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The ship was cold. Starships always seemed to be too hot or too cold. Not that Karst had a lot of experience with them; this was only the third flight in her life, after all. She surreptitiously opened the gun case, and placed her chilly hands on the Roses inside. They warmed under her touch, the conduits inside channeling elemental fire. Good thing her power involved heat - water would have been really irritating about now. Or - dirt? How did that work? How did any of this work? Karst didn’t know. She had spent the flight reading an incredibly dry textbook written by a Prophetian professor who really liked big words. And run-on sentences. The editor apparently had been asleep on the job. Ignoring that, it was one of a very few printed sources she had been able to find about the Elravian Empire. That wasn’t entirely surprising; the Empire had been dead for almost twenty-thousand years, and it hadn’t left a particularly good mark on the galaxy. The Royal Family’s brutality in subjugating other species had left them vulnerable, swiftly - and purposefully - forgotten upon their fall. 

The book hadn’t painted a flattering picture, but it had some useful information about the Elravians’ powers. There was a genetic component to the whole thing, an Elravian gene that determined what element the user could channel. How that worked… that nobody seemed to know. “Magic” seemed to be the common answer, which - yeah. Not helpful.

There was one clue: the conduits that were inserted into some Elravian weapons and equipment were crafted from a unique material from a still-unidentified source. It had to be from Elravia, the home world, but where that was… nobody knew. The name had been changed and lost, one of a trillion planets in the galaxy. Someone walked by. She snapped the case shut. She wasn’t supposed to have weapons onboard, and she didn’t really want to pay out another bribe if they were discovered. Besides, the Roses would attract more attention than your usual pistols. The ‘wanted’ bulletin back on Prest wasn’t helping things any. The PCA’s hadn’t taken too kindly to her obliterating a Sentinel drone, and they had uploaded a pic of her and the Roses - pulled from the Sentinel’s visual feed, she could only assume. A bulletin like that didn’t carry much weight this far away from a nothing world like Prest, but no sense tempting fate. She gathered up the case and her data pad, and climbed out of her berth in the communal bunk room. Time to warm up. 

***

Karst had spent the long journey to Tyrezst on another new hobby: self-defense training. The fight with the Sentinel had left her shook. She had always assumed she could handle herself; growing up in the camps, running contraband for the gangs out in town - she had been in scrapes, handled a gun, gotten in and out of trouble. But those experienced turned out to be nothing compared to a real life-or-death fight. The cracked ribs that were still healing certainly served as a reminder. It turned out, there were a lot of self-defense tutorials on the nets. Plenty of demand in a galaxy as dangerous as this one, and getting worse all the time. The freighter had plenty of empty areas, away from the other less-savory passengers, tucked away in random cargo holds. She had been lucky to find this ship - usually a vessel this big rode the rails between gates, but with the big hub at S’dor still blocked, this one was making the long journey under its own power. Martial arts was more complicated than she had expected. She had thought she was in good shape before, but the first few days of training quickly refuted that. And that was just the physical strain; picking a style of combat was bewildering. There were styles for armed versus unarmed fighting, for minimizing or maximizing damage, quick and brutal versus graceful and elegant; too many to even fully parse. After a couple false starts, Karst had settled on a form called ‘Ja’En-go,’ which was focused on combat with a knife. It made sense to her: the blades under the Roses certainly weren’t decorative, and the thorn on the hilt could do some damage. They were clearly made for more than just shooting. Not that it had been easy even to get started. She couldn’t exactly wander around with the ship with her guns out for everybody to see - not to mention how dangerous they would be to practice with on a moving starship. So, she’d improvised. Some pipes pilfered from a storage area made good stand-ins for the pistols; she considered the time spent bending them into shape part of her workout. A crew member that took a shine to her was able to gather up a few sticks of marking calx, the kind used to write on containers. Rubbing it on the parts of her mock-ups that were blade edges left a colorful dust, which stuck to whatever to struck. Perfect for letting her know where she’d hit. The first few days, she mostly hit herself. It turned out that guns with knife bits on them were dangerous to the user if you weren’t particularly skilled. But practice makes perfect, and she had grown better over the days of travel. More calx was ending up on her targets than herself. Mostly. She usually practiced for a few hours, hit the mess hall towards the end of service, practiced more, snuck a bite at dinner, then read in her bunk until she passed out. Today was no different. She slashed at the padded target she had affixed to a bulkhead, hitting it again and again. She had gotten really good at stabbing an unmoving target that didn’t fight back. Whether that would help in a real fight… “What did that girder ever do to you?” Karst fumbled, her practice weapons clanging on the deck. This was not a particularly flattering display of her training. The woman casually leaning against the doorway was about her own age, maybe a little older. Dressed in a pair of coveralls, she looked like she could be a part of the crew. “Sorry,” Karst muttered, gathering up her things. “I know I’m not supposed to be in here.” “Oh, I don’t care,” the woman replied, crossing the threshold into the room. “Sometimes I want to spend the day wailing on the walls with a pipe.” Karst blushed. “Uh, yeah. I’m trying to learn some self-defense courses, but there’s not many places to train aboard the ship -“ “No biggie. I’m a passenger, I’m not gonna’ rat you out.” She took one of the trainers from Karst, and swiped at the air with it. “Huh, what are these supposed to be? Sickles?” Karst shrugged. “I wanted to learn some armed techniques, and this seemed like a safer way than -“ “Wildly swinging a dagger around?” She thrust it forward. “Yeah, a lot safer. Especially with a stance as poor as yours.” “Hey! I’m a beginner,” Karst protested. “And I’m training with a bulkhead. It’s not the best conditions.” The woman handed one of the pipes to her. “Then spar with me. I’ll give you some pointers.” “Oh.” Was this a good idea? The woman hadn’t knocked her unconscious and stolen her stuff yet, but was that a risk worth taking? “Oh? Well, if you’re not interested -“ “No, no! Very interested! Just, unexpected, that’s all. Didn’t expect to meet someone who knew how to knife fight, that’s all.” The woman chuckled. “Oh honey, I’m a rig worker: we all know how to knife fight. Now,” she said, taking a defensive stance, “let’s do this.” Karst gripped the mock pistol. “Before we start: my name’s Karst.” “Valoria,” the woman answered. “Nice to meet you, Karst. Now, try and stab me.” 

***

Val had spent the entire day with her, and proved to be a solid teacher. She clearly had skills, and as evening rolled around, Karst had picked up a few of those. At the very least, she knew where to keep her feet. “Okay, now: lean in, but do not pivot that leading foot. You gotta’ make me think your blade is going the other way if you want to get past.” Karst thrust, but Val easily knocked it away. “No, your eyes, they gave away the direction you intended to go. Focus on me face, and use your peripheral vision. Again!” She slashed forward, but wildly, the change in weight-distribution throwing her off balance. This was all sort of unnatural. Apparently the aptitude for combat hadn’t been passed down from her ancestors. “Okay, once more. Seriously, you’ve got to -“ Karst stabbed, knocking Val’s defending hand away and hitting her square in the chest. A puff of marking powder showed the spot where she had struck. Val grinned. “That was a sucker move, but it works. And your form was solid. Nice job newbie.” Karst huffed. Fighting was exhausting. “Thanks. Thanks for showing me.” “No worries, nice to have something to do on this flight. I was going berserk.” Val brushed off the powder, and offered the training weapon back to Karst. “So, same time tomorrow?” “You want to come back? Again?” Val shrugged. “Yeah, why not? I could use the practice, and you definitely need it.” Karst laughed. “Well, yeah, that would be great. Thanks.” “Great.” She turned to leave. “Oh, and newbie? Check out your clothes - no marks. You’re getting better.” It was Karst’s turn to smile. Maybe she could get the hang of this yet. 

***

The textbook continued to be dull but insightful. The Empire’s armies were a potent force, their powers acting as a force-multiplier: imagine individual troops, not only skilled with swords and rifles, but able conjure tidal waves, or split the ground apart. Or shoot balls of fire as hot as suns. Not every soldier’s power and conduit acted exactly the same, but the form factor of the weapon did have an influence on how it manifested. If Karst picked up a fire-attuned sword, for example, the blade might become white-hot. Or be engulfed in flame. Hard to say, but it would likely be focused around the blade itself. That’s just how it worked. There were four common Elravian elements: earth, water, air, and fire. It was seemingly luck of the draw what your power might be, although there were tendencies towards one or the other that ran in families. Obviously not always, or one of her ancestors would have been able to activate the Roses. Luck of the draw indeed. There was an oddball mentioned, though: the most deadly soldier at the Empire’s disposal was a Royal Guard, Arial Vaharic. She was exceptionally skilled, leaving a gruesome path of destruction behind her. The Empire tasked her with leading their forces in galactic conquest, and she brought hundreds of worlds to their knees. No one dared attack the Royals themselves, for fear that Arial would come calling. What was so strange, and so effective, was that her elemental power wasn’t one of the four. She could call upon what they referred to as “ether,” a person’s life force, for lack of a better word. Her rifle was capable of sucking the energy out of a living being, and transferring it into Arial. If the stories were to be believed, she had killed so many people that she managed to survive for seventy centuries. Even weirder, after seven-thousand years of terror, she disappeared. The Royal Family was murdered shortly after, the Empire declined, fell to ruins, and vanished from the collective consciousness of the galaxy. Which, somehow, led to here. To Karst. Maybe she’d understand more on Tyrezst. 

***

Karst and Val spent the next week training. It was punishing, a brutal regimen that pushed her physically well beyond anything she had ever experienced. But she was getting better. Their drills grew faster, more frenetic. There was less rote repetition and more improv, less a coordinated dance than an actual battle. Val asked questions, and Karst did her best to dodge them. “Where you from?” Thrust. Side step. “Backwater planet.” Swing. “Why you by yourself?” “Orphan.” Parry. “What are you looking for on Tyrezst?” Probe. Block. “Family history.” For her part, Val was evasive as well. She was a rig worker by trade, doing tooling maintenance on deep-pressure dark matter fields. She had gotten orders to make a transfer halfway across the galaxy, and thus ended up aboard this ship. But that was all she gave up. For now, though, it was nice to have the company. And the training was top notch. 

