to throw the first punch.”

“I usually don’t.” he grunts without taking his head out of his hands.

I squint down at him. “You okay?”

“Headache.”

“Ah.” I shift on my feet a bit. “You taken any painkillers for it?”

“Don’t have any. Left my flask in his office and I’m not going back in there to get it.”

“Want me to go get it for you?” I offer.

“Forget it. It’s just a pocket flask, I’ll get another one.”

“You’re too damn stubborn for your own good.” I say, turning and sitting down on the ledge next to him. “C’mere.”

“What?” he asks, cracking open one eye and looking askance at me.

“Gonna help you with your headache. Turn a bit for me.” I say, reaching over to pull his hands off his face. I replace them with my own hands, cupping them on either side of his face as my runemarks flare to life and start orbiting my wrists. Using my thumbs to snag the runes for cold, I tug them out of the orbit, watching them dissolve and suffuse my thumbs with pale green light. Leaning forward, I press them to Songbird’s temples, and start massaging them.

“Mmmph.” he mumbles, slumping a little as the cooling sensation spreads from his temples and across the rest of his head.

“Feeling better?” I ask.

He lets out mute little nod, his eyes still closed. I smile, and continue tracing slow circles along his temples with my thumbs.

“Why did you get so worked up?” I ask after about a minute of silence and continued temple massaging. “Was it because other people have told your story without your permission?”

“It hits close to home.” he says quietly, eyes staying closed. “Your story is all you have. It’s your truth. It’s all that’s left of you after you die. And when other people twist and mangle it…” He lets out a sigh. “We owe it to the dead to tell their stories right. But we shouldn’t even be telling the stories of people that haven’t died yet. Not without their permission. You tell someone’s story before they’re dead, and it has the power to define who they’ll be for the rest of their life. It builds a cage around them.”

“The news does that all the time, though.” I point out.

“And you see what that does to people.” he replies. Readily, easily. “The media corporations catch wind of something that’ll spike the ratings, and they come running like vultures to a fresh kill. People become defined by a single moment in their life, a single moment that lacks context and can’t represent them fully, and yet they have to live with that burden all the same. Sometimes it’s to their benefit. But other people, it destroys them. It destroys reputations. It destroys their sense of self. It destroys lives.” He goes quiet, then continues after few seconds. “At that point you’re not the one telling your story. You’re trying to escape the story that’s been written for you.”

My thumbs slow down as that sinks in. Even though I’ve never been through what he’s been through, I can feel echoes of that truth rippling through me well after the words have left his mouth. It speaks to something that transcends an individual experience.

“I suppose we’re all trying to escape the stories that have been written for us.” I say as the last of the cooling sensation fades from my thumbs. Letting my hands slide from the sides of his face, I touch a thumb to his lips. “I’m sorry about what I did when I tricked you into giving that candid admission for the press release. I get why it bothered you so much now.”

He opens his eyes at that, looking at me. “Thanks. I didn’t think you’d ever apologize for that.”

I shrug. “It’s easier to apologize when I know what I did wrong.”

He smiles a little at that. “Are you going to apologize for trying to break into my mind earlier today?” he asks, sitting up a little more.

I narrow my eyes at him. “How’d you know? You were asleep when I tried to do that.”

“I had a nightmare last night about the time I nearly died in my empathic integration pod.” he says, turning on the ledge to face back out to the sea. “That memory is a conditioned response. It’s part of a group of memories that only surface when someone’s trying to break into my mind while I’m not conscious.”

“Yeah, hell of a memory.” I say, turning just the same as he’s done. “Damn near killed me. What even was going on in that memory? Everything was… orange, and underwater, and it was just weird and confusing.”

“It’s from one of my stints as an empath pilot for the Challenger mech squad.” he explains, lacing his fingers together. “It was a mission that went south. Someone detonated a warhead practically on top of us; shrapnel penetrated the pilot chamber and killed the manual control pilot. I survived because I had an extra layer of protection; empathic integration pods are filled with what’s called impact gel. It’s thick, and reduces the amount of jostling we receive if the mech gets knocked around. But it requires an air supply, obviously, and… well, I’m sure you know what happened.”

