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Jen and Sarah spent the next week doing research. The Internet was filled with contradictory information about monetary theory and economics, and neither of them really had the background to evaluate the arguments that everyone was having.
However, Sarah reminded them both, they didn't need to look at a perfect system, just one that worked. So, they started digging through Wikipedia articles and online textbooks on the history of money and how they came to be.
"Hey, did you know they used to use salt as currency?" Sarah asked as she skimmed through a particularly fascinating documentary about Middle Age East African economies.
"Is this some kind of joke about mining salt?"
"No, it's real, look. And apparently the word salary is from the Latin word salarium for money used to buy salt," Sarah continued fascinated.
Of course, they couldn't use something as simple as salt to represent money. In fact, they couldn't use any commodity either.
Over the last week, one of the alien traders caught wind that gold was extremely valuable on Earth, so they'd brought them in by the ton load. Gold was still useful for electronics and some dentistry, but the price of gold, mostly propped up by its value in rarity, crashed hard.
The problem with currency in galactic trading, as Sarah discovered, was that there wasn't a single commodity that was equally rare in every system.
No, whatever alternative they come up to the laughably outdated barter system had to be built on something far more rare and valuable than gold.
Something that even the most powerful human empires in history have struggled to collect.
It had to be built on trust.
"That's the system most modern currencies are based on," Sarah claimed, "you only accept dollars for work because you trust that you're going to be able to wake up tomorrow and spend it on… everything you need."
"Hmm well, we can't just ask them to take US dollars," Jen giggled. This would be so much easier if that weren't true.
"Why not?" Sarah asked, playing the devil's advocate.
"Well… well, like you said, they won't trust it! I certainly wouldn't if I were a trader! Furthermore, who knows? Maybe they have a printer in their ship that can duplicate money! Maybe we should ask them for that next time we bring Zarko some pears," Jen said, thinking out loud.
"I doubt it. The government keeps a lot of secrets about how they make Dollars , and I don't want the Secret Service knocking on my door," Sarah said. Until this week, she hadn't known that this was one of the lesser known duties of the USSS. Now that she knew it, it made the thought of attracting their attention even less palatable, "you're right. What about digital casino tokens? We can produce something that translates to Dollars and have our own system that tracks it all."
"Sure, that's not too hard to make. We would have a centralized money supply, where we don't trust each end point…" Jen continued on the brainstorm, thinking in terms of the technical system, "ok, so say we make SarahBucks, and peg its value to the US Dollar. One pound of pears would be worth 1.5 SarahBucks, one pound of sirloin steak is 6.99 SarahBucks at Safeway. That still doesn't explain how we'll get people to use it."
"I'm not sure. I need to think about this more," Sarah yawned, tired. "And I hate that name."
They agreed that they were stuck, and that SarahBucks was absolutely a terrible name.
Livermore Spaceport, Earth
A month after the spaceport opening, Sarah noticed that it had become less of a tourist attraction. There were far fewer people standing around gawking at the aliens, and a lot more companies trucking their best-selling products into the spaceport for trade.
After their abuse of Jen's cousin's employee pass got discovered by the spaceport authorities, Sarah and Jen had started placing their own bids on getting into the spaceport through the official channels. Thanks to their existing connections with the managers at the spaceport and a growing bank account of value, they could still get in to continue their lucrative trade for magical alien goods.
A bit of a rich-get-richer type of situation.
The flavor of the month were these Bohor magical air filter machines that aggressively scrubbed the air of… anything you want them to.
The Bohor planet is basically the planetary equivalent of a toxic dump.
Sure, it had biomes; it wasn't a Star Wars sci-fi planet where the entire planet is either a desert or an ice-cold tundra or a forest. But the entire planet had been polluted so heavily by its occupants that it lowered the life expectancy by half before the Bohors found a solution:
They simply filtered their entire atmosphere through air filter machines and then buried the toxins and garbage they got out of it in a very deep landfill, somewhere where very few people lived. Pretty much the kind of solution you'd expect out of a species that created the original problem in the first place.
Zikzik, the alien that was the same species as Zarko, overheard a human asking about their rocket fuel and climate change, and brought in a cargo hold of them.
It was a massive hit.
Earth's climate change problem wasn't nearly as bad as Bohor, but it was relatively simple to program these machines to suck carbon out of its atmosphere and… bury them in a landfill.
At first, few of the human traders bought them, thinking that it was going to be at least a while before the problem became big enough that big governments were going to come to them to try to address the issue, but they had it all wrong.
Soon as word got out this was an option, big companies and philanthropists started lining up at their doors. As it turned out, literally sucking the carbon dioxide out of the air was easier and cheaper than modifying many of their industrial practices to actually be environmentally green. They didn't need to run more efficient factories to claim to be carbon-neutral; just pump as much carbon into the air in exchange for undoing that by sucking it out of the atmosphere after!
Some bean counters at a think tank in DC predicted that a few more shipments of these air filters will fix Earth's climate problems by themselves in about a decade, so every trader had a waiting list of corporations with PR problems willing to buy them.
Sarah and Jen had a couple vehicle manufacturing companies on their list who were trying to get Bohor air filters to use in lobbying for looser emission standards for their dirty gasoline cars.
Today, there were traders on all the landing pads, and they were all carrying air filters. Zarko's ship was there, and he was loading fruits into his spaceship with an alien looking forklift. Sarah and Jen approached his ship and noticed the truck driver standing there.
"Hey Benny, tempting the poor aliens with cherries this time?" Sarah waved good, grinning and looking at his cargo.
Technically, Benny is a competitor, or at least he drives for a competitor. The massive fruit conglomeration he worked for, Chuckita, had not neglected to notice the massive business opportunity sitting right here as many others have, and are now delivering straight to the aliens in exchange for massive profit margins.
But Benny was a good guy. One time Jen and Sarah were having some trouble finding a buyer for a bunch of legally dubious alien psychedelics. Benny was in his late 50s, not that great with the Internet either, so he'd introduced them to whom he referred to as "my money launderer". Aka, his 22-year-old son, Benny Jr, who had a habit of buying weed and other less than legal items off the deep web. Benny Jr had found a buyer for them within minutes and even generously offered to handle the deal for them to spare them the risk of meeting some psycho hopped up on an alien high in a dark alley somewhere.
"Heh! One of the bat aliens loves sweets but has a low tolerance for sour, so they treat cherries as some kind of an odd challenge fad. They eat a random cherry, and it's either so incredibly sweet they start drooling out of the mouths, or it's a sour one, and they freak out," Benny replied, in a low voice as if he were trying to keep it a big secret. "Zarko showed me a video, and it's the most hilarious thing I've ever seen".
"I think I've seen that one, have you seen the one where they drink wine?" Sarah chuckled at the memory. Alien videos have been a big hit on YouTube. Some human merchants were trading fruit for aliens to take videos of the galaxy. Which they monetized, of course.
"No," Benny's ears perked up. Chuckita doesn't make wine, but if selling wine to aliens was going to be a thing, they were a big supplier of grapes… "Is it gonna be a thing?"
"Well guess what we brought today?" Jen also grinning from ear to ear, and holding up a big carton of low-quality box wine.
"Awww seems like I'm always one step behind you guys," Benny moaned in exaggeration, "I tried to get my money launderer to tell me what aliens would want but all he does is play video games on the Internet, kids these days."
Luckily, Zarko chose this moment to step out to spare them from more good-humored ribbing from the boomer. "Ah Sarah and Jen, you brought the grape wine this time!"
"Yup," Sarah beamed, "and I see you've run out of air filters to trade again!"
"Sadly yes," Zarko tilted his head in shame, "my ship is overdue for a cargo space upgrade, but I haven't found a port that would do it for fruit yet. Next time?"
"Alright! Alright! We'll leave our special wine with you, but you better get us some extra good filters next time!" Jen scolded mockingly. Zarko has gotten a lot more comfortable doling out IOUs since the first time.
"Of course. Only the best for you two," Zarko said with a greasy human smile imitation that almost made Sarah laugh out loud. It reminded her of a ridiculous cartoon sloth.
"By the way," Sarah asked casually, "how much is a spaceship worth on your planet?"
Zarko sobered up his expression and looked at her curiously. It was a question that other humans had asked before. To him, it was a good sign. This meant that they all dreamt of the stars. But he didn't expect such a question from someone as seemingly practical as Sarah. She had a lot of fruit, sure, but fruit doesn't build spaceships.
After thinking for a while, he replied honestly, "ships aren't traded for one single item. My family traded for the parts to build mine for generations."
He pointed at his spaceship.
Zarko proudly explained, "this is the work of eighteen generations of trading. My family was one of the richest on Zeep-zep. For thirteen generations, they traded for each of the parts on this beauty. Then, for the last five, my ancestors traded excess food from the tenant farmers on their land to expert craftsbeings that could put it together."
"Wait, eighteen generations?" Jen gasped. Eighteen generations ago, her family were probably peasants on a farm in Korea or something…
"Yes," Zarko said, looking at them with a little of pity. "After getting the spaceship, my family has traded in it for twelve generations, through civil wars and disasters."
He did some math on his hands, and said, "that's about four hundred of your years. That's why it's very unlikely that you will never go to space."
Looking at the stunned expression on their faces, he tried to lighten the mood. Zarko said mischievously, "unless you're willing to part with some more of your fruit, in which case I'll let you sit in the back seat for a whole route!"
"Hold on, back up, I'm still stuck on the multiple generations part," Sarah said seriously. "You're saying you're flying on a spaceship that started to be built thirty generations ago? That's… about a millennia for us."
"Yes," Zarko answered, "and that's why only thirteen families on my planet have had the privilege of owning one in our long history. No offense, but that's why I think no human will ever own their own spacecraft for at least fifteen more generations."
Something is wrong here, Sarah thought. The budget for NASA's FTL spacecraft was in the hundreds of millions. Yes, for a fruit farmer, that would be many generations of work if all their descendants worked in the same industry. But there were over three thousand billionaires on Earth, not including the tens of thousands of corporations that had assets or market value over a billion. And the prices for the spacecraft would surely go down as time went on…
For a planet like Zarko's to only have thirteen spaceships over generations of their development…
As they were walking away, Benny asked, "have you guys noticed something weird about the way these aliens do business?"
"Yes." "God yes." They said in unison.
"We've been thinking about it for a while, but these guys not having money is a major problemo," Sarah said, looking around surreptitiously, "Zarko and Zikzik keep talking about not being able to find someone who can upgrade their hulls for fruit. And sometimes they come with nothing good, and we're supposed to just drive our fruits all the way back!"
"And if you think about it, if they were human ships, think about truckers who don't own their trucks. We'd have loans or something to deal with the cargo space problems, and they'd be paid for by profits in a few trips," Jen added.
"The numbers he gave us for spacecraft ownership seem insane," Sarah agreed. "Your company could probably afford to order one right now, not to mention hundreds of others. They must all be dirt poor!"
Benny seemed relieved that he wasn't the only one who was thinking this, "exactly! I'm thinking we just introduce them to the concept of Benjamins and solve all their problems and ours. Would certainly make the return trip a lot easier for me if I didn't have to drive all the way to Berkeley for junior to launder all this crap!"
"We thought of that too," Sarah said as Benny pretended to groan again, "but we couldn't figure out how to get them to take money with no intrinsic value."
"Oh that shouldn't be too hard," Benny said, who's clearly already thought through this problem in his head, "we play a little game called good cop, bad cop."
"Good cop bad cop?"
"Sure, it's a mind game the cops play, where they put you in a room-"
"Yeah we know what it is, but how does that help us?" Sarah said impatiently, an idea tugging on her subconscious.
"Well you see," Benny clearly smugly enjoying this moment where he's thought of something that the duo did not, "you two come with an empty truck next time, and you tell Zarko that you'll give him a wad of clean crisp cash, fresh from the bank, for some of his air filters. And when he asks you why he'd take the cash, you just tell him that he can give it to me in exchange for some of my fruits."
"What does that have anything to do with good cop bad cop?!" Jen asked.
"That has nothing to do with good cop bad cop," Sarah chimed in, but the idea was beginning to form in her head, "but it's a good start. We don't want to deal in cash. It's too risky. It could get the feds onto us and there's a bunch of laws around it that I'm not sure about."
"But what we can do is have an internal money system for traders pegged to the US Dollar!" Jen completed.
"Yup, so when Zarko comes back next time, we tell him he has an account with the Bank of Benny, we give him a fancy looking card that has his bank account number and give him a pin code, and we deposit a certain amount of BennyBucks into his account for giving us air filters. Then when you come around, Zarko gives you his card and pin, and gives you BennyBucks for your fruit," Sarah finished.
"Aha. And then I come to you two, say, I would like to convert BennyBucks in my Bank of Benny account to good old American dollars," Benny extrapolated, completing that final step.
"Yeah! We'll just wire you the money and everyone gets theirs," Sarah exclaimed, happy they've finally thought through the loop and gotten someone on board.
"BennyBucks is a terrible name though," Jen said, calming everyone down a little, "and why are we getting so excited over the basic concept of currency? And why haven't aliens figured this out? Maybe it's against some kind of space trading code."
"Who knows? Maybe we just try it on Zarko and see if it works out," Benny said, a glint in his eyes, "and then we expand, galaxy-tically."
