“Don’t ruin this, old man,” Ty’Kall threatened under his breath.
“That’s the best part,” Gerald said. “I already checked, there’s another mission within walking distance of the Academy. I can complete my studies and take my vows there.”
Priestess An’Sol leaned in close to Father O’Theen and spoke in the ancient tongue, knowing that Gerald’s translator wouldn’t be able to pick it up. “Do we really want to subject a proper mission to garbage like him?” she spat.
“He’ll be their problem,” Ty’Kall added with a shrug.
“But I’d feel guilty knowing that we...”
Father O’Theen ignored them and leaned forward. “What about your mother?” he asked in the modern tongue. A heartbeat later the translation sang out in Gerald’s ear.
“If I give any of the money to her she’ll just spend it on digital items and DLC and starve herself to death. By giving it all to the mission, I can make sure she’ll be fed and clothed while I’m gone.”
“I will make sure she is cared for,” Father O’Theen promised, tapping his soul catcher against his chest twice.
“Thank you,” Gerald responded, placing his fist over his heart.
Priest Ty’Kall looked at the crates he was packing and laughed. A deep and throaty sound. “Looks like I’ll have to re-label all the hymn books. The Gerald Dyson Soeck Mission; it doesn’t really roll off the tongue, but we’ll find a way to make it work.”
Gerald shook his head. “I know it’s tradition to name a mission after its largest contributor, but in this case I’d rather break with custom.”
“Oh?”
Gerald walked up to Priestess An’Sol and held out his hand. “I’d like the mission to carry your name.”
She blinked. “Me?”
“Yes, you’ve always been such an inspiration to me. I’ve never known anyone who so perfectly embodied the spirit of giving. I have pledged myself to Soeck and his teachings of compassion. I hope that one day I can be half the sibling you are.”
An’Sol was so taken aback she could barely speak at first. “Oh, well... I...”
She cleared her throat, a habit she had picked up from the humans, and looked very sheepish. “That is very kind of you... I... I don’t know what to say.”
He shrugged. “Say yes.”
Now she looked positively guilty. “Um, okay, I guess that’s all right with me.”
Gerald shook her hand warmly and smiled.
“Listen, about the way I’ve been treating you...” she began.
“Welcome everyone to the Ka’Ama An’Sol Soeck Mission,” he said, cutting her off with a bow, before spinning on his heel with a grin and walking away.
“Um... good luck on your journey,” An’Sol called to him, trying to hide her shame.
“Ka’aarta Tuv’in O’ Val’ia,” Gerald bade them in the ancient tongue as he closed the doors behind himself.
Ty’Kall and An’Sol looked at each other worriedly.
“Wait, does he...?”
“Yes, he has been studying the ancient tongue with me for some time,” Father O’Theen confirmed.
The other door handle snapped off and clanged loudly to the floor.
Chapter Three
Humans can live in space without protective gear... but not for very long.
-A Tourists Guide to Earth, 2nd edition, page 3, Valium Press
Gerald gazed out the window into the blackness of space. For his whole life, the sky had always been the same. Now, it was utterly alien and he felt surrounded by it. Stars and nebulas sped past as if they were nothing more than clouds and streetlights. The starliner swam through space as if it were a living creature, with a profile somewhere between a whale and an eel. Whatever it was, it obviously didn’t care too much for Gerald, as his seat bucked at least twice as hard as those around him every time the vessel crested. Consequently, watching the stars and nebulas bound by was kind of like watching from the back of a galloping horse.
“I still prefer the way it looks on Star Trek,” he said, grabbing his churning stomach.
There was a shudder and they stopped again. The passengers moaned.
The stewardess came out from the cabin and put on her best fake smile. Her fingers glowed with a gentle blue light as she placed them up against her temple. Her voice chimed out sweetly in every passenger’s ears as if she were right next to them. “Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Sindee and I will be taking over as chief flight attendant while Korta recovers. On behalf of Central Galactic we would like to apologize for the delay. The repairs to our main drive did not hold and we will have to try again. We are working hard to make sure this flight will be safe and swift.”
