Just yesterday I hit free twitch turbo partner on twitch after roughly 5 months of streaming (somewhat) consistently. Today I'm hoping to share some decent advice and give my own (learned) opinion on some of the frequent yet not always useful tips shared around here.
Before writing this I did a cursory search through the subreddit for frequently asked questions so hopefully this answers most of the ones that I myself have any experience to answer.
My simple request: I'm not going to be posting any links to my stream or anything but if you go out of your way to find it please don't follow/subscribe to the channel unless you are genuinely interested. Thanks big boss.

Should you stream?

If I have to read another thread or comment of a person asking if they should stream I am going to scream. What do you people expect to hear? Yes, please stream the world needs you, you will be rich beyond your wildest dreams and have all the clout to have ever been cloutted.
I know people who usually type out questions like that probably don't read posts but here is a hack I've used to answer my own dumb questions through out the years. Say that shit out loud and respond to it like someone asked you the question. Nine times out of ten, you end up answering it yourself and on the off-chance you actually don't you should have a more actionable question.
Example: Instead of asking "should I stream?" you end up realizing the only thing holding you back is having no mic or something. The question then becomes "I want to stream what's a good cheap mic?". Which is a lot better and doesn't make people want to pelt you with rocks.
For those of you who ask "should I stream or is it a waste of time?" please, I BEG YOU, stop. Most of the shit you do is a waste of time, you either want to stream or don't. Make a decision based on that.

Webcam, do you need one?

This question is asked so often that I see it every time I come on the subreddit. Unsurprisingly, the answer is always the same as well, yes you do.
However I disagree.
I have never streamed with a webcam, not a single time, yet I'm still here and somehow managed to get partnered.
Now, I know why every one parrots the same advice, it is because the people making tip threads, youtube videos, etc., all say to use a webcam. Harris Heller said it once and I'm pretty sure that was enough for the people who copy and paste what he says in text threads here to become their mantra.
The truth is, all that matters is the content. Ask yourself do you do/want to do a lot of react/just chatting content? If so, you probably want a webcam since your content will focus around reacting to content. Lirik doesn't use face-cam because his content is his gameplay and commentary, not his face. Corpse literally blew up and is famous for not showing his face (even though he is still a personality).
I know the whole "Lirik doesn't use a face cam" argument is going to be met with people saying "exception not the rule!!!" but seriously, just use your head. Half the people you watch probably don't need face cams. MoonMoon probably doesn't need a face cam, Critikal didn't have a face cam until he already had over a million subs on youtube, schlatt didn't either, Dream doesn't, AdmiralBahroo doesn't, almost every DBD streamer I watch doesn't, just think for yourself.
The point I'm trying to drive home here is not just that a webcam isn't required, but also you need to look at what you want to create and decide for yourself.
Edit: I saw someone say somewhere that you need a webcam for sponsors. That's cap. I've had a sponsor and nobody has seen this ugly mug.

Equipment in general

People like saying that they need this this and that before they start streaming. This is just stalling. Until last month I hadn't owned a desktop PC my whole life. Before that it was just laptops and using my phone to read chat or look up things. You obviously need SOME equipment to start, i.e. a computer and some form of internet connection, but that doesn't mean you need to pick up a shure, a streamdeck, 4 monitors, 6 consoles, and whatnot.
Here is my setup. Keep in mind I literally just upgraded this last month after saving up for several months:

• Blue Yeti: Hell ya baby got a free game with it too so I'm for sure pleased with this purchase. Edit: I recommend shopping around for mics since the yeti isn't as much of a "get this for streaming" mic as it once was. Plenty of good options out there for cheaper
• Two BenQ monitors: Like I said, I was using my phone for chat but that got old fast. These monitors are cheap and 144hz. There are some color issues but eff it I barely notice anymore
• Streamer PC from NZXT: My old laptop was from 2016 and made editing literal hell. Averaged 3 crashes every time I would try and render (and the renders took about an hour). Upgrading to this was the most worth purchase I've ever made. Also, the streamer PC got upgraded since I purchased, so you can grab a 2070 instead of the 2060 ti like I have :)
• Red Dragon Keyboard and Mouse: I'm a cheap ass so when I see light up peripherals for like 40 bucks total I am sold.
• Earbuds: Legit don't know the brand. I stole them from my sister like a year ago. I prefer these over a headset anyway since I don't want that gamer dent lmao

For those of you who are probably saying "GROSS A PRE-BUILT" remember that part prices are actual aids right now, not to mention the availability of even finding good parts. If you have the cash go pre-built that shit is amazing.
My recommendation:
Stay with your shitty set-up as long as possible but make sure to pick up a good mic first. Big streamers (looking at you Ludwig) shit on the Yeti, but straight facts all you need is to EQ that shit a lil bit and nobody will bat an eye. You don't have to pick up the Yeti (there are lots of cheaper options) but that's just the one I and many others have gotten since it is reliably a good ass mic.
Audio <- chat engagement <- pc upgrade

YouTube

How many people have to tell you bums to focus on YouTube before you do it? Twitch sucks ass. I'll say it, i'm brave. No discoverability, especially to those of you at the very bottom. Make a goddamn YouTube and start pumping out videos, it is not hard.
Ludwig made a power point on how to be a streamer that talks about a few things but the most important point of all was what he said on creating content for stream/YouTube. This isn't the exact timestamp but it do be close: https://www.twitch.tv/videos/896089267?t=01h24m14s
That advice is coming from a top streamer who also has over a million subs on YouTube by almost exclusively taking twitch vods and editing them for YouTube.
As for getting views on your videos here is my advice from my personal experiences:

• Thumbnail and title are important but there are outliers that can thrive without doing shit. One guy I saw has their most watched video (over 250k views) with a title like "[game] [character] gameplay" and the literal default thumbnail that youtube makes. AND to top that off it was just a VOD from their twitch channel.
• Audience retention matters. There is a reason massive YouTubers have these weird zoom in pans and flamboyant gestures all the time. Lots of movement and noises keep our tiny attention spans happy and frequently cutting is usually the key to success, although don't overuse it. I do very light edits and have been growing but that's more of my personal preference rather than a growth strategy.
• Respond and engage. If you have one comment on your video and they are complimenting you, why aren't you responding? This is by far the easiest way to get someone to continue to engage with you and trust me, that is the most important thing in the algorithms eyes.

My understanding of YouTube

So obviously, clickthrough rate and audience retention are the things that are constantly brought up when talking about gaining more views and what not, but I am fairly comfortable in saying that there are other metrics that you should be paying attention to.
Let me hit you with a something that would make Dream shake in his boots. I don't subscribe to anyone on YouTube. *gasp*
The reason for that being, I almost always have the videos I want to see on my home page. I never have to go, "wonder if x YouTuber made a video" since YouTube knows I watch and enjoy their stuff. The question for most people being, how does YouTube know what people like and how does it suggest it to them? Basically, by seeing how often people engage with your content AND also what type of content you create. (although keep in mind, youtube tries to throw new videos at you a lot as well, these are usually in-line with content you engage with though)
For engagement, think of it as like affinity points in a video game but in reverse. Before you get to bang that smoking hot sim, you got to woo them. Every time someone likes your video they get a point, every time they comment they get two, every subscription counts as like 10, watching an entire video might be 20, etc. Obviously, these are made up values but I hope you follow what I'm putting down here. Once they get enough points you start showing up more in their home page.
I know this because I have a different account on my phone that doesn't have the same suggestions as my main account because I watch different things on my PC than my phone. However, I do like to look at the comments while I'm taking a dump or something. Problem was, my videos were rarely every recommended. I solved this easily by liking a couple videos. I didn't even watch them, just liked and read comments. LITERALLY NOT EVEN SUBSCRIBED AND I GET NOTIFICATIONS ON MY PHONE SOMETIMES WHEN A VIDEO DOES WELL!
In other words, by getting people to like and comment on your videos you are almost guaranteeing they see future videos from you.
Now, keep in mind, engagement is only a small portion of the whole pie. And even though you might engage with a content creator often, there is still a chance you miss some of their videos because of one other reason, the content's genre.

Content Genre

You might have noticed this phenomenon on various different creators YouTubes, but sometimes they create a video that bombs. Usually, this happens when they create something outside of their niche. This could be as simple as changing games, or as radical as changing the entire direction of the channel. Even if you engage like crazy with a creator, if they change the content enough, you won't get that shit recommended to you.
This is the main reason some creators have several channels and why some even get pigeonholed to one type of content. The reality of it is, if you build your audience on one piece of content and then want to change it, you will be fighting an uphill battle. One of the best ways to fight that is to diversify early OR better yet, emphasize your personality over the content. Jschlatt shits views and he does whatever the hell he wants really. Same goes for jacksepticeye, markiplier, Ludwig, Critikal, XQC, and numerous other creators.
That being said, doing one game/genre isn't a bad strategy either. A metric fuck ton of OfflineTv's videos are the same game. DisguisedToast played Hearthstone on repeat, then switched to TFT, THEN switched to among us, and his videos absolutely kill. Valkyrae is one of the biggest streamers period and all she does is play/upload among us and rust. Then of course we have all the minecraft streamers too.
It's really up to you to decide, but I'd recommend going towards personality content since that allows the most flexibility.

Other Social Media (Twitter, IG, etc)

Lots of people here seem to think that they don't have time to do YouTube or some other BS they think up as an excuse, so they think that twitter, instagram, tiktok, etc are all ways to grow. Trust me, they are not good ways to grow.
These are all stupid treadmills that trick you into thinking you're doing something when in reality you aren't moving the needle by much if by any at all. Posting ten dumb tweets and reposting memes on IG seem "productive" if you frame it in the light of "content creation" but the two people that see all of these things don't really give a shit. Spend that time working on a video for YouTube.
Don't give me this "I don't have time" bullshit. Do small videos and work yourself up, become better and faster. Perfectionism is a cute word for procrastination.
Ok, now that I took a shit on them so hopefully, you won't grind on them all day, these are still ways to grow and are important. Having multiple platforms for fans to communicate and engage with you is always a good idea, but don't spread yourself so thin early on when nobody knows who you are. Prioritize the thing that will get eighty percent of your results.
I personally have a discord for people to come and chat in. Thing is, I had no intention of doing so because I don't really use discord that much. The only reason it exists is that people kept asking for it in the comments on my YouTube videos so I made one.
TL;DR: Don't put the cart before the horse :)
Edit: Oh ya I forgot to mention. TikTok is trash for growth. I won't mention names cuz that's probably toxic(?) but there is someone signed on luminosity who has 690k TikTok followers and 95k YouTube subscribers who barely cracks 100 views on Twitch and has a hard time getting over 1k on YouTube. So don't go thinking TikTok leads to immense fame ya darn kids

Hosting/Raiding

Getting hosted/raided means actual jack. I remember pretty clearly when I had like ten viewers, I got hosted by someone with twenty-five or something. I think only one person ended up saying anything in the chat to me about it and although some stayed for the entire stream, by the time I went live again I lost all of the people who were in the host. This seems to be something others have mentioned as well, you won't retain almost any views from hosts/raids.
Edit: Please do try raiding/hosting or otherwise networking with other streamers at least once. Your mileage may vary and it could end up blowing up your channel. Who knows?
Edit edit: Having something that you can do during the stream is huge when getting hosted/raided. Most of the time, if not all of the time, a streamer is ENDING their stream and sending viewers to you rather than timing it for your own content. So if you are doing something uninteresting or are in the middle of something you are going to get less retention than if you did something crazy to impress the newcomers. In other words, having a strategy for hosting/raiding growth is key.

Speaking on stream

This seems to be something a lot of people struggle with on Twitch since so many people ask how to do it when nobody is watching/chatting. Coming from someone who had this problem, the answer is pretty simple, talk for the content not the chat.
What I mean by this is you should be focusing on your content more than the chat. Since I play games, what I do is just say some shit about whats happening on screen and sometimes say something that is hopefully funny. Pick up a garbage item? Say something about how garbage the item is, ez.
If you're streaming to NO VIEWERS you shouldn't be streaming to stream anyway. What you should be doing is making a YouTube video in the hopes of getting viewers to watch your stream. The only way to do that is to have good content planned out that should effectively act as your script. Again, Ludwigs stream on this is good (it'll probably be a video soon) so make sure to check it out.
A more recent problem I've had was just how much I engaged with chat (suffering from success I know). When I went to edit the videos I had to cut large swathes of the video because I was just chatting to people. Make sure to avoid this when you are actually trying to get content out for YouTube as it can mess up the flow of a video and make it harder to edit. You still can chat with people just make sure not to go overboard. Again, Ludwig is a perfect example of this, just look at his videos and streams and notice the difference between the two.

Streaming as a job/hobby

I hate this dumb argument of streaming isn't your hobby or twitch isn't your job. You have 24 hours in the day, subtract 8 for sleeping and depending on your job, 9 for work. All that extra time can be spent doing whatever the fuck you want. Want to get big and make money streaming? Do work. Want to just stream while you're playing games anyway? Do that.
IF YOU WANT TO BECOME A PROFESSIONAL AT SOMETHING YOU PUT IN THE AMOUNT OF EFFORT REQUIRED TO DO SO! So stop telling people it has to be a hobby or it has to be a job. It can be either for christ's sake.

Partner difference

I have a checkmark which makes me a better person.
No, but seriously, partner doesn't really do much other than add more emote slots and some quality options. Also, you don't gain extra cash as a partner either. I don't have the mystical bounty board or god-tier split, just the checkmark to flex baby.

Opinion on affiliate

Devin Nash made a video about how affiliate is a scam, which is kinda true but only for people with no viewers. Having the sub button is huge and even when I was small small, affiliate gave me a couple hundred bucks a month for no effort on my part. Patreon is probably better though, no lie.

Twitch "grind"

If you stream 5+ hours a day without making content that lives somewhere else please form a neat line so I can smack you all. People saying they have no time drives me nuts, but when they also "grind" all day AND say that, it makes me want to punch air.

1. Stream YouTube friendly content
2. Stop stream and edit content
3. Upload and plug twitch in the video
4. repeat

That is the only "grind" you should be on. Affiliate is stupid if the 3 viewers you have are all just you on a different ipad.

Luck

You know what? Maybe PewDiePie got lucky and that's how he is such a big YouTuber. Maybe early twitch streamers got all their views because they were early adopters. Or maybe these people only got lucky because they showed up and actually put the effort in.
There are plenty of videos on my channel that looked like flops at first. They got like a couple of hundred views and didn't do well. However, after continuously publishing, a whole bunch of them ended up blowing up and becoming some of the most-watched. Without publishing more videos they would have ended up dead in the water. Consistency > luck.
I don't believe too much in luck when it comes to doing very simple things (LIKE MAKING A YOUTUBE VIDEO) but you literally cannot win the lottery if you do not purchase a ticket, it's that simple.

Editing Software

A couple of people asked this so I thought I should add it here. I use davinci resolve for my videos. Previously, I used hitfilm or something like that I can't quite remember the name, but I had to switch because they don't allow you to have split audio channels (i.e. one for desktop audio and one for mic audio).
I've literally never touched any paid software like premier or anything because, again, I'm a cheap ass.

What should you upload to YouTube?

Seriously just look at Ludwig, smallant, DisguisedToast, literally every top Twitch streamer with a YouTube. All three of the people I just mentioned are over one million subs on YT and are top streamers, so they are definitely doing something right.
In terms of off-stream content, guides are king. If you're a small YT channel with ZERO subs you can still get thousands of views by hitting the search algorithm of YT. My first 3 videos were uncut gameplay, guide video, guide video, in that order. Guess which ones have tens of thousands of views and which has less than a thousand? Guide videos are insane for small channels.
Edit: Actually, let's just call it searchable content. Searchable content is king

Ending notes

I think that's about it for this post. Hopefully, I covered everything although I doubt I did. If you have any questions I'll try my best to answer them and will probably edit the good ones into the post.