"Galactic credits!" Sarah exclaimed, "that's what we'll call it."
They agreed that it was the least worst name that they'd come up with so far. It was boring, but when it came to finances, maybe boring and cliché was a good choice after all.
"Explain again. I am trying to understand," Zarko said two days later as he offloads the air filters he'd promised.
"C'mon dude, for the fifth time," Sarah exasperated, "it's not that hard. We give you a bank account card and have you set up a secret number…"
Jen had spent the last two days coding up a storm. Technically, a simple debit system wasn't that hard, but she had to make a website interface that Benny could go up to and enter his account, Zarko's card information and amount, then let Zarko type in his code…etc. She'd mused that it would have been easier to just do this all in a cloud-based spreadsheet, but that wouldn't scale up if they had more customers.
Sarah had the account cards laminated and designed a logo: the letters GC, for Galactic Credit, and a stylized version of a Milky Way in the background. Part of the value in a trustworthy system is to look official, and you can't get much more official than laminated cards.
"Yes, I understand that part," Zarko said, clearly displaying his frustration on his facial expression as well, "but I don't understand why Benny would give me his fruit for just entering a number."
"Because we have an agreement with him that he'll take it in exchange for fruit!" Sarah was sure this was the umpteenth time she had to explain this, but clearly Zarko was not getting it.
"Is it similar to a debt?" Zarko said suspiciously, as if debt was this dark magic that the humans were performing on him, "I have never heard of this kind of debt before."
"Yes, it's a debt, of sorts," Jen cut in. The last time he had asked this exact question, they'd said no, and that led to fifty other questions and explanations that went nowhere, so nothing could go worse if they said yes-
"Ok. I don't understand," Zarko did his sloth version of a sigh, it was cute, but at the same time frustrating for Sarah and Jen, "But I can try it. I know you two are not trying to trick me. Do I get my fruits before I take off?"
"Yes! You go to Benny-" Sarah started.
"Yes! And that's it. Benny gives you his fruit," Jen cut her off, knowing that this was about to launch into yet another long, long line of questions they just can't deal with right now.
Sarah set up a new account for Zarko, asked him for a 6 digit base ten pin code (thank god Zarko was a ten digit species) which he promptly memorized, and hoping that Jen's prototype website wouldn't fail, showed him how they were "giving" Zarko 40,000 Galactic Credits for 8 Bohor air filter machines into his account ("No, you can't have my iPad. It's on your account card now. Show this to Benny later.")
"Well that worked out great," Benny said as he watched them wire him the $25,000 for his truck shipment of fruit. Though his costs were in the low thousands, he could have easily fleeced Zarko for his full 40k. But they all agreed that wasn't the point, which was to get Zarko to see the benefits of using a currency system abstracted from goods and services.
"Dude, you weren't there," Sarah complained, "I don't understand why he had such a hard time understanding money. Money equals goods. Bing bang boom. It's like these guys don't have the capability for abstract thinking."
"No they definitely do. You can't build spaceships without abstract math and science," Jen said, "but he clearly had a deathly aversion to using money. I think it's tied to some taboo to debt somehow. All the other species must have it because none of the aliens we've met have even mentioned anything close to a real economy."
"Whatever it is," Benny sighed happily, "I'm just happy I didn't have to go home with my truck full of weird alien toys."
"Yup. The next step is to get all the human traders to take credits. At least they'll have no problems understanding the benefits."
Sarah made some calls to the trader licensing office at the spaceport. There she found a manager willing to part with phone numbers and contact information for the other human traders, for an "information fee" of course, and started making calls to the other human traders.
It wasn't easy. Some traders were representatives of bigger food companies, and didn't have all the flexibility to make these kinds of decisions. And others no doubt were thinking of copying their system for their own profit. But they all saw the benefits of a unified network of currency debiting because they've been suffering the same problems that Sarah, Jen, and Benny had been.
Over the next few days, all the human traders agreed to take galactic credit from the aliens, which they knew they could exchange for cash with Sarah and Jen.
"We are officially in business."
In economics, there's a distinction made between different kinds of money. There's commodity money, usually gold or silver. There's representative money, which is currency backed by commodities like gold or silver. And then there's fiat money, which is not backed by any intrinsic value, but rather by government decree, hence fiat.
Galactic Credits fall into some kind of weird hybrid category between representative and fiat money. They're backed by the Dollar, which is fiat money, but also which makes them representative money. This means that the people issuing them, in this case Jen and Sarah, are not supposed to create them without also having a corresponding US Dollar in their bank account.
Of course, Sarah and Jen hadn't signed an ironclad contract with the other human traders that they're always guaranteed to take their galactic credits and exchange for money, so technically that meant that one day Sarah could simply "deposit" a large number of credits in her account and buy all the goods she wanted from Zarko, or potentially the other traders.
That would, however, be slaughtering the golden goose for the meat.
After all, they didn't want to sell fruit or Bohor air filters.
They wanted to sell the concept of money.
"Why would I take this over fruit?" Zikzik sniffed. He was known as a sharp one by all the human traders. If there's any new alien fad coming down the pipeline, chances are Zikzik is the first one to touchdown with a cargo hold full of it.
Unlike many of the other traders, he was fairly consistent in his dealings. This much fruit is for this much air filters. He knows his price, and he lets you know it too. Everyone suspected he kept careful records of all his selling and buying somewhere in his ship, but he's never brought them out. Maybe he just had a sharp memory.
"It's very consistent," Sarah insisted, trying to appeal to his affinity for a stable and predictable exchange, "one pound of fruit today is the same as one pound of fruit tomorrow, and you can deal in fractions."
Completely ignoring that most fruits are seasonal, and price changes, and inflation, she thought, let's start here.
"Fractions, you say?" Zikzik seemed thoughtful, or maybe he's just scratching an itch on his snout, Sarah could never tell with these aliens.
"Yes, fractions," said Jen detecting the slightest bit of opening, "you can trade your air filters for credit. Then you can trade maybe three quarters of your credits to fill your cargo with fruit. The next time you come down here to Earth, you would only need to bring half the amount of air filters as the first trip, combined with the credits you have left, you can leave with a full cargo load anyway!"
Is that how that math goes, Sarah thought, but didn't cut in, as Zikzik seems to be nodding, an oddly universal gesture for affirmation.
"Five eighths of the credits," Zikzik argued, "The air filters are harder to get now because the Bohor are running low, and they need time to make more."
Bargaining! There we go! That's what we're talking about! Sarah almost pumped her fists in the air and gave him a high five, not a great idea given how sharp his claws are as she found out when trying to shake his hands a couple of weeks ago.
"Ok, you would still have to negotiate that amount with each human trader," Sarah replied adding, "but they all deal in Galactic Credits."
They signed him up for an account, gave him a card, and set up his pin code. It had only taken half an hour to get Zikzik on board, which was significantly faster than the hours they'd taken to explain this to Zarko, despite them being the same species. Was it xenocist that she'd assume it was going to take just as long, Sarah wondered.
Looking at the line of traders, she sighed. This was going to be a long day.
Luckily, Zikzik accepting the credits made for great advertising. He was known for being a sharp trader, so if he doesn't think it's a scam, it must not be, right?
Sarah and Jen managed to get two other traders that day onto credits, and one more who was dipping his proverbial toes into the water.
It was a good day.
Jen had been working hard. The Galactic Credits website was now on its 16th major iteration. She'd beefed up the security on it, to make sure none of the other human traders got any funny ideas. Backups became more automatic and frequent, and there was now a rollback and dispute mechanism, not that it was being used yet.
Sarah had also been working hard. She'd been sitting in meetings all day with legal, finances, and now they had a small army of people who were ready to help out if they got into trouble there. Galactic Credits is now officially a tax paying LLC incorporated in the great state of Delaware.
Benny Jr, who had just finished college, had come in as well. He was no good at talking to clients, but he's what the duo would refer to as "street smart". Occasionally, the alien traders would bring in some exotic or ahem, dubiously sourced items, and he would know exactly where to convert that into cold hard cash. On the spreadsheets, his dealings were adding up to a nice fat padding on the margins for Galactic Credits, which to this point, hasn't been making any money other than in the fruit and air filters exchange business.
They were now working out of a rented office in downtown Livermore, with a very nice view of a brick-lined pub that offers numerous craft beers and the old railroad that runs through the heart of town.
Ironically, there's a Bank of America branch across the street, not far from the office itself, the company that had invented the BankAmericard and started the credit card revolution, seemingly oblivious to this new competitor moving into town, literally and figuratively.
They had many brilliant finance experts who were working on something, surely, but established financial institutions are not always great at moving fast and adapting to changing technology. There were many regulations to worry about, and the stakes were a lot higher.
There's something very quaint about the town itself. Some people didn't consider it part of the Bay Area metro area itself, but with the latest BART expansion station they recently built, that's been less and less true.
Now, it was literally the town where the train tracks ended. And where the final frontier began.
For the people in the office, it's also where they dreamt about a new financial revolution in the galaxy.
Some people have critiqued this chapter on the grounds that established financial institutions would have thought of this idea on day one. I appreciate the feedback, but that is a rosy view of the velocity at corporations in my opinion. I've personally worked in some of these companies, and if someone brought up this idea, it would probably have taken at least a month to get the idea through various risk audits and legal reviews.
In terms of technology, much of banking still operates on software that predates the modern Internet. This is one of the reasons why fin-tech startups have been able to beat them on time-to-market, despite massive institutional or financial disadvantages. It's why companies like PayPal, Square, Stripe, Venmo… etc could compete with the incumbents with the development of the Internet.
Sure, an intern in engineering or tools would have a semi-working prototype by week three, but the first line of code would be pushed to production by… month three. A much more likely scenario: some startup beats them to the punch, exactly as it happens here, and the large company offers their founders or investors an obscene amount of money to buy them out.
RoyalRoad
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Hello! I have a collection of Humble Bundle games that have been collecting dust since 2015. I would love to grab a copy of the new Modern Warfare (preferably RTX edition). I am also open to other offers as well as PayPal. I also do have more games in my Steam inventory. Feel free to provide me an offer. Thanks!
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Company of Heroes™ 2 - The Western Front Armies: Oberkommando West	Steam	Available
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Cook, Serve, Delicious! 2!!	Steam	Available
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Cthulhu Realms - Full Version	Steam	Available
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DARK SOULS™ III - Ashes of Ariandel™	Steam	Available
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Duelyst - 20 Spirit Orbs	Duelyst	Available
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EARTH DEFENSE FORCE 4.1 The Shadow of New Despair	Steam	Available
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ESO Vanity pet: Bristlegut Piglet and 15 days of ESO Plus	BAM	Available
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Guardians of Middle-earth	Steam	Available
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Guild Wars 2: Heroic Edition	ncsoft	Available
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HITMAN™: THE COMPLETE FIRST SEASON	Steam	Available
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Hard Reset Redux	Steam	Available
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Her Story	Steam	Available
Hidden Folks	Steam	Available
HoPiKo	Steam	Available
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Holy Potatoes! We're in Space?!	Steam	Available
Hotline Miami 2: Wrong Number	Steam	Available
Hue	Steam	Available
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I am Bread	Steam	Available
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Inside	Steam	Available
Install Creator Pro	Clickteam	Available
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Karma. Incarnation 1	Steam	Available
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Ken Follett's The Pillars of the Earth	Steam	Available
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LOST PLANET® 3	Steam	Available
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Momodora: Reverie Under the Moonlight	Steam	Available
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ONE PIECE BURNING BLOOD	Steam	Available
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First chapter here: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/cbg4gs/damage_control_chapter_1/
So, this one's going to be a deep cut. If you haven't read the novels I've done before, this story throws you in at the deep end, and it spoils at least one major plot point from the 6th novel, Skin Hunger, as well as several other major plot points from other novels. If you want to catch up with that stuff, https://hellskitchensink.com/ check it out here.
If you'd just like to jump into things, this is what matters: There are Atlanteans, an apparently fish-like race who have recently revealed themselves to humans, who have a population of approximately 50,000 and who are on the verge of extinction, and who were recently partially responsible for a near-catastrophe involving a war between a psychotic god of dreams and a primordial entity of stasis, and are trying to make amends. There is supernatural craziness. There is a top secret branch of the US Military- or possibly intelligence services, or maybe even just running loose- referred to as the Esoteric Forces of the United States.
There's a lot of damage to control.
----

