August 2023 – deep future

INTERLUDE: ENVOY

//all is not well.

Dusk on Carrigan, and the traitor, Jayne Illor, was restless.

His reign was unchallenged, his White Legion sweeping the Kingdom- no, Directorate, for any loyalists to House Celan, council seat secured among the ever shifting and byzantine politics of the Eventide League upon distant Hesse.

Yet…

Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap.

One after another, his fingers drummed against the hard durite of the Bismuth Throne, loud against the silence of the Autumn House. Supplicants came fewer and fewer these past months – the city below preferred to steer clear, and with the recent tension on distant Martell, travelers to Carrigan were few and far between.

This, of course, left his mood dour.

An aide – his name wasn’t important – finally spoke up, averting his gaze as the Director turned to glare. “Milord, perhaps… perhaps you should consider a walk of the grounds?”

“Of the grounds?” He repeated.

“Y-Yes, Carrigan winters are truly quite mild…”

His gaze burned into the aide, before relenting. “Perhaps. Callister, you shall join me.”

The steward smiled as he stepped forward, but there was no warmth there.

Ah, Callister Rhose. A lighthouse in the dark seas of politik. A bulwark against the storms of inadequacy. A blade better wielded than sheathed, for a sheathed blade can strike the wielder more surely than any other.

The House Rhose had been minor nobility on Olesia – a diminished trading house, operating a miniscule fleet of light-skipper routes across the Shoals. Callister Rhose, however, had never had a nose for trade – he’d been ambitious, scheming, always putting others against one another for gain.

It was truly no wonder he’d set his sights higher than one world alone.

“Callister,” Jayne Illor began, stepping into the cool night air amid the cries of catha and chittering of insects. “Tell me again of your… contacts. I wish to hear of their offer, once more.”

A raised eyebrow was all he received in reply, the shorter, stockier balding man seeming to search his memory.

“Ah, the… how was it put, “interested party.” I dare say they’re likely still awaiting your reply.”

“Who are they? I’ve never seen their like in my decades amid the people of the League.”

“We shall say outsiders, my liege. It is simply easier.”

“Do not presume, Callister Rhose. I am asking for a reason.”

“I cannot supply more information because I was not given more information, my liege. They arrived a day ago aboard a vessel we weren’t able to track, and asked for an audience with the Director, specifically.”

Callister’s expression soured. “Their offer was simply “assistance with extending His reach.” As to who “he” is, I am uncertain.”

“An ally at all is what I need the most,” The Director muttered, leaning against the outer rail before realizing Rhose was watching. “My play was too sudden. While the other members of the League are content to watch, your urging nearly cost us the throne – it was my plan that won the day and ousted that damnable Hallek from this world… and left us with few options. The Directorate’s neighbors are cold at best, Avan are damnable pirates in all but name, and Hesse? Hesse is not worth the skipper fare.”

The Director glanced skyward, watching the silver dot of a distant ship drift across the sky. “Perhaps an ally from beyond the League is exactly what I need.”

Hiding his distaste, Callister nodded. “An ally unbeholden to the local power structure could prove useful. Though be wary, my liege, I am not sure of what they will want in return.”

“That is what worries me.”

They called themselves the Ibrea.

The figure before the Autumn Throne was… imposing. Nearly ten feet tall and ashen gray, he was garbed in swirling red, white and black robes, intricate strings of jewels and beads draped here and there. Two orange ocular devices regarded the Director from beneath an ornate gossamer cowl as he stared back, trying to make sense of the newcomer.

“I am Karteh, of Lusa.” The figure bowed, strange multilayered tones in his voice. “I come as a representative of the Ibrean King Mas Valeda Lusa, and bring mutual enlightenment for yourself and all.”

“I… am Jayne Illor,” The Director began, pointedly not bowing in return. “Director of the Carrigan Directorate, and Count of Olesia. I am honored by your presence, if I am also confused by it.” His gaze flashed to Callister, and back. “Why not entreat the Eventide League as a whole?”

“To usurp requires strength. Conviction. Resolve. Traits thought forgotten by the Spur long ago.” Karteh, oculi alight, studied the Director. “We have watched from afar for long enough. The decision was made.”