Hello everyone!
To repeat what the title said, (and get the full prompt, since it wouldn’t quite fit), two years ago I responded to this prompt:
[WP] You're a powerful dragon that lived next to a small kingdom. For centuries you ignored humanity and lived alone in a cave, and the humans also avoided you. As the kingdom fell to invaders, a dying soldier approaches you with the infant princess, begging you to take care of her
Well, I took that idea and decided the “invaders” weren’t of the “Across the mountain” kind and instead were the “from another world time,” and thus was born The Dragon’s Scion, a trilogy of books dealing with the the dragon-raised and empowered princess’s war against the alien invaders. Book one, Dragonflame, is out now, with more to follow in the coming months! Read the blurb below!
---
Tythel thought growing up under the wings of the last dragon, Karjon the Magnificent, would be the most unusual part of her life. It was only the beginning.
Finally, she’s come of age to begin her transformation into a half dragon. But just as the ritual completes, a steel ship bursts from the clouds, killing the dragon and tearing her world asunder.
The attack leaves Tythel alone and on the run from the alien invaders. The same ones that conquered her world and killed her parents sixteen years ago. The rightful heir to the throne and the last draconic being, Tythel must use every tool at her disposal to survive and teach the aliens a lesson forged in flame.
They should have let sleeping dragons lie.
Dragonflame is an epic science-fantasy adventure.
---
FAQ
Audiobook/Print Copy?
Print Copy is coming soon. For audiobook, nothing yet announced, but I’ll update if there is one!
Is this science fiction or fantasy?
Both, but in a different direction. Most science fantasy deals with science fiction tech and space wizards, and while I love me my space wizards, this goes the other way - the technology is powered by magic, the aliens use their own magic that isn’t just Sufficiently Advanced Technology, and the entire story takes place on a single fantasy world that the aliens invaded.
Length?
Dragonflame clocks in at just about 95k words, which makes it about 300 pages in print.
Elves and Dwarves?
Not exactly. There are the Sylvani and the Underfolk. Sylvani are woods-dwelling people, but they also have the ability to alter their skin appearance and texture and have mysterious origins, and the Underfolk don’t appear in book 1 but will in book 2, and they share “lives underground” with dwarves but take it in a vastly different direction.
I read this on your subreddit, what’s different?
In addition to a completely new introduction/prologue, I’ve applied many of the lessons I’ve learned writing Dragon’s Scion and other books over the last two years, and the prose is cleaner and better fleshed out, as well as some minor changes to fix early installment weirdness.
Age range?
The Dragon’s Scion deals with mature themes and has some racy jokes, but also has no real-world swears, no sex, and injuries are not described in overly-graphic detail. It’s PG-13 in movie land, and acceptable for ages 14+.
Sequels?
This book is part of a trilogy, and I'm looking to have book 2 - Ghostflame - out in mid Feb, early march.
Purge the xeno!
Not a question and not quite the right tone, but I like the enthusiasm. You can pick it up here!
Amazon US Link - UK | CA | AU | DE | MX | JP | IN | BR | FR | ES | IT | NL
I want to sample before I pick up?
Well, good news for you - Check out the first two chapters below!

Prologue

On the path between a dying city and a mountain, a dying guardsman rode with a precious bundle in his arms. This was not the first horse the guardsman had ridden since leaving the city. The others had perished on the journey. He hadn’t even purchased this horse. Having long ago discarded his tabard and armor, this guardsman wore thick furs to keep out the bitter cold. Between that and the wild look in his eyes, he looked less like a guardsman and more like a bandit. It was fitting, in a way, that the third and final horse he rode was stolen.
His name was Comber, and he had been part of the troop assigned to protect the royal family against all threats. For ten years he had stood his post, alongside the royal family’s Umbrists. Comber didn’t have the Shadow-infused powers of the Umbrist. He had armor that had been forged with steel mixed with light, and a sword that had been blessed millennia ago with a dragon’s breath.
That was in the past.
He had a vow to protect the royal family against any and all threats. He’d fought when the minions of a necromancer had snuck in through the sewers. He still had a scar on his thigh from an assassin’s crossbow bolt meant for the King. He was not a coward, and he had thought himself beyond fear.
That was also in the past.
Comber looked over his shoulder. His pursuers weren’t there. He was alone here. There was nothing but a path through the woods, a path that had been cleared by game hunters who would head this way. It took a bold man to hunt in these woods, given what guarded them. The same being that drew Comber deeper within. His last hope for salvation.
The skies darkened, and Comber risked a glance upwards. There it was. That hole in the sky. The sun had passed behind it, casting a momentary shadow across the world. It was like the eclipse Comber remembered from when he was a child, but there was still light coming from the center. Small points showing stars unlike any he had seen before.
A few tiny dots broke off from the main circle. Comber shuddered at the sight. He’d seen what those dots could do when they got lower.
The bundle in his arms stirred when he shivered again, and looked up at him with bright green eyes. Awake now, the child’s face was placid for just a moment, those beautiful eyes flickering about. Then hunger set in, and the child started to wail.
“Shhh, little one,” Comber whispered, stroking the side of the child’s face. “Shhh.”
Still the child cried. She was just old enough to eat mashed food. Comber grimaced and looked around again. There was no one present. “Shhh,” Comber said, pulling on the reins of the horse. He reached into his pack. He still had some berries from the last town, and got to work mashing them into a paste with a mortar and pestle. At her age, the child had just enough understanding of what that smell and sound meant, and her cries turned to excited cooing as she reached towards his hands. “Almost there, little one,” Comber said. Or at least, he started to say. Halfway through the wound in his side reminded him of why he’d abandoned his sword, and Comber hissed in pain. Even the simple motion of grinding berries was too much for him.
He set the mortar down carefully. He hadn’t been able to get a spoon in his mad flight. The child was able to suckle the paste off his finger, and that would have to be good enough. Once she’d been fed, Comber held her with one hand and pulled the other inside his coat. He ran his fingers over the hasty bandage. It was damp. He wanted to look at the injury, but didn’t dare. He knew what he’d find. Black veins sprawling outwards from under the bandage, creeping along his skin. Last night, the veins had been halfway to his chest. Soon they would reach his heart.
He’d die then. Comber didn’t need to be a Physician to know that.
The child reached up and grabbed for his nose with hands wrapped in mittens. Comber let her grab it, then pressed his forehead to hers. “Soon, you’ll be safe,” Comber whispered to her.
Then it was time to transition the child to the straps wrapped around his chest, freeing his hands, and Comber resumed his ride to the mountain.
***
The horse - Comber had never bothered giving it a name - came to a stop, and the jolt rocked Comber awake. He blinked around blearily. He’d fallen asleep in the saddle somehow. Everything felt like it had been coated in a layer of wool. Comber worked one of his hands free of the glove and pressed it against his forehead. In spite of the cold, heat radiated from the touch. “Fever,” he muttered to the child.
“Bah-bah-bah-bah,” she said, which Comber took as affirmation. He smiled down at her, then looked around again. They’d reached the mountain.
“We go no further together,” he said to the horse. Comber had never been one to speak to his mounts, aside from commands. He preferred to make noises at them, reassuring ones. But in the grip of fever, Comber felt irrationally sorry for abandoning an animal he’d only had for a day. A stolen one, at that. “You’ll be able to find your way back to town, won’t you? Or maybe you’ll be able to run free now, without the need...the need…” Comber trailed off. What had he been doing? Talking to a horse, that’s what.
They were close to the base of the mountain, but not quite there. He could see it. Perhaps he could ride the horse a little bit further? He dug his heels in. The horse let out a huff of air and shook its head, instead backing up a few paces. “Of course,” Comber said, shaking his head. “Of course. A horse. A horse of course.” He laughed a bit. It wasn’t funny, but the child joined in the laughter. He patted the side of the horse’s neck again. “You smell it, don’t you?”
The horse shook its head violently and took another step back. That was all the confirmation Comber needed. The horse would go no further. “You know,” Comber said, getting ready to dismount. “I should have known. They eat you, don’t they?”
The horse did not respond this time, for it was a horse, and all it cared about was that it didn’t need to go any further.
Comber got one foot out of the stirrup, but the world started to spin. Instead of dismounting gracefully, Comber swung drunkenly, and collapsed into the snow. He had just enough presence of mind to turn around as he fell, landing on his back to keep the child safe. Comber growled in pain as the impact lanced through his back. The shock did wonders for clearing his head. The child, jostled by the fall, poked her head up and giggled.
“That’s right,” Comber grunted. “I’m silly, aren’t I?”
The child reached up for him, grasping for him. Comber put his finger out for her to hold onto.
He’d abandoned his station, and he knew he should feel guilty about that, but…the beings that had come from that hole in the sky were beyond anything that could be fought. Arrows bounced off their gleaming carapace. Swords were deflected with swipes from their unnatural hands. He had a duty, and he could only save one person.
He’d chosen her.
Comber rose to his feet and turned the horse around. It only took a nudge to get the horse trotting away from the mountain.
It would live. The child would live. That would have to be enough.
Comber made himself walk towards the mountain. Every footstep was like lead. He spotted a trail in the snow - someone else had come this way and left. They were human, or at least walked like one. It could be an Underfolk or Sylvani. It wasn’t the invaders. That much was certain. No one could mistake their skittering legs for human footsteps.
The mountain, at least, was free of snow. Impossibly free, and impossibly warm. A fire burned in the heart of this mountain. Not the molten fire of a volcano. A living flame. A hungering flame.
Had the fever started sooner than Comber realized? He’d been so certain of this plan. He’d heard tales of the flame that lived in this mountain. The tales had made it out to be one of the ones that did not feast on the flesh of Man or the other Intelligent Races. They said it had stood alongside the forces of the Light and Shadow against dread powers in the past. They said it was not to be disturbed, but would not slay - except for those that came to attack it.
But still...could he trust it?
It was too late now. There was nowhere else he was certain would be safe for the child. Not with that locket, secured carefully in a pouch in the swaddling. Even without it...would anywhere be safe from the invaders? Would anything? They hadn’t been killing innocents. They’d killed armies, they’d slaughtered guards, but any who did not pick up blade or spear against them was spared their wrath. Yet...Comber didn’t trust them to stop there. It was possible - nay, it seemed likely - that they were just starting with those that posed a threat to them.
“Not that we did,” he said to the child, who paused in her attempts to gum his finger to look up at him. “I hope, if you remember nothing else, you remember that we tried. We tried.”
“Burrrbl,” the child said happily.
“We tried,” Comber repeated. And they had. Nicandros, the captain of the royal guard, had commanded them perfectly. However, no strategy could overcome the fact that their weapons did no harm to the invaders. That was when Comber realized the only option was saving what he could. That there would be no victory here. Still, Comber had fought, until his wound. Then...he’d been even more useless in battle.
Time became unstable. Comber kept walking up the warm mountain and its bare stones. It was a gentle slope, which was the only reason he could progress at all. Ahead, he saw his goal.
A hole, high up the mountain. One far larger than would be needed for a man to pass through, and one too smooth and round to be the result of nature. This was not a cave. It was a lair.
Comber stumbled and dropped to his knees. The child started to wail again, startled by the jostling. Comber tried to shush its cries, but he was too late. Something was stirring in the lair, dragging itself forth from the depths. Comber saw golden eyes peering out of the darkness, followed by red scales and immense, bat-like wings.
Comber had never seen a dragon in person. Only flying overhead, and even then, such sights were rare. He’d expected them to crawl across a ground, like a lizard, but this one slunk with a cat’s grace. An older cat, one that was past its prime hunting days, but still possessing enough energy to move about. The dragon flapped its wings and took to the air, circling around Comber once before landing.
“I told Lathariel I would not be disturbed,” the dragon growled, and Comber was certain he’d made a mistake. Tears started to form in his eyes, unbidden.
“Please…” Comber said, but the dragon shook its head.
“I will not fight.” The dragon looked up, seeing the hole in the sky, and its nostrils flared. For a moment, Comber could see it considering...then it shook its head again. “I will not fight,” it repeated. “Leave this threat for younger drakes. Ones that have hotter flames.”
“Please…” Comber said again, then coughed. Flecks of something black came with the cough, and Comber moved with speed he didn’t know he still had, pulling the child free of the path of whatever those were. He groaned in pain and nearly blacked out.
“You are injured,” the dragon said, leaning down. “And you are ill.”
Comber nodded.
“I can heal your injuries,” the dragon said, after considering for a moment. “But my flames will make the disease spread quicker.”
“Not...me.” Comber coughed again. “Her.”
The dragon looked at the child. “She’s uninjured,” he said.
“Care...protect.” Comber’s vision grew dark. “She...she...is.” Comber’s vision narrowed. “She is...everything....” The dragon was barely visible now. The world was barely visible. The child stirred, looking from the dragon to Comber and back again, starting to make distressed noises. She didn’t fear the dragon. That was good. But she could tell something was wrong.
“I’m sorry,” Comber said to the child. He looked back up at the dragon. His vision was barely there anymore. He’d gone so far. It felt like part of his mind had been set on fire, to hold back death, and now that he was here, that flame had gone out. “Tell her…” Comber said, and then he started to cough again. “She is…”
“What should I tell her she is?” the dragon asked, after Comber had been silent for too long. When he got no response, the dragon Karjon leaned down. The man’s heartbeat had been so faint when he’d approached, Karjon could barely hear it. Now, though? Now there was nothing.
And the child started to cry.
Karjon looked at it. He’d never dealt with human children before. He knew they needed more comfort than hatchlings. Uncertain, Karjon reached out with one claw and retracted his talon, then brushed his scales on the child’s cheek.
Quick as a viper, the child grabbed Karjon’s finger tightly, trying to seek some comfort in a world that had abandoned her.
Karjon sighed. He had not had children of his own. He hadn’t planned on doing so. But...if nothing else, he could not leave this child to starve on his mountain. He carefully bit on the swaddling, making certain to only let his fangs touch the fabric.
Once these invaders had been dealt with, Karjon would take the child to the nearest humans. They would know how to handle her. He’d keep her safe until then. It shouldn’t be long. There had been many threats over his nine hundred years of life. They’d always been defeated.
There was no reason to believe this would be any different.