***

Tyrezst was an old world, way out in a spiral arm, far from anything strategic. That had made it valuable for an entirely different reason than most planets: almost nobody had bothered it. While the Vault was the most famous repository in the galaxy, owing mostly to its reputation of storing dangerous artifacts, and Rivendi being the academic hub for most civilizations, Tyrezst was just a little different. Books and articles and data came here, and were studied over, but then largely left alone. Nothing in the collection was considered revelatory or inflammatory - nothing that was likely to tip the balance of power for anyone. So no armies stomped over it, no battles raged for its control. It just, kind of… was. Which was exceedingly useful if you were trying to gather information about a long-lost empire that no one cared about anymore. According to his data pad, Karst’s grandfather had come to Tyrezst during leave over the war years. His notes were cryptic at best: there was the photo from the data pad, annotated with the words, “TYREZST. HOME.” But Tyrezst definitely wasn’t Elravia, her grandfather would have known otherwise. And the photo was confusing - at first she had thought it contained a star map, but on closer inspection it looked more like a graph than anything. It must mean something else. His journal had more information, although not by much. He had been focused on finding info about Soren and the Roses, not Elravia in general, and his notes reflected that. “… the Scylla vine was carnivorous. Vine = Slasher Plant?” The Scylla was the source of the “tooth” on the hilt, but it wasn’t the same as a Slasher - she had looked it up, and it was much too small. “… Soren had heirs, but not mentioned in contemporary sources.” Interesting, for sure, but not particularly helpful. She was a Sorensen - literally a "Son of Soren." Of course he had heirs. She wanted to know what the 'contemporary sources' were. If records had survived from that late in the Empire's existence, maybe they could give her some clues. “… seen on Tyrezst. Alive?” That one was tantalizing. There weren’t enough clues to determine a ‘who,’ but someone important had been there within the last half-century. It was a better lead than chasing twenty-thousand year old rumors. 

***

“You ever hear of Elravians before?” They had gone to the mess hall, at their usual unusual off-peak time. The cook had initially been annoyed, but Karst - and later, Val - had been willing to scarf down whatever leftovers he had in the galley. Now he looked forward to getting the old stuff out of the cooler. Today it was… protein gruel? It smelled okay. It looked like paste. Val picked at it in disgust. “The perils of galactic cuisine.” She shoved a spoonful in her mouth, and swallowed. “Yum. What I wouldn’t give for a cold Fizz about now.” “It… is not great,” Karst said between chews. “I think I preferred the slop from yesterday.” “That had some texture, at least. What were you asking about? Elvarians?” “El-RAV-ians,” Karst corrected. “Guess that answers that.” “No, I’m not much for pronunciation. It sounds familiar, now that you say it.” Karst wasn’t sure how much to share. But there was no one else to talk to about this. “I’ve been into old stuff.” “You’re into old stuff,” Val ribbed her, giving her a wink. Karst blushed. “No! Not like that. Like, reading. History.” “Ugh, boring.” She shoveled another spoonful in. “The future is where it’s at.” “Hard to know where you want to go if you don’t know where you’ve been,” Karst countered. “And, uh, Elravia; where you’ve been? Or where you want to go?” Karst thought a moment. “Neither,” she lied. Maybe. She wasn’t so sure herself. “But it sounds like it was an interesting place.” “We talking like ‘cool new place,’ like a club? Or ‘cool old place,’ like lots of doilies. ‘Cause only one of those is cool to 99% of the population.” “Cool, as in… I don’t know. There are stories about people with powers. Abilities. Strange equipment. Weird creatures. Kings and queens and —“ “Sounds like a fairytale. Very not cool.” “Maybe.” She picked at her porridge. “Unless… you’re saying it’s real?” There was something about the question, the tone of it. It was odd, not like she was trying to humor her. “You’re probably right. Old folk tales.” She pushed her tray back. “Silly.” “Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Besides...” She leaned in, casting a conspiratorial gaze at the kitchen and keeping her voice low. “Sometimes the truth is weirder than the fiction.” She didn’t know the half of it. 

***

The book was a little all-over the place. It skipped around Elravian history, events not always in order. Fragments, really, which she supposed made some sense. After all, the Emprie had been hastily swept aside by a galaxy eager to forget about it. There was a chapter on Elravian flora - weirdly no mention of the Scylla vine grandfather had mentioned. Another on the fauna, particularly a menagerie the royal family was rumored to have kept. The author really liked something called a ‘Corpsereaver.’ Went on and on about how it was a giant snake that burrowed through the ground and ate dead bodies. It was neat, but did it deserve a whole section to itself? There was a map of the Empire at its height, and that was impressive. It’s sometimes hard to fathom how big a galaxy really is; their own had hundreds of billions of stars, trillions of planets… for most people, they would never see beyond their own system. Until she had ran, Karst had never been out of orbit of Prest. The Elravains, ancient and forgotten, had conquered nearly a quarter of it. It did leave Karst with a question she couldn’t shake: if an empire so vast, a people so powerful, could be almost entirely erased from history, what even older secrets had been lost to time? And how, in a universe so dysfunctional, could anyone now hope to ever do something that mattered? 

***

“Ow! Dammit!” Karst stumbled and fell, collapsing to the deck as she clutched her ankle. “Geez, are you alright?” Stupid, stupid, stupid. Trying to get all fancy with the footwork, and instead spraining an ankle. Just perfect. “Ow.” “Seriously, are you okay?” Karst grit her teeth, and took the arm Val offered. She stood. Sort of. “Ow! Dammit!” “Yeah, got that. Can you put weight on it?” She put the foot down. Moving it hurt, but it didn’t give out from under her immediately. “Yeah. It’s not broken. Might have - err! - might have sprained it.” “Even if you didn’t, we gotta’ get some ice on that.” Val linked arms, and leaned in a little. “Let’s get you up top and get your leg elevated.” It was an arduous walk, three decks up and just as far across. Normally Karst enjoyed the stroll. Normally. “I don’t think it’s sprained. Sure does hurt, though.” Karst hobbled across the galley floor, before melting into the nearest chair. Val went to plead their case to the cook. Stupid. She thought she had been improving, but instead she’d screwed up her leg. She might have the Elravian elemental gene, but the warrior DNA must have missed her generation. Stupid. Val returned clutching a frozen bag. “Uh, so, he didn’t have ice. But he did have frozen bandulu berries. So…” “Good enough. Did you ask him why he doesn’t serve those instead of… whatever we normally eat?” “No, although it crossed my mind.” Karst chuckled, and winced. Valoria pulled up a chair beside her. “Look, I’m sorry about the other day.” “What, the beating me in a fake knife fight?” Karst forced a laugh. “At this rate, I’ll just trip over my own feet and KO myself.” “No, no. As entertaining as watching you flail is, I meant about the history thing. Your ‘old stuff.’” “It’s… it’s fine. Really.” “No, it isn’t. I was dismissive and rude about something you clearly wanted to talk about.” “I just… it’s only been a couple months since my grandfather… he was the last family I had. I didn’t see him enough, towards the end. Wrapped up in my own things. He told me stories about the past sometimes.” “You… want to talk about it? What was it, ‘Elravian?’” “You’re the first person I’ve heard say it right. Yeah, Elravian. Elravians. From the planet ‘Elravia.’ Seems like all I think about these days is anything having to do with them.” “What is it to you? Family connection? Your grandfather leave you something?” “I… I guess it’s part of the family tree. Way back. I knew I was Kraeth-mixed, but I always assumed it was the normal hodgepodge of stuff. Not… ancient empires and space magicians.” “Are you sure he was right, your grandfather? Sounds like it was a long time ago.” “It was. And he was. We… found some proof.” “Like old records, or…?” “Like, an artifact. Something that only an Elravian would have.” “I mean, how can you be so sure? I’ve got Solean coveralls, but I’m sure not Solean.” “Well. It was an artifact that only an Elravian could use.” “Only an Elravian could use? Did you see your grandfather use it?” “No, but… I saw it used. I know it worked.” “Did you use it?” “I… yeah. I made it work.” “But, like you said, you’re mostly Kraeth.” “Sure, but I guess the genes were still there. I — I don’t really understand it all. That’s why I’m headed to Tyrezst. There’s some libraries there.” “Oh, great, more books.” “I got a hint that maybe there’s info there. Stuff that you wouldn’t find normally on the net.” “Hmm. So you’re traveling across the galaxy, to try and find a dusty old book, so you can learn more about your secret powers?” “When you put it that way…” “Nah, it’s cool. It is! Everybody should have some secret powers.” “Trust me, it’s less cool than you think it is.” “I don’t know about that. You, uh, you still have this artifact?” The cook called out from behind the serving line. “Hey! You should try walkin’ around, eh?” “What?” “You should walk it off! Help loosen the ankle up.” “Does that actually work?” “Sure it does!” Karst started to stand, pushing the chair back with her one good leg. “Maybe I will give that a try.” Val put a hand on Karst’s shoulder, giving her a gentle but firm press down. “Oh, no, don’t get up. Give it a rest for a little while more.” Karst shrugged her off, and stood. “No, I want to get back to my bunk. It’s been a long day already.” “Let me walk you back.” “No, no, it’s fine. Can you do me a favor and give these back to the cook?” She passed over the bag of frozen berries. Val looked crestfallen. “I… yeah, sure.” “Thanks. I really do appreciate it.” “Yeah. What are friends for?” 

