A hand at fanfiction

Because writing stories at 3am and under the influence of sleep deprivation is fun!



The second moon was in full wane when I woke up one crisp day. The chill wind blew through my open window, and ruffled the thin sheets I wove around me to sleep, my sheets thin enough to keep me from overheating in the hot-time weather. My windows were open to let the breeze blow in the scents of the day, and it reminded me of harvest, of fresh tilled earth and black soil ready to give the bounty of harvest.
It would be a good day.
I rose from my bed, the sheet falling from my naked legs, and I strode to my closet to grab an outfit for the day – nothing complicated in this day and age. I hung the suit over my left shoulder and went to bathe, to cleanse the night scents off of me, and I relished the cool water which soothed me. I enjoyed the morning shower, the best part of my day in the hot season.
Outside it was warm, the grasses rippling in the early light of the dawn, the golden blades tinted pink under the distant rising sun. I let my toes flex against the grass, and enjoyed the gentle stimulation against my bare feet. The earth was kind, and the distant crops would feed many, and feed well. I was glad for this; I was doing my duty, even if I could not join into the great calling. I took a humble pride in this.
I strode forward, my limp barely felt as I strode through the grasses. A limp, it is what set me apart from the rest, though it did not stop me from my work. A limp, showing the corruption of blood that was mine to keep, my limp was a punishment to the ancestors for their hubris. I did not dwell upon It though, for there was work to be performed, and I would not be mocked for my failure to perform my duties.
“Yetha.” I heard my name. Turning my head, I looked at the tall grace of the field-maiden, who was a head taller than I. Her jaws split into a coy half smile, though scars ran the side of her face – she had seen, participated, in combat in her past. She was strong, and working the fields did much to keep her healthy.
“Maiden Aspa,” I inclined my head to her, eyes lowering from her pale gray hide, and looked away, to the machines that would require my hand. Big beasts of labor, they had once served as combat vehicles in the long past, now repurposed to the duties of field work. A noble legacy for ancient weapons, I thought – now serving the people who made them even beyond their first purpose.
“You are needed to repair the master-control of the field tractors, and then return to maintain the rest of the systems.” She was beautiful, her long fingered hands strong, but feminine. She was wed to an Ultra, one of those who lead operations against the enemies of the Sangheili people and our allies. I was envious, but I would unlikely wed in my lifetime. I would be wistful, but I did not let it interfere with my duty. “Should you have time after this, do check the new purchases for damage and repair schedules”
“Yes, Maiden Aspa.” I spoke, and bowed my head in acceptance of her words. She gave a smile and patted my cheek gently, then continued on her way. She had been a crèche mate, and when I had been refused from service for the twist of my left leg, and the tremor of my left arm, she had pleaded my service to her mother. I worked, served as an apprentice to the mechanics of age upon the grand estate farms. I owed her love, and I gave her loyalty, for every day I drew breath and awoke in a bed was upon her sufferance, nothing more. “I will, sister.”
I limped towards the service hub, which gave broadcast to the great network which was overlain upon the field and farming network. Of late, there had been chaos upon the system, possibly a fault in the base programing that made me grind my teeth in frustration. I had been patching the bug for several weeks, but every time I fixed it, it broke again, worse. I prayed not to be forced to announce a need to get a new system. I would beat it.
I climbed the circling ramp that lead the outer edge of the grand tower, and gazed through the thick panes which let me take a grand view of the fields, which stretched for kilometers in every direction. I ascended up to the top, at twenty meters from the base, and made my way to the hub, which glowed with red and green lights. It ran hot, but all machines did. I set to work on the operating system, sitting before the machine with my back to the windows.
Perhaps, had I been looking, I could have responded to the sudden sight of a ship plummeting from atmosphere, and falling apart in high orbit. I would have recognized that it belonged to a freighter, and had time to get into the security bunker beneath the estate – but I didn’t. So when the windows shattered and high strength clear aluminum flew through the room, I was caught off guard, but for a red lance of pain running through my back and shoulders, and then hot metal pounding into the back of my skull. I collapsed forward, into the machine, hard enough to crack the chassis and nearly my skull. I did not awake for many hours.
By then, it was too late.

Howl

                The moon alights the sky beyond my window, and beckons me out into the wilderness beyond the deck.  The woods are dark, cast in a mighty splendor of shadow and moonlight, and begged me to run beneath green pine and over moss-stained rock.  I gaze, and I tremble at the offering that sings in my blood and makes the dark hair over my body lift, tinged with a wild energy that begs  to let go, to run, to flee this trapping, this cage of wood and glass and electronics.  I pace, wearing a trail into the carpet, and feel the stain of sweat cross my underarms and throat and back and groin, and yet I know I need to stop, to pause, to breath.  I breath, a cool breath that fogs out.  I am steaming.  The windows are open.

                 Breathe in.  I taste the cold air that stings my nostrils and burns down my throat like fire, making me gasp for another breath.  The scent beyond tells me of prey, a doe rabbit that would taste good, and the sweet copper beneath her breast.  The scent whispers the stories of the small pack that runs beyond the cabin, drawn to me as I am drawn to them, they knowing my scent, as I know their trails, marked across the whole of the mountain.  They are unchallenged, and they are mine.  Another breath.  Water, melt from the snows a thousand feet higher, wet, some fish and even the musk of a bruin.

                I breath out and snort, clawing at my arms with nails, and fighting the build of need.  I pace, my nails caress the walls, leaving gouges in the wood that would be quite a bitch to cover.  I stare at the torn nail, twisted by the force of wood and splintering pine, and then rip it off.  The hot flare of pain sends a tingle up my arm, and makes me growl, but it fades, letting me control the need again.

                Yet again it builds. 

                The pain flows away to the gnawing hunger of the inner self, the instincts that caress up and brush across my face, and the ripple of dark hair that flows up and fades away.  I want to scream and claw and tear through the house, but I know not to threaten my domain.  I have fought this change for too long, and I have to let go.  I do not want to let go, I am afraid to let go, I want to stay a human for a little while longer, but no, I know I cannot hold back.  Like the crest of copulation, I feel it well in my gut and slowly tighten, threatening to push me into the oblivion of the run, the chase, the hunt.  The pack howls, and they call upon me to join them, to let free what I am and take my place.  My head rushes, a throb of blood that threatens a headache, a splitting migraine, the rearranging of my visual cortex making my vision blur, then sharpen.  Colors lose definition, others rise up that have no word.  I am losing myself again…

                …I am almost free.  I am almost awake.  I can run!  I can...

                ...In the fight to be myself |a little longer, my hand shifting into…

                …clawing the metal why wont it open why wont it let me out trapped in my den…

                …claws, the knob hard to turn.  I snarl, biting at the air as my face begins to contort, twist, bone cracking.  I held off too long, and it was going to hurt.  Like being denied the touch of a lover, my body twists from the sudden rush, and I throw the door open, enough to twist the hinge.  My body rips, as muscle and bone and sinew begin to change.  I am a large man, already nearly 130 kilos, and two meters tall, and this translates directly as fur ripples across my body, sending my back twisting.  I claw…

                ...held by restraints must get free tear free of the body the cloth the binding the pack howls I must run…

                …the shirt off and feel my nails twist.  Already the torn nail has reformed, and the nail grows longer, into black claws.  My thumb twists, a sharp snap reforming the bone into a better shape.  My teeth crack and grow longer, fangs showing…

                ...runrunrunrunrunrunrunrun…

                …in the gleam of moonlight.  My snout shows as I drop, feeling the earth.  I begin…

                …to howl.  I sing, and the pack answers.

Incomplete story

               

                I held it with a hand, and felt it shiver in the frosted cold of early October morning.  I held it, the long, sinuous and rubbery form of what looked to be a black and purple armed snake against my body, and wrapped my jacket around it, to keep the warmth close.  As thick as my arm, perhaps as long as I was tall, it was not a snake, for it had not hissed, bit, or done anything to me when I approached it, near a burning wreck of a meteor.  Its arms clenched to me when I bent to study, and it drew to me, wrapped me, held me and shivered.

                I had panicked, but as it did not bite, squeeze, or attack beyond wrapping me, I chose to just hold it, while it leeched heat from me.  I was glad my jacket was warm, and long, and covered me against the cold – for I was chilled enough.  The thing held me, small claws digging into my cotton shirt and the tail end tucking up, and wrapping about my hips and thighs.  It had an odd scent, like oil and latex and melted rubber, but a heady pungency of reptilian musk.  Still I held it, sat against the brown grass and back to a tree in full fiery molt, and waited for it to let go.