Chapter 1

“I have lived for centuries,” Karjon growled. “I dueled the Necromancer Gix and his army of undead. I was on the Council of Twelve, battling the Lichborne. When the mad Lumcaster sought to blind the world, I doused him in my flames. How is it that nothing has vexed me as much as you, little one?”
Tythel looked up at the dragon with eyes wide in feigned innocence. Sixteen years had passed since the mountain and the snow. She didn’t remember it, of course. Just as she did not remember what her name had been before coming here. Tythel was a dragon’s name, not a human name. For all Karjon’s bluster, she was not worried. In sixteen years, Karjon had never raised a claw in anger. “Father, have you considered that it is just because you love me so dearly?”
Karjon huffed and shook his head. “That cannot be it. I think it must be because I did not know how vexing your unique subspecies of humans can be.”
“Subspecies?” Tythel asked.
“Yes. Those strange beings humans call ‘adolescents.’ Or perhaps it is just a trait unique to daughters.”
Tythel beamed at him. The expression only came through with her eyes. In her books, humans would use their mouths to do things like smile and frown. Tythel understood, in theory, what those were, but the expressions didn’t come to her naturally. From what Karjon had said, she’d smiled and frowned at first...but with time, those had stopped. Now, she blinked rapidly to show her excitement. “Which would only matter because you love me. Therefore, I am still correct. And, since I am correct, I see no reason I should not be allowed to go.”
Karjon sighed heavily. “Tythel…”
“You said I could,” Tythel reminded him, trying her best not to sound sullen.
“I told you that, yes,” Karjon said. “I said you could go when it was safe.”
“I want to see other humans,” Tythel said. “Why can’t I go?”
Karjon sighed again, a sound that filled the entire cave that was his lair and their home. “When, exactly, did ‘because I said so’ become insufficient?”
“When I stopped being a child,” Tythel said. “You said when I was sixteen, I could go and see other humans.”
“I said that you could go into the village when you were sixteen, Tythel. I did not say you could do so the very next day.” Making that promise, back when she was nine, had been a mistake. He’d done it to get her to cease her incessant questions. He didn’t think humans of that age could remember things for so long.
“You’re splitting scales and you know it.” She folded her arms across her chest and glowered at him.
Karjon, who weighed in at just over six tons and had battled some of the greatest foes the world had ever seen, broke the staring contest first. Tythel tried not to blink when she realized that meant she was getting through to him. For all his fury and might, Karjon had always struggled to deny her anything. Still, he was not caving like he usually did. “Tythel, there are reasons for the choices I make. They are for your safety.”
“You always hide behind that, father. Are you planning on keeping me here the rest of my life? What are you hiding me from?”
“There are those out there that would see you dead. Is that not enough explanation?”
She glowered at him again. “You know I can’t do anything if you don’t tell me. But if you want me to leave it alone, you’ll need to give me more than that.” Her expression softened. “Please, father.”
Karjon settled down onto the pile of coins that made his seat. Tythel took the cue and walked over to her own, smaller pile. She didn’t have a hoard of her own. Not yet. But she would one day, although she was less than eager for that day. Dragons did not share a hoard. She’d have to leave that day, never to live here again.
“Perhaps…” Karjon started to say, then held up a claw to forestall her before she got too excited. “It is time you know of the dangers beyond this lair. Why I keep you hidden here. And tomorrow…” he studied her critically for a moment, then nodded. “You are old enough.”
“To go visit?” Tythel asked hopefully.
“Not yet,” Karjon said, shaking his head. “But tomorrow, I think you are ready for the one thing I know you want more than to leave.”
Tythel sat up straighter, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You mean...you’ll finish the adoption?”
Karjon nodded, and Tythel leapt up to run over and wrap her arms around her father’s neck. “Thank you thank you thank you!” There were tears forming in her eyes, a human reaction she hadn’t shed with age, but these were tears of joy and not sadness.
“It’s past time,” Karjon said. “I just worried about how your body would react to the transformation.”
“I know,” Tythel said, although deep in her heart, she’d worried that he wouldn’t do it. That she wasn’t good enough. She’d never told Karjon that. If it wasn’t true, it would have broken his heart. If it was true...she couldn’t have handled that. Now, though, she was practically vibrating with anticipation.
Karjon put one of his claws around her, in his version of a hug. From what he’d said, dragons did not engage in touch the way humans did, but one of his books had told him a lack of touch and affection could kill human infants. Deep down, Tythel suspected he had grown to like it himself. “Now. Will you listen, and will you wait?”
Tythel nodded firmly.
“Then do so,” Karjon said, and Tythel settled back onto her coins. “Sixteen years ago, just days before you were brought to me...the skies let loose monsters.”
“Monsters?” Tythel asked.
Karjon nodded. “I do not know if they have a name. I know what Lathariel told me they were being called ‘Those From Above.’ They had weapons that sucked in light and spewed forth their own unnatural energy. Unlight, she called it.”
“And you fought them?” Tythel asked, excitedly.
Karjon shook his head, and in his eyes Tythel could see sorrow she’d never imagined from her father. “I am old,” Karjon said. “I thought they could be defeated without me. Even when I was told dragonflame was all that would harm them...I still thought they could be defeated. There were other dragons. By the time I realized...it was too late. Those From Above had secured power over humanity. They rule down there now. As far as I know, they only fear dragonflame.”
Tythel held up a hand and focused. A ball of flame formed between her fingers. “They fear this?” she asked. Dragonflame was similar to normal fire, but more vibrant. The transition from white to yellow to orange to red that happened in a normal flame was marked by clearer lines. Hers was weak. Not close to the true power of a dragon. She could barely call upon it, and couldn’t even touch the greater fires of ghostflame or heartflame. But it was not nothing.
“Yes,” Karjon said, and there was a somber note to his voice that Tythel couldn’t ignore. “By healing you when you injured yourself...you already formed the gift. They will hunt you. For that and...for other reasons.”
“What other reasons?”
Karjon shook his head. “Not yet. There is much I have kept from you. You are old enough now, but...before that there’s something you need to understand.” He put one claw carefully on her knee. “Tythel...tomorrow, after the Ascension, the number of dragons in the world will go from one to two.”
Tythel stared at her father for a long moment, processing his words. She’d never met another dragon, but the idea there had been other dragons out there...she’d just assumed it. Realizing they’d been hunted down, there was only one thing to do.
She hugged Karjon again, and her father hugged her back. They sat there for a moment, before both of them could steady themselves enough to speak. “Tythel,” Karjon said. “I…have kept something else from you.”
“It’s so much,” Tythel whispered.
Karjon cocked his head. “Do you need time before the rest?”
Tythel considered for a moment, then shook her head. “A scholar’s first duty is to acquire all information before passing judgement,” Tythel said, repeating one of her father’s lessons back to him.
Karjon gave her a slow blink of amusement. “You listen too well sometimes. Very well. Your locket.”
Tythel’s hands went up to the chain around her neck. She’d worn it as long as she could remember. It was the one piece of her own hoard she had. “You said it was my parents.”
Karjon nodded. “That locket is the other reason you will be hunted. It is the locket of the royal family.”
There was a moment of silence as Tythel stared at her father. “The…the royal family. But they…I mean…that’s…” Tythel sputtered off into silence. She couldn’t say it. “I’m…”
Karjon nodded, the motion oddly gentle. “You are the heir to the throne of your family. The throne of the kingdom of Dretayne. You are the next queen of this realm. And for that, you will be hunted as one of the barriers to the rule of Those from Above.”
Tythel took a deep, ragged breath, then nodded slowly. She couldn’t think about it right now. She could barely understand it. So she fell back on the lessons of her childhood. A scholar's first duty. “Tell me everything.”
***
Tythel did not sleep well that night. She tried to, doing every meditation technique Karjon had taught her over the years, but she spent the entire night tossing and turning. The bed she slept on was one Karjon had gotten as a trophy from the Underfolk, those strange underground folk that were in Karjon’s stories, and it had been perfect for her when she was a child. But for the last two years, she’d been forced to scrunch up on it, leading to the impression the Underfolk were likely quite small.
In truth, Tythel was taller than most humans. Sixteen years of eating a diet of meat cooked in dragonflame and lifting and moving gold on a regular basis had left her with a build that was less princess and more warrior, but since the only humans she’d seen had been in her imagination, she’d had no idea how imposing a figure she could cut when she wasn’t comparing herself to a dragon.
She’d never complained to Karjon about the small bed. Other things, sure, but never that – or any of the other things he’d provided to her over the years. Tythel had known how lucky she’d been to have a dragon for a father. Karjon’s stories were full of tales of the legendary heroes of the past, Calcon the Brave and Rilan the Just and Brigith the Nobel and all the rest of them. All of them had started their lives as humble folk that had heeded the Call, which meant their lives had been the humdrum work of farmers and blacksmiths and other folk, and the stories all made that life out to be terribly dull.
She’d always imagined Karjon had rescued her from that sort of suffering.
Now she knew differently. She would have been a princess, daughter to a king and queen, living a life of luxury and wealth and, if the legends were any indication, would have either ended up spoiled rotten or kidnapped by someone to later be rescued. Other than that her life would have been one of formality and circumstance until she was married off to secure an alliance or to whoever had been strong enough to save her, regardless of their other qualities.
Tythel decided that, small bed aside, she still felt lucky to have been raised by Karjon. That feeling was quickly followed by shame at even considering an alternative.
She got out of bed and pulled her blankets and pillows to the floor, arranging them in a pile like the gold Karjon slept on. It wasn’t as comfortable as the bed, but it did allow her to stretch out, and that was preferable to being cramped into the bed at the moment.
The problem was, it wasn’t the bed keeping her up tonight. It was her mind.
Tythel had been on top of the mountain a few times every year, under Karjon’s careful eye. He had explained that if she didn’t get to see the sky every now and then, she’d probably go mad. The village had always fascinated her, and her entire life she’d wanted to go there, just for a day, to explore and celebrate. She wanted to see horses and soldiers and blacksmiths and maybe even a lumcaster if she was really lucky. Karjon had taught her some magic, the barest flicker of dragonflame, but it was not magic meant for humans.
Of course, that would change tomorrow. Well, her being human – she didn’t know if she’d gain any proficiency with her meager powers in the process. She’d have Karjon’s power running through her veins, becoming half dragon and half human. For most of her life, it had been the one thing she’d wanted more than going to the village.
The village. She turned over again.
From the mountain, it had been hard to make out details. She’d filled in those details in her head with ones stolen from her stories – thatched roofs covering star-crossed lovers, barns harboring hard working folk with wisdom gained from years of honest toil, scholars in cramped quarters trying to unravel the mysteries of the universe, chimneys smoking with fires that were roasting chickens or beef. Never in her life had she imagined the people out there were being subjected to tyrants that had more power than she could imagine. Never, not once, had she imagined that she was their ruler by a mere quirk of birth.
That thought got her turning again. Karjon’s stories had talked about something called “noblesse oblige,” the responsibilities that the nobility had to their people. Protect them, help them, guide them, and care for them. If she was a noble – a royal – didn’t the same thing apply to her?
Stop it, Tythel. Stop it.
But the thought wouldn’t go away. If she stayed here with Karjon, she was failing in her responsibility. The sixteen years leading up to this had not been her fault; she hadn’t known she had duties. After a moment of reflection, she decided they weren’t Karjon’s fault either. They were the fault of the mysterious Those from Above. Now that she knew, however…well, Karjon had always taught her that inaction was still a choice, the choice to do nothing.
Tomorrow, then, after the Ritual. She’d leave, no matter what. And if Karjon tried to stop her…well, then she’d have to do it alone.
And that thought, more than any other, caused Tythel to burrow as deeply as she could into the blankets before sleep finally claimed her.
---
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AN: I'm back from my seven day ban (Which was entirely justified).
To those that don't know, after I posted the story up on Amazon, I was informed that Kindle Unlimited requires that the story be posted nowhere else. I had assumed that applied only to selling via other publishers, not the free novel.
That was not the case. Hence my rapidly pulling down the story from everywhere in a panic, lest I get my amazon account banned, and my dream of authorhood killed in the cradle.
That was not why I recieved a ban from HFY for seven days. I recieved the ban, because as I pulled the story, I left the Amazon link up. That was a violation of rule seven of the subreddit, which says that any link must be accompanied by 350 words of OC content. A rule I broke nineteen times in ten minutes.
Either way, that is behind us now, and I've put my time to good use setting up a patreon and building up a backlog of chapters.
So without further ado, here's book two, which will be posted up until such time that the book is published, at which point it will be pulled like book one to conform with Amazon, and we will start again with book three.
I'm also sitting at number ten on Space Fleet Sci-Fi right now on the top one hundred list, so I just wanted to thank everyone that bought a copy or left a review.
You guys rock!
​
“Alright ladies, shut up and sit down,” Tisi called over the hubbub of conversation.
To be honest, it was kind of ridiculous that she needed to ask at all, given that she was the captain, and thus the crew should have been jumping up to salute her with obedient silence the moment she entered the ship’s small cafeteria/lounge area. Unfortunately for her, captaining a tiny picket ship like the Whisker didn’t carry that kind of prestige.
More to the point, it was difficult to maintain any kind of professional distance when you were in tight confines with the same group of seven people for weeks at a time.
Fortunately, the group of layabouts she was saddled with were still obedient enough. While they weren’t quite as prompt as she might have liked, the conversation did fall away, allowing her to speak.
“Glider, Rocket, you hearing me up there?” She asked.
“Loud and clear, captain.” The ship’s intercom squawked overhead.
“Good,” she nodded.
Between those two on the bridge and the five before her, the entire crew was present.
“As I’m sure you’ve all already heard, we’ll be getting a replacement for Batna when we next pull into port.”
All around her she saw people nod, though the one who did so most vigorously was Kernathu. Which wasn’t all that surprising given that the poor girl had been running double duty to compensate for the missing member of their complement. To be honest, it was kind of ridiculous that the Whisker had launched at all without a full crew, but then again, she supposed that was just a natural consequence of being posted to Gurathu. It was about as backwater a posting as one could get without literally manning a weather station on an ocean world.
“Please tell me it’s not another Rakiri,” Someone groused from the back. “It’s already bad enough that I’m picking Yaro’s hair out of the drain every other night.”
To her left, the crew’s sole Rakiri crewmate just chuffed in amusement, the furry bipedal woman more amused than offended by the insinuation.