“Yeah, what happened is it gave me a case of aquaphobia.” I say. “I’ve never seen a mind guarded like yours. Usually minds are hardened against exterior assault; you have to trick in into letting you in, or find a weakness or a distraction, and pry it open. But your mind — I was able to walk right in.”

“Challengers are trained to guard their minds differently.” he answers. “With us, it’s not getting into our mind that’s the problem. It’s getting back out once you’re in.”

“Huh.” I say, leaning back on my hands. “That’s interesting. So when someone tries to get in your head, you let them in.”

“It’s impossible to keep someone out of your mind if they really want to get in. There are psions that are trained specifically for the purpose of breaking into resistant minds and extracting information from them.” he explains, tapping his thumbs together. “But once someone’s in your mind, they are at your mercy, if you know how to take advantage of it. You can do terrible, terrible things to a person trapped in your mind. In the program, we knew there were people that would try to capture Challengers and extract information from them. So Challengers were trained in such a way that would allow them to take hostages if someone tried to enter their mind uninvited. The training varied; some of it was simply defensive in nature, like building a maze of memories around an invader, but some of it was…” He pauses at this point, as if unsure whether he should go on. “…the higher levels of training involved learning how to torture an invader in your mind, how to break them. There were some really advanced courses that taught you how to track back their connection and assume control of their body after imprisoning them in your mind.”

I stare at him. “…and you know how to do those things?”

His lips press together, and his gaze doesn’t meet mine. “Some of the more… advanced techniques were required training for Challengers that had earned their codename.”

“Right. Guess that makes sense.” I say, pulling one of my legs up on the ledge and hooking an arm around my knee. “It’s the same way with Mask Knights, there’s certain kinds of training we’re required to undergo.” After a moment of awkward silence, I ask, “You wouldn’t use those techniques on me, would you?”

“What? No!” he says quickly, looking at me. “Not unless you were, like… trying to hurt me or trying to extract something you could use to hurt other people.” He fidgets with his fingers before adding, “But it’d be nice if, y’know. You asked before trying to get into my head.”

I squirm a little. “I mean, it’s not as fun that way…”

“Maybe not, but it’s probably safer for you.” he says. “And it’s really rude to just barge into somebody’s head without asking.”

“Look, you’ve already gotten one apology tonight. Don’t push it.” I say, looking away, then up at the statue that we’re sitting at the foot of. “Who’s this supposed to be?”

He only looks over his shoulder halfway before returning to staring out at the ocean. “That’s Ratchet. You didn’t recognize her?”

“Oh.” I say, giving the statue another look. “She looks different in the anime.”

“Yeah… a lot of Challengers do.”

I drum my fingers on my knee, trying to find ways to break up the awkward pauses in the conversation. “I heard you’re training her kid.”

“Yeah. That’s Renchiko.”

“She seems pretty sharp.” I remark. 

“She is. She’s a smart kid.” He glances at me. “Don’t feel like you have to make conversation with me, Kiwi. I know I’m not easy to talk to. I’m bad at socializing outside of work-related stuff.”

I smile. “Yeah. Yeah, you are.”

“I was the kid that sat in the corner of the room or on the edge of the group and just listened.” he says, looking away again. “I know how to step up and lead, how to teach, how to give orders. I learned to do that out of necessity after I joined the program. But I could never get that to translate over into small talk and socializing. I don’t know why. It’s just… never come easy to me.”

“You only talk when you have something to talk about.” I suggest. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” I lean back against the leg of the statue, staring out across the dark sea. “We don’t get to spend as much time together as we should. I was looking forward to that sparring session we had set up before everything went to shit.”

“Why is it that you want to spend time around me?” he asks with another glance. “It’s… strange to me.”

I snort at that. “I like you. Are you really that dense?”

“Do you really like me?” he asks. “Or do you like the fact that you can tangle with me without killing me?”

I take a moment to think about that. “That is part of it.” I admit. I rub my thumb and forefinger together as I continue to mull it over. “But I also like… you. You’re different than I thought you’d be. You’re not a coldblooded killer. Honestly, you’re just a big softie. It reminds me of my brown-eyed boy.”

