Thomas Wrightson (he/him)

@thomaswrightson.bsky.social

1596 Followers 558 Following

Writer of fiction, currently with Roan & Weatherford. In life and art: Veritas Vincit ("truth prevails"). Current projects: The Cluster Cycle, The Angry House. Website: https://thomaswrightson.co.uk/

Faarax ducked the subject. The discussion of whether, in this age of space travel and scientific advancement, faith and soul had any meaning was far beyond his patience or understanding. But Evelyn was clearly frightened. They hadn’t been this tense, this earnest, in all the time he had known them. Faarax found himself embracing Evelyn for the very first time. Not like a younger brother, or anything like blood family, or even just a friend, but like someone who…. Who what? He didn’t know. Was it just the emotions from the upcoming departure that were making him like this? He finally made his decision. “You know that datacube I got? The one from that old man?” “Yes?” “It’s got good data on it. Data for something big. And we’re part of the expedition that’s getting it.” “You’re not serious.” “I am.” This was hardly right to calm Evelyn. Without any word to Faarax, they pulled away and went to the window again. Staring out on the poky street and stark view into space, where the filtered light of Megara-Lux was showing, Evelyn looked like a pose for some statuette of tortured martyrdom. They were trying to screw themselves up to saying something. “What is it?” “I… had a visit, while you were gone. The Law Officers came. They questioned me about you. They…. You didn’t tell me the man you met was killed.” “It didn’t seem important.” “It is. It was. I know it. He was killed because of that datacube. You know it. Don’t insult my intelligence.” “What did the Law Officers want?” “They wanted to know whether I’d ever met him. They…. They didn’t…. Faarax, he was a criminal. An old criminal. Have you ever heard the name Black Sutton?”
“It’s the heating.” Livesey’s words as she came in with their minimal possessions and luggage had made Faarax start. “Eh?” “The Canopy’s prices. I saw you ogling the furnishings earlier and now you’re looking at the outside with a similar expression. You were wondering about prices and such?” “Yeah.” “Everyone needs heat. It’s quite simple really. The Branches have longer to go for heating, and since they’re the Cape’s weak point are less of a priority as in the case of an emergency they can be jettisoned. In the Canopy, heat is more plentiful and the distribution easier.” “But why are the prices so high?” “You need those rents to pay for the Branches to have services. Plus all of this costs money. The generators and regulators can’t run and maintain themselves, and that’s before you factor in entertainment, transport, all the usual little things that make the Capes little space-borne cities. Solar power this far out from our local star is a little… unreliable. And as for the lower levels, they’ve got their own heat supply from all the equipment down there.” “What about the Dark Zone?” “That’s the very embodiment of its existence. A middle ground. It’s heated from above and below, and the cooling tubes to keep the machinery in the lower sections from burning up flow under the floor. That’s why it fogs up and rains there. Also, it’s the end of the Canopy. No great need for climate control. And—” “I think I’ve heard enough.” Hadn’t he been told all this before? Solet watched Faarax move away, and tried not to wince as Livesey’s little speech stopped dead as if she had slammed down a metal shutter. It was one of the few things left revealing the barrier between flesh and mechanical. An organic being would peter out and fade, or maybe carry on regardless until the dissertation erupted into an argument.
“Some salve and bandages for these.” “Hadn’t noticed. I can do it.” “Nonsense. Both your hands are burned, I can tell. You’re being foolish, not brave. What will you use to apply it, your teeth?” Faarax argued no further. Rather than go straight to the control area, the two went to the ship’s sick bay. Hardly the most lavish example of its type, nor did it have a dedicated doctor ministering to its patients. It was all rough and ready, served and administered by the self or a willing companion. Seated on the small room’s single sick bed, Faarax allowed his hand to be treated and bandaged. Lenore performed this action with all the gentle maternity any mother might give her son. She looked hard into the boy’s eyes. Was that a slight softening? Or frustration? Would their bargain have to be delayed? Might as well ask and get it over with. “Does this mean the bargain’s off for now?” Faarax nodded, his mouth sullen. “Yeah. Can’t kill you with duff hands.” “No, you can’t. But these should heal in a week or two.” “Thanks. For the assist.” “Whatever our agreements, you’re still my son in all but blood. And any mother looks after her son.” The two stared at each other, the unspoken agreement reaching across any boundaries of either family or species. It was a deep, unspoken connection. An agreement most would see as unsettling or unnatural. One the others either knew nothing of, or pretended not to see. She had brought him aboard, a frightened and sullen child, nearly fifteen years ago. Solet had appreciated the addition of some young blood, and a competent Feles combat expert. The pair had carved their niche among the ragtag crew. But always the agreement, the tacit understanding. “When the day comes, I’ll kill you.” Faarax had said. “And when that day comes, I’ll let you try, but you may fail.” Lenore had said.