“Forget a Rakiri, I’d kill for another Halkem,” Scales muttered, the aristocratic grey skinned woman running a hand over the eponymous black scales that ran run up and down her forearms. “A lower caste of course. It’s been forever since my scales received a proper buffing.”
“I offered to help,” her fellow marine offered.
Scales gave the muscular Shil’vati sitting next to her a cool-eyed glance. “Yes, and you nearly de-scaled me in the process.”
Assisse just shrugged, as if to say ‘at least I tried’. Tisi coughed, before Scales could respond and allow the crew’s odd couple to get into yet another argument.
“Well, before I have to listen to anymore suggestions as to what you do and don’t want in the latest member of our security contingent, how about I just tell you?”
The crew fell dutifully silent.
Sighing, Tisi continued. “They won’t be a Rakiri, Halkem or even a Shil’vati. We’re getting a Human.”
She’d been expecting it, but it was still kind of surprising how still everyone went. You could have heard a pin drop in the ensuing silence. Even Cerilla looked a little interested. Then the questions came all at once. Tisi didn’t even try to decipher the deluge of blurted words from about half the crew. Instead, she slammed a fist onto a nearby table.
“Quiet,” she hissed, silencing them all instantly as she scowled.
Sighing, she collected herself. As her eyes roamed over the room, she noted with some contentment that most of the crew looked at least a little sheepish about their outburst.
As they should, she thought.
For all that their circumstances allowed for a little laxity in military protocol, this was still a military ship and she was still the captain. They were all well-behaved enough on-planet, but sometimes when they were out in space all of them needed a reminder of what she represented.
She was the captain. Her word was law, and all of them were expected to give her rank the respect it deserved. Content to let the matter lie now that they’d all been reminded of that fact, she continued.
“Yes, they are male.” She answered, figuring it was best to get it over with.
It was fortunate for her that she’d just reminded them all to behave with some decorum, because she had a feeling that if she hadn’t, she’d be listening to them all whooping and jeering right now. Kernathu in particular looked about to explode from joy, and even Cerilla looked interested despite her self-proclaimed disinterest in men.
Of course, there’s disinterest and then there’s disinterest, Tisi thought.
Lots of girls liked to get into relationships devoid of males, but few enough would pass up an opportunity to ‘try one’ if it came up. It was a rare one that abstained entirely.
Of course, from every indication she’d seen, Tisi was pretty sure that Cerilla was one of those rare women. Her gut instinct was that the chief medical officer’s current interest was entirely professional rather than romantic or sexual.
The same could not be said for the rest of her crew however.
“Alright, all of you get your heads out of the gutters,” the captain instructed, before the – thus far – silent excitement could reach a fever pitch.
Not that she could particularly blame them. Even out on a backwater like Gurathu, where weeks could pass between messenger ship circuits, they’d all heard about the Imperium’s latest acquisition.
Tisi was pretty sure that half of it was Turox shit, but then again, even if only a fraction of what she’d heard about the humans was true… well, she could understand what all the hype was about.
Not that she intended to do anything about it when their newest crewmate arrived. She knew some captains liked to play that part of the noble in the parlor, but Tisi was better than that. Her only relationship with the newcomer would be professional.
…well, unless he offered. She had standards, but she wasn’t dead after all.
Snapping her mind away from that line of thought, she fixed the motley crew in front of her with a stern eye.
“Now I don’t need to remind you – but I will anyway,” she began. “We’re an Imperial Naval Vessel. That means you are expected to treat our newest crewmate the same way you treat anyone else.”
She’d gotten a very sternly worded memo with pretty much those exact same words in addition to her newest crewmate’s dossier.
“The last thing the navy wants is another scandal like the Iron Tooth,” she said, which served to put a significant damper on the party-like atmosphere that had been developing.
Which it should. The Iron Tooth incident had been a black mark on the reputation of the navy as a whole, and while those women were now all in military prison, the effect of the scandal on male recruitment rates was still being felt two years later. Still, at least it had brought a number of new rules and regulations into being for active-duty ships.
She knew some members of the military chafed under them, but to her thinking they were just good sense.
“We aren’t a band of Periphery pirates,” Tisi said, echoing her own thoughts. “We’re here to do a job, not just indulge our own whims.”
The crew as a whole nodded, even Assisse, prompting Tisi to smile with pride. Her crew might not have been the most disciplined bunch in this part of the galaxy, but when push came to shove, they were all good people.
-----------------------
Shil’vati, as a race, were predisposed to high temperature conditions. Many of their earliest civilizations had cropped up around the tropical climates of Shil’s equator.
Unfortunately for Assisse, Gurathu was anything but warm.
It was a frigid ice ball of a world, filled with mountains so large it made the ones back home look like a kid’s sandcastle by comparison. Sure, the main-colony had been set up in a valley between two of those mountains, keeping it more or less sheltered from the frigid winds of world, but that didn’t make the freezing temperature any less oppressive to her senses as she and the Captain stepped out of their car and onto the busy streets just outside the space port.
“Ma’am, why am I here?” Asisse asked, as she locked the vehicle and the two started making their way toward the nearby building. A task made marginally harder by the crowds of furry Rakiri colonists that made up an overwhelming majority of Gurathu’s population.
Just last week the space port had been a ghost town. Today that wasn’t the case though. With a large cargo ship coming in, the place had filled up with natives hoping to load up or receive things.
“Upset that I’m taking you away from your away time with Scales, sergeant?” the Captain teased as they strode past two brown coated furry aliens arguing loudly with a tired looking Shil’vati customs officer.
If they were still in space Assisse would have rolled her eyes at her superior’s comment. They were on-planet though, so she refrained, keeping her features studiously neutral. That was part of the strange dichotomy the crew of the Whisker shared.
It was an old joke anyway. For all that the crew liked to joke that the pair of them bickered like two rival wives in a marriage unit, they weren’t together. They were just friends. Which ironically was less than a lot of girls in the services were.
While the reputation for girls ‘enjoying each other’s company’ while out on deployment was a pretty gross exaggeration, it was a stereotype that held some truth. Assisse and Scales had never done anything of the sort though. They were just friends who liked to bicker.
“Not at all, ma’am,” Assisse drawled dutifully.
Tisi hummed thoughtfully as they flashed their credentials at the Shil’vati militia guarding the terminal entrance to the new arrival.
“I assumed that as the leader of our little Marine contingent, you’d be interested in seeing our newest arrival first hand.”
Assisse shrugged. She wasn’t too bothered to be honest. Whether she saw him today or a week from now, when the Whisker set off for patrol again, didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like she could send him back if she didn’t like him for whatever reason. Ignoring the fact that she was pretty sure the crew would mutiny if they didn’t get the human, it would be weeks before the next message ship came through, and they would be out on patrol before that happened.
“Apparently our newest addition is some kind of tactical savant,” the Captain continued, ignorant of her thoughts. “Managed to take on an entire company of Interior elites with just two other recruits during a training exercise.”
“…How?” Assisse asked skeptically. On a purely practical level, she was pretty sure three recruits didn’t have enough ammo to gun down that many of the opposition.
Tisi shrugged. “That, my dossier didn’t say. Probably some kind of guerilla thing. You’ve heard how humans are.”
Assisse nodded warily. Everyone had heard the stories about the latest race to be added to the Imperial fold. Specifically, the fact that they had a fifty/fifty gender ratio and that the males were just as randy as women.
That wasn’t what Tisi was referring to. Earth wasn’t all that dangerous. Ignoring the myriad other advantages the Imperium held over the native population, the fact was that most of the native’s weapons couldn’t penetrate through Shil’vati armor. That made being out on patrol a whole lot less of a daunting prospect.
That didn’t mean it was totally without risk. What the aliens apparently lacked in weapons acumen, they surely made up for in tenacity and creativity. The number of homemade ‘rail-guns’ that had been popping up in recent weeks was proof enough of that.
Crude, sparse and slow to fire as those weapons were, they’d destroyed the assurance of many a patrolwoman that their armor was proof against anything the natives could throw at them.
The place was still considered a pretty sweet posting compared to the likes of the Periphery - practically a vacation, even - but it seemed that with each passing month the number of injuries and casualties amongst the occupation force grew rather than diminished. Which was the opposite of what was supposed to happen.
The numbers were beyond middling to the Imperium, but it was still a worrying trend.
“Here we are,” Tisi said as they passed through another checkpoint and back out onto the recently swept open tarmac of the landing pad.
Personally, Assisse would have preferred to stay in the heated building and watch through the viewing port, but she knew better than to voice that opinion. That they’d be standing outside waiting for the ship to arrive had been a foregone conclusion anyway. As her slightly blue snow-tanned complexion could attest, the captain liked to take every opportunity she could to be out in the open air while they were on planet. It was almost as if she was compensating for all the time they spent in the cramped confines of the ship.
Well, that wasn’t strictly fair. The Whisker was actually pretty spacious for a picket ship, with a fairly large number of amenities for its small size. Of course, all the amenities in the world couldn’t distract from the fact that it was a limited area, and that the crew spent weeks, and occasionally months, stuck there.
So, she supposed she could forgive the captain’s need to stand out in the freezing Gurathu air. Even if Assisse was pretty sure the tips of her ears were beginning to form icicles.
“Anything else I should know, ma’am?” she asked as they peered out into the great blue sky above.
“He’s a boot.”
Assisse glanced at the woman next to her. “I figured as much, ma’am. Being human and all.”
Tisi determinedly kept her eyes on the sky. “No sergeant, I meant basic boot.”
That made the marine pause.
“No vocational, ma’am?” She asked slowly.
“No.”
Now Assisse was fully staring at her superior. “With all due respect ma’am, what the hell?”
Basic training was called that for a reason. It instilled all the basics that any member of the military might need.
That was the key word in that statement: Basics.
Vocational training was where actual skills were developed. Engineers, chefs, medics, hell, even your average riflewoman needed more advanced training to truly be considered competent in their chosen role.
Advanced unit tactics, sweeping and clearing, how to call in orbital support, jump-pack operation…
The list went on and on. All skills that were needed for a team to be able to function correctly during an operation.
Empress, it only got worse on a small picket ship like the Whisker. The ship’s small complement meant most members had multiple roles. Assisse herself was entirely capable of filling in as a medical assistant should it be required, and Scales was an assistant chef.
“I was lead to understand – as was the rest of the crew – that our newest member would be filling in for Bant,” she gritted out, not needing to state that Kernathu would be devastated. The young mechanic was running herself ragged keeping the ship running without aid. The rest of the crew tried to pitch in where they could, but they just didn’t have the skills to be truly useful.
The captain frowned, no doubt thinking the same thing. “I don’t like it much either.” She allowed. “Orders are orders though. Between us, it’s obvious that something funny is going on here.”
Assisse scowled. She knew exactly what that meant.
Politics.
The word felt foul on her tongue. She’d thought having a posting on the ass end of nowhere would get her away from all the politicking of back home. She supposed it just went to show that wherever the Imperium went, politics followed. The nobility were pathologically incapable of keeping their noses out of anything.
The captain being the notable exception of course. She was a fine no-nonsense leader, but even she had her moments where that ingrained aristocratic instinct kicked in.
Though it was unfair, Assise couldn’t help but wonder if this was one of those occasions. If the captain was accepting this human as part of some plot back home.
“It’s not all bad,” the woman continued, completely ignorant to the Sergeant’s thoughts. “Apparently he was going to university on his homeworld. Part of the uplift program to familiarize the humans with our tech so that they can finally start contributing.”
She paused. “He was only part way through the course before he, uh, signed up, but that should give him enough of a foundation to be of use. I’m sure Kernathu will get some use out of him.”
Assisse privately doubted that. Still, it wasn’t her department. Her only concern was how decent he’d be in a firefight. Not that she expected to be in one, but that was neither here nor there. Searching merchant ships for contraband was already tedious enough without worrying if one of her underlings was going to shoot his foot off.
“There it is,” Tisi pointed.
Assisse glanced up, and sure enough there was a blot in the sky above. It started small at first, but as the minutes passed, it only grew in size. Soon enough she could make out individual details. The Grinshaw’s Maw was built in the style of most Shil’vati ships. Which was to say that it was essentially a brick with a set of oversize engines strapped to the back.
The cargo ship was even uglier than most. Where most warships would have at least had a sleek array of laser pods running across the ship, this one had but one, mounted to the front. Instead of holding weapons, the sides of the ship bulged out awkwardly to make room for the vessel’s expanded cargo holds.
As she watched it continue to grow as it got closer, she couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. Nothing that big and cumbersome looking should have been able to move through atmosphere. Nor should it have been so quiet while doing so. Nearly twice the size of the massive super-cargo ships that used to ply Shil’s southern oceans, the thing’s engines should have been blazing away in an attempt to just keep the massive construct in the air. Instead, they were all but silent, only occasionally releasing a small puff as the ship corrected its course.
“Anti-gravity tech can be a real mindfuck,” she murmured, ignoring the way the Captain looked away from the ship to send her an amused glance.
Kernathu had tried to explain it to her once, but it had all come out as gibberish to Assisse’s ears. Like, what the fuck was a ‘graviton’ and why was it only sometimes a wave? She had no clue, and she’d long since given up trying to understand.
Finally, the ship touched down with a clunk. Then a second clunk as the anti-grav field turned off and the full weight off the ship dropped onto the landing struts.
The cargo gates opened with a whirring noise, and massive heavy-duty ramps slid down. Almost immediately cargo vehicles and exo’s began striding out to the behemoth, to begin the gargantuan task of unloading its cargo, before reloading it with exports from Gurathu.
“Shall we go see the latest addition to our little ‘family’?” Tisi said, a hint of genuine excitement peeking through her expression.
Assisse once more resisted the urge to roll her eyes. For all that the captain played the role of the no-nonsense officer, sometimes it was easy to see the excitable young woman that lay beneath. As evidenced by the fact that they were boarding the ship, rather than heading back inside to wait in the passenger terminal.
Instead of doing that, Assisse did what all enlisted throughout history did when saddled with an excitable officer. She grunted and grudgingly followed after her superior.
​
​
First / Next
Another three chapters are also available on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/bluefishcake
We also have a (surprisingly) active Discord where and I and a few other authors like to hang out: https://discord.gg/RctHFucHaq