                The meteor was a silver and black shade, half melted from the heat of entry into the atmosphere, but oddly smooth along the back.  I could not move closer to investigate it, nor would have even if I’d wanted to, for it was still hot from thirty meters away, where I had found the creature, the mutated snake of unknown shape.  The head rested upon my breast and the eyeless shape was long, mouth opening into three splits to take a breath, and I saw the many teeth, sharp and back angled, meant to grip and bite and pull in, or so I guessed.  The edges of the mouth were deep red, against the black and purple of the body, which felt oddly slick, like sweating plastic.

                In time it lessened the grip on my thighs, enough that I could stand, even with the extra twenty five kilos of creature clinging to me.  The small hands, of which there were six, held onto me like a raccoon held onto a tree, and it burrowed against me, against my belly and chest and around my neck with its own, keeping there to drool onto me with the open gasp of its breath.  Each wheeze was pained, each whisper raspy, even as the pointed tongue flicked up against my ear, tasting me, but not biting.  It was cold, the sun was setting and it would begin to rain, if the silver-gray clouds ahead were honest.

                The walk was difficult – it had been a long climb to the hill top, and a longer walk into the depths of the thick bramble woods to find the smoldering meteor – and even harder when I had to carry a strange creature on me.  The mouth gripped my shoulder without piercing, and it drew its head from my jacket to study without eyes, mouth opening to hiss in a breath, and head swiveling as though it had no spine – and for all I knew of this snake thing, it did not.  But it did not bite, and it was too weak to be a threat – so I did not pressure it to leave, nor do I think I could have even had I wanted to.

                The walk home was quiet – not even the crackle of sticks as I walked would dare to echo through the quiet woods.  I rose and climbed the steep hill and passed the clusters of rock that the moss did not try to grow to, not this late in the year.  I ascended up the hill as sprinkles of water wet upon my face and brow, and I hugged the jacket tighter around me, as the creature ducked down and hid from the sting of cold.  I looked up to the trees, their bows bent under a coming wind, and the heady rumble of storm not too far distant begged me to hurry.  I was squeezed tighter, enough that I had to gasp to take a breath – though I was sure it was the tiredness from my walk.  Still I strode – passing to the crest of the hill, where I paused to look down – the pathway different than I recalled.  I could spot home, a small trailer on an unremarkable plot of land.  My father was not there – and I was glad for it.

                Entering up the three steps, I pulled the door open and looked inside – where the dim light could barely pierce the curtains and smoke-stained windows.  I stepped past the threshold and entered into the den, where the old shag carpet clung to my damp shoes, and the mismatched furniture troubled the eyes.  I walked past, into the kitchen – I was hungry, and I was sure the creature around my body hungered as well.  I gazed into the fridge – the brittle yellow handle crackling as I pulled at it. 

                There was little to eat, and less to share.  I took a beer from the fridge and a cold hock of ham – this I warmed onto a plate in the microwave, which the creature shied its face from and buried down into the front of my shirt, making me jump.  I felt sticky from the touch, but didn’t wrestle it off of me – it still had a small shiver, and felt cool, as though it were recovering from hypothermia.  Not a fun thing.

                The meat was drawn out, hot, and the creature perked up and lifted its head from my shirt, to draw forward and take a breath of the heated food.  It lunged, dragging me with it, and buried its face into the meat, the sharp teeth cleaving through the meat and devouring in great chunks the food.  It unwrapped me as it ate.  I popped the beer tab and took a swallow – it was horrid, but cheap.  I shouldn’t have been drinking for another five years, but, since when did that actually matter?

                The creature ate – juices streamed the side of its long, smooth head, and its throat and neck bulged with the great slices of meat it ate through – even the bone began to slide down the throat, where it took it completely in, like a snake would.  Soon, nothing remained but the plate, which had been licked clean of the ham soak.  A small sound, like a belch, left the snake thing.  Did snakes belch?

                Water.  I felt thirsty – and the beer, already drunk and giving me a mild tingle at the back of the scalp, wasn’t cutting it.  I pulled out a glass and a bowl, and filled them both from the tap – which seemed to fascinate my blind companion.  It drank from the bowl with long swallows, gulping down like a dehydrated man.  I swallowed in turn, finishing my glass, then refilled for another go.  The snake coiled its mouth around the tube and began to drink when I pulled the glass away, and didn’t stop for a full half minute.  Thirsty guy.

                Guy.  Somehow I knew it was male.  All my instincts told me that.  I slid an arm around the suddenly very heavy creature and tried to lift it – and it slithered about me, distributing its weight and letting me carry it to the bedroom – where it slithered onto my bed, and I, kicking off my boots and slugging off jacket, joined it.  I felt the chill in the air – and the creature was more than content to coil up against me, holding me, hugging me, sliding across me.  It enjoyed my company, or simply savored the heat of my body.  The six arms wrapped around me, the hands held me, and it laid its head under my chin, content.

                I felt dizzy, and then I felt tired.  And then I slept, held in alien arms.

                I awoke before dawn, alone.  My shirt clung with sweat and my pants were tangled around my knees, as was my blanket strewn along the bed.  I kicked off my jeans, and sat up – rubbing my thigh with a hand.  I felt a few bumps in the flesh and looked down – scratches near my inner thigh, red marks that did not hurt, but tingled.  Goosebumps tickled where I touched – and I tried to shake it off – while making it out of the bedroom.  The creature was not with me – I was alone in the bedroom, and I heard the buzz of the old television from the living room.  I stepped out to investigate, and peeked around the corner to see the ophidian curled up in front of the glow of the screen, flicking its tongue and seeming to listen to a myriad of noise, the white snow of no station.

                “What are you doing out here?”  I asked, and came near to sit beside the creature.  It drew to me, head on my thigh as it bent, restful now.  I lowered my hand to touch the back of its neck, and caressed slowly.  The texture was smooth, more slippery than it had been when I first met it, yet warmer, fuller.  I caressed it slowly, drawn to the mysterious and magnificent sense of its being.  I felt comforted, my thoughts taking on a warm tingle.  I felt good, as good as I had been in a long time.

                A hand fell to rest on my side, another to touch knee, a third lifted to shoulder.  I looked upon the six limbed creature, and drew a long touch across one of the splits that made for the curved mouth, and stroked down to the tip, then back up.  The mouth opened and drew my finger in, a coiling tongue sliding across my hand to squeeze once. 

                “What are you?”  I asked softly.  The face of the creature drew higher, and it rested before me, the mouth hovering near my own.  I could smell the muskiness of its breath, the scent of the meat it had eaten a few hours earlier present.  The breath blew across my own, and I stared, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks.  It exhaled again, a tingle running through my scalp.  The hands were on me, all six, as it drew over my body, and held, pinning me to the couch. 

                The jaws parted widely, wider than a snake, wider than any creature of the earth, and the three sectioned jaws closed against my face, gripping, biting with teeth and suckling at my face to draw out my breath.  I felt a surge of panic, then a wash of heat – as the two senses of fear and wonderment battled through me.  The body coiled and nestled atop me, the length of its figure pressed between my legs, against my breasts, over me, atop me, coiling me and surrounding me with him.  I felt dizzy still, as the teeth gripped but did not break skin, as the tongue fluttered into my mouth, and wetness crossed my sense of taste.  The buzz, like good whiskey and bourbon, went through my body, and I arched up against him, gasping for a breath that I could not get, subsumed by his being, and consumed by what he was, which I had no words for, but knew it right to be where I was.  I tasted his venom, and I savored it, I loved it, I drank of it greedily.  I was his.

                Quivering, my body shuddered against his when he drew back from me, leaving trickles of blood on my cheek and chin and jaw, where he had bitten.  He drew back and studied me through no senses I knew of, holding me with a coil of arms and serpentine wonder.  My body was aflame, hot and wet and electric. 

                I felt my stomach burn, and the heat radiated through me, when he drew me up to sitting, and withdrew his uppermost hands from my shoulders.  Head tilted, he studied me, giving me a moment to think where it would count.  I did not want to – I felt lost without him.  Whatever he was, an alien from distant lands, an entity from other worlds, a demon or god, I didn’t have any reason to care, or words left to question.  I was held, and nestled against.  It felt good.