“This offer was not for your League, nor do we harbor any apprehension of your love for it. We seek an ally on the shores of the Spur, and you seek an ally who does not see you as a kingslayer.”

The Duke bristled, but the Ibrean continued.

“Long ago, our civilization left the weakness of the Spur for the Far Rim amidst the embers of the Collaborate. Against the alien and the outcast we sharpened our sword and tempered our shield, and today we stand poised for the return promised to the Kingdoms millennia ago. You shall have His Wrath to back your might, and we shall have our inroad. Are these terms acceptable?”

Jayne Illor, a man given pause by little, paused. The Ibrea were a complete unknown – but clearly powerful, the ship they’d arrived in dwarfed the local skippers. Kingdoms? Beyond the Spur? Logically, he knew humans lived beyond – but to meet one…?

Shaking his head, Jayne Illor, the Director of Carrigan, saw two paths – one to glory, and one to ruin. Both started with this.

“Karteh of Lusa, by my authority as the Director of Carrigan and Count of Olesia, I hereby deem your offer… acceptable.”

With a slow, slow nod, the Ibrean produced a small holite datacube – holding a palm out with it resting upon it, as it impossibly began to drift across the room towards the Director.

“Your cooperation is much welcomed, Director Jayne Illor. A token of gratitude, from my King – the wisdom of the ancients, made manifest.”

The cube slowed to a stop, and the Director peered within. Coordinates flashed across their mind, followed by images of a great black shape, a world of ice, and…

He blinked, peering again. This…

“I… thank you for the gift, Karteh. May this relationship bear fruit.”

“It shall,” The newcomer smiled, unsettlingly predatory beneath their cowl. “It shall.”

WHISPERS

//THROUGH STARLESS NIGHT, HOPE FOR DAWN

“I still don’t understand what you’re looking for out here.”

The starless void beyond the bridge of the light-skipper Tharkesh provided little answer – nor did the posthuman currently occupying one of the nearby seats, gazing out into the black. “The Wound has been uninhabited for cycles, ser Celan. There’s nothing but ash and ghosts for light-years.”

“I was informed you knew of a world known as Serphyros,” Kye said after a moment, golden gaze landing on the skipper’s pilot as they turned from the vista. “I was not aware I’d have your counsel, as well.”

The pilot simply lifted his hands in a gesture of supplication, palms outstretched. “Merely curious, is all. It isn’t often I’m chartered, much less for journeys to the far edge of the Spur. Something about these places are setting my teeth on edge.”

To that, Kye could agree.

Serphyros, a name they only half-remembered. Imparted by the Tide in a moment of communion, whispered in their dreams for nights uncounted. It tugged at their consciousness, urging them forward across the stars, promising answers to questions unasked and questions to answers always known.

First impressions of the world were not promising. Gray and still, it was a tomb long sealed – slagged continents and shattered mountains, buried cities and ash-choked seas. This world had not gone quietly.

Still, as the skipper slid from the embrace of the Tide, something about the world called to them – an echo brushing against some part of them they’d never felt before, rhythmic like heartbeats.

The pale half-moon of Serphyros loomed large ahead as, with the whisper of rustling cloth, Kye stood.

This world had no sun, no atmosphere. A rogue casualty of wars lost to history, the surface was pocked and scarred. Suit affixed, Kye set off alone – trusting the Tide to guide their path.

A vast plain of unbroken gray stretched away in every direction beneath a pitch black sky. The Tide felt almost suffocating here, as if the Real was fighting to maintain a hold. The only light here was their own.

They began to walk.

Ruins dotted the surface, shattered and broken – but one in particular seemed to call out to the rabbit, drawing them in like a moth to a flame. The Tide was heavy, flowing in and around this place like whirlpools in a stream – and, as they cautiously started to report back to the Tharkesh they’d likely be losing contact, they received only dead air. The Tide whistled, a not-wind against their mind.

Sighing, they reached out with their senses, trying to get some sense of what waited within. Something pushed back.

“There is no need, Little Prince.”

Kye paused.