A/N: Hey, guys! Normally, I'd hold off until Saturday morning to post this, but I'm going to be busy the rest of the week and won't be able to do much posting, so here you guys go, a little ahead of schedule! Coming in at 16,673 words, it's not the longest episode ever, but it's still on the longer end!
In this episode, we get more running, a special marching cadence, and a few big reveals. Plus some bitter-sweet and happy squad feels at the end.
There are only two main episodes left in Act III, then we'll be back into the war with Act IV. I've already got a lot of Episode 16 written, though if past experience is any indication, it'll probably still double in word count from where I'm at now by the time I finish fleshing all the scenes out (and I'll always have a few unexpected scenes crop up before I'm done). How soon that'll all be done is still hard to say. Work is still keeping me pretty busy, and every time I think things are going to ease up or settle down and give me more free time, it doesn't.
On another note, I'd like to hear from you guys on what brought you to RH, or how you heard about the story, and what some of your favorite parts of it are so far. I can't promise I'll give you more of everything you love (and I can't please everyone), but knowing what you guys enjoy, and what you think is good helps me know what I'm doing right, and what I can focus on to continue doing good. I really look forward to hearing your feedback!
Here is the Patreon post for anyone who wants it in one solid block. Now, without further ado, what you're all here for:

Retreat, Hell – Episode 15

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“Give me that old Marine Corps Spirit!”
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“GIVE ME THAT OLD MARINE CORPS SPIRIT!”
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“’Cause it’s good enough for me!”
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“’CAUSE IT’S GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME!”
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“It was good for Chesty Puller!”
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“IT WAS GOOD FOR CHESTY PULLER!”
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These people run too gods damned much! Rinn panted as the battalion thundered around the base on their morning death march. And oh, look, here we are, running past our barracks again, getting our hopes up just to dash them… He stifled a whine. At least today they’re cutting the run short for helicopter training. When this is all over and done with, I don’t ever want to run again…
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***
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“Hahahaha! And the looks on their faces when we went evasive!” Edison kissed his fingertips and flared his hand as he backed through the bunk room door. “Perfection!”
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“Nah, the best part was old Shields here,” Kawalksi threw a heavy arm around Rinn’s shoulders, nearly causing him to stagger into the door frame. “He was all stony faced, like, ‘I’ve done this before, this is nothing exciting,’” Kawalski said, putting on a fake deep voice. “Even as the huey went sideways!”
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“I was trying not to throw up…” Rinn admitted, flicking an ear at Kawalski as he trudged back to his rack, sore, tired, and trying to pretend that his legs weren’t all wobbly after the day’s aerial adventures.
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“Yeah, what’s the straight-horned one with all the “that’s what she said” jokes, Tyaytyay?”
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“Tyehtyeh,” Rinn corrected.
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Kimber gave him a “whatever” wave. “Yeah, him. He puked his guts out all over the tarmac three feet after he got out when we landed.”
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“Ha! He did better than old Stuffy McStuffyface, threw up in mid-air!” Kawalski chuckled. “Projectile vomited when we went evasive! Though, we were horizontal at the time, so it mostly just went straight out the door!”
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“Mostly my ass!” Kimber said. “I was sitting at the down door when he spewed! He puked all over the back of my helmet!”
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“Hahaha, yeah, it was great!” Kawalski grinned. “You should probably go clean that off, though…”
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“Yeah, no shit.”
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Rinn sighed as he popped his boots off, wriggling his toes and savoring their freedom. The human boots fit better than any other pair of boots he had ever been issued, and they had mostly broken in by this point, but they were still combat boots, and didn’t quite match his foot shape. He pulled his shower gear out of his pack, looking forward to a hot soak, only to watch a parade of four Marines scramble past, already half undressed and dibsing the showers first.
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He sighed, setting his shower kit at the end of his rack before digging out a pen and notebook. It’s probably best to go last, anyway, now that we get more than five whole minutes of hot water… More time to soak.
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“More English lessons?” Bradford asked, leaning over to look at his notebook as he flipped it open.
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“Yeh,” he yipped, still amused the Gyani word for ‘yes’ was so close to an informal English word for the same.
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“And what’s the word of the day?”
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“What is the word for…” he frowned. “It is a place in a home where you build a fire…”
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“A fireplace?” she asked.
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He flicked an annoyed ear at her. Of course that would be a word they used… “Yes, but… no, that is not the meaning I’m looking for.”
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“Mantle?”
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He shook his head. “No, that’s not it, either. The place where the fire is, the foundation, the hearth.”
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“The hearth?” she asked, and he sighed.
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I should have just led with the word. The words were different, but the meanings were identical. Not everything translated so well, but many words did. “Yes, that is the word. Hirth…”
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“Hearth,” she said, emphasizing the vowel sound.
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“Hyarth.”
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“No, no y, stop putting y’s in everything.”
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“YI Dyon’t knyow whyat you myean,” he yipped in heavily accented English, flicking an ear at her and sticking out his tongue.
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She laughed, then grabbed her pillow and swung it at his head, barely missing as he fell to the side. “Now try it again, you guber.”
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“Ha-arth,” he said, drawing the vowel out as he sat up. “Harth.”
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“Close enough,” she said, chuckling.
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He flicked his ears up with a smile, and jotted down the phonetic spelling in Gyani.
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“How did you say your word for it?”
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“Sfyisch.”
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“Ssfayeesh.”
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“No, sfyisch.”
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“Sfwitch?”
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“No, it’s not a hard tch, it’s a softer sch.” He considered for a moment. “It’s like a hissing tch. And its yi,” he yipped the short vowel sound, “Not uuhhhhwwweeeee. Stop flapping your big, fat lips.”
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“Hey, you got lips, too, dumbass!”
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“Yeah, but they’re not so fat and poofy, like yours!” He flicked his ears at her. “You look like you got stung by a bee.” He flicked an ear to the side. “Or a dozen.”
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This time, the pillow did catch his head, and sent him flopping to his rack. “Oof.”
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“Who’s got big lips now, bitch!” she said, puffing her chest out and swaying her head back and forth.
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“I don’t know, was that your lips or your pillow you hit me with,” he said, sticking his tongue out at her, promptly earning himself another bonk. “Oof.”
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“And just for that, you’re gonna have to wait until I’m done with the shower,” she said, hopping up and snagging her toiletries bag as a gaggle of half-dressed Marines chased each other out of the head.
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Rinn chuckled as he tossed her pillow back on her rack and sat back up. That’s just more time for me to soak…
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“Hey, have you guys seen my Switch controllers?” Kimber asked, digging through his pack. “I can’t find them anywhere.”
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“Where’d you have them last?” Dubois asked, not even looking up from the boot he was cleaning.
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“I could have sworn I put them back in this pocket,” he said, tapping a pouch on his pack. “That’s where I keep them, but they’re not anywhere…”
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“You can borrow mine,” Edison said, once again performing surgery on the squad’s GoPro. He gestured absently at his pack. “They’re in the clip-on bag, somewhere…”
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“Thanks, man, but… I wanna find mine.”
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“D’you think someone might’ve, like, grabbed ‘em by mistake, brah?” Stevens said, pulling on a clean shirt.
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“Or not by mistake?” Miller asked.
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“Yeah,” Elder said, looking up from his phone. “We had that platoon thief a while back, remember?”
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“Dude, that’s why you need to carve your name into them,” Davies said, lying on his rack playing his own Switch. He lifted his hands to show his name carved into the same kind of controllers Rinn had seen Kimber using. “That’s what I did with mine.”
“I had my name on them, man, in sharpie.”
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“Yeah, but sharpie can come off,” Edison said, still focused on the GoPro. “Alcohol or a dry-erase marker can do the trick.”
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Kimber grumbled something, and started expanding his search area.
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“Hey, Shields,” Kawalski said, dropping down next to him. He only had his boxers on, and was still a little damp from the shower. “Teach me more keshmin swear words! How do you say fucknugget?”
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Rinn raised an ear and an eyebrow at him. “We don’t have that one.”
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“Well, come on, then, what else have you got? I’ve got a new one for you! ‘Twat!’” Kawalski grinned. “Means ‘pussy’ in English English.”
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Rinn flicked his ear. “Is that how you use your words words, when walking down the street street?”
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Kawalski laughed. “No, fuck face, it’s English spoken by the English, as opposed to real English spoken by Americans.”
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Rinn paused, pen in mid-air, and stared straight ahead for a moment. “Wot?”
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“Kawalski, you dumbass, the English invented the English language,” Dubois said. Rinn didn’t even need to look at him, he could hear the eye-roll.
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“Guys! Guys!” Gomez stuck his head out of their supply fort. “I found some boxes we missed! They’re full of fucking duct tape!”
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“No shit?” Kawalski said, immediately distracted by the prospect of creative acquisition. “How much?”
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“I dunno how we missed it, hoss, there’s boxes and boxes of this stuff! Different colors, too!”
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“Sweet! Grab us all a roll! Jabs, too!” Kawalski paused, then stood up. “What all colors are there?”
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“Dunno yet, I haven’t gone through all the boxes, but there’s a few at least.”
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“Lemme see…” Kawalski disappeared into the fort. “How the hell did we miss all this… Oh, I see, it got buried behind the fuck tent.”
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Dubois looked up. “Why do you have a fuck tent?!”
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“Dude, you always need a fuck tent!”
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“Who the fuck are you fucking!?”
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“Your mother! Heheheh!”
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***
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Rinn pulled the earmuffs off his head as the firing line was declared cold. The new earmuffs they had been given had deeper cups with more room for his ears, but they still didn’t fit well. We’ll have to talk to somebody about getting some properly designed for us, he thought as he trudged down range to collect his targets. The Marines had scrounged up a few more of their pop-up metal targets for the “new” range, but they were mostly still shooting at paper targets tacked to wooden frames.
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Back at the tables behind the firing line, Rinn looked over the keshmin targets with a pleased quirk to his ears. Their scores were not anything the Marines would consider good, by any means, but even the grizzled Gunnery Sergeant running the range begrudgingly nodded his approval at them being passable. Barely.
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Not bad at all, for what little training we’ve managed to fit in around everything else. Lord Anyo is even showing a particular knack for the weapons, at least on the fixed range. Rinn was pleased to note that his own scores had surpassed Anyo’s on the dynamic range, much to the Knight Captain’s chagrin.
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Lunch consisted of MREs at the range, and Rinn once again got to demonstrate his “advanced knowledge” of human equipment to the other keshmin, and warned them away from the less favorable MREs. Not that I’ve actually tried many of them, but our pallets seem to match close enough that I’ll take the Marines at their word.
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The lunch break was short, barely enough time to heat the food and gulp it down, before they were hurried off to the next event on the range, this one pushing the artificers to their magical limits.
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“Cease fire! Cease fiiire!”
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Rinn panted, overheated and out of breath, as he lowered his stave. The targets down range were shredded, both by gunfire and spellfire, but this wasn’t a measure of accuracy.
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“Most impressive, Ahyat,” Yeshai said as Rinn stepped back from the firing line. “How many armor enhancements were you able to maintain?”
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“All twelve of them, Your Grace,” Rinn said, still trying to catch his breath. “But I couldn’t keep up with the machine guns. I could barely keep up with one, nevermind three!” He shook his head, making sure to close his mouth to keep his tongue from lolling, though his ears still flopped a bit. “The best I could do was one enhancement every fifth or sixth shot with two. One in a dozen with three.”
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Yeshai snorted. “No worse than anyone else so far, and you did it while maintaining all armor enhancements, a very fine shield, and respectable spellfire of your own.” He flicked an ear. “Any of us might surpass you in single skills, but on the whole, I’d dare say you’re the best of us, and by no small margin.”
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“You honor me, your grace,” Rinn said, giving him a bow.
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“Your service honors the kingdom,” Yeshai replied, dipping his head in return.
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Straightening, Rinn couldn’t miss Anyo glaring at him, but he pointedly ignored the Earl. Sinyan had gone before Rinn, but Anyo had gone before him, and all but confirmed Rinn’s suspicions that the Knight Captain was a sparker.
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“And who’s our next contestant?” Gunnery Sergeant Valdez called as Rinn flopped down next to Bradford, happily guzzling the bottle of water she handed him.
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“Tyehtyeh, that’s you!” Yenyed called, glaring at the oblivious artificer.
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“Oh, right!” Tyehtyeh said, looking up from the spellstructs he had been studying. He barely even put on his false-deep voice.
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“Oh, here we go…” Bradford muttered, rolling her eyes.
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“Don’t be spiteful,” Rinn said, flicking her ear with his tail. She swiped at the offending appendage and tried to grab it, but he quickly snatched it out of her reach. “He’s made incredlbe progress these last two weeks. He hasn’t admitted it, but I’m fairly certain he’s had no formal education as an artificer, or even at all.”
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She raised an eyebrow at him. “So his bluster’s all just a show, deflecting from his … ignorance?”
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He dipped his head with an affirmative ear flick. “And the more I give him to study, the less he remembers to put on the act.”
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“Huh…” Bradford said, giving Tyehtyeh a newly appraising look.
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“Line ready?” Valdez called out. “Shooter’s stand-by! FIIIRE!”
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Tyehtyeh immediately popped up a shield and sent a triple burst of tight, powerful firebursts down range, before the Marines could rack their bolts and engage. Brief flashes of light rolled down the line as armor enhancements went up.
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He still needs to kill that startup flare, but at least he’s cut out the continual glow, and his efficiency is a hundred fold better. He’s barely leaking any mana!
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Tyehtyeh hesitated as the rifles opened up, several rounds zipping down range unseen. He rolled his ears, shifted his feet, and every single shot became a visible bolt, glowing as it snapped down range.
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More rifles opened up, then a machine gun, then two, then tree. Rinn’s ears shot up under his earmuffs. Every single round glowed.
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Then Tyehtyeh brought his stave to bear and let off a barrage that made Rinn’s spellfire look like a peashooter.
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“CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIIRE!” Valdez called as the targets disappeared into several plumes of splinters and smoke.
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“Holy shit!” Bradford said. “He hits like an artillery piece!”
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Rinn looked at her, then to Tyehtyeh, then to Yeshai and the other keshmin. A small part of his mind was pleased to note that he wasn’t the only one whose jaw was hanging open.
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“Did I mess up again?” Tyehtyeh asked, sheepishly scratching at the base of a horn.
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Yeshai shook his head, the first to collect himself. “No. No, you didn’t.” He looked at Rinn, forcing the field artificer to collect himself. “Second Artificer, you wouldn’t happen to have a metering artifice in your repertoire, would you?”
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He cocked an ear to the side, wondering what the Duke was getting at, before it clicked. “Yes, your grace, I do.…” he stood up, retrieving his stave, and walked over to Tyehtyeh with Yeshai. The Marines and other nobles muttered amongst themselves in their separate groups as Tyehtyeh squirmed under the unexpected attention.
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“Second Artificer Tyehtyeh, have you ever been officially metered?” Yeshai asked, stopping in front of him.
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“Well, ah, no, Your Grace,” Tyehtyeh said, scratching at the base of a horn. “Militia really only ever cared that I could sling spells, didn’t much care for any of the details.”