***

The thing that bugged her most was the missing planet. How had such an important world just disappeared off the map? Literally: even the map of the Empire didn’t show Elravia. It had a vague section of space highlighted; when Karst had looked it up, that area had over a hundred-thousand star systems within it. It was comically vast. How do you just make the capital planet of a civilization that vast just… vanish? There had been no love lost on the Elravians. Their penchant for war, their domineering nature - it had all come back to bite them in the end. The worlds they had subjugated must have fallen all over themselves in a scramble to bury the Empire’s past, they hated it so. Unlike other warrior societies, the Elravian Empire hadn’t earned itself many fans. Other dead empires had adoring legions who dressed as historical figures, who wrote songs and stories, who meticulously researched and celebrated their past exploits. Not so much with Elravia. Outside of academic circles, it might as well have never existed. If Tyrezst wasn’t able to provide the answers she sought, there were limited options available. The Vault was supposed to be incredibly old, but you couldn’t exactly wander in and look around. There were, according to legend, Automata roaming about that were of the right age. But Karst had never even met an Automata, let alone knew an ancient one. There was the university on Rivendi, but that was a major Concordance world. Too many cops. Everywhere else she could think of was too new, too treacherous, or Union territory - which she really didn’t want to deal with. Karst had kept her ankle propped up, and it had helped. The whole thing was swollen, but she could stand and walk okay. She wouldn’t be training again soon, probably not for the remainder of the trip, but at least she could get around by herself. Which was good, because she was definitely by herself. She’d heard nothing from Val in the days since the injury. Their conversation had taken an odd turn, which Karst couldn’t quite put her finger on. Maybe she’d offended Val somehow, or she was embarrassed about the ankle. In any case, she was alone. Again. 

***

The flight was slow. Not that she really had any experience with space journeys, but it was taking forever. They were close, tantalizingly close, which made these last days of the trip feel even longer. Getting around the galaxy wasn’t easy. The fastest method - barring wormholes and unstable portals - involved having your own FTL drive, of which there were several kinds. They all utilized dark energy as their power source, though, and the more massive the ship, the more energy it required to move. Big battle carriers needed huge amounts of the stuff to quickly move between systems. Freighters, like the one she was on, couldn’t afford to use that much fuel; most of them relied on drag terminal gates - streams of dark matter that pulled their huge bulks along from one destination to another. Those used set routes and specific hubs, carefully managed traffic moving billions of kilos of cargo and people. Taking a freighter off the rails meant having to move drastically slower, more efficiently, or risk burning through a tremendous amount of fuel. A smaller ship would have been faster, but also more expensive. She couldn’t afford the price, nor the questions she feared would come with being cooped up with a tiny crew. Still, it was getting old. Karst stowed her gear in her bunk’s footlocker, carefully placing the gun case under her data pad, clothes, and go bag. She rolled the security door down, the lock clicking into place. Might as well get out a bit. She stretched her leg. The swelling had gone down, and she could walk on it without a noticeable limp. It hurt if she specifically pressed down hard; as her father would have said, ‘Don’t do that, then.’ She wouldn’t run a marathon any time soon, but at least she could walk. There were large sections of the vessel that were off-limits to the passengers: crew facilities, navigation, engineering, the internal cargo storage areas. Still, there was plenty of twisting corridors to walk, nooks and crannies to poke her head into. It’s how she had found her practice space, some disused void tucked away amidst the ship’s equipment. As she walked, she thought. What did she hope to accomplish, looking for Elravia? Learning more about her powers opened her up to discovery - either by those hunting her down for the damage she’d inflicted on Prest, or others who might want to exploit those abilities. It would be so much easier on her if she tossed the Roses out an airlock, found an empty corner of the galaxy, and started over. But it was hard to shake the feeling, the feeling she got when she held the guns. There was more to it than just ‘channeling an element’; something happened when the conduit activated, a perception shift, a flood of memories. What that actually meant, she couldn’t say. Not yet. Karst stepped into the space she had adopted as her training area, and looked about. Quiet. Empty. Her mock-Roses were still tucked behind a pipe in the corner. She spent hours here, practicing for a fight she hoped would never come. At this point, it might as well be her home. It was quiet. Just the gentle rumble of the ship’s systems at work. Almost peaceful. Then why did something seem very, very wrong? She turned and left, making her way back through the twisting corridors of the ship, trying not to break into a run. She needed to get back to her berth; she didn’t know why, just that it needed to happen. Now. Almost no one was below decks this time of day; the crew was busy, the passengers up top staring at stars rushing by. No one wanted to be down here, unless they had business to attend to. She hadn’t seen a soul in hours. She broke into a run. ‘This is foolish,’ she thought, bouncing off a wall when she couldn’t quite make the turn. ‘You’re freaking out about, what?’ Her ankle throbbed. The drone of a mechanical system grew, covering the sound of her footfalls. She picked up the pace. Around the corner, past the stairs between decks. Through a hatch, and around another bend. Past the communal showers, past the trash chute, past the locked maintenance corridors. Around another turn, a final hatch, and -- She skid to a halt as she careened into the hab area, barely remaining upright. It was dim, the lights turned low. She almost tripped over the figure crouched down by her open bunk. Crouched down with the open gun case. Karst froze. In theory, they couldn’t be shot. But they were bladed, and the hilt was sharp like a dagger. She had to move — “Wait!” The figure put out one hand, cradling the case in the crook of their other arm. They backed up, nearly tripping over the contents strewn about the floor. The contents of her footlocker. The figure slowly stood, but Karst already knew. “Valoria… what are you doing?” “I…” she stammered, taking a step back. “I came looking, thought maybe you were in your bunk —“ “My bunk was locked.” “I swear, the roll up came undone as soon as I walked up. I wouldn’t —“ “I know it was locked.” Karst took a step forward, fists clenched. “And I know that case was stowed.” “I — why do you have these? What are they?” “That’s not what we’re talking about. Hand them over.” “Karst, I —“ “Don’t ‘Karst’ me! Hand them over, and get. Out.” “Okay! Okay…” Reluctantly, Val held the case out at arms length. Karst grabbed it, examining the contents. Both pistols were there, unharmed. She clicked the case shut. “You should go.” “Fine. And you should reconsider the path you’re on.” She brushed past, and ran out of the hab. Karst stood in silence a long moment. She placed one hand out on a bulkhead, and breathed. What was that? ‘Maybe I misunderstood. Did I actually lock my bunk? I could have sworn…’ she thought. Had she just screamed her head off at the closest thing she had to a friend? Val said it was unlocked; maybe somebody had been here first. She should go apologize… No, she had gone for the Roses. The were buried underneath everything else, including her stockpile of cash. Karst had spent enough time around thieves and robbers to know that, if they had found those, they would have made off with them immediately. Val hadn’t interrupted someone and found her things in disarray. She’d broken in. Would the camp authorities hire an investigator to come after her? A bounty hunter? If she was a bounty hunter, she was doing a terrible job of capturing her. If Val was a detective of some kind, she’d just blown it. What else could it be? Overly curious? A thief? Not a friend, that was certain. ‘Reconsider the path you’re on.’ That’s what she had said on the way out. That sounded more like a warning. Karst took a long look at the gun case in her hand. A hard look. It would be nothing to find a trash chute, dump the Roses in, and have them jettisoned into a nearby star at their next stop. A quick toss, they disappeared into the void, and she was just normal Karst Sorensen again. No magic, no murderous drones, no ‘friends’ rifling through her stuff. She could set foot on some ho hum world and do… something. Anything. Just not this. She stormed down the hall. There was a hatch there, a waste receptacle, which led to a compactor further down in the ship. She wrenched it open, and peered into the inky darkness below. No more fight training. No more reading rambling history books. No more Elravians, or conduits, or elemental channeling. The bounty would still exist, but she could keep her head down. Get off the ship, get moving, and eventually it would drop off. This nightmare would be over. No more Roses. No more past. “The future is what’s important,” Grandfather had told her once. “Your future.” It wasn’t much of a future if she spent her life being hounded about ancient firearms and magic powers. She set the case on the lip of the chute. Her stomach felt heavy; hurt. The case teetered on the edge, but she couldn’t move her arm those last centimeters, frozen in place. No more past. “The start of something. Not the end.” Grandfather had said that, too. Well, a dream of him had. Still… It felt like the truth. She let the case fall to her side. The hatch slammed shut. For better or worse, the Roses were hers, and the history that went with them. Past… future… she would have to reconcile what those things would mean. Whatever the consequences. And for the first time in a long time, Karst Sorensen slipped to the floor, and cried.