“Come.”

Their feet moved, carrying them onwards. Darkness fell, lit by only the suit’s lights and the faint glow of their holite displays.

Whispers pooled about them, an impossibility through the vacuum of the airless surface and the thick protection of the suit, drifting lazily around them. Names. Places. Futures. Pasts.

The hallway opened, suddenly – a vast atrium, exposed to the suffocating nothing of Serphyros.

Their mind buzzed, static feedback washing over their comms like rhythmic ocean waves.

As if in tandem, the whispers spoke – a chorus of voices, some closer, some distant.

“Why have you come?”

“I seek answers,” Kye said plainly, peering into the dark.

“Serphyros only offers questions to those who bring them, Little Prince. Answers are not the way.”

“I was guided by the Tide,” They replied uncertainly, now certain they weren’t alone here. There was no recipient on the comms broadcast – yet they’d been answered, nonetheless.

The whispers said nothing concrete in reply, swirling about.

Something moved in the dark.

Kye, nerves on edge, turned – lights flashing across something enormous, unfolding from the spot in the corner of the ruin to tower against the faintly lit walls.

A marble white mask hung high above like a half-moon, ritual marks scratched into it. Terror gripped their mind, but they forced it down, standing straighter.

“You are brave, Little Prince.” The chorus intoned, layered thickly with… something. Their mind felt naked, laid bare as the Ovelle peered within.

“I shall answer your question.”

Perception of the Ovelle made their vision hazy, the very bronze it was constructed from hissing with the void. Its voices slammed into their psyche like thunder, chittering and tugging at every nook and cranny.

Their mind was wracked with agony, sending the posthuman to their knees. Scenes flashed through their mind, faster than they could parse. The flag of the Eventide League, alight. Jayne Illor atop a throne. A ship, drifting through golden-tinged clouds. A crystal sun, as cold and dead as glass, surrounded by worlds of ice. Kye, dead on the cold earth. Kye, alive on their throne, unhappy.

Kye, cloaked in gold and blood, shouting something they couldn’t hear.

“Y-You…” They finally managed to stand, panting against the pain.

The Ovelle remained silent.

Courage rising, Kye took a step closer.

“The Little Prince asks much indeed,” It intoned, tilting its head. The mask leered down at them, a mocking half-visage of a man. There was something behind those eyes carved into the mask, a cold regard that spoke of interest.

“Seek the folly of the ancients, in the worlds you know as the Far Spur. You will find your answer there, and a new question. The answer shall not be to your liking.”

The whispers grew louder, a chorus of cackling reverberating through their mind and speakers as the chittering colossus raised one of its many arms and began to ascend out of the light of their suit, bone-white mask receding into the darkness.

Silently relieved, the rabbit gave a quick Carriganite bow, and hastily retreated.

The walk to the ship was silent. Takeoff was silent. Once or twice the charter captain had started to say something, but… thought better of it – Kye clearly had a look he recognized.

Still, as orbit was achieved and the running lights of the light-skipper twinkled beyond the cabin, Kye’s mind was awash in thought. The Ovelle had strengthened their vision – clarifying some things, adding others. What was the crystal sun? Why had Jayne Illor been there? It hasn’t been a memory, this time – many of the events had yet to occur, if they would at all.

Why would-

“-r Celan, ah, a moment?”

Kye, opening their eyes, sat up slightly straighter. “Yes?”

“Well, it’s just… where to next, I suppose? You’d chartered for a tad longer than one measly expedition into the Wound…”

The Captain seemed… antsy.

“That won’t be necessary. What is the nearest port to us?”

The man thought for a moment.

“Kurin. Triarchy space.”

“Take me there. Please.”

The Captain looked as if he was about to say something, wrinkled visage tightening up, before, with a simple shrug, he turned and headed for the bridge.

Kye, summoning forth a holographic map of the Spur, frowned. The Far Spur was a long, long way…

They needed a ship.

Party Time! (commission)

for kaydearcane!

“Ugh… I’m gonna be late for tonight’s party at this rate,” The goat sighed to themself, frowning at their watch. Stupid party store had taken almost an hour to get their order ready, AND traffic was awful – they’d be lucky to make it at all!