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“I suspected as much,” Yeshai said, dipping his head in a small nod. He flicked an ear at Rinn, then back to Tyehtyeh. “Second Artificer Ahyat, if you would be so kind.”
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Rinn nodded and stepped forward, his stave held low in one hand. He didn’t really need it to run this particular artifice, but he suspected the extra precision and peak range it allowed would be useful.
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“What’s this, then?” Valdez asked, stepping up to the line.
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“The lad has never been officially metered,” Yeshai said, waving a hand at Tyehtyeh, an exaggerated gesture probably for the human’s benefit. “He has no idea how powerful he actually is. We’re about to find out.”
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“Will this hurt?” Tyehtyeh asked, his ears nervously twitching back.
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“Of course not,” Rinn said. “You don’t even really need to do anything. Just passively channel a mana stream.” He paused. “Down range, if you please.”
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“Right,” Tyehtyeh said, turning to point a hand down range. Rinn brought up the metering artifice, set so the measurements were visible in the air. At first, there was nothing, then Tyehtyeh closed his eyes and everything spiked.
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“Above and below…” Yeshai muttered as Rinn scrabbled to shift the ranges the meter was displaying. Tyehtyeh blew past the maximum levels. Twice. “You’re a gods-damned savant!”
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“What?!” Tyehtyeh squeaked, spinning around and cutting off the mana stream.
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“Not just a savant,” Rinn said, his eyes and ears locked on the measurements his artifice was still displaying. “Your Grace, he’s one of the most powerful savants to ever live.”
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“What?!” Tyehtyeh said again, this time with a little less squeak. “That can’t be right…”
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Yeshai, turned to Valdez. “Gunnery Sergeant, we are done here for today. We need to do a complete examination and assessment of Second Artificer Tyehtyeh’s abilities, and I need to write to the King.”
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****
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Scrubbing her face, Bradford trudged around the corner of a building on her way back to the barracks, after dark, and smacked right into someone. “Oh, shit!” she said, stumbling back while fumbling out to catch the other person before they fell.
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Bradford kept her balance. The other person he the ground with a yipped, “Oof.”
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Looking down, horrified at her clumsy inattentiveness, she found Rinn glaring up at her. “I was hoping to run into you on my way back, but I didn’t mean for you to take it literally!”
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She laughed, reaching down to help him up. “Sorry, I’m just a little brain-dead right now.”
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“Oh,” he said, standing and dusting himself off. He flicked an ear at her. “I couldn’t tell the difference.”
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“Oh, fuck you,” she said, giving him a shove that sent him staggering and nearly back into the dirt.
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“Abuse!” he cried, struggling not to laugh. “Help! Help! I’m being abused!”
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Bradford just continued walking, flipping him the bird over her shoulder.
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“That rough a day?” he asked, jogging briefly to catch up. “Too much going on on your surprise afternoon off?”
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“Pff, I wish.” She sighed, waving at the barracks ahead of them in the distance. “Most of the guys got the rest of the day off, thanks to Tyehtyeh, but not me.” She shook her head. “Nooo, I’m a Sergeant now, with ‘field experience,’” she said, with air quotes. “Since I happened to be free for the afternoon, I got pulled into another planning meeting for the field exercise we’re doing at the end of the week.” She shook her head. “Normally, these things are all planned out weeks in advance, but now we’re trying to cram that all into a few days…. Ugh!” she scrubbed her face again, heaving a sigh. “What about you? How was your afternoon?”
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Rinn sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Probably not much better.” His ears twitched, and he shook his head, letting them flop around. “More testing with metering artifices more precise and capable than mine will be required to know his exact power, but between myself, the Duke, and the other nobles, we were able to determine that Tyehtyeh is a savant, and one of the most powerful to ever live. There are two, maybe three other savants alive who are more powerful than him, and those not by much.” He scrunched his snout. “And he has the education of a quillhog farmer!”
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Bradford laughed. “Sounds like someone’s a little pissed off that their spot as the top artificer has been stolen by an uneducated bumpkin.”
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“I’m not pissed off!” Rinn snapped. “Not about that, anyway,” he sighed, tugging at a horn. “It’s just- I’ve taught Tyehtyeh a hundred times more in the last few weeks than anyone else has ever taught him. Almost everything he knows, he learned on his own! He’s not just a savant, he’s not just one of the most powerful savants to ever live. I have to admit, he’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.”
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“Oh, really?” Bradford asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
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“Yes!” Rinn rolled his ears. “Now, of course, he doesn’t act like it at all, not in the least, because he has the education of a quillhog farmer! But instead of a bumbling idiot who can barely figure out which end of his pike to point at the enemy, he taught himself how to do magic from scratch, using a bare handful of spells he was shown as an example, and a few concepts he overheard in conversation.”
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“Damn,” Bradford said, shaking her head. “Imagine what he could do if someone taught him.”
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Rinn vigorously nodded his head, eyes wide and ears up. “That’s exactly what we just saw today! And if he had a proper education.…” He shook his head. “The Duke has written his father and the King, and the nobles of are two minds about what to do with Tyehtyeh. On the one hand, he should be sent to a university, trained and educated. In time, he might become the most powerful savant to ever live!”
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“On the other hand, he’s useful now?”
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“Yes.” He sighed. “The education he should get would take years, when he is already a powerful battlefield savant, and we are in desperate need of every advantage in the war.”
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“So what are they going to do with him?”
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“I don’t know. The Duke has a lot of influence to sway that decision, but it will not be made by him. That is for his father, Lord General Yangri, and the King to decide.” He sighed. “Until that decision is made, I will be continuing my tutelage of Tyehtyeh, and the other artificers will provide selections of well-designed spell structures for him to study and master.”
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“Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to worry about tomorrow,” she said as he opened the door to their barracks and waved her in. “It’s late enough as it is.”
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“Indeed,” he said, following her through the door. His ears twitched as they approached the bunk room. Bradford could here muffled shouts and laughter coming from inside.
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Glancing at Rinn, who gave her a smirking flick of an ear, she opened the door. The room fell to immediate silence as it swung open, the bright light of the hallway casting a sharp outline into the dimmed room.
​
Inside, every other member of Second Squad was wearing assorted styles and colors of masks made out of duct tape. The diversity of styles included cut-out or molded eye holes, teeth, full cheek guards, bikers goggles, a medieval doctor’s beak, mohawks, and more. Holding a wild medley of cardboard-and-duct-tape melee weapons, they were clad in little else besides a chaotic mix of speedos, diapers, vests, and/or a few get-ups that looked suspiciously like pleasure harnesses, all made from a rainbow of duct tape.
​
In the dim light and resounding silence, they all turned to stare at the door.
​
Bradford slowly cast her gaze across them as she looked from one side of the room to the other, the Marines all frozen and staring at her in silence, before she quietly backed out and shut the door.
​
“We’re going somewhere else for a while,” she said, still staring at the door she firmly held shut.
​
Rinn’s ears, held straight up, swiveled to point behind him. “That… That sounds like an excellent idea…”
​
“Yeah…” she said, releasing the door and pulling herself away. She looked at Rinn. “Anyone ever show you how to play Xbox?”
​
“I can’t say that I have,” he said as she pointedly ignored what sounded like Kawalski’s muted shouting behind the door.
​
“Sounds like a great time to learn,” she said as muffled chaos exploded behind the door. She turned and headed towards the common room. “C’mon, I’ll teach you how to play Call of Duty, and we can see what other games they managed to snag. I haven’t had time to play anything since they set the system up.”
​
​
***
​
​
Rinn fidgeted as Echo Company formed up outside their barracks complex. He was nervous. First Sergeant Khatri had found out about his cadence project. He was nervous because he expected to be called on to lead the whole company through his new cadence.
​
He was also nervous because he was the one who told First Sergeant Khatri about it the night before. That’s why he had run into Bradford on the way back to the barracks. He gave a silent prayer to all the gods above and all the gods below that the squad wouldn’t find out.
​
“Company! Atten-hut!” Rinn snapped to attention with the other Marines as Khatri marched out in front of them. “Marines! It has come to my attention that one of our augments has been undertaking a little cadence project, translating a Ganlin marching song into a Marine Corps cadence. Is this true, Second Artificer Ahyat?”
​
Rinn had to struggle to keep his ears from plastering back against his skull. “Yes, First Sergeant!”
​
“And it is my understanding that it is in a workable state. Is this true, Second Artificer Ahyat?”
​
Rinn hesitated. He swore he could hear a pin drop. “Yes, First Sergeant!”
​
“Outstanding! Now, as you all know, I take great pride and joy in a proper marching cadence, and to hear this warms my heart.” He clutched a hand to his chest for emphasis. “The deep, sub-cockle regions of it. Second Artificer Ahyat, you will be leading us in this cadence today!”
​
“Yes, First Sergeant!”
​
With the closest Rinn had ever seen Khatri come to a smile, the First Sergeant made a crisp about face and saluted Captain Spader. “The company is formed and ready, sir!”
​
“Very well. Get them moving, First Sergeant.”
​
“Aye, aye, sir!”
​
Khatri pivoted and marched to his place in the column. “Company! Forward! March!”
​
Feet crunched on gravel and packed dirt as Echo Company stepped off. Khatri called out a basic cadence as he turned their column out of their little assembly area, what the Marines had started calling the grinder, and onto the road.
​
“Ahyat!” Khatri shouted as the last of the Marines snaked onto the road. “Sound off!”
​
Rinn cleared his throat. “Yipe! Yipe! Yegh!” he shouted, the corners of his mouth twitching as the Marines echoed back the nonsense sounds. Here we go, he thought, taking a deep breath.
​
“I left my heart in San’Riiaaaaa!” he called out in English. His t’s were still a little soft, and he still dragged out his vowels a bit longer than he should, but his accent was still clear.
​
“I LEFT MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAAA!” The Marines echoed back, and he could hear the surprise in their voices. He smiled and called the next line.
​
“I left my heart to heed the caaaall!”
​
“I LEFT MY HEART TO HEED THE CAAAALL!” The Marines’ voices were stronger, more certain, adapting quickly.
​
“I left my heart to shield her theerre!”
​
“I LEFT MY HEART TO SHIELD HER THEERRE!”
​
“I left my heart to goo to waaaar!”
​
“I LEFT MY HEART TO GO TO WAAAAR!”
​
“Chorus!” he shouted, before taking another breath.
​
“We carry on the looong campaaaign!
We steel our hearts and maaarch aloooong!
To keep the war awaay from hooome!
We raise our pikes and neeever yieeeld!
‘Til we’ve freed the yoke from all Gahlaaa!”
​
He closed his eyes for a beat. He could already tell his throat was going to be sore when this was all done, but he wasn’t going to bungle it. Another breath, and he shouted again.
​
“I found my boots in Rotiyiiiin!”
​
“I FOUND MY BOOTS IN ROTIYIIIN!”
​
“I learned to march in formatioon!”
​
“I LEARNED TO MARCH IN FORMATIOON!”
​
“In line and square and in colummn!”
​
“IN LINE AND SQUARE AND IN COLUMMN!”
​
“To bear my heart in San’Riiaa!”
​
“TO BEAR MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAA!”
​
This time, a few Marines joined in on the long notes of the chorus.
​
“We carry on the looong campaaaign!
We steel our hearts and maaarch aloooong!
To keep the war awaay from hooome!
We raise our pikes and neeever yieeeld!
‘Til we’ve freed the yoke from all Gahlaaa!”
​
A few more had joined before the chorus had finished.
​
“I donned my armor in Toiyooo!”
​
“I DONNED MY ARMOR IN TOIYOOO!”
​
“I wrapped myself in clooth and steeeel!”
​
“I WRAPPED MYSELF IN CLOOTH AND STEEEEL!”
​
“Re-enforced with maail and speeell!”
​
“RE-ENFORCED WITH MAAIL AND SPEEELL!”
​
“To shield my heart in San’Riiaaa!”
​
“TO SHIELD MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAA!”
​
Marine voices started to overpower his as he drove into the chorus once more.
​
“We carry on the looong campaaaign!
We steel our hearts and maaarch aloooong!
To keep the war awaay from hooome!
We raise our pikes and neeever yieeeld!
‘Til we’ve freed the yoke from all Gahlaaa!”
​
“I grabbed my pike in Mol’Raiii!”
​
“I GRABBED MY PIKE IN MOL’RAIII!”
​
“Enchanted bright and shaarp of biiite!”
​
“ENCHANTED BRIGHT AND SHAARP OF BIIITE!”
​
“I lift it up and hoold it hiiigh!”
​
“I LIFT IT UP AND HOOLD IT HIIIGH!”
​
“To guard my heart in San’Riiaaa!”
​
“TO GUARD MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAA!”
​
The Marines had picked up the chorus this time, and he could barely hear his own voice over theirs.
​
“We carry on the looong campaaaign!
We steel our hearts and maaarch aloooong!
To keep the war awaay from hooome!
We raise our pikes and neeever yieeeld!
‘Til we’ve freed the yoke from all Gahlaaa!”
​
“I earned my strips in Riiun Paaass!”
​
“Blood stripes!” someone shouted in the brief gap before the rest of the company echoed back.
​
“I EARNED MY STRIPS IN RIIUN PAAASS!”
​
“At Koilay, Bruhl, and Sai’Li’Unnn!”
​
“AT KOILAY, BRUHL, AND SAI’LI’UNNN!”
​
“In blood and fire I baattle throuuuugh!”
​
“IN BLOOD AND FIRE I BAATTLE THROUUUUGH!”
​
“To win my heart in San’Riiaaa!”
​
“TO WIN MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAA!”
​
This time the Marines beat him to the chorus, and he straightened in pride as voice was drowned out by a company two hundred strong.
​
“WE CARRY ON THE LOOONG CAMPAAAIGN!
WE STEEL OUR HEARTS AND MAAARCH ALOOOONG!
TO KEEP THE WAR AWAAY FROM HOOOME!
WE RAISE OUR PIKES AND NEEEVER YIEEELD!
‘TIL WE’VE FREED THE YOKE FROM ALL GAHLAAA!”
​
“I yearn to see my heaarth and hooome!”
​
“I YEARN TO SEE MY HEAARTH AND HOOOME!”
​
“Family, friends, and soomeone mooore!”
​
“FAMILY, FRIENDS, AND SOOMEONE MOOORE!”
​
“I promise one day too retuuurn!”
​
“I PROMISE ONE DAY TOO RETUUURN!”
​
“To see my heart in San’Riiaaa!”
​
“TO SEE MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAA!”
​
“WE CARRY ON THE LOOONG CAMPAAAIGN!
WE STEEL OUR HEARTS AND MAAARCH ALOOOONG!
TO KEEP THE WAR AWAAY FROM HOOOME!
WE RAISE OUR PIKES AND NEEEVER YIEEELD!
‘TIL WE’VE FREED THE YOKE FROM ALL GAHLAAA!”
​
“I left my heart in San’Riiaaaaa!”
​
“I LEFT MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAAA!”
​
“I left my heart to heeed the caaaall!”
​
“I LEFT MY HEART TO HEEED THE CAAAALL!”
​
“I left my heart to shield her theerre!”
​
“I LEFT MY HEART TO SHIELD HER THEERRE!”
​
“I left my heart to go to waaaar!”
​
“I LEFT MY HEART TO GO TO WAAAAR!”
​
He held the last note to signal the end of the cadence. The Marines copied the long note, and it trailed off as they made the final turn, approaching the rest of the battalion’s formation. The First Sergeant timed that well… he thought, but felt one last call was needed. “Royal Host, Never Yield! Two-Five!”
​
“RETREAT, HELL!”
​
“Company! Halt!”
​
​
***
​
​
“Guh, my head feels like mush,” Bradford said as they trudged into the gym. “I swear to god, if I have to go to one more strategy seminar or training planning session, my brains will all ooze out of my head and have to be mopped up off the floor…”
​
“Don’t worry, Jabs,” Edison said, tapping her arm. “We’ve got your favorite activity to make up for it: Picking up heavy things and putting them back down.”
​
“Damn straight!” she laughed.
​
“Raaawwwgh!” Edison said, flexing his arms in front of him. “She-Hulk STRONG!”
​
Laughing, she gave him a shove hard enough to send him staggering off to the side. “Stronger than you, pencil-arms.”
​
“Why do we keep having to sit through all these seminars, anyway?” Kimber asked. “We’re Marines. You don’t put us in classrooms. You give us a gun, and point us at whatever you need destroyed.”
​
“It’s to figure out how to train the next guys,” Bradford said, stepping over to a weight bench. “Got my spot?” Rinn and Edison paired up by a couple of benches by the dumbbell rack nearby while the rest of the squad dispersed through the gym.
​
“Sure,” Kimber said, stepping over to the weight rack. “How much to start?”
​
“Fifty on the bar to warm up a bit, then up from there.”
​
“Cool,” he said, grabbing a weight. “And what do you mean, figure out how to train the next guys?”
​
“The next guys,” she said, locking a weight on her side of the bar, then settling down on the bench. “The next group of Marines and Artificers, or Soldiers and Artificers, or whoever the fuck else gets sent through this program.” She took a grip on the bar as Kimber moved into position at the head of the bench, and with barely a grunt she heaved it off the rack and started doing reps.
​
“When did we get put into a program?” Kimber asked.
​
“We’re not in a… program,” Bradford grunted out between reps. “We’re… pathfinding it. The training program… that integrates artificers and the U.S. military.”
​
After several reps, she shoved the bar back up on the racks and stood up, wiping sweat off with a towel as she switched places with Kimber.
​
“You think they’re making this a program?” Kimber asked, heaving the bar off the rack and starting his own set of reps.
​
“Fuck yeah, they are. No putting that cat back in the bag. We’re just kind of the pilot, fumbling our way through, figuring shit out for the people that’ll come next.”
​
“Hadn’t really thought of that,” Kimber said, putting the bar back up on the rack after his set.
​
Bradford snorted as she grabbed more weight for the bar. “You’re a Marine. You don’t get paid to think. Good thing, too,” she winked at him.
​
“Damn straight!” he laughed, locking a matching weight on the other side of the bar and moving back to the spotter position.
​
Their conversation tapered mostly to insults and encouragement as they added more weight with each set.
​
They were just locking another set of weights on the bar when Kawalski called over. “Kimber! We need you! Gomer thinks he’s the wrestling champion!”
​
Kimber glanced back at Bradford, but Edison spoke up. “Go ahead, man, I’ll spot for her.”
​
“Ha!” Bradford snorted. “Spotter needs to be able to at least help lift the weight that’s being benched, and that ain’t happening with your pencil arms, and I could probably bench Ahyat for reps.” She glanced at him. “No offense.”
​
He shook his head with a dismissive ear flick. “None taken.”
​
“Ha, I bet you could!” Edison said.
​
“Kimber!”
​
“I can’t, man! Jabs is gonna bench Shields!”
​
“What?!”
​
“Jabs is gonna bench Shields!”
​
Bradford laughed, glancing at a bewildered Rinn.
​
“Man, I gotta see this,” Elder said, elbowing his way to the front of the crowd that spontaneously formed around the weight bench. It felt like half of Echo Company was there.
​
“Hey, how many reps you bet she can do with him?” Kawalski asked, hustling the crowd even as it formed.
​
Bradford looked at Rinn again as a pair of Marines lifted the bar out of the way. He was shoved towards the bench, and his ears drooped in defeat.
​
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not benching him.”
​
“But, Jabs-“ Kimber said, before she interrupted him.
​
“Dude. He’s, what, one ten?” She raised an eyebrow at Rinn. “One fifteen, soaking wet, with a brick in your pocket?” He shrugged his ears, flicking the end of his tail at her. “I just repped one thirty,” she said, pointing her thumb at the bar, “And upped it to one forty-five. I’ve got nothing to prove by benching Ahyat.”
​
“Aw, c’mon, Jabs,” Kawalski said. “It’s not about provin’ nothin’, it’s about bein’ funny!”
​
“I said no, Kawalski.”
[First][Prev][Next]
Continued in comments...