A wave of protest rolled back at her from the angry passengers. Insults were hurled, curses breathed out in a variety of languages. The feedback was a little too much for her and she had to brace herself against the curtain frame to keep from falling over.
In theory it was only a twelve hour trip from Earth to Central, and that was including taxi travel to the spaceport on Proxima Centuari. Gerald, however, had been traveling for nearly two weeks now. Breakdowns, layovers, security checks, misdirected flights, accidental overbooking, and an interesting two days stuck between an aether storm and a miniature black hole. This was now the nineteenth starliner he had been on since he left home.
Now, only an hour from Central, this latest flight Gerald had been placed on had broken down in that really strange part of the Galaxy near the core where all the subspace antennas kind of cancelled each other out and no one could get any reception on any of their mobile devices. It reminded Gerald of the stories he had read about the Bermuda Triangle and Amelia Earhart. That is, until she was discovered to be living happily in a retirement community up in Canada married to Gilbert Gottfried.
“I knew I should have switched to another carrier service,” the businessman next to Gerald swore at the dozen illuminated windows that hung in the air above him, each of them frozen and unresponsive. He wore a finely tailored suit, and the quills growing out of his head were stylishly manicured. He [o2]reminded Gerald of a big hedgehog.
Unconsciously, Gerald reached for to his forearm, which still held the scars from a hedgehog attack.
“What kind of business are you in?” Gerald asked cordially.
The business man looked Gerald over, his beady little black eyes pausing to focus on the coarse robes he wore. “I don’t want to read your book, he answered.”
Gerald held up his hands. “No pamphlets, no brochures, no proselyting, just trying to make polite conversation to pass the time.”
The man looked at him suspiciously. “I’m not making any donations.”
“Well, that’s good, because I’m not looking for any.”
With that, the man let his guard down a little bit. “You’re awfully chipper for being stuck in here so long.”
“It’s been a good day,” Gerald affirmed. “Haven’t had anything thrown at me.”
The man chuckled, thinking he was kidding. “Well, I suppose when you set the bar that low, most any day would seem good.”
“You’d be surprised.”
A pale stewardess came by with a nearly depleted trolley. “Mister Morrev, can I get you anything?” she asked, looking exhausted.
“About time,” he grumbled. “Give me a glass of Rattajino... and a shot of Rattajino... You know what? Give me a Rattajino chaser too.”
“That’s a lot of alcohol,” she cautioned, her skin changing to a faint yellow.
“And this is a lot of waiting. “I oughtta buy this whole blasted starline just so I can shut it down.”
Her skin changed to a light pink. “I’m very sorry about that. I’ve worked here for ten cycles and I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Mr. Morrev smoothed down his quills and poured the fiery beverage down his throat.
“And would you like anything?” she asked without looking up as she mixed the next drink.
“Could I have
another lemon?” Gerald asked politely.
She went pale again. “Sir, those are garnishes for the mixed drinks. I can’t just give them out to you whole.”
“Fair enough, how about a virgin whiskey sour?”
She paused, her skin changing to a light blue. “But a whiskey sour is nothing but whiskey and lemons. If I make it a virgin it’ll be just lemons.”
Gerald grinned impishly.
Her face became tight and her skin grew dark. “Fine,” she huffed, grabbing a pair of lemon slices and throwing them into his lap.
“Awww,” Gerald complained, picking up the wedges and inspecting the stain.
“Looks like your day ain’t going so good after all,” Morrev chuckled, taking a sip of his next drink.
“Ah, but the day isn’t over yet,” Gerald said, pulling out a tiny pouch from under his seat.
“Whatcha got there?” Morrev asked, accepting the chaser from the stewardess.
“They gave me this when my luggage was accidentally incinerated on Bolen,” Gerald mentioned as he rummaged through it. “Apparently it is called an essentials kit.”