Still, as they fussed with the keys and unlocked their place, the one saving grace was that getting dressed for the occasion wasn’t an issue. Kayde, in fact, had made a very sound investment indeed – a Dress-O-Matic 3000, guaranteed to impress even the hardest to please partygoer!

Kayde, naturally, had never used it.

First time for everything, right?

Party supplies dropped on the kitchen table, the goat hefted the heavy machine from its resting place under the cupboard, squinting at the manual. Like most gimmick devices in the 2020s, it was connected to the internet – making this device more thing than most internet of things connectors. Oh, well. Maybe it would… download a suit. Or something.

Fussing with the tiny screen, they finally managed to connect it – and it sprang to life, projecting a large selection screen with many, many options to choose from. So many it beggared belief.

After a few moments of browsing, Kayde settled on a nice suit with a red rose in the lapel – but, just at that moment, someone noticed the new connection.

Or, rather, something – snooping around open WAN networks for stuff to do had grown intensely boring for Cai, lately. You could only see so many shared folders of movies and old games, after all, and… well, a cyberintrusion suite wasn’t named that for show. Why not test it out? See what oysters held pearls?

The bunny peeled back the nearest network’s security, peeking inside… just as Kayde’s device connected to it, tugging the bunny’s attention as surely as a knock on a door.

Huh! Some fun settings, here – but what if they were more fun?

Snooping around further, Cai accessed calendars and information stored on the network. A party, huh?

They had the perfect idea!

Kayde hit “start” – but… no suit appeared. In fact, the screen appeared frozen for a moment – before, with a roulette sound, the menu began to spin.

“Huh?”

It finally clicked to a stop on an option Kayde hadn’t even seen when they’d browsed the list a few minutes earlier – “party favor.”

Party… favor? Like-

Their whole body began to feel… odd, as if it was being squeezed by invisible hands, as before their very eyes their snout began to stretch and reshape, smoothing over into soft, pliable red rubber.

“MMPH?!” Kayde cried out in alarm, snout tying itself into a knot – and leaving the goat to watch as the changes began sweeping upwards, Kayde’s facial features flattening out into drawn on sharpie!

Their midsection, too, began to swell – rounding out beneath their clothes as loud squeaks and squirks began to fill the air, balloon rubber struggling against the tight confines of a t-shirt and shorts. In a panic, the goat tried to press the “reverse” button flashing on the panel – but only managed to squeak a hoof against it, their hooves almost magnetically drawn together as they began to swell and redden, hissing loudly.

Cai, to their credit, seemed surprised – but not enough to really do anything about it. They’d been right – this was much better than watching another movie.

They did notice something interesting, though. The more the goat changed, the more the machine stored a “backup” – clearly intended to reverse situations like… well, this, as the goat began to shrink into their clothes, ears inflating into generic red balloon dog ears, arms swelling out in front of them.

Curious, the AI bunny grabbed the form data for the balloon dog Kayde was becoming, copying over the saved goat and dumping the copy into Kayde’s backup – unfortunately making the default the device recognized a simple red balloon animal, the same one that was currently shrinking down into their clothes a few feet away.

Kayde, inwardly blushy but outwardly red, finally stopped shrinking a moment later as the device beeped, thanking the user for using the system, and asking for feedback.

One star, they huffed internally.

It was then that they heard… something.

The sound of paws hitting their carpet, as if dropped from… somewhere?

“PHEW,” An unfamiliar voice giggled, their world suddenly lighting up as the shirt was lifted off to reveal… a bunny?

A grinning yellow-and-white bunny, visor on their forehead, the last vestiges of some odd digital pixelation clinging to their clothing.

“Hey! Thanks for the way out – but you’ve got a party to get to, right?”

They plucked the balloon animal out of the pile of clothes, lifting it to eye level.

“Mind if I tag along? I’ve always wanted to go!”

Kayde tried to wriggle, confused.

“I’ll take that as a yes! C’mon, you’re late!”

With that, the bunny headed for the front door – leaving the machine, and the overwritten backup, to autosave to the server.