The only sounds in the control room at that moment were the thrumming of a few systems still up and running, and the occasional rustle of cloth or creak of leather from my own body. I was resting for a moment after trying a few desultory software restarts in the vain hope that it would magically sort the issue. Then I leaned back, tipped my hat over my eyes, and thought. I think I must’ve fallen asleep, because the scene outside was very different when I poked the hat brim up again.
Screenshot of an email. Text follows... "Hello Thomas, I hope you're doing well. I recently came across Starborn Vendetta and wanted to reach out. What immediately caught my attention was the character at the centre of the story. The idea of a ruler presumed dead, beginning again from an asteroid prison and determined to reclaim everything she has lost, creates a compelling foundation for a larger tale of revenge, ambition, and survival. I was also intrigued by the scale of the world you've built and the blend of political intrigue and adventure woven throughout the premise. My name is Harriet Egleton, and I serve as Head of UK Literary and Film & TV Scouting at DSLS. Part of my role involves identifying books and authors whose work may have opportunities for wider positioning, rights development, and related opportunities. After spending some time learning more about Starborn Vendetta and your plans for The Cluster Cycle, I felt it was worth introducing myself. I would be interested in hearing more about your goals for the series and exploring whether there may be opportunities worth discussing. If you'd be open to a conversation, I'd be delighted to connect and exchange ideas. Thank you for your time, and I wish you continued success with The Cluster Cycle and your future writing. Best regards, Harriet Egleton Head of UK Literary and Film & TV Scouting DSLS"
“Got any plans?” She was looking at Lenore with narrowed eyes and a jovial smile. The Feles shrugged. “Not really. Find somewhere to get some food that hasn’t been preserved in our freezers or processed into packages. Then find somewhere to sleep that isn’t my bunk.” “How low are your ambitious.” “We poor Feles are limited in that regard.” The Kavki laughed. The two often had little sessions of banter like this. It meant nothing. They were just playing on ancient species stereotypes, joking with an old enmity that reached back to the Xeno Conflict. They still had a trace of that, an old instinctual dislike for the other’s species, but any conscious animosity was swept aside. All that remained was the dream of all on this ship. The dream of finding something better. Lenore turned to the captain. “Permission to leave with Faarax and pre pare for docking?” “Permission granted,” was the sullen reply. Lenore left the bridge in pursuit of her child as Sudu entered, looking flushed but satisfied. It took little time for the pair to meet up again, as Faarax had not gotten far. As they traveled in their lift to the docking control area, Lenore looked at her adopted child. He was hissing a little in pain, but kept it under control. “You okay?” “Sort of. I don’t like clambering on that warp drive. But then I don’t like a lot of things I’ve gotta do on this ship. No need to fuss, it’s not like I was hurt.” “It won’t be forever. And you did get yourself burned.” “Where?” Lenore gently pulled off one of Faarax’s gloves. The skin under it was red, almost raw from the heat of the conductors. He winced as she gently tapped the palm.
Now, I know I’m not the best at poetry. But I think the best way I can sum up what walked into the door at that moment is this. A desert flower, worn by the sun, but still soft and with a smile like a full moon on a summer’s night. And damn was he hunky and well hung when he stripped off that red and grey tracksuit he always wore. What? I said I’d be poetic, not mannered.
Image of "Japan 1" a painting by Yoshitaka Amano: a half-naked female figure in white reclines against a background of gold.
“Guess we’ll have to do it. Out.” Lenore was staring at Solet. “What the hell are you doing?” “If we can put up enough of a barrier, and match the light frequency of the blast, we’ll be able to ride it out. It’ll be bumpy, and might blow a few minor systems, but we’ll be able to stay in warp and not blow ourselves up.” “And if it doesn’t work?” “The other ships have back-ups. We’ll probably be blown to bits. Well?” Alkmeney looked at the timer. “Impact in two minutes.” “If this works—” Lenore never finished her sentence. Solet settled himself, watching the stream of orders and confirmations through the comm chat. The crews of all four ships were working like maniacs, lowering their warp field output and preparing the light frequency adjustment. It was a long two minutes. It felt like more than that. Every crew member who cared tried must be trying not to imagine the solar shock wave striking them. The other ships had reduced their warp field power quite quickly, and according to the display had moved into a horizontal triangle formation around the Benbow. The small ship rested at the heart of the formation, like a single cygnet protected by a gaggle of swans. Alkmeney looked hard at the console, focusing on the slow ticking of time. “Impact in one minute…. Fifty seconds….” Solet tightened his grip on the console. Syndac glared at him. “Sometime today would be nice.” “Not yet.” Solet spoke in a hiss. “We do it now, we might as well not do it at all.” “Forty seconds.” “All ships, stand by.” Through the displays, Donovan, Gustav, and Dashall all waited in expectation, their faces through the comm displays tense despite the relatively low risks to their own ships. The bridge crew of the Benbow were more worried, and all visibly prepared to leap into ordering lightning repairs if there was any sign of failure following the initial impact. “Thirty seconds.”