Morrev looked at the tiny thing. “Essentials, eh? Clearly, I’ve been over-packing.”
Gerald pulled out a tiny sanitary wipe and began using it to scrub out the stain from his robes.
That’s when the ship jerked violently to one side. Passengers, purses, and shoes slammed against the portside wall, which automatically inflated itself to cushion the impact. Gerald hit the window which was decidedly less soft, only to have a portly woman wearing a feathered sundress land on top of him.
The lights flickered out, and by the time the emergency lights came on, the pilot was already climbing out of the cabin, sweat streaming down his face.
“P-p-p-pirates,” he gasped.
“Don’t be absurd,” Mr. Morrev coughed as he peeled the woman off Gerald. “Pirates never come this close to the core.”
It was then that a boarding tube clamped onto the side of the starliner. The wall grew red hot for a second and then fell inward, nearly crushing a couple on their honeymoon who managed to get out of the way just in the nick of time.
A buttload of men and women poured in through the opening, brandishing weapons and breathing threats. Passengers screamed, fainted and tried to run, not always in that order. The pilot was the first to go down, hit with a blast of sticky goo which instantly hardened, welding him to the floor, his feet and hands flailing impotently.
Gerald managed to sit up and spit a feather out of his mouth just in time to see Mr. Morrev pull a pistol from his jacket.
“Air Marshall! All of you lay your weapons down!” he shouted. The gun let off a red blast of energy. The bolt struck a pirate in the back, but bounced off her armor like it was nothing, impacting instead into a luggage rack and shredding a pair of suitcases.
The pirate finished removing a ring from a foppish man, then turned around, her face twisted with anger.
Mr. Morrev panicked as bits of linen rained down around him. His knees lost their strength, and he collapsed. With his last bit of will, he tossed the pistol into Gerald’s lap.
Everything went as still and silent as a grave. The only sound was the click clack of the pirate’s armored boots as she walked down the aisle.
“He did it,” Morrev insisted as she approached, pointing at Gerald.
Gerald, still a little dazed, looked down at the gun in his lap, looked up at the fierce pirate, then looked at Morrev fingering him. “You threw a gun at me?”
“Sorry kid, survival of the fittest and all that.”
The clicking stopped and Gerald looked up again at the woman standing over him. Her eyes were different from a human’s. The white part was black, and the center was a kind of golden yellow that glowed from within. Long pointed ears stuck out from beneath her pink hair, which flowed out behind her in long tresses. Her light-blue skin was smooth and flawless, like a polished stone, and as she opened her blue lips, she revealed a set of pearly white teeth.
“You trying to make my life harder?” she hissed, placing the oversized barrel of her pistol against Gerald’s nose.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he wheezed. “You’re obviously a very busy person with a demanding schedule.”
“I am. I’m already committing grand theft, assault, destruction of property, and you want me to add murder to my plate?”
“My apologies,” he squeaked. “I can be really inconsiderate sometimes.”
“I’m glad you understand your transgression,” she said, snatching the pistol out of his lap. With a nod to the rest of the pirates, they went to work, stripping each passenger of everything of value. Men hollered as their pockets were emptied, women screamed as their purses were overturned.
Her gun still to his face, the pirate held out her hand. “Give me everything you have.”
His eyes trembled. “Everything?”
She nodded slowly.
Sweat beading on his face, his trembling fingers placed a small pouch in her hand.
Her pink eyebrows came up. “What the blazes is this?”
“It’s an essentials kit. It has everything you could ever need, or so the label says.”
She threw the packet aside, striking a man in the face. “Are you trying to get yourself killed on purpose?”
“Definintely not. In fact, living is one of my stated life goals.”
“I said give me everything!”
“I know it may be hard to believe, but that pouch contains every possession I have.”
She powered her pistol up to a higher setting. “You lie!”
“I’m a monk, how much cash do you expect me to have?”
“Shut up!” she snarled.
“Sorry, I get chatty when I’m nervous.”
“You’ve been chatty the whole time.”
“I’ve been nervous the whole time.”