                

In the heat of summer, under the dry oak along the river, I fished. It was a hot summer, yet a day to let the fields grow and the animals have a free time to themselves - a time that young men enjoyed, or so the elders say. I know the truth that I enjoyed it, fishing with my dog Vallejo sleeping lazily beside me.

My pole bobbed and wiggled, some small fish might nibble at my bait - but I'd yet to really find anything worth the time to reel in. My dog snorted as his long gold tail swatted the air, and I chuckled, feeling drowsy under the sun and shade.

My pole wobbled again, as I looked into the clear blue, and let a smile touch my face. I felt the cool brush out, pleasing my senses. I bowed my head to the cool on my face and the sun my scalp - and it helped me slip into a state that was closer to sleep than I'd have given credit to. It felt good.

And then I shifted, hearing the sound of wicker being shifted and the scent of wet skin. I grunted, grabbing for my pole and turned, to stare on the length of wet scale, marked red with a hint of orange. I stared, blinking, and trailed up, to the swell of hips and soft, dusky skin - flesh that made my cheeks flush with how exposed it was, and sight of a female back. She faced away - this half snake, half woman - she faced away and worked at getting my lunch basket open - the strewn sight of bread and ash-jerkied fish strewn about, eaten on.

And then a gasp. A gasp, as I looked up at into large almond eyes, and a lady with long ears and hair, who gazed upon me with curious surprise, and a flush to her cheeks of guilt.

A lady Lamia, a pilferer who was eating my lunch.

She had on little - but the snake-folk were not known for their wealth, at least, in this place. Her banded back shifted as she shied away from me, as though afraid of my presence and notice. In truth, I was a little upset that my lunch had been pilfered from me, but the nervousness softened me, as did the thinness of her sides and tail. She looked damn hungry, and the bruises on her body did not look old.

"Should have waked me." I replied, trying to act cool under pressure. She shied away from me further, the tattered wrap for her chest in bad need of repair, and it barely hid her large bosom. I looked away, wanting to pretend modesty, while busying with my pole. My damnable dog looked over, sniffed curiously, then rolled back onto his belly, to get some sun. Lazy mutt.

"Go ahead and eat. But, you should have asked. I might have been upset if you weren't so hungry." I reeled in and looked at the copper hook - which had a fish on it. I grinned faintly - lunch wouldn't be ruined after all. "Go ahead, eat. You could probably use it. Do you talk? Are you lost? We don't get many snake-folk in these parts."

"Ye-va dun-kalla monjessan." She replied. I squinted, that was no tongue I knew. She had an exotic look, darker of skin than the average of her kind - the few gypsy travelers who made rounds to our village.

"Really?" I asked, pushing the basket to her with a foot. "Facinating. If you've nowhere to go, I can take y' to the village. Lord Sheshka knows that those who watch for travelers will be blessed."

She gave a dry nod, perking on hearing a familiar name, I supposed. Sheshka, Lord of the Snakes, He who held the sun in his hood and let it rest from the journey, before being pulled across the sky by the Surya in the morning. They blessed any who guarded the lost traveler from harm.

"Come along." I said, extending a hand and offering it to her, as I rose. My dog grunted, but raised to his paws and stood, ready to return home. She shyly took my hand, and followed.

My village of Raesupl was small - many farms surrounding a central meeting place - which held the central hub of the elders and the learning places for the young. A temple to Sheshka and shrines to the other gods lay ready for any who would welcome worshipers. There were many roads, this was a common stop for traders heading north - but had few natural resources save for food and a great river.

We continued forward, she slithering beside me shy, her body warm and the scent of her musk present in the air. It was intoxicating, oddly enough - the sweetness of serpentine skin and a womans flesh made me dizzy.

We continued - to my home - a small place set on the edge of my fathers property, which was a great farm. At least the land was owned, even if taxes were high.

I continued along, letting the girl follow me home - where I let my father know I had a guest.

I suppose I could get out of further field work by helping this visitor of the village out - a blessing, in essence. I continued on - leading the girl into my home and held a hand out to her, inviting her to my table. I set aside rice to boil and the fish to cook, and handed her a cup of wine - cheaply brewed but meant for guests. She took of it and smiled shy, sipping of it and chattering to me in her native tongue. I was entranced by the soft of her lips, and the flickering sight of a forked tongue.

"Well, I am Bahata, and this is my home. Tomorrow I suppose we can find out where you have come from, and perhaps find a way to return you there. If you wish to go, perhaps it is not your dharma to return there. Perhaps it was to come here."

She smiled, unsure, but patient, perhaps glad for the food. I spoke to her, as the evening wore on, and invited her to my bed - where I would sleep upon a mat in the dining room. She said little, just a shy smile. I smiled in turn - feeling blood course to my loins unbidden. I shook it off, and let close the dividing curtain between she and I, and lay my head to sleep.

Awakening in the dawn, I found myself unable to move. I was cool with an open window permitting the breeze, and cool with the feeling of scale and flesh against my bare chested form. I looked down to a hand that held my belly, and another that rest against my armpit. Her head was tucked to my shoulders and her tail held me abdomen to foot in a squeeze that was pleasant to every one of my senses. Her scent had cooled but was exotic, a scent of the jungle and places she had been in the past. She was drawing the heat away from me, and savored me with a kiss on my back - though unconscious the brush had been. The dark haired woman nestled into me. She spoke in her tongue, strange words that made me wonder.

I was too comfortable to move, and did not wish to awaken the slumber of this sleeping girl. Softly I stroked her hand and drew it up to kiss her palm, then shifted a bit, to get comfortable on my back. Her head laid on my chest, holding me closer.

"Where do you come from, girl?" I asked soft, and stroked her neck. My eyes caught a strange brand upon her shoulder, and a chafing of skin at her throat, as though bound by too tight leather.

"You aren't a slave, are you?" I asked, suddenly disgusted by the thought. There were lots one were born to in life, and paths that must be followed, but Slavery was outside of the paths lain by the lords - and disrupted rightful paths of dharma. I hated it - all in my village did.

But slavers were powerful men, and held much in the way of might. I grunted, worried. Did I have what belonged to someone?

I looked to her. I decided it did not matter - let them come with a mountain of men or a thousand elephants, I would not let them take her. It would be injustice.

I was in love, as surely and truly as anyone could be. She was a gift from the Gods.

"Son. Son. I heard you had a guest, but did not expect to see you wrapped in coils."

I looked up to see my bearded father, who gazed down with a look of surprise and amusement. He spoke softly to me, to not awaken my guest. I flushed sharply, gazing upon him then down to she who slept against me, and I cuddled in close against her, holding her.

"Yes, father. She came upon me, and I found her eating my lunch yesterday. She looked hurt and tired, and I took her here, to let her rest and eat, before asking the Elders for what should be done. She bares a brand, and her neck is chafed."

"That does not bode well, Bahata. Is she a slave?"

"Slave or not, it is against the Gods to make one serve who commits no crime, and never are they to be abused. The brand, and the chafing, would violate this."

"I know, son. Let us take it to the elders. Her ... owner may come to reclaim her, and we cannot fight off a powerful man and his armies."

"Then we will not. I will take her away."

"You are wise, but trust the elders first." She gently hugged me, still drifting in the deep sleep of one who found safety.

"I will. But I will also trust the Gods."

The elders met that afternoon, after I had bathed, and she had annointed herself with honey and milk - to wash away the dust of her scales and hide. She gleamed beautifully, in a borrowed long robe from my mothers selection, and her hair had been done up in long series of braids as she had prepared herself in the tub. She went with me - as the Elders had asked, and was lead to the grand central hut, and into the shrine dominated by a mural of Lord Sheshka, who we asked for wisdom from.

"A Slave is not a good thing to have, nor is it good to risk the whole of the village for one we do not know, nor one who is not human." Argued one, an old woman sat upon a long divan. "She is not known to us, and may belong to one who could bring great harm upon our lands. Is the life of one worth risking all?"

"Would not the lords of heaven do the same for us, to protect us from those who would harm and bind us from our rightful dharma. We cannot let another do this, or we will be guilty of it by negligence."

It was for hours that they argued back and forth, discussing and debating the merits of helping and the merits of sending her away - all while we knewnot her langugage, and only her name.

Kammian.

"We could request aid of the lords and ask them to send protection, for we have evidence of wrong-doing performed in our home. It would benefit."

"And he might return her, and make us guilty of the same crime. We cannot impose upon him - for he is already at war with the lords of the north, by rule of our King."