Chapter 3: Hel

USEF Report Dagon, section C (Culture), Paragraph 5-11, Rank HEL-6
Almost all of the 'threat' posed by the Atlanteans is, fundamentally, cultural. It is also largely unintentional. While the Atlantean capacity to develop gods is formidable compared to individual humans, their population is .001% that of humanity, and their rate of population increase is hovering at just shy of 0%. They cannot meaningfully invade us, and they sacrificed the element of surprise that could- conceivably- have let them conquer us. They are not a threat directly, and any genocidal actions on our part would not change that- The damage the Atlanteans can do has already been done.
Obviously, the reverse is not true. The Atlanteans are a very small, discreet, and largely insular minority. These have historically been poorly treated in America, and literally every other nation. While legislation has been passed to recognize them as a protected minority, the current administration has shown a certain disregard. The survival of the Atlantean culture is threatened in a number of ways, not least the possibility of a repeat of the Neanderthal extinction.
There is substantial evidence that humans and Neanderthals crossbred. This no doubt contributed to the gradual extinction of the Neanderthal. The possibility that someday the only sign remaining of the Atlanteans will be a certain cast of the eyes, a certain hair color, or a few dozen introns on the end of a DNA strand, is disconcertingly likely.
Back to the issue of culture. Atlantean culture is broadly monarchic. Because of its small population and strained resources, collectivism has been endemic. These traits are likely to fade, but because of the long lifespans and conservative attitudes of older Atlanteans, this fading is likely to take place over decades, or even centuries. Many younger Atlanteans have begun to emigrate, many of them to other countries. This is a pain in the ass for security purposes, as almost all Atlanteans have access to information that is destabilizing, but the most we can hope to do is mitigate cultural harm by encouraging their integration.
Large Atlantean populations- a thousand or more- have settled in the mouth of the Amazon River, the Thames, on the eastern shores of Puerto Rico, on the coast of New Orleans, and off the shore of Kyushu. Smaller populations- a hundred or more- have taken up shelter off Australia by Rottnest Island, the Vietnam coast near Hai Phong, in the Mozambique Channel by Madagascar, south of the Canary Islands, the Strait of Gibraltar, Copenhagen's bays, in the Baltic Sea, the Caspian Sea, and a sizable population in Lake Erie, right by Buffalo.
The largest political push that the Atlanteans have been showing is for renewable energy sources and less water pollution. The Atlantean Queen, Ku-kaili-moku-polemo, has made a dramatic push for intervention in the Pacific Trash Gyre. There have notably been no Atlantean populations settled in India or China, possibly a commentary on the state of their ecological systems and water pollution; Unfortunately, this has also been a cause for increased tensions between the two nascent superpowers and the USA.
More domestically, Atlanteans have managed to tap into the 'Crystal Spires and Togas' new age movement. While not fitting the classical Greek image of Atlanteans, their spirituality has attracted adherents to a number of small schools of meditation. While these might be uncharitably referred to as cults, the Atlantean attitude towards divinity and free will has largely kept them on the 'church' side of the divide. While the media has questioned the wisdom of Atlantean teachings being spread in the wake of the near-catastrophe last September, the EFUS attitude has been that creating a home-grown population of human divingeneers is worth the relatively small risk; We can't get this genie back in the bottle, but we can ask it for a few wishes.
Chief Researcher Cherry H. Verne
The helicopter was a misery. Loud, suspended above the ground, uncomfortably exposed. The jet, on the other hand, was a wonder. It moved through the air with only the most modest occasional turbulence, high above the clouds. I stared out of one of the windows, my breath caught in my throat as I watched the clouds drift far below, like sand dunes deep beneath the sea.
Even the fastest currents of Atlantis had been limited compared to this speed. Atlantis had been small, and centralized. The humans lived across the vast and desiccated skin of their world, and sometimes they had to get from place to place quickly. Without the advantages of being able to leap between worlds with the intercedence of their gods, they came to novel solutions. It was not as convenient, but it wound up pushing them to greater heights. We travelled at speeds where the air itself became a kind of fluid, thick and turbulent, full of currents and doldrums. It was glorious.
"Fucking son of a bitch," growled Miller. "The news got out. The Exquisition and the Peers are sending a delegation to join us. Using the goddamn Concorde. They'll be there before we will." His eyes flickered over to Smith, narrowing.
"I know you like to think of us as having our lips fastened thoroughly to the royal teat, you metallic fuck, but I loathe those imperialist assholes. Not least because we both know they will demand the death of the Archmage. I didn't leak word, and nobody I told would. On the other hand..." Her eyes drifted over to Pagan. The Major sat on the far side of the aisle in the small craft, silently listening to the conversation.
"The official policy of the Mexican Government is that any supernatural being found to be contravening the law in aid of organized crime, or taking the life of a human, is to be executed."
The unspoken subtext in that statement was clear to everyone. The Mexican authorities would not want anyone to find out about any deals they cut. They would have good reason to keep the mission a secret. So, had someone betrayed one another? Or was the presence of an Archmage just that difficult to hide? How on earth had everything devolved so quickly?
Miller groaned. "It gets worse. Chatter suggests that the Tongxinheli and the Indian Ministry of Housing and Urban Poverty Alleviation have learned about this, too. They're likely to get involved."
"And they are hardly known for throwing away a useful resource," said Smith, teeth gritted. "Fucking arrogant pricks. What are they thinking?"
"That the United States is unlikely to go to war over a man who, according to official statements, doesn't actually exist. They'll be out of their environment, though. They won't have access to heavy equipment- I don't care how secret the supernatural is, East Asian ordinance going off on U.S. soil is going to go over like a lead balloon. Their supernatural advantage will be..." He chewed the words for a moment, frowning. "Harder to judge. Both are capable of substantial, if inconsistent, supernatural power multipliers."
"I am sorry," I said, finally pressured by sheer curiosity. "But- these groups-"
"The Tonxinheli is a grab bag of mainland hick priests, Hong Kong triads, Tibetan monks working under duress, and Mongolian shamans, all being pressured- financially, diplomatically, or personally- by the Chinese government. The Ministry..." His face darkened.
"They feed people to monsters," said Smith. "Usually poor, or undesirable."
"No actual evidence of that," grumbled Miller, but not very loudly. "They've got some nasty alliances in the supernatural world. Blood's a lot closer to the skin, down there. Her Majesty's Most Loyal Exquisition is British. They mostly deal with faeries, because the fuckers are thick as flies over there, but we usually have close relations with them. The Peers started as an old knightly order descending from Charlemagne, and rose to prominence after World War 2 turned the Franco-German border into the largest source of Undead ever. There are rumors of a 'Bloody War' that they were involved in before that, but mostly, they're a bunch of overly religious technology-obsessed freaks."
"You are playing an incredibly brave card there, metal-boy," said Smith, an eyebrow raised.
"I did this to myself because I was suffering from severe PTSD, quadrapalegia, and had been manipulated by a psychotic monster. They did it because they thought pacts were unholy." He looked out the window, his brow wrinkled. "This is bad. This is fucked up on a scale that defies simple Murphy's Law. Everything's coming together too quickly." He shook his head. "Hope we're not putting our foot in another hornet's nest."
I tried to think of something comforting to say, some way to encourage my superior officer. None were obvious to me. I settled for patting his shoulder companionably. "What is our plan, Sergeant?"
"Twofold. We need to strike fast and hard when we get in, which means dividing." He gritted his teeth. "I hate to do this to you, not least because I want you close by where you can watch for ambushes, but I need you to check out the hotel. See what you can find out there. Any chance you can track down what supernaturals were in there?"
"I can promise nothing, but if anyone can..."
"Good." Miller nodded to the two foreign officials and the four men who had stayed silent in the back of the plane, dressed in heavy black fatigues, masks covering their faces, heavy weapons sleeved over their shoulders. The men were anonymous, but I could read them beneath those masks. Pulses of belief both strong and weak- One nostalgia, one fear, one anger, one loathing like I'd never seen, one joy and innocence, one ambivalent melancholy. I could see such things in the unguarded, and often, those who wore masks left their souls very bare indeed.
"What will you be doing, Sergeant, if I may ask?"
"The mission profile says that our man was bilking a local casino, the Treasure Chest, using... Well, they weren't entirely clear, but he'd won enough money to be odd. There's a possibility he may be going for one last big score there. Major Pagan, Jissika Smith, and I will be keeping an eye there. Privates, you'll be keeping an eye on the local traffic and making sure he doesn't rabbit without us knowing about it. If we don't find him in the next few hours, it's going to be damned near impossible to figure out where he goes. And if he goes to ground..."
He didn't have to finish the statement. This was a man who could afford to spend decades in hiding.
The plane landed in New Orleans, where we were studiously ignored by the locals. On the streets, I drew more than a few surprised glances as I walked, and even the occasional venomous look. There were a handful of Atlanteans in the city, but I did not keep my eye out for them. I slipped through the crowd without notice or care, making my way towards the hotel where the scene had been found.
The police had not yet been notified. The scene of the crime was untouched. As I entered, I was struck by several things. The lack of blood, for one thing. The fact that, aside from the now-clearly-severed arm, there was no sign of the men supposedly murdered in this room. The lingering aroma of divinity. And finally, a slender, hard-knuckled fist.
I awoke, in a large metallic room. A slender young man who nonetheless had wrinkles around the corners of his eyes from too much smiling was studying me. "Are you alright?" he asked, softly, in heavily accented English. "Sorry about the blow. Are you well?"
Had I been a person entirely unlike myself, I might have responded violently. Sent current surging through the metal walls, fried every other person within, fought and struggled. Instead, I nodded. "You didn't strike anything particularly vital. Blow to the head, but I do not feel murky, or concussed." I studied him for a moment. He was slender, not very old, and his head was shaved bare. His warm brown eyes twinkled, and he wore a loose saffron robe. He had hit me at least as hard as Miller could, and he blazed with oddly tinted belief. Practically a furnace.