***

 The shuttle ride down to the surface was anticlimactic. The freighter had slowed as it passed the system, a shuttle had docked, some cargo and people were offloaded, and the two vessels had gone their separate ways. She had watched the massive container ship disappear into the dark, FTL engines struggling to propel the massive bulk at any sort of speed. She had watched for Val, but hadn’t spotted her. Not that she had expected to, this wasn’t - allegedly - her destination. But… she was a little sad; there had been what felt like genuine camaraderie at the start which she would miss. It was for the best; the incident with the Roses had left a sour taste, a deep suspicion on Karst's part. Val swore it was an accident, but that seemed incomprehensible. No matter what had really happened, friendships and trust-issues don’t exactly mix well. It was mid-morning in the capital city of Montas Mi-khael as they touched down, a pleasantly sunny sky greeting her. It was much nicer than she had expected, which was a little distressing - she had gotten so used to places being hot, war torn, and run down that she hadn’t realized what a nice place might actually look like. The city was spread out over a vast hillside, covered in old stonework buildings. It was completely different from anywhere else she had been - none of the scrap metal structures of the camps, the rundown brutalist designs of Murgeth Prime, or the austere industry of the freighter. It was like something out of a fairytale. ‘Fairytale.’ Heh. Val could shove it. Karst checked the data pad; there was a reasonably priced hostel a few kilometers away, near several of the grand libraries that dotted the map. Grandfather’s notes had specifically mentioned the ‘Ambrin Quarter,’ which was home to three major repositories. He had focused his search there, and it seemed to be a good place to start. Well, if she could figure out how to get there. The problem with an ancient city way off the beaten path: it’s not conducive to building a good public transportation system. No busses, no shuttles, no trains… it was going to be a long walk. The city was busy, but nowhere near the crowds in Prest or the markets in Murgeth Prime. This was a backwater world, where even the capital had a slower pace of life. She passed grocery stalls, small shops selling household goods, and even a metalsmith, the heat from the forge radiating out onto the street. It was a mishmash of species here; while it wasn’t a major port, Tyrezst was one of the few developed settlements for lightyears in any direction. It was at least enough to have some trade and visitors. It also allowed her to not stand out so much. What started as a pleasant walk quickly grew interminable. The first kilometer disabused her of the notion that she could just hoof it to the hostel. The city streets were on a gentle enough slope, but it would take forever to cross on foot. She was sweating horribly, hobbled by her sore ankle, and generally in a foul mood. Luckily, a solution was at hand. A chime rang as Karst pushed her way into the small shop. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust from the bright sunshine, long enough for her to miss the figure sitting on a stool towards the back. “Hey, hey, welcome to Vela’s House of Bikes! You look like the kind of girl that could use a new bike! We got the latest Andromedas, check ‘em out!” Karst suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “Uh, well, I’ve never used a hover bike before…” This was true - she’d ridden on the back of a stolen one once, and had to bail out at a checkpoint, but she hadn’t driven it. Vela - she assumed - lit up. “No problem, no problem! I’ve got a perfect beginner’s model! Three hover pads, no tipping over!” She considered leaving, but it was a long walk, she already was sore, and the silver case with the Roses inside was massively conspicuous. “Fine, whatever. How much?” “Cash?” “Yeah.” “For you?” Oh brother. “Mmm… how about, say, five-thousand Shanix.” Five-thousand… that was… “No, geez! That’s a fortune!” “Hey, hover bikes ain’t cheap, ‘specially all the way out here. And with the ports all jammed up, you’re lucky I got inventory.” “I literally just got off a freighter. There’s still stuff getting through.” She turned to leave. “Hey, hey, whoa. Let’s not get emotionally divested here! Maybe I can offer you something in a budget model? Say, a used Twirx?” He gestured to what could charitably be described as a ‘beater.’ “There are holes in it.” “Speed holes. They make the bike go faster.” “They’re rust holes! I can see the engine through it!” “Makes it lighter! Good get-up-and-go!” “Does it even run?” “Needs a push start…. Best going down hill. Hover still works!” If she was going to get around at all, she needed some kind of transport. This might have to do. She sighed. “How much?” She asked, dejectedly. “A thousand.” “A thousand? A thousand Shanix?” Her money was not going to go very far if these kinds of expenses kept racking up. “Hey, sorry, but that’s business. You can ask around, but ain’t any other bike dealers in the city. You could take a risk on a Dirtbag, but chances are it’ll roll over, catch fire, and explode - not necessarily in that order.” He slapped the beater. “I’m telling you, best deal you’re gonna’ get.” She hesitated. Her research hadn’t shown a lot of commerce on the planet, even here in the capital. And it would cost even more money to transport the bike later - it wasn’t like she could stay here indefinitely. “Sorry, thanks for the offer. It’s not within my budget.” She turned one more time, trying not to wince at the pain in her ankle. “Now hold on, maybe I got something. It’s a little unconventional, but if you’re really price-focused…” He waved at a back door. She really hoped he wasn’t going to try something - Karst wasn’t prepared to put her newfound skills to the test today. As she ducked through the doorway, she couldn’t help being a little confused at what was in front of her. “Ta da! What do you think?” She thought she would regret this.

***

 She immediately regretted buying the bicycle. The last time she had ridden a bicycle was… ten years before? A charity had been allowed into the camp, and one of the things they gave out was bikes to the kids. Hers had been a lovely shade of green, which immediately faded to a putrid color in the desert sun. She had maintained the thing for a few years, but parts were impossible to get. Her father had sold it for scrap so they could buy food. She was nine. Now, here she was, peddling down the streets on a rickety blue road bike. At least the price had been right. And it had a bell. ‘Ring ring!’ On the plus side, although her legs felt on fire, she was making much better time. And surely this counted towards her training for the day. She might not be able to walk tomorrow, but at least there was something useful coming out of this. By early afternoon she had made it to the hostel's door. You couldn't miss the place: someone had painted it a remarkable rainbow of colors, completely at odds with the muted stone structures surrounding it. It certainly drew attention. ‘Moonglade Arms,’ the neon sign blazed, next to a picture with a smiling (!) Drin flashing a peace sign. Either this place would be great, or it was a trap set by a serial killer. She struggled through the front door, juggling her bag and the bike. It was a tiny little entryway, crowded with fake plants and faded tourist brochures - on real paper! It was quaint. “Hello!” “Ah!” A drone had whirred to life on the other side of the counter, apparently motion activated. It spun its arms, optics suddenly bright. “My apologies. Hello! Welcome to the Moonglade Arms, Montas Mi-khael’s finest budget, entry-level accommodations! Can I interest you in a tour package?” It was a pint-sized drone, not much more than a torso with a sensor dome perched atop a chair. It waved its arms in a pantomime of a living thing. It was a little creepy. Still, better than a Sentinel. “Uh, no tour package, no. Just a room.” “At the Moonglade Arms, there is no such thing as ‘just a room!’ We offer a low-cost, classical experience, with a contemporary flourish!” She looked around at the faux wood paneling and the dingy light fixtures. “Sure. Can I rent a contemporary whatever for three nights?” “Please, be our guest! At the Moonglade Arms, adequate service is just one of our goals! Will you be paying cash, credit, or precious metals?” “Cash. You use Shanix?” “We accept currency in many forms! Concordance Credits, Shanix, Solean bills, Drin social beads, Almorian Grux, Union certs, Pelos, Bogecoin —“ “Okay, okay, I get it. I’ve got a bunch of Pelos no one seems to want. How much?” “Our premium experience offers complimentary dual lights, blankets, and —“ “Something basic. But private.” “Discretion is just one of our core values here at the Moonglade Arms! Basic private room rates are a class-leading forty-seven Pelos per night! Would you also like an anonymous check in, for an additional twenty Pelos?” She sighed. Budget be damned.

***

 Her room was cozy - at least, that's how she tried to sell it to herself. The private room wasn’t much bigger than a closet; enough space to sleep and store her new mode of travel. But it did have a solid door, and she was able to purchase a touch of anonymity under a fake name. The room was thus currently occupied by one “Bort D. Huckleberry.” The single window was large and drafty, but did have a commanding view of the hillside city. And it let in the bright afternoon sun, nowhere near as harsh as the star she had grown up under. She checked her data pad: three of the major libraries were nearby, each with slightly different specialties. She figured she would start in the morning with one focused on antiquities. If anywhere was likely to have information about a dead empire, that seemed like the place. *** It wasn't the place. The entire day had been a bust. It seemed like a promising place to look: "Museum of Antiquities," a collection of old stuff. Perfect. It wasn't. The name hadn't translated well from some ancient language or another. It was a museum. And it did house antiquities. Spread out over almost a square kilometer and a half dozen buildings, the museum campus was enormous. So much so, that she had wandered from building to building trying to get an answer to what was contained within each, vague or confusing answers coming each time. The first building was utterly bewildering, a collection of strange contraptions and devices from an endless series of worlds – with no context as to what any of it was or did. It wasn't until the third gallery building that someone had adequately explained that the entire collection was more of the same. They were indeed antiquities. Erotic antiquities. No wonder nobody had bothered to invade Tyrezst. It was late afternoon by this point. She peddled back to the hostel, silver case tucked on the back of her bicycle. She would have to try again the next day, and hope that the next place was what she was looking for. And not so embarrassing.

***

 She awoke that night in a panic. She had a weird dream, a rambling nightmare, if you could call it that, which seemed to run for hours. The first part found her being thrown out of the hostel, funds exhausted, after finding absolutely zero information about the Elravians. Broke and disconsolate, she had somehow wound up back on the freighter, going who-knows-where. Sitting in her berth, she had checked the silver case, anticipating the warmth of the Roses. Instead, it was empty, a formless black void where the Roses had been. Towering above her was Valoria, taunting her: "Who are you without your precious guns? Without your magic? You're just another street rat, a waste of space.” “A failure." She awoke with a start, groping in the dark for the case. Falling onto the floor, she sat in the light cast by the city. Sliding the case into her lap, she quietly clicked it open; the Roses were nestled within, same as always. She placed a palm over them as she let out a sigh of relief. They warmed under her touch. What would she do without them? Was she anything special without her so-called ‘magic’ pistols? Was she anything special with the Roses? It wasn't a question she could answer tonight. Crawling back into bed, case bedside her, she stared at the ceiling until sleep overpowered her thoughts.

***

 “Um, we don’t do that here.” “You don’t… let people see the collection?” “Generally, no.” The second place she went was the ‘Repository of Astronomical Phenomenon and Cartography’ - she had triple-checked the translation - and had sounded promising. The description mentioned “The largest collection of star maps on the Eastern Edge,” and “a fabulous array of recordings of unusual cosmic events.” If this place didn’t house information of Elravia, where would? She, of course, had to get in first. The man at the entrance was a pretentious little jerk who bore a striking resemblance to the camp guards back home, what with the startling level of condescension. He had moved to block her path the moment she had set foot in the door. “So, let me get this straight: you have a collection of maps.” “Interstellar cartography, yes.” “And records of… space stuff.” “I would put it more eloquently than that, but that is correct.” “But you won’t let me in to see them?” “Now you have it. Too-da-loo, goodbye now.” “Wait! What would it take to gain access?” “Well, are you an accredited scholar from a top-tier university?” “No.” “Did your family partake in the founding of the League of Enlightened Academies?” “I’ve found out some strange family stuff lately, but I doubt it.” “Are you royalty from Miranche?” “Definitely not.” “Well, unless you’re one of those things or a patron, you may not access this library. Good day!” “Wait! How much is the bribe?” “I beg your pardon, I don’t accept bribes.” “‘Patronage,’ whatever you want to call it. How much?” “Pfft. Monetary support of an institution such as this is not a bribe.” “You gotta’ pay for access to see the stuff, right? It’s a bribe. How much?” “More than you have, I assure you. Now, be gone!” “Wait!” “Ugh! You are irksome!” “I prefer tenacious. Can you answer a question, at least? About this place.” “Do you promise to go away after I do?” “No, but I promise to stop putting my foot in the door.” “Fine. Go ahead.” “Has this library always been so closed off? I mean, has it always been restricted like this?” He rolled his eyes. “No one but the highest caliber of individual has set foot in this facility in five hundred years. We have always been, and will always be, exclusive.” “That’s actually helpful. It means I can rule this place out.” “What are you prattling on about?” “Well, I’m guessing my grandfather wouldn’t have been good enough to get in either, and I imagine he would have told you the same thing I will.” “And what might that be?” “Shove it.”