He was, of course, right. She sat bewildered as we debated, and I attempted further to communicate - she had been hesitant with a name, but I found it fetching. She knew the word for food and for drink, for water and sky and then name of some of the gods. She was not a heathen.

The debate lasted three days - two of which I was present for, and a third where I worked the fields, and the lady of scales joined me, working beside me with quick hands, and an eagerness to spend time in the sun. I worked with her and she showed me a secret mantra to make the rice shake itself from the stalk, and yet still remain planted to grow more. It was with a days work we performed the work of seven days, and though tired, I was joyous for her gift - and kept it in a secret place in my heart. Each night I would sleep upon my grass-woven mat, and each morning I would awaken with her wrapped around me, like a lover. But never would I take of her, nor did she offer - I knew she saved herself, and though my loins ached and heart yearned, I let her perform at her own pace.

And at last, after seven days of working the plants and practicing the mantra of harvest, the Elders announced that they would guard her. She was a guest, sent by heaven, and we would honor the ways of our Gods, as they honored our devotion.

A good thing, I knew, for when I awoke on the first week plus a day, I found her shivering in a corner, and a terrible not played from a bulls horn - a note which rang terrible in the sky and made my home shake.

A single look out into the wood and towards the river told me of the terror we had brought upon ourselves - as I saw the masked faces of the Raksha standing in neat rows, held in metal armor and wielding great scimitars.

The village cried in horror, and I held her, to help stiffle her tears, as the lord of the Raksha called for his property to be returned.

To my shame, the elders agreed to return her, and they marched with the general to my door and knocked upon it three times, calling for the girl to be turned over. Three times they asked, and each I denied them - three times the face of the Raksha general grew angrier and his might grew great, until he hewed the door from the hinges with a terrible blow of his blade, and demanded that what was his be returned, and my blood in payment for defiance.

Defiance, which I redoubled, when I stepped from my room and held my knife, a knife which had once slain a tiger by plucking out his eye. I stood, and calling upon the gods, demanded the Raksha leave, for I had oathed to defend her, and would do so, as was the path of my dharma.

He laughed, until I attacked, and cut his hand. In rage, he struck me down and sent me back, blood leaking from my head and mouth. But I lived, and he stormed away, commanding his soldiers begin to burn the village.

I knew pain, and horror, but I knew I would not stand to let an innocent be harmed. And I stepped out, with the tiger-wounding blade in hand, and prepared to fight, and asked the gods to aid the girl, as I knew my life would end this day.

The soldiers came, their blades high, and their motions in unison - their approach with the ferocity of a bull elephant, and as terrible as the thunder during the seasons of rain.

But I stood, alone of the village.

Alone, until I heard a laugh behind me.

He was a creature of fur, and stood perhaps to the chest of a man, but his eyes were fierce, like the sun after an eclipse. In his hand lay a golden stave, as long as he was, and the creature of golden fur and a monkeys grin tossed it hand to hand, like a performing animal. He was swathed in a red robe and pants of white, while laughing again. His eyes were like lotus, as he stared with a grin that showed no fear.

"You fight to protect innocent?" He asked, his voice speaking the tongue of the heavens with a clarity that sent me shivering. He spoke as calm as though he were about to go for a walk to work his digestion, not face the ravenous hordes of raksha with only his staff and I with a simple paring knife.

"Yes." I said, nodding grimly and setting my face to stone. He laughed again, and waved a hand at them dismissively.

"Boy, I fight bull elephents, and wrestled with Dragons, and stole the peaches from the Emperor of Heaven. These are but a game to me. Come, I will show you a mantra to never be harmed by the blades of evil men."

And he did, and taught me a second secret mantra, which I took to my heart, and he launched himself into battle. Each blow struck hard as thunder, a hammer blow from the heavens casting the raksha past the horizon in a blur of golden rod and monkey strength. Again he danced amongst them as I joined, leaping to battle with my knife, which had grown to become a great blade when I was not looking. I battled with the demons, who came to claim the girl I had oathed to defend, and I swung hard and mighty, cleaving through blades with a cry of triumph and praise unto the gods. The blades struck at me, but my skin turned them away when I sung the mantra, as taught by the monkey, who laughed brightly and set to work, slaughtering and sending all foes past the horizon, to join the stars.

When battle was finished, not even the raksha general stood, for he had fled and cast his mask to the earth, which was crushed beneath the foot of the monkey, who nodded to me. He held his staff across his shoulders and looked upon me with a sense of pleasure at a fight - as a man might look after laying with his wife.

"You fight good, for a man." He said, before glancing to the Lamia, who stared in awe upon me, my blade, and the monkey who rested against his staff. "And I see why, she is radiant as a thousand fires in a forest."

"Yes she is." I said, gazing with her by longing. "But we cannot speak, for I know not her tongue."

To which the monkey laughed.

"Then I teach you this one last mantra, that you must use only to speak to her. Take the leaf of a lotus and the clippings of a holy mans nail, and a single hair of the girl, and mix it into tea. Drink it, and you will be able to speak to her for as long as you both live. Tell no one this secret mantra."

And I nodded.

"Who are you, monkey?"

"I am the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, the Monkey King."

He laughed again, and I joined him, while inviting my Lotus to join me. She did, and knew she would no longer fear the evil raksha, as long as I was with her.

"Sun Wukong." She spoke, in tones awed. To which, he laughed.

"Yes, dear girl, I am." He said, and she smiled, for he spoke the tongue of heaven, which was known to all living things. She spoke to him at length, and he, on his golden rod, merely laughed and smiled and bade her speak as she liked. I waited, as I stood beside in awe of the great sword of gold, which was twice my forearm length but weighed only as much as a dagger. It had cut clean through steel and armor, and had not even a single scuff upon it.

"Yes, girl, you are right." He said to her, then looked to me with his eyes that burned brighter than the sun. "He has no evil in him, or I would see it and strike him down."

He demonstrated, and clove a great valley into the earth with a two handed chop, which stretched from the middle of the village to the river, deeper than a man tall, and as wide as a child from head to foot. The staff was lifted, and shook of dirt and water.

"She is right. I will give you a boon, for you have done so much for a stranger. What will you have?"

"I would have her be happy, and my village safe."

He nodded, pleased, and showing a grin wide enough to split his face. He then pointed to me with a long clawed finger.

"Would you have her happy, even if she were to love another, away from you?"

I felt pain, but nodded, honest, like the Gods would have me be.

"Even if I must suffer a thousand hells that she be happy, I would." I said.

"Good. For she admitted she has fallen in love with you, and would stay in your house, and take your seed to her womb as you have taken her into your home, and loved her without condition. Will you have her?"

"Forever, and ever."

"Good. She is yours, as you have already claimed her by might and mercy. She worries that you cannot have young with her, but, leave that to the Gods."

He winked, and spun his staff three times over head and struck the earth, and was enclosed by a great lotus, and the sound of his laughing.

I gazed to my wife, and saw her flushed cheeks and shy smile, and knew my heart was complete. I gave thanks to the gods, and honored them, as I took my wife from the great fields where the monkey had danced, and away from the trees splintered by his magic staff, and into the secret places of my hearth, where we practiced an ancient mantra, between man and woman.

And we were happy.

(Apologies if this isn't the most excellent of stories.  I attempted to follow in the path of Indian epics.  I hope it is worth your time.)

Beautifully rendered, deadly in purpose, and incredible in devastation, it was with a hushed breath the world waited, all was silent, and then a roar of force that the two Locate-City-Nukes went off in a beautiful display of flame and force.

They went off, but did not explodes in fire and death and localized waves of undeniable force. They went off, but did not kill those who had come to disarm it.

No, killing would have not been a fitting end to those heroes who had risked so much to save a nation, to save a belief, to save the world from all who would see it burn, turned to their own ends without a thought to any crushed in their path.

No. A group of heroes stopped it - soldiers of the highest order - the elite guard who went where others feared, and used their skills in ways that challenged all belief of possible.

Rangers.

Rangers, who lay in a field, under a strange sky, and tried to make sense of where they were. The wind was odd and it was much too cold for this time of year - and the fortress was missing, from where they had stood and looked upon an old stone place loaded with the most dangerously potent choice of weapons in this modern era.

"Lamirez, you copy?"

A grunt, undignified, replied from a tangled heap of scale, coil, hide and hair, a creature bruised and battered and dizzy from a sudden rush of power and force. Her head lifted, golden-green eyes squinting, and one forced closed with unflattering bruising around the wide pupil. She grunted again and sat up - her armor battered, and her rifle strewn a few feet away from her.