The others... Three of them were humans. One of them was tall, broad-shouldered, a pair of black sunglasses over his eyes, dressed in a white business suit. A gun sat in a holster under one armpit, and a leather bag under the other. The second was dressed like a tourist, a colorful T-shirt, shorts, and sandals. He sat with the same ramrod stiffness I had seen in Pagan. The third had his hair up in a bright white turban, wrapped elegantly, with an impressive mane of black hair surrounding his face on all sides. I knew something of the significance of the garment to certain religions, but I did not recognize this specific variant off hand. This man was- I studied my memories- Latino, or Indian, judging by his features. The others were East Asian, I thought. Chinese, I decided, from the context of who was expected to get involved.
The last person in the truck was not human in the least. Nearly seven feet tall, skin black not like a human's but like a burn victim's. Wiry but with muscles like coconuts stuffed into a stocking, her proportions were almost comical, massive tusks forcing her mouth open, growing in place of her canines. A long, red tongue hung out of her mouth, dripping reddish saliva onto the floor almost constantly.
"" said the man in the tourist's clothing, "" He was speaking Mandarin Chinese. I had taken the time to learn Mandarin. The tonal nature of the language was unusual, but I had mastered it quickly.
"You are safe," said the young man who had hit me.
"What are you?" I asked, frowning as I studied him. That belief- Was it belief? Or divinity? He did not feel like a god, but he was not entirely human, either. I had read files about the human phenomenon of 'Heroes'- those who were, in a sense, gods made out of still-living humans. Was this what they looked like?
"A humble monk," he said, bowing his head once.
"" said the man who I now strongly suspected was the leader of this small group.
"Does he speak English?" I asked, feigning lack of knowledge. Their assumptions were a useful tool.
"He understands it," said the monk, giving me a warm smile. "I am more proficient, so he asks me to translate his words, so they are not misinterpreted. We are aware that the Atlanteans have made many agreements with the Americans. You more than many. We wish to offer you an alternative."
""
"You have a choice in the matter, of course. We do not intend to abduct you. But if you should wish to explore your options, to experience what another government may be willing to offer, you can."
He was elaborate. Eloquent. Trying to confuse his compatriots, whose English was not as good. I wondered about the wisdom of sending only one man who understood English so well.
"Monk," said the man in the white business suit and the sunglasses, and his English sounded like he'd spent his entire life in the south, "don't go scarin' the lady by acting all vague and odd." He stepped forward, and settled down on his heels, coming level with me, eye to eye. "The monk's in this job because the government leans on his people, because that's the only way he'll work. The Political Officer there is here to make sure that he doesn't go AWOL. But I'm here because the PRC pays damn well. What you're looking for, what you want, they can provide. You just have to be willing to work together with them."
"" asked the black-skinned creature, in some ancient and esoteric dialect of Hindi.
"" murmured the man in the turban, in the same near-forgotten language. ""
Alright, perhaps I cheat a bit in learning languages. Being able to read the soul of a man makes understanding them much easier when they speak. It was not the kind of talent I would ever broadcast. People were far more honest if they believed you could not understand them. I would hate to take that comfort from them.
"What do you want from me?" I asked, allowing a tiny hint of the trepidation and fear I felt ease into my words.
"" said the man in charge. ""
"Nothing serious. We were alerted by contacts in the US government of a..." The man with the sunglasses paused, and frowned at the monk.
"Bodhisattva?" asked the monk, amusement flickering in his eyes.
"Of a very potent being," said the man in the sunglasses, forehead wrinkled in an obvious glare at the monk. "Since your people ain't been interested in joining the PRC, they've been... understandably tense. We find out about something that could give the Americans a greater advantage. Understandably, we want to avoid that." He smiled. "And if we can persuade you to give us a greater advantage, as well..."
"I... I'm not sure. If I were to betray them- There could be repercussions. Strikes against my people."
"" said the man in charge. ""
"We just need a distraction. A chance to help this guy- Victim of at least a couple of genocides- escape from the governments that perpetuated those genocides." The man in the glasses smiled. "You know about the Westerners’ history. We never did anything like that."
I did not correct him. "How will I contact you?"
"Don't worry about that. We will know." The man in sunglasses winked as he patted me companionably on the shoulder. "Magic."
I did not detect magic. I did detect the faint spark of electricity in the tiny thing he'd planted on my shoulder. It had sunk into the slick material of the raincoat.
"" asked the political officer. The man in sunglasses smiled.
"Consider it. Whatever you're looking for, we can certainly offer it."
"I'll think about it," I said, letting the nervousness flow through my words. Disguising the planning, the certainty, that hid beneath.
I would not switch sides. There were a thousand reasons, but they all condensed down to one. The game of sides was just that: A game. It was a distraction, and in the face of annihilation, a lethal one. These humans were positioning themselves to have the strongest position on the chessboard after it had been set on fire. The most logical solution to this was to destroy them, utterly, giving them no choice but to throw their efforts behind the EFUS. It was my side- By chance, but that was reason enough.
As they stopped the truck- We had apparently been in the back of an 18-wheeler- and allowed me to return to the city, I strategized internally. If I simply alerted Miller or destroyed the scrying device, it would scare them off. Let the prey know that they had been scented. But if they committed themselves to the conflict, they would be forced to see it through. I studied the bug, and my brows knit. It was delicate, finer than an eyelash. That such a small, inconsequential thing could be used to track me, to transmit sound, was... impressive. Also annoying. I would have to avoid discharge. There was no question that something so delicate would be destroyed by the shocks I could produce.
The phone in my pocket rang. I took it out, fumbling with the interface. The phone was a phenomenal device, though a strange one. An invisible network of oracles, allowing people across the world to speak, find information, plan things. I had seen the way humans cared for theirs, placed so much belief and thought into them. The only thing that kept them from awakening was that they were fragile, and not built to last.
That was a terrible crime, to me and my people. To make a tool that was disposable. To create a tool that was never meant to be more. You built to last, because that was how you made a tool truly great, growing more potent with the years. This... I tried to think of the words to describe it. Child soldiers. Cancer-ridden fetuses. A thousand dark images.
Then I hit the 'answer' button, because it had been ringing for nearly half a minute while I stared blankly. "Yes?"
"Yeagerta! It's nearly sunset, I've called you three times, what's the news?"
I shook my head. Strategy. "I was-" I let the silence hang for just a moment, as though I was planning to tell Miller. Showing the foreign agents what they expected, a self-interested person who thought themselves loyal, who had to talk themselves into betrayal. "Distraction. It took longer than I thought to sniff out the crime scene. I'm on my way now, and I've got bad news."
"Shit. How bad?"
"Your men might not be dead. They might just be hostages."
"Aaaaah, double-shit! We tracked him down to the Treasure Chest Casino, but... Well, things are a little bit fraught here. Get here as quick as you can, I could use a voice of reason, or alternatively, another pair of fists."
"Yes, Sergeant."
I made my way to the address, up the stairs into a cheap motel, and into a doorway. I knocked twice, and the door opened. Major Pagan had a large machete in one hand, standing halfway out of her chair. She settled as she recognized me, and the ivory-handled machete disappeared like smoke in the wind. Jissika Smith had been holding a slender bone needle, carved in scrimshaw. The other three members of the room were somewhat less calm. The man and the woman in elegant evening dress were in a pact, I could tell- And the woman was visibly not human, her skin the color of silver, tall, thin, elfin, almost as tall as me. She stood with her long, delicate hands folded in front of her, the man with a drink in hand, the scent of sharp alcohol filling the air.
The last... Well, I couldn't guess at their gender... was actually quite like Miller. The lines of electricity were not as all-encompassing as in him, but still encompassed the limbs, and significant portions of the torso. They sat at the corner, a weapon still drawn. I didn't recognize it, precisely, but it hummed softly, and clearly had a right side and a wrong side. The wrong side was aimed at me.
"Fuck's sake, Anseis, you crazy bitch, she's more human than you or I am."
The weapon was slowly raised towards the ceiling. The woman, superficially, did not look particularly odd. She was delicately built, slender, with skin as pale as milk, and rich golden hair, blue eyes piercing and cold. She was androgynous to the point that Miller's description of her was the only reason I could settle on 'female', and the long leather jacket she wore seemed wholly inappropriate for the hot, muggy environs. "You were studying the crime scene. Any sign of their assailants?"
"Four demons. The archmage himself was not there. All of the demons left substantial traces of power. I'd say centuries old, at least, maybe more. I don't know what they were exactly, but..."
"Four?" said the British man, an eyebrow raised. "You could distinguish them? Hell's bells, the man has four pacts?"
"I suspect so," said Miller. "The mechanics aren't well-known, but being able to make and raise your own supernatural flying monkeys is probably going to make it simpler. So, one big, fat target, and at least four unknown bogies." He looked up. "I bet you've got a solution in place already."
"The Heinlein is within firing distance, isn't it?" said Anseis. "An obvious solution suggests itself. Archmage or not..."
"I'll accept any solutions that don't involve firing a weapon of mass destruction at a riverboat full of American citizens," said Miller.
"I'd suggest coming up behind him and slitting his throat," said the British man, a slender stiletto appearing in his hand as quickly as Pagan's machete had disappeared from hers. "But if he were that easy to take down, I suspect someone already would have."
"Three teams," said Miller. "One team evacuates the ship. That's Jissika, Punk Barnes, and Lady Featherbottom. One team confronts him- That's you and me, Anseis, we've got the best chance at surprising him or being able to take whatever he's got waiting for him. If there are any civilians hurt as collateral damage, I'm ripping you limb from limb. Then the last team- Major, and Yeagerta- You commandeer the ship. Once it's empty, you take control, move us away from the docks and out into open water."
"He may be able to escape the ship regardless," said Anseis, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Yes. But he'll also be where a round from the Heinlein won't kill anyone I care about."