File 2/ファイル二 The Stray I Met One Day Our livelong days we never meeting Move as do stars in other clusters Yes this evening (‘And what an evening!’) We’re sharing this lamp and candlelight. Tu Fu, ‘For Wei Pa, In Retirement’, translated by Arthur Cooper
“You spent most of your last job’s pay on getting your engine sorted. And even then you had to haggle.” “Yeah, yeah, I know. Shit, this week just keeps getting better and better.” I spat to one side. “First a job goes sour on me, then the jump engine packs up, now the filter system’s fucked. What next, the life support giving out?” There was a thrumming noise from somewhere. I started up, and cursed my big mouth. It was coming from one of the air vents. “Nui, what’s that?” “Some clogging in the air system. Probably needs a clean out.” “Ah, fucking hell!” I kicked at the console and leaned back again. “Is there anyone posting jobs in the Mars area? I can still make a landing, I hope. If not it’ll be a good way of going out quickly.”
Image of a group of Japanese 'Ogiku' chrysanthemums
Urshan chuckled, held my hand. Yeah, it was just like I remembered, that slight scar across the fingers from a stray shot. I then realised that Mona was staring at us. She wasn’t shocked or anything, just perplexed at the fact I had any kind of romantic partner. If it’d been a ghi’vka woman, she’d have been just as surprised. Most humans – barring shitheads like Wayne – have gotten past their Victorian hereto prejudices, and don’t mind if you like a woman’s garden or a guy’s mountains. “Mona, this is Urshan. He’s my...” I turned to Urshan, stumped for a word. “What the hell do I call you to a human? Not husband, we’re not paired. And we don’t live together, so...” “Maybe try lover?” “Lover’s good. Urshan’s my h’rsvekyis. In human terms, he’s my lover. Of long standing.” Mona shook his hand easily enough. “A pleasure. Unexpected, but a pleasure.”
The Feles spoke with the slight drawling accent of the Outer Worlds. “Your name?” “I’ve got several. At present, I go by the moniker Bernedetti Bel–” “And what’s your real name?” “I prefer to keep that to myself. Professional etiquette and all that.” “That complicates matters.” The pair eyed each other, like soldiers across a trench. The Feles turned back to the datapad in his hand, which displayed Bernedetti’s profile and photo. There was a small round of routine questions, the kind of boring fact-finding any interviewee could answer in their sleep. Finally, the Feles smiled, a surprisingly winning expression. “You seem suited to the role.” “So it seems.” It might be best to take a chance here, find out whether his recognition was accurate. “The duchess planning her comeback?” The throwaway remark was perfectly timed. The Feles almost dropped his datapad, then shot up and glared into the man’s eyes. “I don’t know what you mean by that.” “I wouldn’t play coy if I were you. I recognized her the moment she entered the room. Most may forget a face after ten years of wear and tear, but I don’t. Does that make a difference?” The Feles typed in a few notes. “Remains to be seen.” Bernedetti put on his most winning expression. “I’m going to be honest with you. I have my own reasons for getting to New Dubai in an unofficial capacity. I’ve been there before, have some contacts there she wouldn’t want to know, and know more about the recent intimate social life there than she would. Not to blow my own horn, but if I were her, I’d snatch me up at once.”
Mercedes gestured illustratively. “In the average Chess game, if you take out the most mobile pieces while preserving your own, it gives you an advantage.” “But one must also not discount the pawns as viable players. They can take your pieces and rise up to replace ones that were lost.” “So, make the pawns change sides. Without pawns the opponent is, according to your logic, at an even greater disadvantage.” “How do you make the pawns change sides?” “By undermining the image of their king.” Laffw whistled. “Interesting. Daring. And very risky. Do you think you could pull it off?” “Confidence in one’s abilities is more than half a victory. An old Argo proverb.” “There is another matter I might mention.” “My appearance? I hadn’t forgotten.” She placed a hand on the scarring. “The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected. I wouldn’t worry about that too much. People who knew me well would recognize my face with these scars. Certainly my brother-in-law would. But ten years in prison changes you. I saw myself in a mirror in that bathroom and almost didn’t recognize myself. Cover up the scars with makeup or a mask of some kind, dye my hair, change my dress style. No one will recognize me. And it’s amazing how few people actually look at faces.” “And your sister? Your brother-in-law? You may meet them.” “I’m sure I will. And if I do, and they recognize me, I’ll handle it. But now I need some time to construct my new identity. If you’ve a library, that would help. And if you wish a contract of some kind.” Laffw seemed to think for a moment, then smiled. “Maybe once you have your identity ready. Until then, you are my guest.” She gave a slight tap to her comm. “Bapti, come at once.” Bapti appeared with surprising speed. “Take Miss Solari to the library. If you need refreshments, my dear, Bapti will be waiting just outside.” Mercedes looked directly at the Kavki. “You’re most accommodating. I will ask Bapti to call you when I’m ready.”
Picture of the book "Complete Ghost Stories by M. R. James" on a red background: the title and author are in gold on a pale blue colour block, with an illustration showing shadow figures of someone running from an unknown creature.