"Good, you are up. Anyone know where we are? Where's the Fortress? Where's the helos?"

It was quiet, but for wind, and the sound of thunder in the distance. A butterfly fluttered up from the long grass and landed on a serpentine nose, before the Lamia swatted it away and grunted, feeling a large wind brush on her. It was chilly. Thankfully, the inter-woven amulets would keep her warm. Rangers only got the best, in theory.

"Somethings wrong with the stars. I can't find the Eye of Broketail anywhere." Thompson sat up, looking away from the sky and the distant moons, then back to his C/O who fiddled with his radio, attempting to contact headquarters.

"No idea, damn wizards."

Lamirez stared out with her 'nocs, the tri-eyed scopes settling in, giving a reading in heat signatures and in magical radiation - one more familiar for the lamia, the other a useful tool in some situations. The scopes zoomed in on the horizon, where a strange sight caught her attention. She sat up, wincing at a wrenched disk, and forced herself to stare out.

"Centaurs." She murmured into her transmitter. "Armed with swords. Heading our way. 1500 meters."

"Damn. Take perimeter, but don't fire unless they take hostile action." The squad assembled, ignoring their injuries to take up a firing line. Lamirez dropped her rifle and slithered prone, to take bead.

"They are in mail, sir. Light magical properties." She hissed, and clenched at her 'tags around her throat. She murmured a prayer for guidance, and waited for contact...


"Come in, come in. This is K-080-LD Crew. Anyone there, respond?" It was a small crackling, the distance would be vast, but there. Heard over the heavy wind and the thunder of approaching hooves, it buzzed the ear of Lamirez and the rest of the Ranger Squad.

"This is Ranger Squad 6, Identification 0f-1d-1a-1n, we are at an unknown site. We are being approached by Centaurs, and they are armed. Backup would be appreciated if you would be so inclined. We will flare, now."

And with a word, Rodriguez raised a small tube from his pouch and aimed it skyward - and murmured 'Mandlik', setting off the flare to explode into the sky. That would give the tank crew a chance to find them. It was friendly, they had been a help during a mission not a few hours ago.

The Centaurs raced closer on the flare of magic. But so did a great metal beast from behind the squad, with its great neck stretched and mouth open, preparing to launch death with but a word. A kobold sat on top of it with binoculars to his eyes, while painted along the side was a lurid image of a dragon in flight. Scrawled along the side was a rather rude message in draconic. Forged of adamantine and the finest of magitechnology, the tanks of the Kobold Engineer Corps were the most dangerous on the field.

If small and cramped for the average sized person.

"We see you. ETA, 2 minutes."


"Copy."

The Centaurs slowed, and a rather large one stepped forward, his sword lowered to rest against the earth, and a heavy spear to his back, set to charge if he needed to. It crackled with crude energy, a weak spell of power placed into it.

"Wer bist Sie? Sie übertreten am Bundesland über König Heinrich die Fünft-! Identifizieren sich oder auch sein getötet!" He spoke, his dark lips moving quickly. Brows furrowed.

"What language is that?"

"German, sir. Er, sounds like it. It's not quite, uh, I am not sure." Rodriguez said, while squinting at the centaur. He rubbed the back of his head, the gnoll feeling itchy, but thankful for the warm fur that kept out the chill. The moons were on the wane.

"Sprichst Deutsch?" He tried. Heads tilted amongst the centaurs, before shaking at the obvious question. "Vos agnosco mihi?"

The centaurs paced, blades ready, while rifles remained down - ready to snap a shot off in an instant if they made a hostile gesture. The rumble of the tank became audible, over a hill in the distance.

Blades were raised, and words were shouted again, in the odd germanic tongue. Battle was to be joined, with these alien invaders, possibly barbaric Slavs or Poles. The lead Centaur snorted. He hated Slavs, and Poles, and Lithuanians.

And then the Tank breached the distance like the roar of an angry dragon, and the kobold-crewed vehicle thundered forward, to the relief of the Rangers, and fear of the Knights, who turned, and charged away.

No one wished to deal with a metal-covered war-golem! They had to alert the lord and the courts! War was coming!

"Just in time." Lamirez murmured, clicking the safety and checking the magazine before shouldering her great rifle. "Just in time."

And I have born witness to things in space, viewed from our own hands, that reveals the grandness of our universe, and the smallness of our home. And I have seen great and terrible things - the destruction of the very stars, once worshiped as gods, and now seen to be great holocausts of nuclear fire, roses of flame and life and death. And I have witnessed them tear themselves apart under laws far older than man, born before man could dream of the great juju of the mountain and mighty tiamat and the wrath of Chronos, and seen it for the beauty which it is - the birth of wonder that makes the wrath of all the gods of man seem petty and paltry and nothing more than the petulant screeching of children.

For when their followers claim we are born of dust, I say no, we are born of the stars - it was not a man who lay his life down that we live, it was the stars themselves dying, that we may draw breath and never know them, but ever live as their children.


(No offense meant, if you have faith.)

I met her at the passage to Taxachai, and beheld a quiet beauty to her form. She sat upon a high backed seat beside an old table, and held a cup of brown tea in claw. The bitter scent of tana leaf was present, and she sipped it with a moment of thought, her lips stained brown against the quiet sandy yellow of her snout.

"Ambassador?" I hesitated to ask. Her garments were well maintained, the red thin feathers of her crest and brow contrasting to the smooth dark oil-cloth on her slender frame.

"I am." She raised one green eye up and observed me. "Are you the one who I sent for?"

"I am." I said, bowing my head down and pushing the dancing garb over my shoulder, to bare the three looped marks on my blade. I was a dancer, trained in the arts of the Ran-Tan, and had been sent for, to entertain the Lady Ambassador. "Did you desire a dancer this evening?"

"No." She said, after a moment of thought. She looked along the under-road, a quiet passage between the city proper, and the underside of the Ziggurat which the lady held a preference for being in.

"Your gender mystifies me. Are Humans monogender, like my own?" She asked, after a moment. I looked at her with a momentary confusion, then laughed softly.

"No, madame. I am Male. The females bare young, males impregnate them."

"Strange." She said, sipping her tea.


"They say males are the brutish ones. Or the graceful ones. It depends upon gender. But you seem quite graceful to me, by how you move. Not as graceful as one of my people, but pleasent enough to me."

She stirred her drink with a silver spoon, and once again looked at me. I was bathed in a shifting roll of purple and red and green, which flickered from a glowing orb set in the mouth of a small dragon statue.

I gave her a look, and laughed softly.



"No, my lady. Generally, the females are far more graceful, but males can be, if we work hard."

"Do you work hard?" She asked, gazing over me while I began to dance for her, slowly and with a gentle care. She observed with her inscrutable face telling nothing. I could read many of my clients. Her, I could get nothing from.

"Yes, Ambassador, I do. I have worked at this for many years, as have all of my guild."

"Excellent. You may entertain me for my stay here."

"Thank you." I bowed.

"Though, may I ask why you desire a dancer, and not one of our guides or archivists, or one who tours the city?" I questioned. She indicated me to kneel beside her, and I did so, her hand coming to rest on my shoulder. Her flesh was cool, but not unpleasent, on my bare flesh.

"They use flowery language. You are more direct with what I would wish to know. I am not very loquacious with your language." She replied. She finished her tea and stroked her fingers through my hair. I felt like a feline being rubbed. "Nor am I interested in their words. Your words - one not trained - should be more interesting."

Interesting enough to be roused out of four hours of sleep to fill the needs of a lady of the sands and jungles. Right. I kept my face neutral, with a bit of a smile,while watching the shadows dance from the color change of the light. The intensity altered with each shift.

"I am a dancer and musician, and enjoy entertaining. I will do the best I can." I said, after a moment. "I do recall seeing your delegation being drawn in by large beasts, and you sitting in the middle of the group. I also danced at the welcoming ceremony."

"I recall." She spoke, stroking the dusky skin of my arm. "You will stay with me, and work for me, until I deem your services rendered."

"What are the terms?" I hesitated. This could be a long contract.

"Until I am no longer in the borders of your empire, you are mine."

I gave a dull nod. The guild had agreed - to not do so would be an insult to the Empire, and an affront to the Dwellers of Sand and Jungle, who had been assured that needs would be met.

I bowed my head once. "Of course, my lady."