***

 Karst had never been a breakfast person. She had skipped it since she was a child, an early meal throwing her stomach into disarray. But, every now and then, she got the urge to try again, and chowed down on a protein bar or a pastry. Today was one of those days. A tiny café had taunted her as she rode by the previous days, an amazing smell wafting from the open doorway. She had ignored it on her prior rides, but the sweet smell beckoned. She had a few minutes to spare, so why not? As depressing as the previous days’ events had been, she could use the pick-me-up. Besides, today was a visit to a library of geology, a museum dedicated to rocks. She might as well soften the inevitable crushing disappointment with something tasty. She locked the bike up out front. Thankfully, there were plenty of posts available. In an old city, she wasn’t alone in peddling around. Diners sat around outside, sipping tea and nibbling at baked goods, a few engrossed in quiet conversation. A window display was filled with cakes and rolls, trays and trays of the stuff. It was all very carefree and relaxed. She stepped inside, a line of happy people waiting their turn as blenders, mixers, and kettles did their work. It was a warm and inviting, a barista turning to greet her. As well as one familiar face. “You! What are you doing here?” Karst hissed. Valoria sat at a table near the door, overlooking the street, a small cup of tea steaming in front of her. She looked… guilty. “Oh. Uh, hi,” she responded flatly. ”I know what it looks like -“ “Weird? Stalkerish?” Karst leaned in, trying to keep her voice down. “Because you’re not supposed to be here.” “I know, but my orders were changed. I’m supposed to wait here until the next ship comes by.” “And I’m supposed to believe that?” A few people were struggling not to stare. “Believe what you want, it’s the truth. Why would I lie?” “I don’t know. But you’re creeping me out. Stay away from me.” Karst rushed out, nearly running past her bicycle. She turned back and crouched down, fighting to get the lock undone. Val was right behind her. “Don’t even start.” Val loomed overhead, silhouetted against the bright sunshine. “Why not? We know each other.” Karst got the lock undone, barely. “I know you went through my stuff. I don’t know why, but I know you did.” “Why do you have those guns, Karst?” She walked the bike around the corner, into an alley. She was desperately trying to ignore Val, who followed at her heels. It was all so mortifying. She just wanted to hide. “Leave me alone.” “Do you still have them? They’re not normal, you know.” “I said leave me alone!” They were well off the main street, headed into a back alley behind the shops. Surrounded by nothing but dumpsters, blank walls, and a chloromystic junkie passed out under some trash, it was not a great spot to walk into. Not that she had much choice now. They kept walking, Val right behind. “Karst, you seem like a good person. But those guns? Those powers? That’s not normal. That’s not how the universe is supposed to work.” Karst stopped, hugging her backpack to her chest. She couldn’t bring herself to turn around and face Val; she was afraid that if she did, one glance might reduce her to tears. Again. “Why would you say that? As if you really know anything about me.” “I know enough. Give them to me, or get rid of them. I can make this all go away.” She touched Karst’s shoulder. It happened faster than she could think. The slightest pressure of Val’s hand, and Karst’s own was inside the bag, inside the case, and whirling around with a Rose. In one fluid motion she dropped her belongings to the side, took a step back, and pressed the gun to Val’s forehead. “Wait! Kitra noi, don’t!” Karst stood firm. The gun felt like an inferno in her grip. She breathed in and out, slowly. Deliberately. “I don’t know who exactly sent you, and I don’t care. I will tell you this once: you come after me again, and I will not hesitate, not for a second, to burn your head right off your shoulders. Do you understand?” Now it was Valoria’s turn to be nearly in tears. “I… I… you won’t get another chance at this.” “You better not give me an opportunity.” Karst pulled the gun back. Not breaking eye contact, she gave the bike a push-start, and sped off down the alley. Val faded out of sight, left quaking in the dust.

***

 Karst paused a couple kilometers down the road, after weaving through various back streets and meandering all over town. Her ankle was sore again. She hadn’t noticed it until she sat down on the side stoop of an apartment block. The adrenaline of the past hour had kept her from feeling it until now. Clearly, she couldn’t go back to the hostel, or even anywhere near it. She would have to abandon a couple changes of clothes and some protein bars; luckily, anything important was already in her backpack. She had to get off planet. Soon. It would cost a fortune, and she’d need to take a small ship, something she could be sure who the passengers and crew were. Where they dropped her off, she didn’t really care, as long as it was very, very far away. Could she use the same space port? Not a great idea, what if she was being watched? She had to get out of town, somehow make it to another launch facility. Limited options, on a world like this. It wasn’t impossible, of course; she’d done it before. As for Val… she clearly had pieced things together. It didn’t feel like the actions of a bounty hunter, though. This was slower, like she was building a case. But a cop wouldn’t want to just take the Roses and let her go. That made no sense. Of course, what did Karst know about any of this? She had never left Prest before a few months ago. Stupid. Valoria could have been lying. Hand over the guns, then immediately be killed in an alley - that sounded plausible. At least, if her mission had been to remove the ‘threat.’ But, if that was the case, who was she a threat to?

***

 She paced around opposite the library entrance for half an hour, debating whether or not to go in. If her movements were being tracked, there was a good possibility Valoria knew she would hit up this library eventually. But there was also the possibility there were answers inside. Hard decision. She had ridden around on a random path to get here. The bike was stashed behind garbage bins, well out of sight. Karst had watched the entrance this entire time, and seen no one enter - or anyone else staring at it, for that matter. She crossed the street. It was a grand stone building, with a vaulted entryway to match. The whole entrance was open at either end, leading from the road to a manicured courtyard, the different wings of the library branching out from there. The floor itself was captivating: wedge-shaped tiles, made from materials gathered from across the galaxy, formed a multi-colored circle in the middle of the room. A pensive looking Tulimite sat quietly at a desk just before the courtyard. “Hello,” they understatedly called out from across the foyer. “May I help you?” “I, yes, hello!” Karst called back. “Can you poi —“ “Shh!” The clerk answered. “Please, come closer if you wish to speak.” “Not like you started it or anything…” Karst muttered as she hurried over. “Yes, thank you. May I help you?” Karst smoothed out her jacket and took a deep breath. “Yes, please. Um, whew.” She took another breath. “Sorry, ha ha. Been a long day.” “Yes. You were saying?” “Ah, yeah. I need some information. Looking for information. Please.” “Well, you are in the correct place, provided you require information about geology.” “Right, yes.” She needed to get her head back on straight. She felt so sure of herself when she was using the Roses; right now, she was a yammering mess. The Tulimite sat expectantly, twiddling its forelegs. It coughed. “Oh, geez, I’m supposed to answer. Like I said, long day.” “So you said.” “I need to see if you have anything about a particular planet?” “Straight ahead, right at the fountain, third door from the right. You should see a sign in Standard for ‘Galactic Morphology.’ Have a good day.” “Uh, you can’t help me search up something?” “No. I manage the desk. If I was not here, who would help the people?” They gestured to the empty foyer. “Er… sure. Thanks for the help?” “You are most welcome. Please remember to keep your voice down in the galleries.” “Right. Thanks.”