He sickened at the thought of their last encounter, that ugly welt in his mind that until now closed his heart. But what else could he do? Nothing, though he might rack his brains for hundred years. An hour later, in one of the interview rooms on the Factory Level, Gaspard paced up and down with nervous expectancy. He stopped and turned as Echo was pushed inside. The prisoner, a brown-haired Feles with platted locks emerging from his mane, stared at Gaspard for several minutes as the shackles were taken from his wrists and the other guards left. Once the door shut, Echo gave a smile that to all but the knowing would come off as friendly. Gaspard felt sick upon seeing it. “Nice to see you again, Gaspard Atarex. It’s been so very long since that little issue I helped resolve. I’ve barely seen you since then. I’d almost think you were avoiding me.” “I’m not here to talk about that. You said back then that if I never needed a favor related to one of the prisoners, I should come ask you about it. You stick by that?” “Depends. Say what it is.” “There’s a human female being sent down here. She’s new, and she’s gotten on Witton’s bad side. Make sure no-one down here lays a finger on her and get her onto the easier work schedules wherever possible.” Echo frowned, fingering one of his locks. “Tricky. I’ll see what I can do—though I’ll need to get several of the guards in on it. And she might not cooperate.” “Are you kidding?” “Just messing with you.” “Bastard. Keep her safe, you hear?” “Goodness, such energy. I can but do my poor best.” The smirk turned into an expectant smile. “But something that complicated would entail, I think, a bigger payment than last time. And no vague promises. I’m not in the mood.” “Look at the camera.”
As Livesey checked over the conduit situation, a strange scene was playing out behind her. As one, a Feles, was at the top of a retracting ladder fixing a piece of pipeline for coolant. The other, a gruff-looking human, ended up tripping the wrong function and part-retracting the ladder. With an angry squawk, the Feles clung to the one solid pipe until the ladder re-emerged. “Hoy! Careful down there! You almost had me off.” “I did try to warn you this ladder thing wasn’t tuned properly.” “They need to get this fixed. Hell, why didn’t they get this fixed?” “It wasn’t on the priority list, probably.” “Well, maybe when I’m down, we can sort it out. By the way, how’s the wandering one? Tired yet?” “Not at all—Hist.” Livesey frowned, quickly turned her head. For a moment before all resumed normality, the human was glaring at her. The last time Livesey had seen such a glare was when accused of eavesdropping on a squadron commander in an earlier incarnation. The human’s face switched with an impassive calm and the two changed topics to something quite urbane. “Have you met Faarax yet? He’s a dear when he’s not being a sullen brat.” “Ouch. Still, I see what you mean. He’s quite… solid.” “Sullen.” “What you call sullen, I call solid.” “It’s that ‘mother’ of his. That Feles. She’s a piece of work.” “Says the Feles.” “There’s Feles, and Feles. She’s—” And it was then that the Kavki in charge of sorting out the couplings noticed their listener. Livesey pulled away from this equally-intriguing exchange.
“Speaking of remembering, is the map safe?” “Quite.” Livesey’s face softened suddenly as she remembered the datacube and its store of precious data. “Quite safe. Even if it weren’t I’ve copied all essential information, so if anyone takes the datacube itself, we’ll still have a copy.” “And if they take you with the cube?” “I’ll detonate it. And at the worst, wipe my memory core.” Livesey’s face took on a determined look. “I’m not letting them have this. It’s too fine to be handled by such lowly hands as I know would seek it.” “Like ours?” “I didn’t mean you. Or Faarax, or Lenore, or even Syndac. You’re good people, good to me. I meant Sygint and his ilk. They wouldn’t stop short of tearing my circuits apart to extract the data byte by byte.” No one laughed at this strange wordplay. Livesey clearly hadn’t expected anyone to laugh, and Solet knew that wouldn’t change. She made such quips with the dry solidity of her kind. He accepted the slight sick feeling such cold humor induced in him. Livesey left the room, and Lenore looked at Faarax as he flopped on the bed. “There’s a small arena nearby. Care to have a try?” The human looked directly at her. “Not right now. My hands haven’t healed completely yet. Besides, we’re about to embark on a difficult mission, I don’t wanna risk injuring myself.” “I see.”