From the tunnel to the ziggurat, I was lead to her chambers. Great cloth sheets hung along the wall in crossed patterns of green and red, while a large raised divan held her sleeping platform, which was dipped and bowl like, and lain with a thin coating of fine grain sand. Small chests lay about, holding garments, as she required, as well as a large grouping of documents she had read through on a large desk. Light gleamed from the ceiling from glowing bulbs, soft in shade. Lastly, a great carved opening let in a fresh breeze, which helped abate my claustrophobia.

Somewhat, anyway.

She settled upon her divan and lowered her robes, the smoothness of her body showing across the scales, and I saw that she was golden-brown with small stripes of orange running across her chest and belly. Her body was androgynous, even to her belly and lower. I quickly averted my eyes, and looked at the stars twinkling out beyond.

"It is a strange view. So many buildings are erected, layering perhaps one or two stories, but never down but a single floor down. There is much to gain by building into the earth, least of which is space. And yet, so many towers, and castles so grand. Yours is a strange empire."

Empire. Their territory counted a hundred leagues more than our 'empire', and their might and skill was greater than that by many more. They controlled vast cities that grew into the earth, carved into what patterns they desired. I had seen one, in my youth, and been at awe and sought to emulate their manner for a time.

I still did.


"There is still a pattern to what we do. We did not have the benefit of a guiding hand in building this city - it was once a fort, that grew in population. What few decorations we have are because of the few artists we produce." I approached the carved window, and looked out among the people, who slept, as I wanted to sleep. I looked down upon the temple of Igngola, the feathered prince of war and justice. It was a gem. "This fort was built in the years between war between our people and yours, you know. Two hundred years ago, I believe it was."

"I recall." She said, her body stretching out onto the sand, and she laying skyclad. She was among the few I could look on and feel nothing, in such a manner. Not that she didn't have exotic appeal, but, she was as curvaceous as a young lad, and I did not know the anatomy of her inner thighs enough to feel even a twinge. I looked away from the red dipped color. Old habits.

"War breeds interesting things. But so does peace. But a few years ago, I would be sliding my claws into your back. Now, I only wish to see your unblemished flesh dance. So dance for me."

With a hint of a smile, I did.


When I had finished to her interests, which was some half an hour different and the sky from the dying embers of the long sunset to the twinkling richness of dark, she bid me sit with her, and I did.

I would have cared for a towel to dry off the touch of sweat on me, but if she was disturbed by it, she was too polite to not say anything. No, polite was the wrong word - they were a very direct species, cutting through the dance of words - they merely noted when things were best left unsaid.

I noticed her scent, this close. It was dry, yet oddly pungent, a hint of oil and vegetation. Not unpleasant, but odd enough to be noticed.

"It is in debate among my own, as to why so much is worn. While we all agree that flesh is weaker than proper scale, the curiosity as to your aversion to completely bare flesh is what drives some arguments. Are you ashamed that you have no scale?"

The question caught me off guard. I cocked my head and rubbed behind an ear, into the long hair that touched to mid back. I was one of the few men who could get away with long hair - the auburn color was a rare pleasure that some of the lady clients enjoyed. And male clients, at that.

"Ah. Modesty? As to why we keep heavily clothed even in the hot weather is because we do not want to get burnt by the sun."

"The sun rejects your people, then?" She asked? Her own kind enjoyed a long siesta in the sun, savoring it like I would savor a cool bath at the same time.


"No, the sun welcomes us. But if we stare too long into the glory, we suffer for it. We cover, to avoid offending the spirit of the sun, so he will not burn us with his anger. Unlike your kind, our pacts with the sun are different. He feeds us, and warms us, but we must remain humble."

"I see." She said, sounding unsure. "Then suppose why you wear so much inside of your homes and temples and palaces. Why the taboo of bare flesh is still in effect."

"I cannot say. It is just that none wish to see the naked flesh of another." I said, after a moment. I was unsure. "That the Gods prefer humility from us, so that we may better serve them. If we are distracted by breasts and genitals everywhere, we would be too busy mating instead of working."

"Fascinating." She said again, her head cocked. "Mating is a strange concept. That you must be stabbed with the flesh of another to make another, instead of forming it from your own flesh and birthing a continuation of your line."

I flushed.

"We cannot all be so blessed." I hesitated.


"I have mothered three daughters, as my mother had created three, as her mother had. I could draw more, but each time requires much energy and makes me incapable of continuing my work, as it reduces my effectiveness. Of course, I reduce my temperature to instill live birth in my young, as I follow the way of meeting the mammals with word, not aggression, and wish to have some things in common with your people." She stated, stroking my thigh with a hand. It was an affectionate gesture, I supposed.

"You can control your birthing?" I asked, after a moment? "I thought your kind laid eggs in creches."

"We do. Many of us do. Our first is always lain in creche, so that we may remember our ancestors and their pains to improve and evolve from the mud and swamps. We recall the ancient legends and meditate upon their past actions, before laying egg and asking it be strong. It is always warm, and pleasant there."

I nodded again. She worked at my belt and drew it off of me, then began to push my clothes from my body. I hesitated, thought to argue the point, but her touch was not meant to stir. She simply wanted to know.

"The other births are at our choice. I chose live - to understand. It is painful, much more painful than egging. It is cool, it becomes difficult to meditate, but it must be so - that the child be born into an understanding of your people. It makes those of us born into cold understand better, and be more resistant to it. I share birthing with you, a pivotal moment of creation and life. I take first breath shortly after I leave my mothers cloaca, as you leave your mother."


"Uh, humans don't have cloaca." I said. She looked on me, investigating me with sight, though not touch. I was bare, my hands tight at my side. I wanted to cover up. Thankfully, blood was confused, and did not stir me too much.

"Yes, a shame. You would make a beautiful companion if you did not have that hanging between your legs." She murmured, then gestured me to turn. I did so, letting her study. "And if you had a tail. I wonder."

"Ah. Humans birth exclusively. We need two, one to birth, the male to quicken her belly. And so he can guard her in her weakness."

"Yes. There is a weakness in being a mother, even if temporary. I have had lovers of my kind, but it is only a hold-over. They say we had males of our kind long ago, but they died in a sacrifice to protect our species."

"Really?" I asked, turning to face her again. She gave a nod, and gestured for me to step into the bathing pool, where she joined me after a time. "I did not know that."

"We have it documented, with mural. They died, to the male, and did so to ensure that we would survive. We nearly didn't, until the first mother began to grow heavy with young, and taught us the secret of parthenogenesis."


"Really?"

"Yes." She said. "You ask that often. Am I so untruthful?"

"No." I said. "I am just not sure. I do not know much about your kind, nor do I think I have a great understanding of your people."

"No, you do not. You are forward in admitting your ignorance. I can admire this fact. It is an aspect of shared culture. I believe there is a gradual blending, as do many of my colleagues."

"Blending?"

"Like your reproduction. When one culture is forcibly joined by another, there is first the hard penetration of one by the other, the submission of the one who is weaker, and then the sharing of essence. In this, we are the penetration, and we have shared our essence - the name of our spirits are on the tongue of your priest, the colors of our scale are on eyes and painted into flesh, and our methods of education and discovery permeate the learned places."

I could not help but flush, even as we bathed. I found the stone too hard on my skin, but she had prepared with a softer one, that smelled faintly of the desert roses. I washed at myself, still hot at cheeks and chest, but it was fading.



"I am curious. Why are you telling me all of this?"

She was quiet for a time, thoughtful. She did not give off signs that I could read, nor could I make understanding of her expression or tail - she had great control. She said nothing until we had finished bathing, and she had drawn a towel around me, to dry me off, and take me to the divan.

"Because. It is a manner of courtship."

"So you are courting me? You understand you do not have to, as the guild..."

"...has no say in how I prefer to do things." She murmured, almost sounding sleepy. "We are incomparable, but I find you have a sharp mind. Your eyes calculate and you listen to my ideas, with a touch of comprehension on your face. You understand what I say, and you take stock of the world around you. You are an intelligent and graceful creature. I find this attractive. Were you one of my kind, I would have drawn you to me from the start." She stroked my hair.

"Thank you."

"Of course, little sister." She said. "Sleep now. In the morning, I would have you join me for a tour of the palace. You will be mine for a great deal of time, and I would have your understanding in these things."

"Yes, uh... my lady."

"Sister. Big sister. It is the term of affection you would use."

"Alright. Yes, Big Sister." I said.