Ramming the barrel even harder into his nose, the pirate reached out and pulled off his necklace.
“What about these?”
“My prayer beads?”
Without taking her glowing eyes off of him, she held up the beads to her face. “Yeah, they must be made of something valuable.”
“Just carved Ruumpa.”
“What’s that?” she asked, placing them against her nose and sniffing.
“Animal dung.”
“Nasty!” she spat, flinging the beads to the ground.
The eagle-shaped badge on her armor chimed to life. “General, we’ve got Alliance ships inbound.”
“Deploy the decoys, signal the sailors to withdraw,” she ordered, wiping her hand off against Morrav’s shoulder as he lay on the floor, hogtied and stripped of every valuable.
She placed the muzzle against Gerald’s forehead and slowly squeezed the trigger. “Tell me, before you die, was living as a penniless monk worth it?”
Gerald felt his heart go cold. His entire frame trembled.
“Yes, it was,” he admitted as he closed his eyes. “I refused to follow my programming. I lived free of it.”
The barrel snapped away from his skin, and all went quiet. He kept waiting for a blast, but none came. Ignoring his fear, he cracked one eye open and found her staring oddly at him, her glowing eyes looking at him strangely, her cheeks faintly flush.
“General, they’re closing in, came the voice from her badge.
“What is your name?” she asked, looking Gerald over anew.
“G-Gerald Dyson,” he stammered.
“I will remember it,” she said with an odd grin as she holstered her weapon. “I am Lyssandra Bal, Second General of Ragnarok. Don’t forget that I spared your life today. That would be discourteous.”
With a click of her heels she sprinted away, along with the rest of the pirates, heavily laden with bulging sacks. The boarding tube sprayed foam into the hole it had breached to seal it, then disconnected itself. Gerald scooted up to a window and looked out as the enormous black dagger of her warship sped away into the night
.
“I’m not sure I could forget if I wanted to.”
Chapter Four
A full 85% of the universe is made up of Aether, what humans sometimes call dark matter. A psychoreactive substance that humans cannot perceive or detect. Because of this glaring biological limitation, humans had developed an understanding of science that was stunningly wrong, hilariously wrong. Gravity? Way off. Evolution? Not even close. Relativity? Total crap. In fact, when the human’s String Theory was first shared with Anteedian scientists, they fell over laughing. The humans became indignant, and so to show them how things really worked, the Anteedians escorted them down to the jungles of South America to witness a new species will itself into existence from raw Aether. The footage of a brand new kind of cockatoo suddenly appearing before their eyes, and the earth-scientists fainting in shock, is still one of the most downloaded clips of all time on the hypernet.
-A Tourists Guide to Earth, 2nd edition, page 140, Valium Press
The campus grounds of Central Exeter were well manicured, featuring shaped trees and shrubs from a variety of worlds, and representing a diversity of style, yet managing to fuse them together into a pleasing whole. White and gray marble adorned the curved buildings and quad, accented with veins of silver and gold. Just standing there made one feel small. Everything about it screamed money and privilege.
As Gerald walked up to the campus entrance, the rising blue suns of Central hung over the main building like three sapphires. The tall, winding spire that ran for miles over the campus held a spinning gemstone in its grip. It all looked to him like one ginormous and beautiful crown.
“Well, it took a while, but I finally made it,” he said to himself. “I think my luck is about to change.”
There was a screech of metal and a crash of impact as a hover skiv slammed into him. The world flipped end over end, and everything went dark.
* * *
The next thing Gerald was aware of was a rubbery nose against his cheek, and quick sniffing sounds like a dog. Part of his brain wondered if Scraps had come back to him after all these years, but the rest of his brain reminded that part that he had never owned a dog named Scraps, or any dog at all. The part of his brain that thought about Scraps began to worry he had suffered brain damage, but the rest of his mind reminded that part that he had read somewhere that when you actually have brain damage you can’t recognize it. Or perhaps that was just an old episode of Fringe.
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