***

 The rock library was, in fact, filled with rocks. It was actually a collection devoted to materials of all kinds, but most of that boiled down to more rocks. Some items were kind of impressive: rejectonite from the Galactic Center, a sliver of adomontium, a carbon-based jewel pressed in the core of Leporis. The other stuff was dirt and pebbles and boulders. Just… rocks. Endless samples of rocks. Or, as she quickly discovered, books about rocks. A Complete Survey of the Terrestial Morphology of Yandaharr. Spectrographic Analysis of Modern Pollutants. Stellar Fragments: An Amateurs Guide to Star Dust Identification. A vast collection that went on and on and on. This couldn’t possibly be the place. But maybe it would have something useful. “Excuse me,” Karst asked a caretaker who was shuffling books onto a cart in the middle of an empty study area. “Can you help me search for a particular subject?” Karst had never used a physical library before. Back home, refugees weren’t allowed in. This was strikingly different from browsing on a data pad. The smell of parchment alone was almost sensory overload. “Mmm. And your interest is academic?” “Uh… I’m trying to learn something. Is that what you mean?” “Ma’am, this is a celebrated research institution.” “For… rocks?” “For materials of all kinds! Some of which are quite rare and quite valuable! One does not simply come here and… ‘learn.’ “Fine. Can you point me towards someone else? Or maybe a way to search?” “Hmph. There is an open access terminal four rows over. Please ensure that your properly place into a reshelving cart any items you remove.” “Thanks. I sure will.” The terminal was old, almost a relic itself, and caked in a layer of fine dust. Apparently the rock museum wasn’t a top destination. She absentmindedly wondered if the dust was also historic. Karst typed her first search term in, and waited. “Elravia: NO RESULTS FOUND” Not a promising start. Not a single mention of the capital planet of a massive empire? “Elravian: NO RESULTS FOUND” She tried an intentional typo, one she had made herself. “Elvaria: NO RESULTS FOUND” “Conduit.” Too many hits. Diagrams of electrical conduits, the chemical composition of conduit wiring, a repair manual for a bow thruster - nothing usable. “Element.” “Powers.” More of the same, far too vague. “Soren.” A number of authors, including a Sorensen who had written about tundra agriculture… but nothing pertinent. It went on like that, page after page of searches with nothing useful. This place was a total dud. She flipped through the data pad, looking at Grandfather’s notes. Was there anything she hadn’t searched yet? Plenty, but nothing from around the time he’d been on Tyrezst. She let out a sigh. Grandfather had been smart, brave, good with people - none of which she felt like at the moment. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this, for solving a mystery. She wasn’t a believer in fate; getting the Roses, activating them, it was more likely a freak occurrence, pure happenstance that it would be her. What a failure. Maybe that dream was a premonition, of a sort: what was she, really, without the Roses? She logged off the terminal and put her data pad back in her bag. She would need the evening to figure out her next steps, to figure out how to get home. Home. What was home, at this point? Her family was gone, and the camp was in disarray due to the fighting. She wasn’t safe going back, anyway, not with a bounty on her head for destroying the Sentinel. She couldn’t even go back to the hostel - she had no desire to encounter Valoria again. Karst slumped down in the chair. She had no home. All she had left was her go bag, the Roses, and a data pad. Something nagged at her thoughts, an idea just out of reach, tingling at the back of her brain. She had a data pad. A data pad… with an unusual photo. Labeled “HOME.” She had seen something like the photo in here. She hadn’t realized it at first. Grandfather’s version was cropped, fuzzy - taken close up. Not crisp and clear like the book she had inadvertently called up. She brought the terminal online again. Search term: “SPECTROGRAPH.” Hundreds of hits. She picked one. Flipped through the pages until a picture came up. She grabbed the data pad, comparing images side by side. They weren’t the same, but they were similar enough. It was a spectrograph. She typed again. Search term: “HOME.” The screen filled with results. ‘Home’ wasn’t Tyrezst, or the Elravian home world. ‘Home’ was a search term, associated with a particular spectrograph. But which result was it? Contemporary Domiciles: A Guide to Solean Trends in Homes. No. A Study of Homeomorphism: Disparate Compounds with Comparative Crystals. Probably not that. Homeostatic Thermodynamics of the Stars: A Revised Approach. This was making her head hurt. Homemade Mortices of the Almorian Triad. Who wrote this stuff? Nothing. Nothing that made any sense. She could spend a lifetime reading through this, and never find anything. What if she had missed a clue at another library? There were other museums, but her Grandfather’s notes clearly tied him to the Ambrin Quarter. The other places were much further away. Besides, she was running out of options: funds would be depleted sooner rather than later, and she was completely spooked by the run-in with Val. What a disaster. Some heroic descendant of Soren she had turned out to be. Soren… Sorensen… That was a name. A proper name. What if “HOME” wasn’t a word, but a name? As in, an author’s name. She hurriedly searched again, changing her settings. Author search. Three hits. Home, Antwan: A seven volume set of poetry, all about… dirt. Fascinating, but nope. Home, Lucious Day: Tending to the Fields: Advanced Topics in Permaculture. Erosion, the Anti-Spill 1000, & You: How Not to Let It All Wash Away. A magazine article about fertilizer. Prolific writer, none of it relevant. Home, Damyan: A scientific journal about the boiling points of metals. A twelve-part series on the history of metallurgy. A book on rare materials. A book on rare materials. Exotic Matters: A Multi-spectrum Analysis of Unusual and Unidentified Matter. Aisle 247, rack 31, shelf 6. She ran. It hurt, but she ran. “No running!” The librarian called after her. “I said no running, young lady!” Karst barely heard him, the rush of wind in her ears as she barreled through the aisles. She almost didn’t make the turn, just missing a display of various coals, and kept sprinting. Aisle 247. Rack 31, on the left. She slid just past, and doubled back. Shelf 6. A book about magma. A book about hydrothermal vents. A book about hazardous minerals. A red book, a blue book, a bunch of black books. Exotic Matters: A Multi-spectrum Analysis of Unusual and Unidentified Matter. By Damyan Home. She plucked it from the shelf. It was a sense-assaulting conglomeration of charts and tests and chemical structures, bizarre materials from across the galaxy. A naturally occurring slime from Vorak. Magnetic monopoles found around destabilized space. A radioactive stone that was reverse-decaying. Most of which made no sense to Karst, but it didn’t need to. She was looking for one particular item. She flipped on the data pad, calling up the picture. “TYREZST. HOME.” And the picture itself, a close up spectrograph, an analysis of… something. She started comparing. On page 362, she found it. Classification: chemically metal Origin: unknown Place of discovery: Kythera Description: “This singular metallic example is of an unknown origin point, although the provider was able to give some background information. The metal, silver with minimal luster, has been fashioned into a cylinder, apparently designed to be inset into a device of some manner. The provider attested that the cylinder came from a local shaman on Kythera, and was able to conjure rain when placed inside his staff. The shaman had been killed during the Fourth Crusade of the Timeless Filth, and the procurer had been unable to make the contraption work any further. I would discount the story as fantasy, were it not for the unusual crystalline structure observed under the spectrograph. The metal does not conform to any known samples found in databases on Rivendi or G’jonium, but most closely resembles the distinctive electromagnetic focusing chambers found in the OME’s sacred implements.” The OME? The Order? That was unexpected. The shaman who could make it rain, though… that sure sounded like elemental powers. But the shaman had been killed. This book was a hundred years old; it was out of date when Grandfather had looked at it. Would there still be any clues on Kythera? Could that really be Elravia? Shoot, where even was Kythera? Surely this place had an atlas… Karst hadn’t noticed the stomping, being so absorbed in her discovery. It wasn’t until the shout from the librarian that she paid any attention. “Girl! I’ve had it! This is - “ The sound that followed was… wet. An abrupt and sloppy crunch that chilled her to the bone. Karst stood still, a tingle running down her spine. She tucked the book and the data pad in her bag, carefully closing the latch. Tip-toeing to the end of the aisle, she snuck a peek. No one was there. It was empty. Quiet. A pool of blood trailed off down one of the aisles, and out of sight. She ducked back in. She should have checked the exits more carefully. There was the main door, but that meant getting across the open study area in the middle of the room. If there were fire doors, she certainly didn’t see them. She held her breath. She’d have to run. The sudden stomping made her jump, bouncing off the shelving next to her. The sound was coming from a few aisles down, from someone that didn’t care if they were quiet. Creak A crashing sound was coming towards her. She bolted just in time to have the enormous bookcases tip over behind her. Sprinting across and over the study desks, she couldn’t help but sneak a glance behind: the library was in chaos, furniture and materials falling like dominos. And someone was crouched atop it all, looming dark and huge. No more looking. Just running. She raced out of the gallery, door slamming open hard enough to crack the glass. She vaulted over a hedge, on to the main path in the courtyard, past the fountain gently trickling. Clearing the courtyard, she ran into the entryway, heavy footfalls thundering until she went skidding across the stone tiles. The clerk was still calmly seated at the desk, hands neatly folded. Headless. This couldn’t be happening. Karst rushed towards the street exit, but footsteps were running right behind her. She spun, swinging the Elravian case by its handle. It smashed into her persuer, catching it under the chin, knocking the attacker aside. Karst spun, the momentum of the hit nearly toppling her to the ground. Pain flashed through her ankle, but she remained up. She turned to run. Not fast enough: a shove sent her sprawling, her shoulder smashing into the stone floor. Karst rolled, and brought the case up in front of her as protection. The assailant pounced, trying to rip the case aside. Karst kicked wildly in an attempt to scramble free. Whatever it was snarled from the other side. Calm. If you’re going to get out of this, be in control. Calm. Karst thumbed the case’s lock, and let go. The attacker fell backwards as the Roses tumbled out. Karst scooted back, grips slipping into her palms. In an instant, she could feel it, the rising fire. She pulled the triggers. Bolts of flame rocketed from the Roses’ barrels, superheated air rippling in their wake. Too slow: the attacker leapt into the air, neatly clearing the incoming fire. Karst rolled. The attacker struck, coming down hard from above. Karst parried, a pistol barrel blocking the hit. She slashed backwards, the underslung blade slicing air. She fired with the other hand, a blast arcing into the rafters above. A hand struck her face, and she hit back, the thorn tearing into the attacker’s armor. They both reeled back, Karst collapsing face first to the floor again. She looked up. It was… she didn’t know what it was. Shaped like a person, but poised like a feral animal, hunched and hands frozen into claws. Its breathing was ragged, halting. The armor was Kraeth, but devoid of any distinguishing characteristics - simply black. A canister was attached at the base of the neck, filled with a glowing blue liquid that bubbled and swirled. If it was a Kraeth under there, it certainly wasn’t like any Karst had met before. Whatever