Lenore’s voice broke the monotonous silence. “Any update?” Livesey glanced at her instruments. “No sign of us leaving the time dilation yet. As I believe I said less than thirty seconds ago.” “It was a lot longer than that. Or it felt like it, at least. Would we know if we were approaching the edge?” “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Nothing like that is determined.” Syndac’s voice groaned out. “Oh, do be quiet. You are wasting valuable conversation. Save it for later. We need all the entertainment we can get.” The silence fell again. Fell like a stone. Alkmeney slumped on her console, looking down at the navigational readings. Her eyes watched as the speed marking wavered slowly between two points. The ship, balanced delicately between the inner edges of the black hole and the sludge of dark mass, continued on at what many warp connoisseurs would call a sluggish pace. In normal space, they might make double or triple this speed. It was soul-numbing to see such a low result from so much applied power and determination. It was about half an hour later when her eye realized something. The number was climbing. Slowly, it was true, but it climbed nonetheless. Ascended with the inexorable certainty and power of the professional free climbers conquering the icy faces of New Plutrac. “Livesey, check the warp readings.” “Hmm?” “Just check them.” Livesey did as she was asked. Her eyes lit up. Her own power readings were climbing, just as Alkmeney’s speed indicator was. Solet jerked away at the sound of animated voices. “What’s happening?” “Our speed is increasing.” “And we’re getting more power output to match.” Livesey’s voice was losing its control. “Wait…. Yes. I’m seeing a change in the gravitational pressure on the warp field. it’s shifting as I’m talking.” “I’m getting sensor feedback. Stellar readings. Normal space. We’re nearing the entrance.”
Sedna, despite her knowledge and her own shaken nerves, decided to stay and turned to her partner. “Get the others back to the house. They need stiff drinks. Especially you and Dycart. We’ll stay here and wait for the proper authorities.”
That strange path went into the Uncharted Belt. It bounced from coordinate to coordinate, never getting too close to the thinning ranks of stars. It finally reached a point apparently in the middle of nowhere. There, a pulsing beacon, two rings of coordinates surrounding that projected light, showed the destination as clearly as any paper map might have done in archaic tales. Everyone looked, fascinated, and then Solet whistled. “That’s quite a way off. Without high warp, it’d take centuries at least.” Livesey spoke like an automated teacher “My estimate is that without warp, it would take approximately five hundred and twelve years at near-light speed to reach that point. And even with warp, the journey would take… perhaps… a fortnight. A month there and back.” Syndac’s voice was like cold water. “That would be quite a trip. I’d have thought half that time over such a distance. Even alone, I doubt one ship would manage it without extensive preparation. Certainly ours might not make it back.” Sudu now spoke, sounding a subtly excited note. “And it’s the perfect place to hide something. Let’s be honest, who would think of looking out there?” Lenore broke in. “To use a Kavki analogy, it’s like being a single atoll in the middle of a vast ocean. And in that atoll, a knob of ore. If the tales are to be believed.” Alkmeney almost sounded like Syndac in her condemnation. “This could all just be a hoax. Livesey, how old is the data? And is there any chance it was artificially aged?” “I’ve checked.” Livesey was firm. “All signs of aging are genuine. It’s practically impossible to fake the age of data. As to its age based on my calculations… I would say the datacube was first struck around five centuries old.” “That’s how long that man said—” began Faarax, then stopped. Solet eyed him. “I think you’d better tell us everything you know about this. Everything, mind.”
“And all while he watched.” What followed still haunted her nightmares. Killing her own was a taboo of her people, but was it not also a taboo to kill the innocent? She had slaughtered them as she had slaughtered her prey. She had stood, covered in the blood of hunted and hunter, and looked again at the little boy. He had been staring at her, and continued doing so even as he wept uncontrollably. When she approached, he had yelled at her to stay back, parroting half-remembered obscenities from his deceased human fellows. Without a word, Lenore had picked him up and carried him out, feeling his little fists beating on her back. She had made up her mind. This boy was bereft of family, of friends, of anything. She would take him in, raise him as if he were her own biological child. If needed, she would renounce her clan altogether. And if he chose, he could come for her when he was old enough. She could easily fend off any attack from this slip of a thing, but when he was older and well trained…. She had faced the stern looks of her clan elders for the transgressions, but they had seen her actions as partially justified. Ultimately, her fratricidal acts were beyond excuse or pardon. She was banished with her little human child, who had grown silent and sullen. The two had spent their first year hopping from ship to ship, taking short-term jobs, once being confined and working off their passage when the funds ran out. When they finally got their freedom, the two had their private talk. The little boy had spoken first. “I know what you did.” “I never expect you to forget.” “I wanna hit you.” “But your fists can’t hurt me. Perhaps later, they can.” “You don’t mind me getting stronger?”
A poster showing a human in blue makeup with yellow contacts, the poster of James Cameron's Avatar.
“Say what you will. We have our agreement. And if you deign to question it, you’d best know your ground and the grounds of my tribe and his feelings before interfering. It’s not polite to stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong.” Livesey narrowed her eyes in a very human expression. Lenore matched look for look, both staring like predators to size each other up from the borders of their respective territories. Finally, Lenore laughed. “Why am I bothering explaining anything to you? You’re—” “I’m an android?” Livesey pre-empted her slight. “A machine without true emotions? Surely we’ve gone beyond such trite generalizations in these days. I have as much emotion as you or Faarax or even Solet for all his posing as a heartless bastard. No offense.” She made the quick aside to him and he nodded as she continued. “You’re not explaining because you can’t explain yourself.” Without waiting for Lenore’s reply, Livesey strode out. She almost ran into Syndac, who was passing by the door. Livesey backed away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” “So I gathered.” Solet saw Syndac flexing her arm, which had seemingly taken the full force of the blow. “I should be glad if you kept your speed under control. You may have a soft outer layer, but you’re still more solid than anyone else on Cape Cisternaea.” Solet dived into the bathroom, in urgent need of a dabbing of water to the face. The final exchange between the two was lost as he plunged his face into a sink of water, washing away the memories. Memories of beings like Livesey, people who had… taken….