This brought a smile to Anseis' lips, though not to her eyes.
It was interesting, the way time skipped. It could move at a snail's pace as adrenaline and fear and violence made the brain rush, made it record every moment in brutal slow motion in the vain hope that it could make the right decisions. It could speed by like a shark through a current when nothing was happening and too much awareness would drive you mad with boredom. I observed the way the time passed, fast as lightning, until the moment when Pagan pushed open the door.
"Department of Homeland Security," I said, holding up a forgery so good that the government didn't realize it was a forgery. "We've got reports of a lone wolf terrorist on the ship. You need to evacuate immediately while we get the situation under control."
The men in the boat’s wheelhouse didn't argue. They looked happy enough for the unexpected vacation, if slightly worried about their prospects for employment tomorrow. Pagan checked the ship's controls, while I watched the screens. The British man and his fairy lady, along with Jissika, guiding the last of the passengers off of the ship. Unmooring it. The people on the ship were slowly streaming off, Miller and Anseis pushing through them, watching the crowd.
"So," said Pagan, conversationally. "You joined the EFUS. Why?"
"Chance," I said, checking for any sign of our target.
"That doesn't seem like a very good reason," said Pagan, an eyebrow lifted.
"It's why every patriot does what they do."
“Really?” She smiled. “But you were not an American. You had a choice. You came into this world, and you chose them.”
“Geographical convenience. And… I suppose… a lingering debt.” I smiled half-heartedly. “It was an American who saved our queen, and another American who offered us shelter. I am confident that any country would have done the same.”
“Optimist,” she said, and there was a wry smile on her face. I realized I was seeing her amused.
And there, in the main casino floor, in front of an unfamiliar but colorful table, a very short Native American man stood with a grin, one leg crossed in front of the other, leaning back against the table, cornered by Anseis and Sergeant Miller. He was dressed in an extremely fine black suit.
I flicked a switch, and sound came through from a black grill beneath the screen. The man- I had to assume the Archmage- was speaking. "-already in place, ready to carry out simultaneous strikes throughout Washington D.C. You're already too late to stop me. I might remember it under torture, if you want to try."
"My heart weeps," said Aneis. "I invite you to tell us, or I will shoot you-"
It was amazing how quickly things went wrong. The entire ship lurched, throwing the three agents on the ship's edge onto the dock, tearing it free of its burdens. On screen, Aneis let out a single sharp scream of rage as something huge and sharp-toothed latched onto her leg, and then she was gone, water gushing up through the jagged hole in the floor. Miller was wrestling with a small, slender girl, built like a waif, who was also apparently overpowering him in a bear-hug, while a big man with bizarrely long and well-groomed facial hair, sticking out like whiskers, lunged at him from the side. The Archmage laughed, and was gone like a shot, running for the deck.
"Things are going downhill," I said. "I'm going to go stop him from getting away."
"Hey, if you run off with him and the US starts fielding a bunch of Archmages, I'm going to gut you," Pagan said, her voice calm and matter-of-fact even as I set out onto the deck.
The short man was glaring down at the water, his arms crossed. "You are under arrest," I said.
"I don't think I am," he responded, and I blinked.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Would you rather be dead? Several of us want you dead." I studied him quietly. Were those listening to me already moving in? Had they taken the bait yet? If I could capture him...
"You know, what I don't get is, you Atlanteans were being wiped out by humans. That's why you left, right? Ever since you came back, I've been turning it over and over in my head. Why would you come back? Why would you side with the people who genocided you before?"
I blinked. "Because times change."
"Really?" He grunted. "Give me another ten thousand years to think about it, maybe I'd be ready to make peace too. But I'm not quite there yet." He judged the water again.
"I really am much faster than you in the water," I said. "Even if your abomination tries to stop me, I am definitely going to kill it, and catch you."
"My! You're very certain about that." He looked over his shoulder at me, and grinned. "I've been doing this for a very long time."
"So have I. Why?"
"Why what? There are a lot of answers."
"Why did you leave the spider there? She didn't have orders, or training. She was just an abandoned thing."
"She was a tool," said the man, still distracted. "A thing to be used, and disposed of. That's what they all are."
"Demons?"
"People." He looked up, and his grin was wide and a little bit frightening. "Oh, those two bought the 'I'm fighting for my poor benighted people' thing, but fuck my people. Fuck them all. They thought that they knew what I was. Words like Yeahnáglóshii, Skinwalker... They thought they knew what I was. They thought it was simple. That I was neglecting my duty, that I was a monster, a freak, because I didn't believe that a simple accident of birth meant that the tribe was owed my power." He looked up at me, his head tilted. "God, all of this is going right over your head, isn't it? You're like me. A freak of nature. And because you're guilty about it, you'll spend your life trying to make up for the gift you were given."
"It is funny," I said, though it was about as far from funny as it could be. "I never even considered that. I was always grateful that I could do something, anything, to help the people I loved. And while I hate demons, I could never imagine treating a tool so carelessly." I tilted my head. "Why do you do all of this?"
He grinned. "Why not?"
It was about the least heartening answer I could have gotten. “Are there really demons set to terrorize Washington?”
“Yeah. They’re called Senators. I was just fucking with those two, seeing how they’d react under stress. It’s always interesting, isn’t it? Being above them all. Watching them play their games, and knowing that you’re playing a far more interesting game.”
"Get down on the ground."
"You know, I'd fight you, but-" He winced. "Looks like three of the four demons I spent centuries cultivating, strengthening, have just died. That's a blow." He shrugged. "I can always make more, though." He turned towards me, grinning. "I can still take you on with just one."
"I'd like to see that."
He straightened his shoulders, and grinned cheerfully, lifting one arm theatrically, his sleeve slipping down to the shoulder, exposing the bronzed, wrinkled skin. "Nothing up my sleeve, and presto change-o!"
He blurred. I was already in motion as he jumped into the air, and I felt him slip through my fingers. Conservation of mass and energy did extremely strange things as he rocketed up nearly twenty feet in the shape of a small, very fluffy white bunny. A massive owl swept down out of the darkness, its divine energy muted so that I hadn't noticed it above me, and then was gone again, winging towards the swamps along the river with the archmage. I brushed my arms as I stood up, annoyed that I hadn't caught him, but watching. The ship was already shifting to follow him at a fast clip, and there was only so long a bird like that could fly.
Sergeant Miller stepped onto the ship's deck, looking well-worn. He was missing an arm, and I stared for a moment. "Sergeant, are you okay?"
"Fine, fine," he said, absently, glaring around the deck. "Tell me he didn't get away while I was putting down that fucking goonch."
"What? Oh, no. We are in pursuit." I looked forward, narrowing my eyes. "Swamp village. Old, looks abandoned. We're maybe five or six miles away from it, going at ten knots."
"Yeah?" said the sergeant, and he frowned. "Oddly detailed."
"Just keeping my eye out, Miller," I said, and hoped he understood what I was saying.
"Couldn't taze him?"
"Not at the moment, Miller."
"Huh." He nodded, his eyes on me for a very long moment.
I hated the games.
USEF Report Pallas, Appendix B (Known Accomplices), Paragraphs 69-76 Rank HEL-8
Not all of Athena's contacts and accomplices are as celebrated as the Cat of Paris. She is, after all, the Patron of Heroes, and this sometimes involves choosing people who no one would ever take for exceptional.
Atina LeRoux is on the lowest end of these. Middle-class family, relatively unremarkable childhood marked only by a brief hours-long visit to a mental institution after she told a classmate she wanted to kill herself in high school, and three years of homeschooling from the age of eleven to fourteen that apparently permanently warped her social development. She took the LSATs twice, scored surprisingly well the second time, went to a mediocre law school, barely avoided failing out, passed the Bar, and then drifted.
Her life up to this point has been marked by a distinct lack of focus or achievement. She's never done anything worth noting in the mundane sphere. She worked part-time legal work, keeping her head above water in New York City, until she moved upstate and tried starting her own practice, apparently resigned to the fact that she would spend the rest of her life in the same state of mediocrity.
When the Jiang-shi known as Li Fang Fen (See USEF Report Hsien-Ko H1 and remind me to smack whatever moron convinced me that was an appropriate code-name) walked into her office seeking defense on a murder charge, it should have been a short path to an early grave or making a pact. Humans who discover the supernatural inevitably drift towards one of these two.
Atina's only apparent talent is for paranoia. She has, in fact, managed to survive at least a handful of assassination attempts from supernatural creatures she has pissed off royally. Mostly by becoming a hermit. 90% of her socialization is with supernatural creatures at this point, with her only known pure-human contacts being her family, and some fry cook she's in an apparently unpredictable relationship with.
This is all in keeping with Pallas Athena's strategies. In chess terms, Atina is a pawn. She's capable of very little, but is also generally below notice. The chances that she will figure prominently into one of Athena's schemes is extremely low, but the whole thing about pawns is that they take you by surprise, at an angle.
Her resources are largely a surprising number of favors and control she's acquired in Binghamton, but she's still yet to put it to any particular use. As in the rest of her life, Atina LeRoux seems largely at loose ends. Aside from her connections with Jack Knife (See USEF Report Ripper FJ-5) and the Camazotz Jenny Nishi (See USEF Report Sparkly Vampires FJ-4), she has no notable power.
One lingering concern remains: The Fishbelly incident. We still don't know what exactly happened in there, and no one in Binghamton is talking about it. The working theory is that Athena intervened directly, as she's occasionally wont to do. This in spite of the complete lack of any evidence of her presence. The mummy we interrogated after the fact claimed it was the work of a dragon, apparently traumatized by the encounter and prone to confabulation. We've combed the city from top to bottom, and there's no sign of anything that could be called a dragon. Every supernatural creature we interrogate about dragons gives the same answer: They’re extinct. I’m inclined to chalk it up to trauma.
For now, I'd suggest stepping down surveillance to an occasional check-in. Given her position, means, and inclinations, Atina Leroux is a minor player.
Chief Researcher Cherry H. Verne