The human gazed at the aliens around him and knew, just knew, he was in a LOT of trouble.
They were not much to look at. Small. Furry. Possessing faintly rodent like features. Their powerful hindlegs had them leaping quite large distances. When humans first encountered this species their initial impression was of some kind of hybrid of Kangaroos, harvest mice and Hobbits.
Their gentle and passive nature and their habit of communal sleeping had led humans to call them ‘Dormice’ out of affection.
The human wanted, very much wanted, to go back home and inform his fellow humans that this was a bad idea. A very bad idea.
The Yucani did not appreciate the term. The Yucani did not appreciate a lot of things. Mostly, right now, this group of about 400 of them did not appreciate him.
Their angry chirps and trills grow in intensity as they hopped angrily around him. Younger males would seemingly leap towards him at high speed, before landing close with a furious hissing noise. While the human could speak Yucani, he could barely understand them as they trilled so quickly. He held up his hands in what he hoped was a universal sign of surrender.
The human may not have been an expert on Yucani culture, but he was fairly sure he knew what a lynch mob looked like. The mass of small creatures had cornered him against a wall and continued to gaze at him balefully. Each passing moment they seemed to increase in anger, in their aggression, in their potential for violence.
A stone slammed into the wall besides him.
Three things happened immediately. The human saw the stones arrival seemed to give the Yucani the idea that this was a brilliant innovation.
Oh crap! They are going to stone me!
The largest Yucani in the mob, stood about seven feet away from him, suddenly removed a vicious looking knife, with a long serrated edge.
It’s gonna stab me!
And a roar of a Yucani constabulary patrol ship suddenly was heard, its distinctive sound causing many of the small creatures at the back to turn their heads.
The police! They’re gonna save me!
As the vechicle moved closer, more and more of the mob heard it and the human was very relieved to see that they didn’t start picking up rocks and the one with a knife, his large brown eyes filled with fury and rage, slowly returned the knife back to his clothing.
The craft landed, and six Yucani got out; their green uniforms were armoured, which made them look actually impressive (the human had long ago realised that only the larger members of the race were ever chosen for their constabulary).
They slowly hopped towards the mob, who had now turned and were trilling and squeaking in high pitched tones towards the newly arrived officers.
The human gulped down a breath of air. The sense of relief and gratitude he felt was immense. He was saved. As the officers made their way towards him, the crowd parting, he felt his legs go weak. He wanted to collapse. But he managed to hold it together long enough, to offer a grateful smile as one finally made his way towards him, dividing his fellow Yuanci like the Moses before the Red Sea.
“I am very happy to see you,” says the human, smiling down at the Yucani constabulary officer. It responds by removing a short grey metallic pole and jabbing it into the humans leg.
Pain. SO much pain. A searing, agonising, exploding pain that begins in his leg and races through every single nerve cluster in his body. The human convulses and screams, his bladder empties and he almost instantly drops into unconsciousness from the agony. He falls into a crumpled heap against the wall. The Yucani officer, ignoring the little cheer that had began from his fellow species, gazed down at the human with contempt and spat.
Two months later…
The young human, manacled and bound is thrown into the small conference room the aliens had built for this meeting. His eyes glance up and fall upon the first human face he had seen in many weeks.
“Oh God, thank you. Are you here to save me?”
The other human was in his fifties; his eyes bore the look of a man who had seen many things, perhaps too many. His suit was well made, sensible, if not slightly on the conservative side.
In response to the question he smiles gently and says, “Kid, I’m fairly sure only God can save you. But I am here to try and help with the mess you are in.”
Relief, mixed with wild joy fill the prisoners face. The younger man spots a chair to sit in (the room had the familiar setting of two human shaped chairs and a desk between them), and falls into it in a heap, his manacled hands landing heavily upon the table.
“Oh, thank you! You need to get me off this planet. The conditions I’ve been kept in have been awful. I am totally isolated. A hole in the ground with a large vent in the ceiling. They throw food down to me. The place stinks.”
The older man raises an eyebrow, “That’s good. You getting off lightly.”
“Lightly? The entire thing stinks like a sewer.”
“That’s because it probably IS a sewer,” shrugs the older man, reaching for a briefcase by his side.
“What?”
“Yucani prisons. They don’t incarcerate anyone but worst offenders on their world. The closest they have to prisons are specially made sewers.”
“That’s…”
“Tell me, have random Yucani been coming along and urinating and crapping into your cell as they pass?”
“What? No. That’s horrible.”
As the older man places his briefcase upon the table between them, he smiles a cold, tight smile, “The Yucani word for ‘prisoner’ literally translates into English as ‘Eaters of Our Shit’. I think the fact that they are throwing you human food and not pissing on you qualifies as light treatment.”
The younger man’s jaw just drops. A stunned look of absolute horror crosses his face. The older human uses this as an excuse to open his briefcase, remove a heafty file in a manilla cover out (it lands on the table with a satisfying heavy sound), closes the briefcase and places it on the floor besides him.
“Are you from the Embassy?”
“No. I just arrived in-world an hour ago. Four days at warp. My guts feel mushy.”
“Oh. Are you a lawyer?”
“I afraid not. Formally the excuse the Embassy will give you is there are no humans conversant in the intricacies of Yucani jurisprudence to be able to offer effective advice. Off the record? No lawyer in the entire solar system would touch your case. So, they sent me. I’m a specialist.”
“What in?”
“Apparently being human,” says the older man, who opens the folder and begins scanning the pages underneath. The younger man is too confused to say anything which suits the older one just fine. He glances up into the scared eyes of the prisoner.
“Andrew Montgomery Eversham, born 2118, Britain. British? Should have figured. Father was an engineer on Ares station, mother was… French. Well that explains much.”
“What does my mother have to do with anything?”
The older man gazes him up and down and asks, “Only child huh?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Thought so. Right, Mr Eversham. Do you know what they are charging you with?”
“No one has told me anything at all. I was performing, and the next thing I know I was being chased by a mob of angry Dormice, and then one of their police…”
“Yucani. Not Dormice.”
“What?” Eversham’s eyes widen, and he nods, “Yes, right. I know. I figured that out. But you know its just us here.”
“Saying Dormouse to describe a Yucani is like being home and using the word ‘Kike’. It’s a derogative term. An insult. Maybe not enough to get you punched, but we don’t do that.”
“Alright. Yes. I understand. I will try. Good job you ain’t Jewish eh?”
“Bad news I’m afraid. I am.”
“Oh.”
The older man scans through the documents and frowns.
“You are charged with a multitude of offenses. The first of which is Causing Great Disgust of Public Morals; Crude and Offensive Language; Heresy towards the Gods of the Yucani; Causing a Disturbance of the Peace… what were you doing?”
“I was doing my routine.”
“Routine?”
“I’m a comedian. Stand up.”
There was a raised eyebrow.
“You are comedian?”
“Yes.”
“And you caused this reaction?”
“Apparently.”
“Gonna say Kid, I’d work on your act.”
Eversham blinks and his face contorts with frustration, “Are you here to help me or not?”
The older man however just gazes at the file before him, “As well as the above you are charged with Inciting a Yucani to Wish to Commit Violence- this is a serious offense by itself, but they have charged you with inciting every individual in the crowd who heard you. So that’s 496 separate charges. And given each one carries a possible death sentence…”
“Death sentence? I could die?”
The older man smiles coldly across the table, “And we haven’t even gotten onto the serious allegations yet. So far, its just been the warm up. Now it says here that you perform under a different name.”
“Yeah. Abe Froman.”
“What?”
“Abe Froman. You know from that old movie.”
“What old movie?”
“A 20th century classic. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. The character of Abe Froman- the Sausage King of Chicargo? You must have heard of it?”
The older human raises his eyebrows high.
“No ‘Abe’ I haven’t. Neither have the Yucani. Which means they arrested someone called Abe Froman, only then to discover his real name is Andrew Eversham.”
“It’s my stage name.”
“The Yuctani don’t have concepts for ‘stage names’. All they know is a human arrived on planet with one name and then started using another name once here. And THIS is why they have charged you with espionage.”
“ESPIONAGE!!?”
“Yes. Specifically, because of the two names thing. And THEN because they think you are some kind of human agent, but don’t know what exactly you could have been up to, they assume the worst and charged you with everything they think you COULD have been here to do. That’s what the rest of the folder is.”
Andrew gazes at the thick pages with a look of absolute terror. The older humans eyes begin scanning; “So, from the top, ‘Suspected of Wishing to Assassinate the Emperor of the Yucani; Suspected of wishing to Assassinate the Chancellor of the Emperor of the Yucani…”
He moves forward a few pages.
“Suspected of wishing to put poison in the water supply of the cities of Heshis and Jebin…”
“But I…”
The older man lifts up more pages and smiles, “Suspected of seeking to violate the sacred virginity of the High Priestess of Rho- that’s impressive.”
“Are you serious? This is a joke.”
“Deadly serious,” hisses the old man, who closes the file with a loud thump. He fixes Eversham with a fierce stare.
“I gotta tell you ‘Abe’- you are in so much trouble right now that EarthGov is an inch away from washing their hands of you, throwing you to the Yucani and letting them take dumps on your for the rest of your short life. I am, literally, the only hope in hell you have of surviving and if I’m being honest- it aint much of a hope.”
“But it was just a few jokes,” mews Eversham, his eyes welling up with tears.
“Who thought it would be a good idea to travel to another planet and do stand up comedy?”
“My agent.”
“Your agent? What did you do? Sleep with his wife?”
“No,” comes the panicked reply.
“Didn’t you even do some basic research on what the Yucani considered humour?”
“No. I thought it would be more interesting to just turn up and see how they reacted to human jokes… you know… see the raw reaction.”
The older man is briefly speechless. He takes a breath and says quietly, “Gotta admire your chutzpah Kid. Not smart but that’s a LOT of chutzpah…”
“Why would EarthGov throw me under the bus? I don’t understand. I screwed up sure, but…”
He stops as the older man just holds up a hand. He gazes into his eyes as the first human he has seen in months speaks very quietly.
“Here’s the deal. As far as we can tell, a couple of months ago, this young human leaves Earth and flies to Yucani homeworld. He passes customs, checks into a Yucani version of a hotel and asks if they have versions of ‘clubs’. He discovers that, being social creatures, Yucani do indeed have these places where they gather to be entertained. Brilliant says he. The human goes to one of these. This human, he is not entirely ignorant- he’s learned basic Yucani. Not much, but enough to converse conversationally.”
The older mans stare nails the young man to his chair.
“So he goes there and meets the Yucani in charge. Explains that he is a ‘human entertainer’. Asks if he can perform. The Yucani, like the rest of his species? They get on well with us. We share similar traits. We have had good relations since the Treaty of Commerce and Travel was signed fifteen years ago. Sure, he says. He announces this human. Who gets on stage. But does not sing. Doesn’t dance. He talks. He talks to them. He says some pretty damn insulting things about them. He ignores their obvious growls of displeasure.”
“I thought they were laughing!”
“You thought wrong kid. The crowd sat for about twenty minutes getting madder and then decides enough is enough. They chase him out of the club, across two streets and corner him outside of his hotel. Where he is arrested and not lynched because the club owner rang the constabulary. Have I missed anything out?”
“No,” says Eversham quietly.
“So the EarthGov embassy gets informed of all this and do what they do and move to smooth ruffled fur. It’s just a misunderstanding they say. It’s an easy mistake they say. Their records show he is JUST a comedian. But here’s the thing kid. Yucani don’t have comedians. They don’t get it. So the Ambassador tries to explain it to them. Which in turn leads to a discussion about a very unique trait we humans have that Yucani do NOT have. Know what that is?”
“A sense of humour?” Eversham says, literally unable to help himself. He is surprised at the response.
“Well spotted. They have one but it is nothing like our own. They became fascinated at our sense of humour and then in quick measure, horrified at it. They find the very essence of human humour to be offensive, aggressive, cruel and vicious. Their government is considering tearing up the Treaty between our two races. Literally, your little stunt has caused the MOTHER of all diplomatic incidents.”
“I… I had… no idea,” stammers the Englishman.
“That comes as no surprise to me whatsoever,” comes the hissed reply. The older man sighs and rubs his eyes and continues. “Now the GOOD news is, given the severity of the charges you face, the nature of the issue, and the sheer monumental insanity of this whole thing, the Yucani have decided to not bother with all the minor courts, judges, appleant proceadures. You are going to be tried by the top court on the planet. The Ultimate Court. One trial, one hearing, one.”
Eversham just nods.
“The bad news is, it won’t be you alone on trial. It will be the entire human species. And our sense of humour. Somehow, just somehow, we have to convince these creatures that actually our sense of humour isn’t just an awful trait that they find offensive. And that means somehow, just somehow, I’ve got to defend human comedy in front of a species who has no concept of comedy at all.”
The older man sighs.
“And I thought raising my eldest daughter was tough!”
There is a silence. The full weight of the moment clearly hits the young man. He lowers his head and fights back tears. Eventually, without looking up, he says quietly.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure you are kid.”
“I’ve been a fool.”
“This much EVERYONE can agree upon.”
“I never meant to cause this…”
The older man sighs again, “I know you didn’t kid. Everyone knows you didn’t MEAN it. Doesn’t make it any easier for folks back home.”
Andrew Eversham nods. Displaying the stoicism his nation was famed for, he remains very quiet. Tears drip off his nose but he makes no sound. The older man just looks at him, an iota of sympathy creeping into his sad eyes. Moments pass. Eversham finally speaks.
“It… maybe it would be better if everyone just wrote me off. Said I was insane. Aberrational. Throw me under the bus. Let everyone get on with it?”
A small sad smile crosses the older mans face.
“To be blunt, that is what a LOT wanted to do back in EarthGov. A lot still do. But it’s too late for that. The whole race is in the mix now. Like it or not, we gotta jump on this ride and see it through to the end. And this is why they sent me. Because some fool thinks that if anyone can win this, can somehow get you off, its me.”
“Are you a diplomat?”
“No, no, nothing like that.”
“So why did they send you?”
“Beats me kid. I mean I have a rough idea, but really? I think they sent me because they are desperate.”
“What do you do for a living?”
A smile.
“For my sins? I’m a Rabbi.”
Four Days Later; The Grand Chamber of the Yucani Ultimate Court
Rabbi Johnathan Cohen had to admit- it was impressive. For such a small race, the Yucani could do ‘grand’. As he looked around the chamber of the highest judiciary on their planet, he could imagine it being used for an equally impressive purpose back on Earth. Of course on Earth the décor and colour scheme would be a tad different. More imposing.
Regal even. This?
It reminded him of the garish interior of some Western Bordelo from the 1890’s if he was honest. Still, the gold and purples and reds didn’t distract from the gravitas of the assembly or the importance of the room.
Or the size of the crowd.
EarthGov told him it was going to be a big show. They were not kidding. The five judges (known as a ‘claw’ the standard designation in all Yucani trials apparently) were looking impressive in their yellow robes of office, but they were upstaged by everyone else. The importance of the nature of this trial had demanded that anyone who was anyone would be here.
Rabbi Cohen could see the heir to the Yucani Empire had arrived (representing his father and 83 siblings); the Minister for Relations With The Hairless Ones (the formal designation for the poor Yucani official who dealt with humans) was also there, talking to him in hurried trills.
There were delegations of all the great and the good of this species, including The High Matron of the Sacred Priestesses of Rho, whose arrival caused him to smile inwardly. And it wasn’t just the Yucani who were here.
The unique nature of the diplomatic spat had caused interest from a half dozen other species. He saw the Ambassador of the Tu-Kek sitting within a glass encased sphere; the Emissary of the Golden Hive, which sat unmoving upon a perch, witnessing all that it relayed to the collective hive mind of the crew of the colony/ship that had arrived in orbit a few days before.
There was even a Frosh there, hovering enigmatically in its encounter suit, and the Frosh didn’t seem interested in anything except fractal mathematical equations most of the time. None of the species knew a damn thing about them- highly advanced but utterly abstract.
And there were the other humans. The Ambassador was there looking nervous (he was partly to blame for messing up the aftermath of the event- his job was on the line); the Commodore of Human Forces in the nearest sector was to his right, looking bored (only here because EarthGov was slightly worried this could end in a war). The attractive secretary (who everyone whispered the Ambassdor was sleeping with), sat on the other side of the Commodore, his handsom eyes glancing at the proceedings nervously.
And this ignored the several hundred normal Yucani who had managed to gain attendance to the trial. Rabbi Cohen took a sip of water and muttered to himself, “No pressure then Johnathan…”
“What?”