A promotional image of the anime Cowboy Bebop. From left to right, posed as if in front of a police line-up: Jet (bulky build, one artificial arm), Spike (thin build, fluffy hair, suit), Faye (thin-to-sexualised build, black hair, revealing clothing), Edward (young androgynous women, red hair, loose T-shirt and shorts) and the dog Ein (Welsh corgi).
Lenore all but barged into the room. “Everything all right? Nice place. Nicer than I usually stay. That bed looks too soft.” “I think the beds are all of the same consistency.” Livesey ran her practiced eye over the furnishings. “We may have to bear with it. This isn’t a case of Goldilocks finding one that’s ‘just right.’” Solet couldn’t help but smile. “Goodness, that’s an old fable. My old nurse told me that one before I got my tribe markings.” “Humans have a strange capacity for remembering silly verses. While androids have the unfortunate capacity to remember everything.” “Speaking of remembering, is the map safe?” “Quite.” Livesey’s face softened suddenly as she remembered the datacube and its store of precious data. “Quite safe. Even if it weren’t I’ve copied all essential information, so if anyone takes the datacube itself, we’ll still have a copy.” “And if they take you with the cube?” “I’ll detonate it. And at the worst, wipe my memory core.” Livesey’s face took on a determined look. “I’m not letting them have this. It’s too fine to be handled by such lowly hands as I know would seek it.” “Like ours?” “I didn’t mean you. Or Faarax, or Lenore, or even Syndac. You’re good people, good to me. I meant Sygint and his ilk. They wouldn’t stop short of tearing my circuits apart to extract the data byte by byte.” No one laughed at this strange wordplay.
“Say I really do agree to this, one ship won’t be enough. I need to bring a few friends in on this. They can help provide the necessary funds, and possibly a few ships as well.” Solet agreed. Then Sygint tried something. It was sickeningly obvious, no subtlety. If he ever tried anything like a card game…. “Perhaps you could let me have the map so I can—” The stakes were so high that Solet could afford to be blunt. “And let you run off with it and leave us without anything? Not bloody likely. We’re involved, or you can go whistle for it. Besides, I didn’t bring it. It’s safe with my crew.” “With that android of yours, I suppose.” Sygint’s face became sour. “Fine, you win. You’re the one proposing this after all. This will take a few days. Maybe you’d like somewhere to lodge? I’ve got some apartments your crew can use until I find the right people.” “That’s very kind.” There was little sincerity in either the consideration or the acceptance. Solet didn’t bother putting any sincerity there, it wasn’t necessary. But Sygint would keep his word. This was business, and business associates weren’t expected to lodge in squalid conditions near the port. It was part of the facade he presented to the world, the image of urbane friendliness that had persuaded many merchants into signing lucrative and exclusive contracts surrounding their wares. But here giant met giant, the urbane outer shell was useless before such implacable experience. Sygint’s reluctant assigning of descent rooms for this ragtag crew was nothing more than their due.
Image of a complete rainbow during the evening.
A screenshot from Baldur's Gate 3: the Dragonborn player character Abihail touches foreheads with the wizard Gale during a romance scene.
“I need to test your limiters. That means taking the safeties off. I’ll just get that back to normal. There. Feel better?” “In your terms, yes.” “I’ll need to explore… elsewhere now.” Livesey’s smile broadened. “My main heat system, perhaps? Sure you wouldn’t also like to examine my solid state data dump area?” Sudu laughed at the technical innuendos. “Sorry to disappoint, but I already looked down there using a remote scan. I might want to check out your fluid compression units.” The same tired old string of poorly-chosen and slovenly-executed puns that accompanied every service. She always went through it, and sometimes they turned it into a little contest between them. Which could get the most cringe-worthy response out before the other caved in under the weight of mediocrity and crass double meaning? She was used to it, yet sick of it. In turn, she longed for such moments. It was strange being someone like her, locked away from the normal passage of time. Her self wasn’t this humanoid body of metal, plastic, and synthetic skin, but a flow of information coursing through the neural pathways and processors in this shell. If she wanted, she could copy herself ten times over and inhabit ten bodies at once. Some androids had tried copying themselves more, and driven themselves insane through redundant data overload.
A screenshot from Baldur's Gate 3, showing a romance scene with two characters; the player (a dragonborn Dark Urge character called Abihail) and Gale, a wizard. They are standing next to each other in a magical field at night.
A black and white photograph of speculative author Ursula K. le Guin from 1995.
Two books lie on a blanket with a wolf face visible between them; the books are Juliet E McKenna's The Green Man's Quarry and Future's Edge by Gareth L. Powell.