A side story in the Bought and Sold Universe. Welcome to the biggest gambling den in this corner of the galaxy!

Main Story, chapter 12, arc 2 | Main Story, chapter 13, arc2
Wiki

Browsing the Handler’s Market.

He bobbed his feathered head as he enjoyed this new piece of rare music. He’d signed up for a ‘any music, any world, any time’ datastream and fortunately the playlists seldom disappointed. More importantly, whenever something really caught his interest, he’d go looking for the race that made it.
They usually made for interesting Contenders. He would have to find out where this ‘Techno’ came from.
Today had been a day of finding filler. A Kashto female who had been caught sleeping with the wrong official. A betrayed Captain, old and skilled, but discarded due to his injury.
He had found one major prospect, but that one was almost certainly a solo player, he much preferred to build a crew based on how well they worked together.
As he was finishing up for the day he found a prize. An Achun! Interesting… but difficult to use. He would have to put her on storage until he could find a crew that could use her. That could take awhile. It was a rare individual that could really smooth his feathers, although sometimes they landed directly in his nest.

World of Strife, Bet your Life.

The Co-operation held a great deal of power and control. Much of it occupying the outer area of what Humans knew as the Perseus and Cygnus arms of the Galaxy. Within this space existed a planet known as 'World of Strife' above which orbited a moon sized station called "Bet Your Life."
That it would translate into rhyme in the english language is one of those rare odd coincidences that would pop up from time to time and remain unnoticed to those who created said coincidence. No human had thus far had an opportunity to explain the odd happenstance. In truth, there was a verbal lyrical complement to the names in the Veprutasian language as well. The names, spoken in their language was heard almost as a musical scale starting from low tones and rising smoothly into the higher scales. To them it was pleasing and whimsical. Just the kind of name they’d give to a place where thousands of sapients would regularly lose everything of value and consequence. Where those lives would be taken with vicious brutality and gratuitous violence.
The Veprutasians as a race loved money. They were a thin and tall avian race. While physically fragile, they were an agile and clever race with an insatiable taste for wealth. They were the leaders and founders of the galactic power that was the Co-operation.
The station, Bet Your Life was a government sanctioned gambling station of the highest order. Just about any method of gambling known to the greater universe could be found in this place.
Simple games of chance using props of endless variety. Dice, objects that any race with manipulators could pick up and throw was the most common base for many games.
Games where players would bet on the outcomes of sports and competition. Bet Your Life was a stadium for many popular team derived games from multiple different races and cultures, although it was a rare sport that could cross racial lines and foster competition between different races. Racing was the most common. Always pushing the boundaries of physics for the most dangerous events.
The primary feature however, was the planet below. The ‘World of Strife’ was closely watched and often manipulated. 'Handlers' would collect slaves and prisoners and build teams of 'Contenders' to send down to the surface of the planet. Those contenders would then have to struggle for their own survival. Food was scarce, and water tightly controlled by existing players. Shelter and other resources to support life a struggle to hold onto.
Strife was a planet that existed for war. But not the wars of the future between armies of drones and soldiers equipped with deadly implants and equipment. No, Strife was not a world to showcase battles of technological advancement. Although it was watched closely for any signs of powered or chemical based weaponry. They watched closely to prevent the use of such boorish means of combat. Even heavily implanted individuals would find those advantages removed. All were left with the most basic implants and a band that served to facilitated the games. Anyone who broke this rule was obliterated from orbit along with whatever unlucky souls happened to be nearby. It was a world of blood sport and melee combat. Handlers and gamblers wanted to see the Contenders fight tooth and nail for their own survival. Armor and melee weapons were the tools of this ‘trade’. The uniform and gear of this ‘sport’. Skill with a weapon was something to be respected after all.
Truly, skilled marksmen were impressive in their own right, but the choice had been made. No firearms, no explosives, nothing that used anything beyond mechanical power.
Only the here and now mattered on Strife. Names were wiped out and memories sealed. Handlers existed to make a profit off the success of their team of Contenders. They could deliver messages to the implants of their team and earned credits to support that team if it fared well. But that required that their team do more than just 'survive'. They had to fight, and they had to win.
Any race that could survive on land was a candidate as a Contender. Races that dwelled only in the water were lucky to be exempt. It was too expensive to keep track of those sapients. This was paramount, those who struggled to live on Strife were watched constantly. The Veprutasians had developed a very successful line of stealth technology. It went without saying that Contenders were watched at almost all times.
Just about any land-bound sapient race was a candidate to be dropped on the surface of Strife, but it was certain restricted races that tended to earn the hottest bets and heaviest views. Humans occupied a top spot on that list. They had a tendency to make the most wonderful mess.

On the station, Bet Your Life

He stepped down off the last polestep out of his nesting and approached the blinking console.
The Handler known as Longroll occupied a comfortable and well adorned loft apartment on the station known as Bet Your Life. The occupants of the station usually just called it ‘Byl’ however. A narrow three story apartment with a sleeping space on the top floor, a workspace in the center and a utility space on the bottom
The top floor held the large bedding nest as well as a robust kitchen with a few variations of food makers and his own food preparation area. Longroll, and Veprutasians in general descended from omnivorous scavengers. They had a wide palate and that had only expanded as they had gained full sapience. He was able to duplicate a large variety of accurate food types. Meats and grains, fruits and vegetables. And then he had the rare habit of preparing that food himself.
The bottom floor held a closet for protective clothing as well as a meeting space in case of visitors.
Each floor could be reached by a set of poles set into one of the walls, acting as Veprutasian style steps. It was dangerous for most other races, but comfortable for avians.
The central floor was his studio, holding a large array of displays and a powerful dataspace projector. This is where he watched the events below and managed his living assets. He slid sideways into his seat and activated the blinking alert.
He took his time reading the message and clacked his beak in pleasure. One of his contacts had sent him a human. An Earther, but not a fresh one. What he was reading suggested an accumulation of interesting experience. A good prospect, no an excellent prospect!
In a flurry of activity he queued up the processing of his Achun, pulling her out of storage. He’d never expected to be using it right away!
He opened up the info package on the team he was currently building. He’d already come close to his preferred crew size, lacking two members. This Human rounded it out nicely, and gave him new options for advertising and score building. At this point it would just be a matter of timing. He activated one of his dedicated monitors just above and to the right of his work console. Currently nothing was going on, it was just watching a primitive square brick hut with a thatched roof and a smoking chimney.
“Status: Relaxing,” scrolled across the top of the display. HM0001 was resting for the next day’s hunt. He was close to his quarry.
The Hunt wasn’t progressing at this particular moment, but Longroll expected an early end. The target this time hadn’t shown much promise. The black bird bobbed his head in anticipation, he would have to watch closely.
Longroll accepted the transfer and sent off some directions for the processing of the stasis pod. A Human and an Achun would make an interesting combination he knew. Many failed to realize Humans were utilitarians of the highest order. They almost had to be in order to keep their technologies and tools in shape to withstand the pace a Human could keep. Achun had impressive natural skills and capabilities, but usually lacked imagination. With so few Achun to even arrive on Strife, he didn’t think this team composition had been seen before.
Although it could come apart with the Ringer present. Those walking rocks were compact living titans. At least it’s perverse nature would make it unlikely to switch handlers on him. Most importantly, they held little to no aggression for minor or restricted races like his Achun and Human.
Still, as soon as word got out that there was a Ringer, the first bets would be on how many teammates died. Unfortunate, but those sort of things happened when you aimed for the long roll.