“Your brown-eyed boy?” he asks, his brows coming together.

“Yeah. Someone I had a crush on when I was a kid. He was quiet, but kind. You remind me of him.” I explain. “That’s probably why I like you. You remind me of him. You’re kind, and you’re patient… all the things I’m not.”

“Yeah, you’re a little…”

“Little bit of a bitch sometimes, I know.”

He smiles a bit at that, tapping his fingers together. “You are, but… I like being around you. I’m not entirely sure why. You’re full of life, though. You take risks, you don’t let other people’s opinions hold you down…” He pauses, studying his hands. “…all the things I’m not.”

“There you have it, then.” I say, motioning with my free hand. “We both wish we could be like each other.”

“And that’s why we’re drawn to each other.” he concludes.

I look at him, he looks at me, but neither of us move, and eventually we go back to looking out at the dark sea. We don’t try to shuffle close to each other like a couple of awkward teenagers. No, we sit there like adults that are afraid to touch something that seems like it’s too good to be true.

“I’ve never been in a relationship before.” Songbird says eventually. “I wouldn’t even know how…”

I let my eyes flit in his direction without fully looking at him. “I’ve been in too many. I could teach you.”

“And where would it go from there?” he asks. “Once the Masklings have their Cradle back, what happens? Do you get reassigned elsewhere? You’re a servant of your nation. I’m a wandering outlaw. What happens when our paths go different ways?”

Listening to him, I can feel something rising up inside me; it’s not anger, it’s almost frustration, but not quite, it’s… rebelliousness. Defiance. At these questions, all these doubting what-ifs. The sort of questions I’ve heard time and again from others trying to force me away from a course of action they think I shouldn’t take. And I’ve only ever reacted to those kinds of questions one way.

By doing exactly what they don’t want me to do.

“I mean, it’s possible that the Masklings will continue to partner with the Valiant Project after they’ve got their Cradle back.” Songbird goes on. “But if they don’t—”

I scoot over, not bothering to let him finish his sentence. Leaning in, my nose brushing against his, I pause only for a couple of seconds to give him a chance to back away if he wants. And though his eyes say he’s startled, he doesn’t back away — so I close the rest of the distance, stealing a kiss from lips slightly parted in surprise. And then I steal another, and let this one linger, long enough to feel him relax.

“It doesn’t matter.” I murmur as I break from that kiss without pulling away. “You worry that things won’t go the way you want them, so you never take the risk. And it keeps you from enjoying anything.”

He opens his eyes, and I can see the guilt in them. “I have to think of the future—” he starts to reply.

“You don’t live in the future. You live here. Now. In the present.” I say, bumping my nose against his. “That’s where the future gets built. Here, and now. Maybe things won’t go the way we want them to. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t enjoy them while we have them.”

He sighs, his gaze flicking away again. “But it hurts when we lose those things.”

“That’s part of the risk.” I reply. “You think I don’t know that? I’m doing this knowing it might not turn out well. But I’m taking the risk because it’s worth it if I get to be happy, even if it’s not going to last.”

His ruby eyes come back to me, and in that second before he kisses me back, I know that I’ve convinced him. But it’s still thrilling, the soft touch of his lips, the sensation of being so near to him—

“Hey Songbird, we’ve been looking for you— ohhh.”

My eyes snap open, and Songbird just about spins on the spot as the voice manifests off to our right. Standing at the corner of the statue’s pedestal is Renchiko, staring at both of us with wide eyes.

“Renchiko! When— I didn’t hear you approaching—” Songbird sputters.

“Uh, well, uh, I, I—” Renchiko stutters.

I sigh and fold my arms on Songbird’s shoulders, resting my chin on them as I give Renchiko a weary look. “I’m gonna murder you.”

Renchiko’s eyes get wider. “Uh, uh, sorry—”

“Kiwi, it’s not her fault.” Songbird says, glancing over his shoulder.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I would like to be able to sneak a couple kisses without getting interrupted!” I say defensively.