I slept surprisingly well, in her arms. She was comfortable.

We came hoping for respite. Our world was long past, a ghost in the radiation, a whimper of a sun consumed by a gravitational singularity not a few dozen generations ago - such a small time, which we could pass into the dark. A few generations before, we would have died, a few after, we would have solved the conundrum by battling the pull of gravity itself. No, we lost our home in the youth of your species, first stepping out into the wider universe with our heads high, and heritage proud.

That was then. Before we lost our home.

We wandered, a collection of ships, begged, borrowed, and stolen. We wandered the wider expanse looking for worlds that we could claim, but every one we found (and we sought many) had prior claim, or if not, were stolen from us by those with more clout than we, a fledgeling looking for a home.

When we settled into the domain of the Iteeurini, they chased us away, and we had to turn to darker means that our pride would not allow us, but our survival demanded. We stole from worlds that had little to guard with, but much to take - always enough that we could go on for a ways and continue out journey to find a home.

We made an error at times. SOme ships were lost, others were damaged. Our numbers, even despite our best efforts to grow, continued to shrink and fall - from two million, to two hundred thousand, to a simple two - twenty thousand on a handful of small, cramped ships.

It was hell, those days. But we did what we could. We had little left, our technology was obsolete, our might was laughable, and we knew our generations were a few moltings shy.

When we encountered a newcomer, fresh beyond the rim of their own birth-sun, and into the dark between stars, heading for a world they hoped would have welcomed them.

I believe their ships were unexpecting of meeting someone - for they had only a few small lasers across their bow, and their means of communication were laughable - laser and short burst electromagnetism. But they sent word and they greeted us, their faces flat and their bodies hairless, in a variety of colors that felt strange to the drab blues and yellows and whites of our feathers.

It was tense, terse. They were intelligent, but their drive was nuclear - a nuclear blast riding out into the wild yonder, with mathematical precision that was juvenile, but it was with a hope to reach the stars that was naive and yet hopeful. They knew they could make it.

We managed to reply, matching pace with them. We felt pity, and saw in them ourselves, as we had become wrecks of once young and glorious and ever ready species.

We sent them the universal greeting.
3.141 5926 5358
They replied.
2 3 5 7 11 13 17 19 23 29

In the months we spent, half the ships forming an escort of sorts for them, we shared. Mathematics lead to music, to images, to artistry, to comparing, to language. In the weeks, we traded language - their gutteral tongue hard on light ears, but our sweet tongue seemed to entrance, and they welcomed us, save, they had no means to port. They had never expected to meet someone else in the void. They had never expected another life form out there, to greet them.

And when they struck home - their destination, I wept, when it exploded, as it struck the atmosphere wrong, and the hundred thousand people, the Terrans, died that day. I wept, for I had seen the death of those I might have called brother, and sang a dirge for them.

A dirge that was repeated to the stars, as we turned, and struck out for their home - to relay that they had died, and that we mourned their passing, the passing of those who did not judge us for our loss, but welcomed us for our being ourselves.

Their world was brown with hints of green, and a small wash of blue. It was a world that was in the thrall of over population, and abuse before awareness. In that world, hovering above, I broke the silence, and announced it with a song - transmitted to them in manners they might understand. I sang for them a dirge, and expressed sorrow for the loss of their transport, their colony ship fallen to error. I sang for them as I might sing for a nestmate who had embraced eternity far too soon, and I made offer of my ship, that we might transport those who wished to go, to claim a home of their own.

And in an outpouring of grief, we sent the designs of our drives, the knowledge of building ships - so that others would not know, and that we might be remembered for something good, and not the dark deeds that had plagued us in our need to survive.

It was a fortune we sent, and we did not expect anything in return. They returned a transmission, asking if we would be willing to take a new group of colonists to stake claim on the world. And we agreed, if only in memory. They sent a thousand - armed, and trained, with enough to make do with starting a new world. A thousand of their civilians went with us, and we set them to the plains near water, and waited. It felt good to be on the surface of a world for a while. Felt very good, to see a young species starting with pre-fab, with hope. And I want to take the world and live here too. And I don't want to leave, even as other ships of my kind, the Avnari, make the place to see, to hope, that we might be invited. For a bunch of thieves, bandits, we don't want to rob someone poorer than us.

Then we find out this world has been claimed already, by the Ensidia.

The Ensidia were, are, not nice folk. Neither would I find them unjustifiably cruel - but simply, pragmatic, strong, and more than willing to take what they can, if there is nothing that can rightly stop them, they will take what they desire.

One could blame it on reptilian hearts and mindsets - others blame it on a dictaiton of 'strong shall survive'. I, I believe it is because they are smart and like to stop threats from rising up in the future. I cannot blame them for that.

But putting down drones and threatening forced removal does make one less happy to have them around. These Terrans were not too happy to hear it, but neither were they going to give in. They were young and foolish.

When the infantries landed and made known it was not idle threat, but a reality. It did not matter that there were no ships to take them back, and it did not matter that we, Avnari, offered to take these Terrans anywhere they wanted.

They would stand for what they had claimed. I admired that, even as I sat in the central building of their small township, over-looking fields set for harvest and work being set up from the nearby forests, and felt wistful for a chance to live on this small Eden. I admired the world and the youthful spirit, even as I knew blood would flow, and the wrath of a greater species would burn like the first moltings burned sensitive skin.

But I waited and watched, and drank tea. Why stress about impossibilities. I sat with the leadership of Terran ground forces, and offered what advice I could.

"Run."

They would have none of that. They set themselves to war with a certainty that they would die, but would mark this world as their own. Trenches were readied and buildings were erected to shield and and hide. Their arms were small, but effective - and using the primitive but effective design gave me a spark of hope.

The infantries landed from high, dropping at the outskirt to once again give warning of the threat facing them, and that they had once chance to lay down arms and leave the planet. This was replied with the pops and cracks of gunfire, of sending hard shavings into the massed armies, who fell back shocked, before replying in kind - with energy baths.

Blood flowed, the coppery red splashing before the wounds could cauterize, and the armored bodies floundering back from the painful impacts - it took three to five shots to take down each incoming soldier.

Then the traps went up - and the ground erupted in washes of flame and earth and stone - traps set and buried in the dark of the evening, that destroyed limbs.

It slowed the advance, but did not stop it. Steps were taken with more care - shots taken with slower precision, but for every one Ensidian that fell, two Terrans gave their lives.

And watching, I felt a sickly sadness cling to my breast and tighten my crop. These brave people, some I called friend, wanted only a world to call their own. I knew the feeling, and I made a decision that was suicidal, but I would not let another be forced from a home. I took up a gun - a small one, as we Avnari are hardly the biggest of creatures, and left the safety of the building, and called for any of my kind to join battle, if they felt they deserved the notice of ancestors and the song of a Dirge-Master.

And I sang of death, as my weapon became my instrument - over the vox I called upon the valor of those long past, and asked their guidance as I approached the line of death, and fired, again, again, again.

To my chagrin, I must admit, my arm ached from the recoil, but it did little to dampen my spirit. The battle lines were scorched, and the scent of death was copper and ozone. I strode into battle, no armor to shield me, and only my ribbons and ties as vestment, and my blue feathers singed as I opened up my soul to the warrior within, and struck again and again.

My brothers and sisters looked on me mad, and, I suppose I was. But madder were they when they struck from behind, into the unprotected flanks of lined soldiers. And as brilliant and powerful the technological aspect of the Ensidian Military might have been, there are few things that can survive being struck at their flanks by a surprise attack. Of my crew, of my brothers and sisters, there were only sixty, but sixty soldiers can change a war.

Sometimes.

I was wounded then, a blow taking my wing off of my back, and sending spiraling into shock. What was the memory of battle from rooms and rooftops and trenches becomes a blur of pain and haze of forgotten things. I did my ancestors proud, and I honored one of the tenants of the people - to defend the Nest.

I defended it.

What happened afterwards, I do not recall. The Terrans held fast - bolstered by the strength of their allies, and the surprise attack giving them the chance to put down their opponent until surrender was reached. Bolstered by 'The birds', the Terran populace repelled the invasion. When word came of an attack to commence of orbital bombardment, it is said they promised a retribution that would make the entire galaxy fear them. Bold words, I have heard them repeated.

The bombardments never came. They left, with the arrival of a trade ship, and the armed escort, who demanded to know why the Ensidians were so callous as to attack another colony without justification.