The docking clamps engaged imperfectly against its uneven exterior, and the docking controls almost refused entry when the doors almost opened prematurely as the walkway extended to meet Cape Cisternaea. There were a few raised eyebrows, but enough people there knew about the Benbow and its typical state of repair to override the alarm and manually ensure it docked correctly. And for the umpteenth time, several wondered why her captain refused to scrap it. Black Engine models were like discarded hen’s teeth, and just as decayed. With the ship docked, it was time for the crew to disembark. And, as Alkmeney often remarked to herself, they were a ragged assortment even by Cape Cisternaea’s relaxed standards. Black-class junks like the Benbow were mostly automated, so it only took a crew of around seven to run it. But what a set they were. At the front, Solet the Feles captain with artificial arms and a foul temper, immediately followed by Syndac whose attitude singled her out as second-in-command. Just behind them Alkmeney herself, then that human-form android Livesey, both looking positively smart and maybe a little superior. Behind them Sudu, an Ekri with grease-stained clothing and a patch over one eye, his voice jovial and casual. At the back Lenore, a Feles female with a strange hairstyle and battle-toned body. By her side Faarax, a human in his late teens with very casual clothes and a face prematurely aged by work and hardship.
“Got any plans?” She was looking at Lenore with narrowed eyes and a jovial smile. The Feles shrugged. “Not really. Find somewhere to get some food that hasn’t been preserved in our freezers or processed into packages. Then find somewhere to sleep that isn’t my bunk.” “How low are your ambitious.” “We poor Feles are limited in that regard.” The Kavki laughed. The two often had little sessions of banter like this. It meant nothing. They were just playing on ancient species stereotypes, joking with an old enmity that reached back to the Xeno Conflict. They still had a trace of that, an old instinctual dislike for the other’s species, but any conscious animosity was swept aside. All that remained was the dream of all on this ship. The dream of finding something better. Lenore turned to the captain. “Permission to leave with Faarax and prepare for docking?” “Permission granted,” was the sullen reply. Lenore left the bridge in pursuit of her child as Sudu entered, looking flushed but satisfied. It took little time for the pair to meet up again, as Faarax had not gotten far. As they traveled in their lift to the docking control area, Lenore looked at her adopted child. He was hissing a little in pain, but kept it under control. “You okay?” “Sort of. I don’t like clambering on that warp drive. But then I don’t like a lot of things I’ve gotta do on this ship. No need to fuss, it’s not like I was hurt.” “It won’t be forever. And you did get yourself burned.” “Where?” Lenore gently pulled off one of Faarax’s gloves. The skin under it was red, almost raw from the heat of the conductors. He winced as she gently tapped the palm.
“If you mean any potential gains on the stock market, I assumed that would go without saying, as humans put it.” “You are correct. When the time comes, we shall be ready to buy and sell just the right stocks. It could shift the economic balance of power for decades. And who knows, one step further up the ladder toward the Synod.” Bapti nodded, though she had disbelief in her eyes. For one such as Bapti, any but high-born Kavki reaching the Synod was laughable. There was something to be said for that attitude. It was the highest administrative authority in the Cluster, covering hundreds of solar systems, thousands of inhabited worlds and satellite bodies, perhaps millions of station colonies and other space-faring groups. But why then not reach for it? All the peoples had reached for the impossible before. They had reached for fire, hunting tools, farming, building, sea crossing, flying, and finally the transcendent step beyond the atmospheres of their worlds into the great unknown. To Laffw, the Synod was a trace of that ambition given physical form. It was a means to grasp the impossible, to fly close to and beyond the sun and find a seat in the very heavens. She spoke of it to her serfs, but very few others. Her dreams and ambitions were private, and to the world she showed only her veneer of false vapidity and the changes to her body. On an impulse, Laffw glanced down at the additional fingers she had added to her hand. Kavki were naturally born with four digits per hand. Now she had five. A useful tool when shaking hands with local dignitaries was not to startle them with an unfamiliar grasp. “Bapti, when is the appointment with my stylist?” “This evening. One hour after dinner.” “Good. That gives me plenty of time to see our dear baroness. I want some straight answers from her about that stunt she pulled with Andréa and Ali.”
Memory drifted back seventeen years with the fondling of that lock. Seventeen years ago, when she and the small band of her clan had been traveling across a world made half-barren due to a terraforming accident. They had been hunting a group of colonists for no other reason than sport. They made those humans run, made them cry and flee in terror, made them hide and dash from cover to cover. She vaguely remembered an old human story, and a line within it from an old cobra to a young human. Run around and make sport, boy. Run around, and make sport. “They did run around. We had our sport.” There had been a ship, crashed there for repairs. A civilian ship attacked by pirates. It had few guns, and fewer small arms. She had felt a twinge of regret, but still followed her band down toward it. One more hunt before leaving on their ship, one more hunt and one more set of trophies. One more lock of hair or length of skin to add to their belts of honor.