After Landing, HF001

She cracked her eyes open and groaned as an impartial message flickered across her consciousness.
"Landing successful. Stasis disabled. HF001, please gather your supplies and disembark."
She was in a rounded capsule with an opaque cover. As she started to move there was a hiss of air and the lid slid to the left.. Right up until that moment she had felt like she was laying down. Now she realized there'd been a trick of gravity and she was upright. As the realization hit the gravity pulling her backwards cut out and she stumbled as she landed. The landing was soft. The gravity here was lower than she preferred.
She shook her head, trying to clear out the cobwebs, this wasn’t… where was she? She could feel her pulse quicken.
'HF001?,' she thought to herself. The code... unpacked itself as she thought about it. The full meaning, 'Human Female, 1st of less than a thousand,' played through her thoughts. Bullshit, she had a name. A spike of pain hit her and she cringed as she let it wash over her, her head twisting sideways as she weathered the attack.
"A human," spoke a grumbling voice. She looked up, blinking her eyes to clear away the tears and saw a gorilla like creature with burly arms and more than two legs. It's face was a long snout rather than a flat face like a gorilla would have had. The xeno was wearing little more than a loincloth around it's bottom half. It was a... a Monos. That was a type of xeno she recognized. This one was near black with a grey underbelly however. She'd expected him to be red. 'Monos Male, 10342nd of less than 1,000,000' was the code on his chest where a bunch of fur had been shaved away, although only MM010342 was inked in.
He was old and heavily scarred, the most notable a large scar over his right eye. Worse was the front lower left arm he was missing, having only a short stump in it's place. He gave her a slight nod and faced his pod.
She had to fight down the panic, balling her hands up into fists, her shoulders tense.
"HF001, please gather your supplies and disembark." The dispassionate voice called out again. As she moved something caught her attention and she felt at her neck, she was wearing a slave band, although it felt thicker than the type she remembered.
She turned around and as she did so she went to run her hand through her hair. "Oh no, nonono," she said with horror as that hand encountered nothing but empty scalp. “No no no, why?” She had brought her other hand up to check further. No hair at all. They'd even shaved her eyebrows! She could also feel a raised pattern following the grey nodule on her left temple. That must be where the serial designation they had given her was written, she assumed.
’Concentrate!’ she thought to herself, but tears had already come to her eyes.
She looked at the small capsule next to the pod she had been sleeping in. She blinked rapidly to try and clear her vision, a sniffle escaping. Still, she started doing as she had been told by the voice. This might not be the worse thing that had happened to her, she would have to play along.
As she crouched in front of it the thing split open revealing a simple harness and backpack. Attached to the harness was a pair of sheaths holding knives and in the backpack was a bunch of rations and several water bottles. She pulled it out and draped the harness across her shoulders and reached down to pull the straps between her legs. She clipped the straps together and it pulled itself tight.
She wondered where the power came from, but as the harness settled she received another message.
"When you have gathered your supplies, please depart the drop shuttle or you will be ejected."
She was the last one out, as she stepped off the door of the Onion shaped vessel slid closed. She had seen no controls within, the vehicle was apparently a type of self controlled transport. It hummed slightly as it lifted off the ground and drifted up into the sky.
She wouldn’t be able to leave by that method then. She wondered if there was any way off this rock at all. If she had a chance to go back, she’d jump on it in an instant. She had to fight to force the panic back down.
She could hear the small crowd in front of her talking and she looked down to see a... tall skinny crow talking to a giant humanoid rock. Its body was made of white quartz crystal plates with grey rocky ‘skin’ in between and over its joints. The language translated oddly into the ringing of metal and crunching of rock. She could understand it, but it actually hurt her head as the translation didn’t seem to come easy.
"I understand Ringers do not work with others, but this is the World of Strife." The Crow was in the midst of explaining, although his depressed voice belied his argument. "To go on your own is very risky. Our Handler isn't our friend, but he will support the group as a whole to help us survive for the sake of his own success." Where they had shaved patches of fur and hair on anyone who looked like a furred mammal they had seemingly dyed the chest feathers of the crow with his code. 'Veprutasian Male 3529th of less than 100,000'.
He was a tall and skinny bird and stood upright with a demeanor almost like a butler. he had two fingers and a thumb on the second joint of his wings and his body was almost entirely black, although he was starting to gain traces of white at the base of his neck. The male had a long and narrow black beak, but his eyes at least were a different colour, a striking golden shade. A small pack was nestled on his back, the straps of his harness disappearing under his feathers.
"Co-operation is key if we are to survive, I second his suggestion," A grey Kraltnin spoke. ‘KM0163’.
The Ringer looked at the Kraltnin who had stepped up and reached out a massive three fingered hand. The Kraltnin started turning to get away. The rockman grabbed the Kraltnin's neck with brutal force, crushing his neck. It then stepped sideways and turned, throwing the Kraltnin as far as it could make the Grey go. It looked like the most brutal baseball throw 001 had ever seen.
The Grey landed in the distance with a short tumble and never moved again.
The rest of them had frozen in a shocked silence at how casually the Kraltnin’s life had been taken. 001 felt a knot in the pit of her stomach.
The Ringer looked at the group one by one hesitating upon seeing the Human woman behind it. It's fists clenched when it saw the Monos.
"I have never fought a Ringer before," the Monos said, leveling an unwavering stare on the rockman. "I have no intention of starting now. But if you want to kill me, I'll not resist."
The Ringer stared at him for a long minute but didn't oblige. It picked up a large pack off the ground and slung it over a hulking shoulder. It turned and started walking away. She hadn't even seen its serial code.
"Wow, you're a grizzled old vet," she told the Monos after the Ringer had put some distance behind it. Struggling not to look at the Grey, she started a conversation.
He looked at her in mild surprise. "Yes, I am a veteran. You are somewhat familiar with the Monos?"
"I’ve seen a couple from a distance. But I've never known a Monos in person. Can I call you Grizzly?"
His head tilted forwards and to the side. "A nickname from a Human. An ideal trait in a place such as this. Before I accept however, what is the meaning?"
"Oh, a grizzly is a big scary mammal back home. And tough experienced veterans are sometimes called 'grizzled'," She told him and then her face lit up with a smile. “So I have permission to give nicknames?”
“Perhaps…” He returned an awkward looking smile in return. Although he seemed a touch taken aback by her… ‘buoyant’ tone. He bared his teeth and squinted his eyes. He clearly wasn’t used to the expression, but she appreciated his attempt. "Grizzly. I like it. And you are... an Earther, is the term, correct?"
"Yup, that's right. I'm-" She doubled over as she clutched her head in pain.
“Ahh-aaaah,” she moaned as she let the pain wash over her. She should have known better by now but it had still caught her by surprise, she had no choice but to weather the attack now.
“Names are something that you leave behind when you are sent to Strife,” the crow told her. He hadn't perked up at all. “The implant isn’t used to order you around, but it will prevent you from speaking of your past. Only here and now matter on Strife.”
“How are we supposed to get to know each other if we can’t even explain who we are?” she asked with irritation and pain colouring her voice.
“That is simply part of the game, only through action can we show who we are,” the Crow replied. “Although many Handlers are more than willing to share details if they can reap a reward.
She took a big breath as her implant stopped tweaking her. She stood slowly and looked at the bird. She looked around at the others but before anything more could be said they all received a distinct ‘ping!’ sound through the implant.
“Hello my Contenders!” spoke a cheerful voice. “ I am your Handler, and in the spirit of this ‘World of Strife’ you can call me Longroll.”
‘Longroll?’ she mouthed silently.
“Now then, new arrivals are priority targets, so it is best that you quickly move on!"
Another ‘ping!’ resounded through their heads. A location was placed in their memory. Northwards, towards a river. A collapsed shelter built near a pool half hidden in a copse of trees. A place to hide for the night.
“That spot should serve as temporary shelter. Do know that you will almost certainly run into trouble in the next day or two, but that will be true of any direction in which you choose to travel. Night time is especially risky,” Longroll explained to them. “Do try to crush any opposition you find. The greater your success the greater the rewards! For the sake of my success and your freedom, do your best! And your worst.”

En-route to the shelter.

She was currently walking beside a giant spider. A far more charming spider than she expected, even given her new life. Across the female spider’s abdomen was the shortest serial number of any of the group, AF2, the serial written large on the back of her abdomen. 001 could just barely see it, the spider was nearly as tall as she was. She was a brilliant Purple spider with spots and splotches of emerald green at the end of her feet, palps and… hands as well as along her belly and the bottom of her abdomen. Her figure was reminiscent of a tarantula.
They weren’t walking all that fast though, 001 had quickly realized that none of the others could hold the pace she’d personally wanted to keep. They had already stopped to rest a few times and they’d only been travelling for a couple hours.
Stuck between dwelling on the things she desperately missed, but wasn’t supposed to think about and the problem of just how she was going to get off this rock, she had settled for finding the fluffiest distraction she could. The answer had surprised her.
“Can I call you Lilac?” she asked the female Achun. But the spider twitched.
“No, that name is too close,” there was a distant chittering sound, but the translator sent the Achun’s voice across as distinctly girlish with a high pitched tone.
001 was finding that really annoying. She could recall events fine if they came unbidden. But if she tried to dredge up memories on purpose the implants would give her a tweak. If she tried to share the memories, the implant would try to give her a seizure. Why couldn’t she at least have her name without it trying to hit her with a bolt of pain? At least this version of the implant package didn’t come with loyalty requirements. That had been a special sort of miserable.
“Well then how about Amethyst,” 001 suggested. “It’s a precious purple stone. And then I can call you Amy!”
The spider hesitated for a moment, but the implant didn’t react. “Oh, that’s a pretty name. I like it!”
001 could only marvel that she was happily walking and chatting with a giant girly spider. But it had proved to be a whole different ball game at this size. Amy moved with fluid grace and her legs and body had a layer of short but soft, luxurious fur. 001 had already touched it once and was resisting the urge to run her hands through it again. Amy’s arms which extended above her body also moved and motioned gracefully as she spoke. Her harness was a smaller affair draped across her core, straps threaded between her legs.
Her eyes were beautiful at this size as well. They weren’t beady black pinpricks, They were extremely dark yes, but she’d realized Amy’s eyes had vertical slit pupils and her eyes were actually a very dark purple transitioning to an equally deep emerald on the outside set.
“So you can weave sticky and non-sticky webbing as you please?” 001 asked.
“Yes, if needed I could even spin you a set of clothing, I am quite good at it!” The spider twitched as she tested what she could and couldn’t say. “I am an 'accidental' female with redundant talents. My skills are quite obsolete with the saturation of cloth makers.” Amy’s body tilted away from 001 as if she felt bad to be near the Human with her ‘substandard’ skills.
“Oh wow, I would love some spider silk clothes if we get the chance, but if you think you’re not useful…” 001 trailed off as she thought about it. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Amy leaned towards the Human as she walked. “You think so? I can weave an impressive web, but who would fall for it...” At this point 001 was guessing that Amy was also very young. There was a naive, innocent quality to her.
001 smiled. “Don’t sell yourself short.”
A graceful, slim mammal stepped up next to 001 opposite of Amy. “I’ve never met a Human female before, interesting!” The black furred weasel woman sniffed the air around 001. “Healthy and strong, you have a pleasant aura.”
She found herself leaning away.
“Oh! Yes I am sorry, many feel that is rude,” The female ‘Kashto’, KF20658 apologized for being in 001’s space. Her serial number was across the side of her neck.
“I guess it's hard to remember with so many people? I’m going to call you Ebony though.”
“A name based on... colour?” she asked, surprised.
“A luxurious colour, it’s a deep black type of wood used for artistic things,” 001 defended her nickname with a nod. “Amy is named after Amethyst, so she’s named after a precious material too,”
“Oh! It’s a compliment then!” The Kashto said with a note of happy surprise. “Why thank you! But why the insistence on names?”
“The more awkward your name, the more likely a Human will give a nickname,” Grizzly spoke up from ahead of them. The Monos had automatically taken point. He seemed to do well enough missing a leg, but his gait looked nothing but awkward with a half hop everytime he used his right foreleg. “It was inevitable when we were given serial numbers and placed with a Human. Be glad that this female is friendly. Some nicknames can be… unkind.”
The Human woman just grinned.
The biggest Sapient in the group was keeping pace just behind Grizzly and he grunted loudly in annoyance. She’d already named him ‘Bonk’ in the back of her head, but she’d yet to confirm Grizzly’s point out loud. Partly because this guy had already proven to be hard-headed. He had argued with Grizzly for the ‘honour’ of going first. He’d lost his place in front due to simple fatigue.
KM7035 was a ‘Kunhacia’ with the serial number wide across his shoulder plate.. At first she’d thought of him as an armadillo, but the shoulder plate was much thicker and rose up over his head. He also had a long tail that ended in a heavy looking club. His colouring was a dusty brown typical of dirt and rock. His face was a rounded snout with deep set eyes on the side of his head.
He was pushing himself to keep up with Grizzly although he was already proving himself to have less physical stamina. But she had to admit he’d probably be a real asset in a fight. His harness was the most difficult, he had to attach a set of straps around his shoulders and toss the pack around his back and pull the belt of the harness around him. His armor plate made the whole process rather difficult, although he’d refused 001’s help when she offered.
The crow had been explaining their situation to the group.
They were living a sort of battle royale game. Slaves and prisoners were dropped to the surface of the planet. They were supposed to struggle for survival for the sake of gamblers watching in orbit. Fighting was inevitable since the planet was much more rock than it was dirt and any good soil tended to be contaminated, spoiling attempts to grow edible crops. Most food supplies were air-dropped.
No guns either. Energy or chemical. The people in orbit wanted everyone to fight with whatever was at hand and get up all close and personal… Which made 001 really interested in what Amy could do. She’d always been a bit of a tomboy, she had a couple human weapons she wanted to try.
There was eight of them in total. It would have been an even ten, but the Ringer had decided otherwise after all. The crow had denied that there was any special reason for the number of people on the team.
There was a big brown five foot hedgehog. But his arms were longer than she might expect and instead of spines or thorns he had what looked like short green leafy branches instead. He looked exactly like a walking shrub from the back. He was a ‘Barish’, serial BM689 across his belly. Disregarding his camouflage he looked more bear-like from the front. His arms were huge and muscular, although his hands were quite similar to a Humans, but for three fingers. What stood out was the natural carapace on the back of his paws, ending with wide thick claws on his digits. 001 couldn’t help but assume he would be a fantastic digger.
So far he hadn’t said anything but he’d been very calm the whole way through, He didn’t twitch or jump, but he would nod and follow suggestions without argument. When they stopped for breaks he would whittle away at a big length of wood he had picked up with the knife he has been issued. It was the right length to be used as a cane when they walked. But the knob on one end suggested another use. His harness didn’t have a backpack but sported several pouches along his sides and front.
The next companion had all the nervous energy the bush-hog lacked. She was an ‘Eirava’, serial EF019 down her spine. She looked like a cross between a lizard and a rabbit. She was the shortest thinking creature 001 had seen so far, standing at three feet, including her ears. She was thin, wiry and twitchy, standing on proportionately thick reverse jointed legs with a long flat tail. Her arms were smaller, but comparable in form to 001’s own.
She was a light tan colour with a deep brown stripe up her back with dark spots along the sides of that stripe. Her primary feature was those ears. They were the size she’d expect to see on a cartoon rabbit but seemed to be multi jointed as they would fold and swivel according to the sounds around her. 001 had already seen the girl scurry for cover twice when someone had made an unexpected noise. Like the rest of the group she wore a harness with a pack on the back, but on her it made her look like a dressed up doll.
“Wai- wait. Please,” she spoke up again. She’d been the weakest so far. 001 wasn’t sure if it was her natural build or if the little lizard rabbit was out of shape.
The Human woman stopped and turned. “If you’re okay with it, I can probably carry you.”
The girl didn’t even pause to look embarrased. “Oh would you? That would be great! I’ve never had to walk so far!” In the blink of an eye the Eirava had scurried up to 001 and climbed into the presented arms.
“Oh, you’re very light!”
“Oh, you’re very warm!” the Eirava responded as she was lifted up. “Comfy!”
Ebony glanced at the lizard. “Aren’t you afraid of the Human?”
“As… as long as she doesn’t stare at me…” the female lizard admitted shyly. She also seemed to be the simplest member of the group in 001’s opinion.
It was okay, she was adorable. the lizard had the rounded nose and eyes of a ball python although she lacked the row of pits, instead having nostrils on the sides of her snout. 001 always liked that type of snake, although she’d never owned one herself. Up close 001 could see the Eirava had brown eyes with a horizontal bar pupil. She wondered idly at the different pupil shapes.
As they continued walking the Eirava continued to swivel and turn her ears, often turning her whole head to inspect sights and sounds. Every time the ears twitched 001 had to control herself, she wanted to snuggle the little female.
“I’m going to call you Fidget,” 001 declared.
“I...! Oh! Well, I guess I can’t argue. It’s better than a number,” the newly christened Eirava rationalized in her squeaky voice.
“Are you going to give us all names, Human?” the big armadillo rumbled at her.
“Sure am, Bonk!”
“Bonk!? What kind of name is that?” He asked rearing up to his full height. An impressive eight foot including his armor plate, although it had been hard to tell since he was normally hunched over.
“You’re the toughest looking guy here, I bet you could smash your way through all but the toughest creatures. So, Bonk!”
The Kunhacia male narrowed his eyes at her. She met his own eyes without a hint of further reaction. Finally he nodded. “That is acceptable. I am indeed very strong.”
She could see the subtle twitch of Grizzly suppressing his laughter. Amy’s body and head had tilted sideways with apparent curiosity. Ebony had to turn to face away from the armadillo.
001 appreciated that at least two of her companions had caught on.
They didn’t talk much more until they arrived at what would be their temporary camp.