this was acted like it was possessed. It twitched, and drew a sword from behind its back. It’s speech was a rasp that sounded more like a death rattle. “Give… me… the weapons.” “These? Not a chance.” It charged. Karst fired again, nerves keeping her from lining up a solid shot. The rounds flew past, igniting more of the library’s façade. The wooden supports were rapidly becoming ablaze. The whole place would be an inferno soon. The sword came down, smashing the desk behind her to pieces. The creature whirled, a broad stroke of the blade arcing horizontally around it. Karst ducked and leaned in, putting her shoulder into its gut. They both tumbled back. She fired again, point blank, but the Rose was tangled up with the sword’s cross guard; the shot impacted the floor, splashing them with molten stone. Karst tucked and rolled away, the monster hissing and clutching at its helmet. The sword swung blindly again before Karst could line up the next shot. No good. And, yet again, she ran. Across the street, through the gawkers and foot traffic beyond. She left the bicycle, no time to grab it. Just run. Her best bet was to put some distance between them, then lay low. Get out of the city and find transport off-world from some other city. Go somewhere random, get lost. She could pick up the trail later. Crowds lined the street, pointing at the building behind her and gasping. Someone tried to stop her, but she powered through, knocking him flat. Distance. She needed distance. She looked over her shoulder, the library now fully engulfed. It had burned quick. Firefighters were already responding, foam pouring down from their hover platforms. She felt a tinge of guilt. At least, she did until the beast plummeted down from the rooftop above her, a heap of bystanders crushed beneath it. The horrified crowd parted, darting into any open doorway. It came at her again. It didn’t run like a person, almost scrambling on all fours. Its movements were disjointed, a nervous energy that seemed to propel its limbs in different directions. But it was fast, too fast for anyone to get out of the way. Karst spun, firing again. The creature stomped on a sewer cover, the unnaturally strong kick popping the disk into the air. The shots hit it instead, leaving a melted blob of steel. She couldn’t risk another shot - too many people in the way. The creature closed the gap. Control it. Karst punched, dragging the thorn along the monster’s abdomen. The armor deflected the worst of it, but it was enough to dig in partway. The creature howled and shoved her back. Karst stumbled, and burst through the crowd. A trash-strewn alley way opened up before her, a clear path. She ran hard, vaulting over a fallen garbage can, scrambling for purchase on the grime covered pavement. There was a rickety fire escape at the end of the alley; if she could get up it and out of sight, she might just be able to lose the thing. She jumped and caught the lowest run, hoisting herself up with everything she could muster. She was so distracted, watching for her pursuer, that she could barely make it up the ladder. At the top, she collapsed. The wail of sirens echoed across the city, intermixed with shrieks from the people below. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, beads of sweat stinging her eyes. Her hands quaked. Control it. She closed her eyes, slowed her breathing. She just needed a moment. She felt the roof buckle as her attacker landed, so hard that the supports below cracked. Sword in hand, it charged again. Karst blocked, the two tumbling end over end across the rooftop, completely entangled. Her ankle was screaming, the dull ache from before turning into a searing flash of pain. The sword caught her upper arm, blood spilling down her red jacket. She hacked at the creature’s helmet with the blade edge, carving deep gouges into the surface, but it kept coming. It was relentless. She needed to be relentless. She hit with her left, the thorn jabbing into the monster’s side. It roared again, holding Karst’s face in a painful grasp. She hit again, another blow landing. It released with a howl, and brought the sword back. The impact of their blades sent up a shower of sparks. The creature was stronger, supernaturally strong. Impossibly strong. She fell to one knee, trying to brace herself, but it was too much. The thing leaned in, the canister on the back of its helm bubbling madly. It growled at her. “You… are… a failure.” “What?” Maybe. Maybe she would be a failure. But not yet. She relaxed, letting the sword fall. The monster was pushing so hard that it slipped, the unexpected loss or resistance buckling its knees. It stumbled, and Karst dodged. The sword embedded deep into the substrate of the rooftop; the beast pulled, furiously trying to pry it loose. Karst turned and fired. The flame erupted from the Rose and sailed across the space between them, like a meteor shooting through the night’s sky. It caught the edge of the canister, just a pinprick of contact - but it was enough. Heated like a sun, the impact point boiled away, the blue liquid flashing to steam. The rest of the helmet shattered under the pressure of such a sudden thermal change, spraying shards everywhere, cinders blown like shrapnel. The thing beneath screamed, clutching at its face. It stumbled back, collapsing to the ruined rooftop, steam rising from the point of impact. It writhed wildly, its cries echoing across the city. Spot fires danced atop the roof. Karst carefully approached, guns kept leveled and ready. She should kill the thing and be done with it, but she wanted to understand who was after her. How they had found her. She gave it a kick in its side. “Who are you? Who sent you?” No answer, just more whining. She kicked again, harder. ”Answer me!” It was still twitching, still writhing in a heap, but it already seemed to be less contorted. Whatever had been in that canister must have been the source of how it had gone berserker. With that gone, and now being injured, it was a mess. She almost felt bad. Almost. She shoved the barrel of a Rose into its face. “Tell me why you’re here! Or I’m going to set your skull on fire!” Tough talk; she almost believed it herself. The thing moaned, and slumped back, hands falling away from its face. Karst stood in shock. “Valoria?” Her features were strained, muscles spastic and contorted, but it was definitely her. It didn’t seem possible, but it was her. “Why? What did I do to you?” Karst was on the verge of tears, the madness of the day catching up with her. She almost laughed inappropriately: this was becoming a habit. Fury kept it from happening, but it was still a rush of emotions. Someone she knew was lying half dead at her feet, because of her. After trying to kill her. "What happened to you?" Val let out a groan, clutching at her side. A ragged cough sputtered up from deep in her chest. "Your guns… not supposed… to exist." Her voice was distorted, a ragged growl. There was a commotion in the distance, the wail of sirens increasing. She needed to hurry and get out of here. "My guns? This is about my guns?" Shouldn't exist? What was that supposed to mean? "You tried to kill me, because of these?" Val coughed loudly, wincing. A trickle of blood oozed from the corner of her mouth. "They are a heresy. They are against - " She grit her teeth, back arched. "- Against the plan. Against - argh! - the Path! They must be destroyed!" The fire must have grown enormous. She couldn’t break her stare, but could see a boiling cloud in the distance. Police sirens echoed over the city, headed their way. "You - you killed people! You acted like a friend, and then - why?" Her chest felt tight, like she couldn’t get a full breath. No time. The police cruisers screamed overhead, right on top of them… and flew on past. Karst couldn't help herself, her gaze following their course. They had ignored them entirely; at first she thought they were going to the fire, but they had veered away from that as well. Something else more pressing had attracted their attention. There was a cloud enveloping part of the city, a gray fog completely at odds with the sunshine. It wasn’t smoke from the fires - it ignored the direction of the breeze, it’s dim form slowly swallowing more and more buildings as it expanded. Val propped herself up to follow Karst’s gaze. Both of them watched intently as the police cruisers penetrated the mist, the sound of their sirens dying away. Karst couldn’t look away from the odd scene unfolding in the distance. “Did you do this?” “No. I have no idea what that is.” Val collapsed back, her chest heaving in ragged gasping breaths. Leaving one gun trained on Val, Karst risked a stolen glance over the side of the rooftop. Down below, the curious onlookers were growing increasingly panicked. The crowds were starting to surge away from the area, waves of people pushing through the narrow cobblestone streets. Whatever it was, it was getting closer. “Who sent you?” Karst shouted, reluctantly splitting her attention. Time was running out. She waved the Roses closer to Val. “Why do you care about these?” Valoria groaned again. She was in bad shape. Karst was still running on adrenaline. She was afraid she’d vomit if she didn’t actively ignore it. “I can’t say,” Val croaked. “I owe them…” With that, Valoria passed out. Karst knew she wasn’t dead, at least not yet - she’d seen enough death in the camps to know. There was a surge of people below, sprinting away from the expanding fog. There was the sound of an explosion, much closer than the library. What was happening? The answer came crashing out of the grey on all fours. Val had been freakish in her Kraeth-like armor. This was entirely different: a beast made of meat and metal, wires and pistons where muscle and tendons should be, flesh melding into steel. It resembled a hound, if you turned it inside out and grafted machinery all over it. It bounded over to a terrified onlooker, grabbing them by the leg with its jaws. With little effort it pulled them, screaming, into the depths of the growing mist. “What in the Pit…” Another police cruiser raced by overhead, light and sirens howling. It banked towards the commotion, only to slam to a halt. A javelin had corkscrewed up and out of the cloud, spearing the cruiser from stem to stern. It plummeted into the grey, a muffled explosion sounding from within. Whatever was happening, it was time to go. Karst had already exceeded the scope of self-defense training for the day; this was wildly beyond what she was prepared for. This was a nightmare. She gave a last look at Valoria, gasping on the demolished rooftop. She thought of the Sentinel drone in the camp, a smoldering husk. Monsters. A galaxy filled with monsters. She turned to run. The thing came down almost silently, the barest breeze as it touched the rooftop before her. It was enormous but ethereal, seeming to almost float. Dark and malformed, it shared the same skeletal cybernetics as the beast below. This was upright, though, like a person. It smelled of burnt circuits and rotten flesh. It took Karst a moment to realize it was reaching for her. She was off her feet in a flash, hoisted into the air by her throat. The swirling biomechanical mass brought her close, to empty eye sockets filled only with pricks of crimson light. She struggled against its grip, kicking and pulling, but it was unbelievably strong, like wrestling a bulldozer: never tiring, immovable, never ending. She thought she would pass out. Centimeters from her face, she heard it: “Curious.” Her vision swam, turned grey. And then she blew its damn head off. It was one shot, but that was enough: the bolt rippled through the creature’s face, the skull fracturing and exploding like a supernova. Fire coursed through fuel lines and veins, ash left in their wake. The thing released its grip, and tumbled back over the side. Karst landed on her feet, hard. She stumbled, but stood. The wind rushed past her ears, the cloud encircling the rooftop. The bright sunshine faded to a dim glow. One of the hound-things clawed up the side of the building, snarling and snapping as it surmounted the edge. Karst fired, orange flame coursing through the dull grey. The hound burst, immolated as it fell back. Another came, and another, and still she stood, taking aim with both Roses. The roof was quickly ablaze, lit by dozens of burning corpses. They were unending, unceasing, utterly relentless. But so was she. Karst was done running.