Faarax could barely think how to respond. At any casual glance, Evelyn was very much a woman. But while they had trained their body into that shape, Evelyn had no official gender. In the Capitol Worlds, none would frown at this or even bat an eyelid, so common was it. Out in the sticks they were like the lepers of Ancient Earth. Faarax reached out and clasped Evelyn’s hand, his voice becoming firm and supportive as he found the long-sought words. “You’re not to think like that. If you start agreeing with those bastards, what’s next? You’re all right as you are.” “You’re too good for this world. Strange, considering who raised you.” Faarax pulled away abruptly. “That’s private.” “Private? You’ve told me about it often enough. A vow to someone who is mother, mentor, and enemy all in one. Can’t be easy.” “It isn’t. But I’m not skilled enough yet.” “Is that true, or only what you tell yourself?”
A picture of a triangular-shaped cloud in the morning against an otherwise mostly clear sky.
“Good God!” Faarax pulled back on instinct. “Yeah… yeah, that’s the guy. Just. What the hell happened?” The senior officer shrugged as she replaced the covering. “We don’t know exactly. Beddow is a well-known face in this part of Cape Cisternaea. Local bum, cadging lifts or a few yuren, taking odd jobs in the low-skill areas. We never thought he was involved with any gangs.” “This was a gang hit?” “Possibly. Know anything about that space?” “Enough to stay safe.” “We’ve got more than our fair share of hoodlums and organized groups. But this is different. Usually they just mug or kill at once. And shooting’s their style. Not this.” “I… I recognize the… weapon, is it? He was wearing that when we met.” “Hmm. Killed with his own necklace.” The officer stared fixedly at the young man. “He didn’t say anything to you? Did he look like he was in fear of his life?” Faarax thought back, choosing words carefully. “All I thought was that he was some kind of crazy. He stank, and he went rambling on about some old war story, then about some place called New Dubai and an old story—” “New Dubai’s lost treasure?” The officer nodded. “Guys who found him said he’d spin that yarn to anyone who listened. That place is a myth. This is very real. You’re sure he didn’t say anything else, or give you anything? Nothing you remember?” “No.” The datacube reared up in his mind like a serpent roused to anger. Why should he say anything about that? It probably didn’t mean anything. After a moment more, he was allowed to leave.
Photograph of a sunny countryside landscape with wooden debris in the foreground with snow visible on everything.
Driving it up until its head sat just beneath the window, he gently laid down on it. It felt uncomfortable, but it was better than sleeping on the floor. He shuffled, trying to make the bed as comfortable as possible before his bedtime. He had slept on more unpleasant surfaces. Like the cell floor he occupied during his twelve months aboard what were charitably called “forced labor ships.” Moving from rock to rock, extracting the minerals held there, using a force made up of the bad and the unlucky. He’d endured that hell, and survived to get his own ship again. “Feeling tired already?” Solet glanced up. Syndac was standing on the doorway, looking round her with clear disdain. He rose slowly. “Just getting myself comfortable before bed. How was your day?” “Fine.” She didn’t elaborate. “How was the pay?” “We’ve got enough for the repairs. And a hundred spare.” “That is not much. I expected more.” “We were late. And didn’t Sygint relish it, the stuffed-up fuck.”
Image of two books against a background of cushions: Masamune Shirow's "Ghost in the Shell" manga, and the Wordsworth Dictionary of Cliches.
Two books rest on a red cushion bordered by tinsel: the books are Starborn Vendetta and Lost Station Circé, both by Thomas Wrightson.
“You can see that the map starts from a point near New Dubai, some fifty lightyears from here. But even accounting for drift, we can trace the path accurately. Some two lightyears from our current position, on the edge of the Altarista system, is where the trail picks up. The route leads into the Uncharted Belt through this area near the Wyndham star. The route has prescribed warp speeds based on power and speed estimates from five centuries past. The end of the journey, the so-called Lost Station, is located here in an area near some kind of large object. The travel time, if we follow the warp speed estimates in the data, is approximately a fortnight SAET.” Livesey saw Solet tense briefly in his seat. She knew why, and wasn’t bothered. Out in the sticks, the use of human terminology might be taken the wrong way. With all the varying orbital and rotational speeds, there had to be a standard mean somewhere. For humans, it was Standard Ancient Earth Time—sixty seconds in the minute, sixty minutes in the hour, 24 hours in the day, 360 days in the year not counting leap year or accounting for differing rotation speeds between systems. Most translation software was based around this premise, and had led to some early misunderstandings. But she saw something else in the eyes of their possible patrons, the same expression as the other crewmembers. No one could hear about the “Land of Lost Riches” without some visions appearing. From Faarax’s tale, the strange man Beddow now lying dead in the Dark Level had estimated its original worth at thirty milliards in physical wealth and materials. She dared not calculate how much it would be worth now. The decadal budget of a Capitol World was the roughest estimation she could muster here and now. These three knew, and she and Solet had suited the tale to its audience. It was pitched very plausibly—the facts given baldly, and the legend allowed to do the rest.