It made a bit of an impact, when the results of the battle were tallied - twenty Avnari dead, eight hundred human casualties, and four thousand Ensidian dead. Respectable, with smaller weapons, weaker capabilities, and being a newcomer on the scene of galactic politics.

I awoke from my shock and treatments three weeks later - to find a wing gone, and burns lingering on my feathered form. My bravery had inspired their competence, and they, in turn, had inspired my people to attack at an enemy of both of us.

But what reward could they give, to allies and friends? They knew not that we had no home - and that they, in truth, had nothing we could take that would help us. We set to leave this home, when they found out.

These Terrans had hope. They were still young and willing to try. Naive, but able to take the risk, they had fought instead of finding somewhere else. They met war with gusto and fervor and ignited a fire in an unknown ally, who risked everything.

I guess that is what they are amazing at. Making someone else find their limits, and push past it without looking back.

When I talked to one of the soldiers I have fought with, who asked of my home, and found that our world was less than dust, and barely remembered.

With so many of their colonists dead and injured, they would need help getting started. Supplies were good, but there was work to be done - too much work for so few people, and not enough time to do it.

Not enough. We, without enough time to truly matter, they without enough people. But one thing the world did have, was enough. Enough room, enough promise, enough friends to get everything ready for the next colony ship to arrive.

It had enough room for twenty thousand birds to flock, and make a new home. There was enough room, for two aliens to become close friends, and perhaps more, in time.

The world needed a name. We gave it, in honor of new friends, new home, new hope for both of us. A world called 'Amicus'.

"Always such a pessimist, Z."

I gave the finger to Cliff.  Cliff laughed, a crackling sound from behind the

breathing mask he wore, a full facial concealer that hide him.  I never pried why

he wore it, and he never asked why I disappeared for an hour a night from the

barracks.  An equitable trade.

"Can't help it."  I replied, while setting my rifle onto my back and reaching for

my canteen to wash the taste of ash out of my mouth.  Cliff laughed again, his

boots clicking on the ground, his outfit hanging loose off his scrawny-ass.

"About five minutes out."  Captain Basedvna murmured.  Human, his hair was gray

and his body old, but damn if he wasn't tougher than boot leather, and looked like

it.  We lowered ourselves out of habit and carried forward, towards the

destination, where a low glow could be seen just beyond the swell of a hill.  I

could taste smoke, and it wasn't the sweet taste of Cuban.


Amazing how the little country made it through the worst part of The Event

unscathed.

The glow pulsed and made my head hurt, shaded a trace of lavender and gray - other

colors that my eyes couldn't process.  Like most of my breed of Kangaroo-Moreau, I

had more rods than cones, so colors would gray out where I couldn't process.

It was a bitch color-coordinating my equipment.

"Contact, fifteen hundred feet out, beyond the rise."  Cliff jogged forward to

take up position, while lowering his rifle down and checking range.  Sniper,

scout, he was one of the best.  The fact he was questionable outside of shooting,

and that damn mask, meant he'd never leave C-squad status.

Fine with me, I trusted him.  Serge joined me as we climbed the hill, his

mandibles clicking.  The rest continued up - they knew their duties.   Captain

would work to shut the portal down, or at least, secure it.

"We go through, or just hold?"  I asked.

"Just hold.  We'll call in a Gamma-team to go through."

Alphas might be big threats, Beta would be investigation, Cetta would be scouting,

Delta were motor vehicles, Elta handled paperwork, Foxtrot were training and

equping... Gamma were crazy motherfuckers.

I nodded.  Down below, the portal hummed.

"Captain, can you tell me what this is?"

Cliff looked up from his scope, while Captain pulled his trinocs out and took a

long look down below. Captain muttered under his breath and shook his head, before

scratching at his balding head.

"Never seen 'em before."

I joined in the look, using the god-damned scope (really, who puts a fucking scope

on a SAW?) and looked down at the grouping - three beings, clad with metal helmets

without seams, and standing in suits that moved like the galaxy. My head swam, and

I felt vertigo looking in on them.

THey seemed to be communicating with each other through gestures, one gesturing to

the portal and the others standing before it. I couldn't make heads or tails of

it. My fingertips itched. I wanted to shoot.

"Well, shall we go introduce ourselves?" Cliff asked. I looked up at Serge, who

nodded and stood at the cliff. Captain grunted and rose up too, leaving Cliff to

take scope - just in case.

"Greetings. Help you folks?"

The three turned, looking at us. A motley group we must have been, a kangaroo, a

human, a bug, flanked by a hyena with a battle-axe and a woman holding a chainsaw,

though not yet revved. I'd have shit myself, facing that group.

~Inquiry: What time part?~

The voice was not a voice. Metalic, a tinny hum like a bad radio buzzed between my

ears and the static-crackling sound burst there, making my eyes roll. I had a

headache already, and I was needing another drink off the bottle and drag off the

cigar. I wanted to shoot these fuckers. They felt wrong, and smelled like, like...

they smelled like a solar flare looks. I can't explain it, I'm neither a sensate

nor an astronomer.

"Uh, 0200." Captain murmured. He looked between the three, then up towards the one

with a large dome for a head, who seemed to stand most upright and straight. The

suit he wore showed a gamma burst, a wave of beautiful light. I wondered if I

could fall into his suit and be lost in the stars. "Uh, July 14th, 21..."

~Time frame acceptable. Location Outback, 200 kilometers south of Darwin.

Correct?~

"There ain't been a Darwin in almost a decade. The Hivers got 'em."

~Correct. We have a delivery for you, and your squad.~

"A delivery?" I asked, breaking protocol with a bewildered quirk of my ears. I sat

back on my tail and rested my sore monster feet. "What type of delivery?"

~Condition of delivery, not to be disclosed with recipients as to nature. Nor

shall recipients be informed who sent.~

"Alright. Can I see what it is I am supposed to be picking up, then?" This felt

downright bizarre. "And where is it being sent from?"

~Twenty four years, six months, eighteen days, thirty minutes from now. Perth,

Australia.~

~Further condition.~ The lead spoke, as he gestured to crates that materialized

out of the rip in reality. I looked in on it - seamless plastic with an indent,

shaped like a hand. I wanted to open it up and find out all the goodies, and

evidently there was something for everyone. I looked at Serge, who shrugged at me.

~Press palm to receive equipment. Must use equipment to eliminate nearby target.~

"Target?" Serge asked, twirling the faux mustache he wore. Apparently, he had a

real beauty of one before being changed, and the glued on apparatus was wonky, but

gave him some real personality. Or so I joked.

"Always a catch to this crap, isn't there?" I asked, looking at the big tall guy,

a head higher than I. "The hell do we have to do to get whatever is in the crate?"

~Alpha-Grade threat will be discovered in three minutes from this point.

Elimination is best course. One kilometer from this position.~

I swore, loudly, and touched my hand to my case. It read my palm, and gave a hum,

before unsealing, and slowly opening it...

"What if the Event was meant to bring all realities together into one point, and close all bridges between realities?"

Serge. Another on the team, from the ruins of Mexico. He had mutated. There had been a lot of mutations over the years since the first crack. The second Event hadn't been as nice. He looked like a bug, like a giant mantis, under the sombrero and the heavy cloth wrap. He had pistols - but if I had four arms, I'd use four pistols as well, simply for being awesome.

I looked up at him as we continued our patrol towards the contact point. The grass tickled my toes, and I felt hungry for some odd reason. I shook my head and tugged the scarf up and over my mouth, and continued forward.

"No, that'd be fucking stupid." I replied. He quirked one of his great antennae in a humorous way, and slapped me on the back before continuing forward. The rest of the squad was quiet. Nervous. We might only be classified for C-rank threats, but in the field, we could run from Alpha to Gamma grade dangers - and Alphas needed a tank or six to take down.

I remembered hearing stories, back when I was a youth, in the underground. Moreau were new, mutants were stared at, instead of shrugged at, and The Event was little understood. Some complained about the resources put into understanding one and making the other - but we Moreau could eat a lot different things, and were adapted to survive up top.

We had proven our worth over the years.

Alpha-Grade. There had been a few of those, perhaps a handful over the years. Big things, dragons, creatures from hell, even a giant robot that fired lasers and threw low-yield super-explosives. I shuddered despite myself.

"So, got any plans after patrol, Zath?" I looked over at Serge, who clicked his mandibles.

"Yeah. Got a date to get to." I replied, maybe lied. "Plus, gotta earn our keep."

He nodded. We continued.