***

 Montas Mi-khael Primary Spaceport. Tyrezst. Tyrezst sucked. Tresor had only been there a hot minute, but it was enough to make up his mind: no nightlife, no clubs, the booze was all old (and not in a good way), and a distressing amount of the planet was devoted to books. Musty, ancient, foul-smelling books. It sucked. Sucked hard. Better than being held captive by a bounty hunter, sure, but not by much. The bounty hunter at least had good wine. There was nothing happening here. It was the butt-end of the galaxy, on the edge of a spiral arm to nowhere, in the absolute boonies. A backwater filled with eggheads. Terrible. Tresor and Aeronok had arrived here by total happenstance. They had been on a job, looking for a stolen Drin super-weapon for a Mr. Kurio. Turned out, Mr. Kurio was a freakin’ idiot: in the time it took to hire Tresor, the Belcher had been stolen once, and then stolen again. By the time Tresor was on the case, it was in the hands of the Concordance, on its way to a forever-home in the Vault. And the guys Kurio had implicated, Mish and Rokso? Totally legit. Un-freaking-believable. Instead, they ended up held captive for a week by a bounty hunter looking for a rifle on behalf of the Drin Queen. It wasn’t even the Belcher, but it still took days to sort it out and point the bounty hunter in the right direction. Some dudes had used the gun in a heist; didn’t matter to Tresor, it was between them and Queen Rozek now. Of course, being detained and cut off from communications had led his temporary employer to start searching for him, with a vengeance. No matter the explanation, Kurio wasn’t buying it, and now he and Aeronok were on the run in free space. Luckily, his pursuers weren’t exactly the best, since, well… they weren’t Tresor Legate. Kurio was an idiot. A rich and vindictive idiot, but an idiot. “Did you get any Kola Fizz?” Aeronok was on the flight deck, making launch preparations. They would have to skirt the galactic edge for awhile, before ducking back in at the end of this spiral arm. Tresor figured it would keep the heat off for a moment. “No, sir,” Aeronok responded, with a tone of quiet resignation. “Nothing fizzy, bubbly, or generally carbonated available.” “On this whole stinkin’ planet?” “I only checked this locale, sir, but I’m quite sure of it.” “Man, this place sucks.” “Indeed, sir. I’ve requested pre-clearance for take-off, and we should be authorized in less than five minutes.” Thank goodness. “Are the other supplies stowed, sir?” “Ah…” Tresor looked at the pallet of coolant barrels. He had been distracted looking at restaurant reviews for their next stop. “Getting there.” “Do hurry, sir. The flight controllers become impatient if we miss our window, and I believe you would prefer they not look into our ship registration too closely, correct?” Damn sassy Automata. If he didn’t feel it was morally reprehensible, Tresor would have his personality algorithms scrubbed and replaced. Best not to answer, and just get this crap loaded. He was down to the last couple of barrels when Aeronok came through on the comms again, sounding panicked. Well, more panicked than usual. “Sir! Flight control is holding all take offs!” “What’s the problem?” Great, more time on this rock. Hopefully the net connection was fast enough he could download some new vids. “They’ve declared a state of emergency!” Tresor set the cargo down, and scanned the city beyond the landing platform. “I’ve tapped into the local law enforcement channels, and —“ “There’s a weird fog headed right towards us?” It was like a dense fog bank, spreading out across the city. A chemical release? Fire? It was moving against the wind, which was decidedly concerning. “Er, yes, sir. There are also reports of rampaging creatures —“ “Nope, we’re out. I’m coming aboard, let’s take off.” He turned and grabbed the remaining supplies, and started up the ramp into the That’s Not Terrible, when a shout gave him a jolt. “Wait! Stop, please!” It was a girl, late teens maybe, looking like she had just gone a few rounds in The Dodecahedron. The woman she carried on her shoulders looked even worse. “Can we come aboard? We have to get out of here!” “What do I look like, a cabbie? Find your own ship!” “I’ll pay! Please, we’ve got nowhere to go.” “You got cash?” “Yes, Shanix, Credits, you name it! We just need to go!” “Sir, may I ask what the hold up is? The phenomena is drawing closer.” “Just a sec. We’ve got passengers.” “Passengers? Sir, I —“ Tresor clicked the comms off. “Sorry about that. Why don’t you come aboard, and we’ll work out a payment plan.” “Oh thank goodness, thank you.” “Sure, anything for cash. Here, I’ll take her feet.” He reached out to take Val by the ankles, Karst backing up the ramp. No sooner had he set foot on the deck, than he felt himself flying sideways. He’d been tackled by something heavy, throwing him off and onto the pile of barrels. He couldn’t see, it was all a flash of gnashing teeth and flexing metal, right up in his face. He got ahold of his boot knife and gave it a stab. And again. And again. And — Whatever it was rolled off, followed by a curl of smoke from where the top half of it had been moments before. Tresor looked back, upside down, towards the ship. The girl stood there, firing away with some of the gnarliest looking pistols he had ever seen. Everything she hit – some kind of freak show cyborgs - burst into flame, reduced to molten metal and ash. It was awesome. He rolled over, and practically fell into the ship. She kept firing, hammering away as the fog encroached. “Damn, that’s cool! Get in here!” She ducked in as the ramp retracted, the hatch sealing with a whoomp. “Aeronok,” he called into the comm. “Get us airborne!” The ship rocked as the atmospheric thrusters pushed off. The ship banked, reorienting away from the expanding cloud as it rose a dozen meters in the air. Karst watched in disbelief as Tresor hit the ramp control, lowering it a fraction of a meter. “Hold up a sec, I always wanted to do this.” He unholstered his blaster, and leaned out. The creatures had gathered on the landing pad, amidst the spilled barrels of coolant. Tresor fired. The barrels exploded in a fireball that engulfed the pad, consuming the monsters there. The mushroom cloud boiled up into the sky, pushing back the encroaching fog. Tresor smiled as they pulled away, and closed the ramp. Karst frowned. “Was that necessary?” “Totally. Hey, where’d you get those things?” He pointed at the Roses, still in her hands. “They’re badass.” “Ah, old family heirlooms.” “Cool. My family just gave me a trust fund. I like yours better.” He started to jog down the corridor to the front of the ship. “I gotta’ go play co-pilot, but we can chat more later, alright? Get your friend buckled in, and then maybe you can chill up on the flight deck?” “Uh, sure?” “Med kits are in that second drawer there, plus a couple stims. Good stuff, not cheap knockoffs.” “Thanks. I’ll get her situated.” “Oh, and we gotta’ get you some holsters for those puppies. Can’t have them falling all over!” He disappeared up the ladder. *** Aeronok was rapidly working the controls, racing towards the horizon line. The sun was setting ahead of them. “Bud, why aren’t you pulling up?” “Sir, the cloud is rapidly expanding both out and up, at an exponentially increasing rate. It is forming a giant bubble. We need to build speed to escape its advance.” “That’s not good.” “No. I have polarized the hull, but integrity was diminished several percentage points while we were inside the phenomenon. Energy shields had no effect.” “Like it’s caustic or something?” “Unclear. Our hull armor’s mass did not decrease, but it underwent a mild, yet noticeable, molecular realignment. The polarization has suffered as a result.” “That’s also not good.” “No.” Karst popped into the flight deck, peering up from the ladder. “I strapped her in, and stowed those containers you left rolling around.” Aeronok looked away from the controls. “You left the coolant unsecured?” “I had other things on my mind! Is the booster primed?” “Twelve seconds remaining.” “You tell me when, I’ll make contact.” Tresor turned his head slightly to look back at Karst. “You might want to buckle up.” “Uh, sure. What’s happening?” “The doom fog full of monsters is getting bigger, faster.” “That’s not good.” “That’s what I said!” Aeronok hammered at the controls. “Five seconds.” “Got it.” “Now, sir.” “Contact!” Tresor pushed forward on a throttle, and the whole ship bucked underneath them. Karst was slammed back into her seat. “Closing in on red line! Time to go!” “Pulling up, fifty-two degree angle of attack. Mark.” Aeronok pulled back on the yoke. The ship pitched up, the view suddenly filled with only sky. The blue gradually darkened, replaced with darkness punctuated by twinkling stars. They were in space. Karst felt the ever present tug of artificial gravity. Aeronok banked the ship, taking them into an orbital path around Tyrezst. Gone was the blue and green orb of a living world: the surface and sky were rapidly being consumed by lifeless grey. “The cloud seems to have ceased advancing past the upper atmosphere. Whatever the phenomenon is, it is currently limited to the planet’s gravity well.” Karst unbuckled, and moved up towards the front of the cockpit. Tresor stared out at the planet, aghast. “Geez. I didn’t like the place, but I wasn’t asking for it to be consumed by death mist.” Karst looked between the two of them. “Should we go back and help?” Aeronok checked the readings on his dash. “The entire planet will be engulfed in hours. I do not believe we can be of any assistance.” Tresor finally looked away from the scene. “I, for one, do not want to find out if that can grow beyond the atmosphere.” “I…. Yeah.” Karst sighed, and looked away. “Can you set jump coordinates? I definitely don’t want to be in the neighborhood.” Aeronok continued working the controls. “Yes. DTG is calculating now.” Karst was pale. Her fists were clenched at her sides, knuckles white. Tresor put a hand on her shoulder. She startled. “You alright?” “I, uh… I don’t know.” She blinked a few times and shook her head. “No, probably not.” “Sounds ‘bout right. What’s your name?” She hesitated a moment. “Karst. Karst Sorensen.” “Well Karst, I’m Tresor Legate, and this here is Aeronok.” “Hello.” “Hi.” “Sir, we’re ready to make the FTL jump.” “Let’s do it.” The view outside shifted once more, stars suddenly flying past at great speed. They had gone FTL. “Judging by how beat up you and your friend look, you’re in a heap of trouble.” “I… yeah. Can you help me take a look at her? She’s not in good shape.” “Sure thing. We specialize in trouble, here aboard the That’s Not Terrible.” Aeronok groaned. It was an odd sound, coming from a machine. “No, we do not. We certainly do not.” “Ah, don’t listen to him. Old fusspot. All we do is trouble!”

***

 Val was asleep; sedated was more like it. Some of it was the meds, some of it was the injuries, and she suspected some of it was the weird blue liquid Karst had destroyed during their fight. Karst had given Tresor the shorthand version of things, and he hadn’t immediately tossed the two of them out the nearest airlock. He did have some questions, though. “So… she straight up murdered some folks?” “Yes.” “And tried to murder you?” He spread some ointment into a wound on her forehead. “Ouch! Not exactly, but I think it could have come to that.” “And after you beat her, you staid with her until you had fought off enough of the weird fog creatures to make an escape? With her in tow?” “I… yeah.” “You didn’t think, ‘maybe I should leave the berserker assassin to get what’s coming to her,’ and scram?” He popped a couple pills from a blister pack. “Take those.” “I mean, I did. Briefly. It just… didn’t seem right.” She tossed the pills back. Probably should have asked what they were. Too late now. “Okay then. I guess that’s what good people do. I don’t know much about that.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Those will kick in soon and take some of the swelling down. Might make you a little dizzy. Just sit, and let them do their work.” “Thanks. I will.” “‘Kay. I gotta’ get back on deck and see if we can figure out what in the Pit just happened. I’ll be back in a bit. Make yourself at home.” He started to head back up the ladder. “What?” Karst called after him. “Home. Make yourself at home.” She smiled. “Home,” she repeated. “Yup.” He raised an eyebrow, turned, and clambered up the ladder. “Strange woman,” he muttered as he cleared the hatch. Karst lay back, and slept. For once in a long while, she didn’t dream at all.