He turned to the rather pathetic figure of Andrew Eversham besides him. He wasn’t chained, and he had been issued new clothing, but his eyes were sunken and he looked the very image of a broken man.
“Nothing kid,” he says kindly, “you ready for this?”
“No,” comes the dispondant reply. For some reason Johnathan smiles at this.
“That’s the way. Honesty is always the best policy.”
The beating of a gavel is enough to start the proceedings. Ear pieces to allow fluent translations of all sides words are donned, and Rabbi Cohen takes a deep breath. Yucani trials followed a slightly differing format than humans- but the jist was roughly the same. The ‘prosecution’ he noticed was a grey furred alien, whose somewhat rotund body revealed him to be a corpulent and well fed member of his species. No doubt some great legal mind.
The trial passed quickly enough- the facts were not in dispute and indeed the defence case being as it was (the human in question was ignorant of any harm he could cause and meant no malice) was not even seriously contested by the state. No, in truth the real reckoning lay in the deeper issue of human sense of humour, and how in would colour future Human-Yucani relations.
Eventually, after about an hour, the rotund alien hopped back towards his table and began trilling in low, dark tones. In Cohen’s ear the translation came across clearly.
Which leads us, most supreme claw, to the crux of the issue. The human’s case rests upon a simple defense; he was innocent of any illwill towards our peoples, but sought to ‘entertain’ us with an example of human ‘humour’. This has led to our people investigating this aspect of the aliens personalities, and what we have found is disturbing indeed.
Johnathan watched closely as little creature trilled and squeaked in strong tones, his brown eyes forever gazing around him; while he was no expert on Yucani bodylanguage, Cohen knew showboating when he saw it. The little fat furball was playing to the crowd, playing upon the sensibilities of his race.
We have found humans delight in mockery; in lampooning; in deriding. They claim they do the same to themselves, as if this excuses them, as if it gives them the writ to inflict such things upon the rest of the galaxy. For a human, mockery of their institutions and their leaders is to be expected. But as we all KNOW- such things are anathema to we Yucani; where the familial bonds of love and honour are as natural to us as breathing…
The Rabbi tried hard not to roll his eyes. The prosecution was laying it on thick. Really thick. He watched as the creature hopped and trilled, waving its little arms about, modulating its voice expertly. He could see every Yucani in the room moved by this; their noses twitched, eyes welled up, their tails would go back and forth violently.
Carefully the Rabbi listened as the little creature moved onto the mainstay of his argument.
Is it not said by the Goddess Rho, that ‘all things shall be in its natural place, from star to planet, from ruler to bondman’; does not Rho teach us that there is only joy to be found in ‘careful appreciation of the natural order of all things’? Is it not said within our most sacred texts that ‘The ONLY path towards elevation of a soul, is through acceptance of its time within the body’? These are the foundations of our very society, our very civilisations…
The prosecution begins waxing lyrical about the virtues of the civilisation of the Yucani, but Johnathan was only half listening. There was a religious aspect to this after all?
As he mused on the sacred words of the Rho, part of him wondered if the wiley President of Earth was smarter than he liked to appear. Did the old guy KNOW this was going to be their approach? Is this why he sent him?
His thoughts are broken as the prosecution brings his long and somewhat vaudevillian diatribe to its conclusion…
…which bases itself upon mockery, and lampoon and cruelty towards living things are ideas we Yucani cannot afford to allow infect our civilisation. They gnaw at its roots. They will in time infest our nests. Supreme Claw, I must ask, no implore, no BEG of you, to issue an edict which petitions our Emperor to reconsider allowing these humans access to our world. Lest one night, one terrible night, the scenes we saw, where a single voice defiles the virtues of our culture are repeated… but this time by one of our own children.
Cohen takes a breath and smiles to himself. He glances over at the ambassador who looks back nervously. Besides him the quiet voice of Andrew Eversham says, “I really screwed this all up didn’t I?”
“Yes kid. But look on the bright side?”
“There’s a bright side?”
“It’s not everyday you get to be accused of defiling an entire civilisation. Think about how it will look on your CV?”
Rabbi Cohen stands as his opposing side sits down heavily. He picks up a small card wherein the correct honourifics needed to address the court are clearly printed and runs through the formalities quickly enough. That done he gazes at the five judges for a moment, and shrugs.
“The human sense of humour. Where do I, one of our species, even BEGIN to start describing this complex thing that lies at the heart of who we are, to your most Supreme Claw? There are great minds on Earth who have wondered about this for many centuries and reached no conclusion. And yet it is clear, I must. So let me try and break this down into a way I feel the Yucani can understand and I hope, accept it, for all its imperfections.”
“It is a question often asked by us humans- what makes us laugh? What is the source of our humour? The prosecution would have you believe it is cruelty and mockery. And from the surface it would appear so. But allow me to illustrate that human humour is complicated and made up of many levels.”
He strides out from behind his table, keeping his voice low and his eyes focused on the judges.
“The starting point is incongruity. We humans like you Yucanti had an issue with incongruity. Evolutionary speaking our ancestors, like yours, lived lives fearing predators; both our species in our ancient past? We would gaze, eyes to the horizon, forever searching for danger. We learned well the safety in patterns, the formal, fixed nature of our surroundings. Anything out of place, incongruous, we would be drawn to. It spelt danger, it spelt threat.”
“For my species, long after we had evolved past the need to spot such things, we had this trait inherent still within us. Why do I stress this? When humans spot an incongruity in nature, when it does not threaten us? We laugh. An exclamation of relief. Identical to what Yucani call the ‘musk of fear ending’. For your species it is natural and normal. Same with ours. Yours is scent. Ours is sound. Identical reactions. A thing we have in common yes?”
A few aliens nod at this. A good start.
“However this is not the full basis of our humour. Incongruity cannot be the full extent of our humour. If I was to find a shoe in a dishwasher, or you were to find Gurnix inside a Flubuton, that in itself would not be the cause of humour to us. It would be odd, but not humorous. The key for us humans is that incogurity has to be of a correct kind. For humans it has to involve a shift of perspective. The great human psychologist, Koestler, pointed out that for humans this shift is all important. An example would be…”
He nods to one of the technicians and displayed in the air in both languages are words.
When is a door not a door?
When it is a jar!
“This is an example of that type of humour. Incongruity presenting a perspective shift.”
There is utter silence from the audience and he scans the translation and smiles.
“Of course the joke does not translate at all to your race. The play on contexts and language is entirely lost to you. But notice how my fellow humans did not laugh either. Such things are primitive; plays on words, sudden perspective shifts. Proto-Jokes almost. I raise it to establish the baseline of our humour.”
“We humans have many of these jokes. We call them things like ‘knock-knock jokes’ and ‘lightbulb jokes’. They are not truly appealing to our humour, the highest compliment they can get is to be called clever, for you see they are missing a particular element of humour which the prosecution has done well to highlight.”
“What they miss, is a degree of cruelty.”
The little rotund advocate for the state stands and begins trilling in high pitched tones. Cohen waits for the translation to come through.
So you admit that humans revel in cruelty?
He smiles, “No.”
But you just said that your humour needs cruelty!
“A certain type, yes. But not the type you described.”
Semantics! Your supreme clawness, I urge you end this nonsense…
We will hear the human defence, intones the oldest, long whiskered judge, As we are curious as not how they will justify this.
“I thank the indulgence of the court,” smiles Cohen, and he takes a breath.
“There remains, there always will, an aspect of human behaviour that is mistaken for our humour but is not. This is how we humans use laughter. Laughter is a physical response to things. Mostly to humour yes, but also, and this is where the prosecution made their mistake, it can be a sound of triumph. At such times the sound is indeed dark and unmistakably cruel. Many have observed that for all the love we have of the sound of laughter it is by volume and in ferocity, an aggressive sound. And there exists many examples of our species using laughter when committing acts of cruelty.”
He shrugs, “It was only a few centruies ago that it became unfashionable to visit the places we kept our psychically and mentally disable for the purpose of laughing at them. We thought it good sport to look upon their pain. All of human history contains accounts of how public executions were raucous affairs, we would attend and celebrate the killing of one of our own, often with laughter as the guillotine came down upon them…”
Rabbi Cohen sighs heavily, “When I was younger I once saw a picture. Germany. The 1930’s. A small child, a Jewish boy, was being forced to clean the street on his hands and knees. Around him stood adults and they were laughing. This isn’t human humour, it’s cruelty. There are countless episodes of torturers laughing as they inflict pain. Of laughter being heard from mass shooters, from soldiers in war, at our most darkest moments. These things I do not refute. But point out a similarity of experience between our species.”
“Every species in the galaxy knows Yucani are fastidious in cleaning, how they value healthy and clean fur. No Yucani would ever dose another in urine for example. What then of your treatment of prisoners? Are we to take that as indicative of Yucani finding such things acceptable? Of course not. It is a certain, dark aspect of your society, misunderstood except BY your species. This is the same as using laughter by humans in moments of cruelty. It is separate FROM the debate about humour.”
He takes a breath and a sip of water before continuing.
“No, to say human humour is incognuity mixed with cruelty is too simplistic. It has to be the right type of cruelty…”
What do you mean the right type of cruelty? asks the supreme judge.
Johnathan Cohen thinks for a moment and smiles, “On Earth, a wise man called Mel Brooks once asked the question- what is the difference between tragedy and comedy?”
What was his answer?
“Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall down a manhole cover and die.”
The Ambassadors secretary bursts out laughing, the sound carries across the room, ALL eyes fall upon him. Hurridly he covers his mouth, going red in the process.
“And you see the very nature of it right there. A sudden juxtaposition of incongruity and a certain element of cruelty, producing an involuntary response. Laughter.”
He pauses for a moment and says quietly, “In our distant past, in the year 1991 of our calander, a human writer called David Barry said the following, “The most important humor truth of all is that to really see the humour in a situation, you have to have perspective. ‘Perspective’ is derived from two ancient Greek words: ‘persp’ meaning ‘something bad happens to someone else’ and ‘ective’ meaning ‘ideally someone like Donald Trump’.”
At this all the humans bursts out laughing and Rabbi Cohen holds up his hands, “Again- the involuntary reaction. I won’t bother to explain it your honours, just to say that last statement was a joke designed to highlight something.”
“The core cruelty here is that someone must lose dignity. As we humans say be brought down a peg or two, or be knocked off a pedestal. It can be used by the mob as a weapon, and YES, it does have a subversive power. One of our ancients, a man called Plato, thought humour was destabalsing to the state and should be banned from it, which for us humans? Tell us much about the kind of guy Plato actually was.”
See? This is my allegation Supreme Claw. The human ADMITS what I am saying is true…
“What we do you got right, WHY we do it you got wrong. I heard you speaking about how Rho says we must appreciate the time our souls connect with our bodies correct?”
The prosecution’s whiskers twitch a little, and carefully it says Yes
“Well, the most basic, the most universal, the most raw and successful brand of comedy, the one my clients version was but a verbal variation of, the one that transcends the many human languages, is humour based upon just that. The realisation that there is a split between the soul, the essence of a human, and these dull, mundane frail bodies we exist in. What a psychologist once called the ‘dualism of subtle mind and inert matter’. “
“We call that humour, slapstick.”
He grins to himself.
“The core of all slapstick is the ‘the blow and the fall’. It can be as simple as a human slipping on the skin of recently eaten fruit. Or elaborate and detailed, but at its core is something very important. We understand, totally, the immortality of the soul, what the Goddess Rho holds to essence of being, but we also recognise the limitations of the body. Your species finds solance in holding to the immutable structure of the universe to reconcile this correct? We reconcile it by finding humor when we are reminded that these frail bodies cannot match the perfection of what lies within.”
“All of this is just by way of explaining this…”
An image appears on screen. It is a small human infant, wearing a sundress, maybe aged about 2 or 3 years old. Walking towards them is an image of Rabbi Cohen. He smiles at the child, and walks towards her and then, suddenly, slips and lands on his backside, a look of mock shock on his face. And at that, the court room is filled with the sound of the small child laughing, laughing hard; uncontrollable laughter, a sound that makes every human in the room smile. The image ends.
“Your honours, THAT is the most beloved sound on my home planet. The sound of an innocent child laughing. It transcends cultures and languages, transcends time. It delights us like NO other sound. We can spend hours just trying to get children to make it.”
“Consider then what you just saw? An innocent- capable of no higher functions of thought; an infant. It’s reactions are primal. But what DID you see? An infant is able to identify itself as a being, and me as a separate being. It saw the classic imposition upon my being by this mundane body. I tripped and slipped on my tuchus. A sudden juxtaposition of incongruity. One second I am stood, the next I am not. Mixed with the RIGHT kind of cruelty. Misfortune happening to another. But notice my reaction- my mock smile? My grand daughter realises that it is not hurting me and responds with a spontainious reaction of laughter.”
“THIS is at its base, the core of ALL human comedy and humour; it is based on empathy, and innocence. Not for her convoluted explanations involving cruelty and mockery. Just instinct. As we grow we develop more sophisticated methods to find humour but at its core? That is it. Is that not a demonstration of how our humour is as identical as your veneration of the soul within the body? The acceptance of the duality of body and spirit?”
Rabbi Cohen smiles, gently and turns to the Judges.
“Your honours, I urge you to dismiss this case. And I urge you to do so because let me tell you what will happen to the defendant. He will be released. He will return home. And when he does? He will become the subject of many, many jokes. He bore no ill will in his heart towards your race- but he was a schmuck.”
What is a schmuck?
“It’s a certain type of human. For the Yucani? A schmuck will forever be my client.”
In his chair the stand up comedian opens his mouth and then closes it. Defeated.
“He will return home and we will make stories about what he did. We will laugh at his foolishness, his ignorance, his pride….”
And we so gonna have fun with you little fat gerbil, he thinks but does not say as he eyes the prosecutor.
“And our ambassador will sit down with the Crown Prince and they will add a provision to the Treaty of Trade and friendship that says, based on the psychological underpinnings of our two species, and given we recognise that we share in common a belief of the duality of our existence and indeed of the existence of the soul, that human humour is a natural byproduct of our evolution like musk scenting is part of yours. Neither of our species share these traits, so lets not inflict it upon the other huh?”
“That would seem to me to be a most equitable and fair solution.”
The judges consulte one another, the Yucani remove their translation devices, but Johnathan can see their chirpings are appreciative. He may not have convinced them humans are FUNNY… but he may have convinced them to let this slide. He sits down at his table, gathers up his case note and begins to place them inside his briefcase.
Besides him, the comedian gazes over and sees there, amidst the papers in the briefcase, a hard backed book… ‘On the origins of humor: why Neaderthals can’t take a joke’ by Dr Johnathan Cohen, and a sudden realisation crosses his mind and he whispers, “You wrote that?”
“When not studying the Torah, I dabble in evolutionary psychology. It pays the bills.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey kid, what we gonna do? Let aliens say we bad for liking to laugh? What’s next? We are sinful because we breath?”
As the court recesses, and the judges leave to make their judgement, Rabbi Cohen stands and turns to make his way over to the Ambassadour when he is stopped suddenly. There, before him, stands the representative of the Frosh. It’s towering form, its huge encounter suit, obscuring the being from within. It’s cold black visage, plain glass of some kind, looms balefully over him.
In all the hustle of the Yucani leaving, no one notices this member of the most elusive and obscure of all the alien species, make his way to stand before the human. Johnathan clears his throat and goes, “Hello?”
The alien just stands.
“Can I help you?”
The black screen suddenly flashes brief, fractal images upon it, who flare in and out of existing as quick as a human blink. At the same time a warbling high pitch noise emits from deep in the chest area.
The Rabbi blinks and says, “What?”
The images and the noise is repeated again. Realisation dawning, Rabbi Cohen places down his briefcase and picks up the translator device he was using back on the table.
“Say that again please?”
The images flash and the noise is made and two seconds later words form in the humans ear… a simple message…
Pull my finger.
There is a silence. Around them the Yucani chitter and trill but Johnathan Cohen begins to smile…