“Uh, hold on, why are you sneaking kisses underneath my mom’s statue?!” Renchiko demands. “Could you not have, like, done it literally anywhere else?”

“Ahh… right.” Songbird groans. “She’s got a point.”

I roll my eyes, letting off another blustery sigh. “Fine. Sorry about sneaking kisses underneath your mom’s statue. It just kind of… happened.”

“We’ll, uh. Leave, if you need us to.” Songbird says, starting to stand up.

“No, it’s just…” Renchiko holds out what looks like Songbird’s pocket flask. “Drill asked me to find you and give this back to you. He say he’s sorry for what you’ve been through in the last fifteen years. Said he filled it up with your usual cherry passion mix.”

Songbird takes the flask while I stand up behind him. “Surprised he remembers.” he mutters, giving it a shake before tucking it back into his longcoat. “Sorry again about the—”

“No, it’s fine, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Renchiko says, taking a couple steps back. “You guys can come back whenever you’re ready, Drill wanted to sit down and get up to speed on the Valiant Project now that all of his conference guests are gone. So, y’know, just whenever you guys are ready to come back. Just… no more making out underneath my mom’s statue.” She gives a little shoulder shiver as she turns and starts walking back through the statue garden. “It’s weird.”

With that she sets off in a hurry, leaving the two of us to watch her go. It’s only when she’s out of earshot that Songbird blows out a long sigh, hitching his hands on his hips. “Well, that was embarrassing.”

“Tell me about it.” I mutter. “Feel like a teenager that got busted making out behind the school.”

“Oh, is that what this feels like?” Songbird asks. “I’ve never been in that kind of trouble before.”

I can’t help but smirk at that. “You really didn’t get out much as a teenager, did you?”

He snorts. “Let me tell you something about growing as an Anayan…”

“No way, you’re Anayan?” I scoff, sizing him up. 

“Sorta. Since I turned vampire they’d probably excommunicate me if I had the nerve to set foot in one of the churches, so I just… haven’t.” he says, rubbing his brow. “Plus I don’t really agree with the orthodoxy on… a lot of stuff and it’s just… complicated. Long conversation.”

“Religion usually is.” I say. “We can always talk about it later. I’m interested. I thought Anayans hated Masklings.”

“The hardliners do.” Songbird says. “Which is another reason I don’t get along with Prophet anymore.”

“Mm. Well, I guess this makes you a bad boy, then.” I tease, giving him a playful push. “Kissing chimaeric abominations, what would the church elders say about such deviancy?”

“Eh, probably something about the heresy of interspecies mingling and the like.” he shrugs. “All the classics. I’m pretty sure you’ve heard them before.”

“Mmmm. Yeah.” I say, reaching up to snag the rim of his coat’s hood, and pull him closer. “Well, here’s a little more…” I sneak a quick kiss. “…a little more heresy…” And then another, longer one, mumbling past his lips. “…just for you.”

As before, he’s tense, but quickly relaxes. The kiss we’re sharing is a yearning one, and I don’t ever want it to end, but I know I should before a certain someone comes back and finds us kissing under her mother’s statue again. So I pull away, resting a hand on his chest and keeping it there for as long as I can as I step away.

“I want to do this again. Sometime.” I say. “Whenever we’re not busy and we get a moment to ourselves.”

“Don’t know how many of those we’ll have once we leave here.” he says. “Can we take it slow? I… want to enjoy this. I want to actually get to know you.”

That’s gotta be one of the oddest requests I’ve ever gotten. Up until now, my handlers have only ever wanted to take it fast, to try and catch up to me. And I never told them no, because they could never survive me for more than than a few missions. There’d never been a reason not to take it fast. But with a handler that could actually survive me…

“Yeah.” I smile at him. “We can take it slow.”

I don’t wait for him to respond, turning and walking around the statue. As I make my way back towards the mansion, wandering through the long shadows cast by the other statues in the garden, I tuck one hand in my pocket, the other touching to my lips. The faint and lingering taste of cherry and lemon.

We’re all trying to escape the stories that have been written for us.

Maybe this was my chance to escape the story that Forecast and the Council had written for me.