Shelter, evening

The shelter was a rectangular, squat enclosure. Whoever had built it had dug out the ground underneath to grant the inside greater height than one might guess from the outside. The sloped outer wall consisted of log beams resting on an inner wood frame. The walls had been built with layers of more wood and then mud to seal the cracks. 001 had described it as a ‘pit house’. The back wall of the building opposite the entrance had been torn away, but there was still enough shelter for the group.
The ‘pool’ that had been described was a small pond by a rock outcropping near a copse of trees that was fed slowly from a water source that bubbled up through the rocks. A small stream led away from the pool. It was enough to fill up the small group and to replenish water supplies, but wouldn’t support a larger settlement.
“I believe it would be best if we decided on a leader, if only temporarily,” the crow said finally. They’d been relatively quiet as they all ate their own respective rations.
Bonk started to rear up, but 001 beat him to it. “I nominate Grizzly!” she said without hesitation.
“I… do not want to be the leader,” the Monos replied.
“He doesn’t not want to be the leader, therefore it should be me, the strongest,” Bonk said now that he had a chance.
“Oof, that makes Grizzly a much better decision for leader then,” she said without hesitation.
That earned a surprised look from the old Monos and and aggressive snuffling from Bonk.
“What is your reasoning?” the crow asked while Bonk was busy being offended.
“Well, I’ve sorta seen this before. Grizzly there knows what it’s about. He’s reluctant because he knows that being the leader is difficult and important, and he has the scars to prove it,” 001 explained. “Meanwhile, Bonk wants it because he wants to prove how strong and impressive he is.”
She turned to face the Kunhacia directly. “You really don’t need to be the leader to do that, but you can fail as a leader because you’re too busy showing off how awesome you are. If you knew what was involved to do things right you wouldn’t be so aggressive about it, Bonk.”
“Are you… are you calling me frivolous?” Bonk huffed at her.
001 had been sitting with Fidget happily laying in her arms. She set the lizard down and stood up to stare Bonk in the eyes.
He huffed and snorted at her a couple times, but found that he couldn’t match that stare. She was so much smaller than him, but the longer she continued her motionless stare, the smaller he felt and he slowly but surely physically wilted.
“I’m not calling your frivolous. I’m calling you in-experienced. But I admit you look really strong,” She finally said when Bonk shifted his feet. “If anything you should welcome the chance to learn from an old soldier like him while you show off your strength.”
“And just what does he have to offer me?” Bonk said imperiously, returning to his full height.
“Oh I dunno,” She started with a mild note of sarcasm. “I just wonder. If you had that many scars along the front of your body, would you still be alive? Those are scars you get from facing an enemy, not turning your back. He’s lived through some shit.”
It was subtle, but as she said that, the Old Monos sat a little straighter. She suddenly realized his face had been tense, but the release of tension revealed the difference.
Meanwhile, Bonk had twitched and shrunk down on himself slightly, what he said next would restore her opinion of him just a bit. “You… raise a very good point.” Bonk said with a faint note of surprise as he looked at the Monos. “I have walked behind him this far, and there were no scars upon his back. I have seen opponents turn and flee, only to earn themselves wounds gained due to fear. There were no such scars upon you… Grizzly. I will concede to your experience... for now.”
The old Monos still looked conflicted.
“Great. Now that we’ve settled that issue,” the old crow drawled. “We get to figure out what to do next.”
“I’m gonna call you Vim.”
The crow turned a baleful eye upon her. “That sounds sarcastic.”
“Yeah, I always heard my granddad describe excitable people like you as being full of ‘Vim and Vigour’. Since you’re so cheerful, and I’ve got permission to give nicknames, I’m gonna call you Vim.”
After a moment of hesitation Vim sighed at her, his feathered head dipping forward. “I suppose it is an adequate moniker. I have encountered those named by Humans before, the name could be much worse.”
The grass-hog spoke up for the first time. His voice was soft and even. “You have been remarkably despondent. Do you believe our chances to be that poor?”
Vim looked at the Barish and then at 001. “I can see that none of you are terribly familiar with Strife,” he began. “The moment I saw her serial number, I lost hope for a simple life here. Even now I am considering attempting to make my own way, despite my age and frailty.”
001’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What… is wrong with my serial number?”
“It is no fault of your own of course. But serial numbers are separate for male and female members of each race. They are also recycled. When a low number is… vacated, the next member of that race is given that number. Just as you are ‘Human Female, one of less than one thousand’, there is also a HM001. Although, hmm, now that I recall, his serial is actually HM0001. That particular man is quite experienced and dangerous. He will be looking for you.”
“Why… why would he be looking for me?” she said with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“That is his… theme, his mode of operation upon Strife,” Vim explained. “He is one of those individuals who happily adopted the rules of the world and decided to live here as a willing resident. His ‘Number One Hunt’ is a regular feature in fact. His is also the most widely viewed of the number hunts. HF001 is a number with a high rate of… ‘turnover’. I’m sure there will be a great deal of betting on how long you will survive.”
“But… that’s…not...”
“And this is separate from your simple status as a Human. Humans are unpredictable, but can be notoriously difficult to chase down and ‘deal with’ in a simple manner. You are ‘prime sport’ and anyone we meet will be more likely to engage in combat just for the chance to make your life difficult and short. All in order to take advantage of your higher perceived value.”
“Oh… wow,” she said, mildly stunned. Not even thinking about it she cracked a bitter joke that would be her undoing. “I guess… I’m just lucky.”
“Oh! I like that name!” Fidget said loudly hopping in place.
“What!?” she said, her eyes opened wide as she breathed in horrified surprise. “No!”
“Hah! A wonderful name!” Bonk said in contradictory pleasure. “I welcome you, ‘Lucky’!” His tail slapped the ground with a heavy thud. “But do not worry, I welcome the mess that you will create as well!”
“Lucky!” Fidget repeated, the little lizard was extremely pleased.
“That name’s a jinx, Its nothing but bad luck!” she complained loudly. “It’s a terrible name!”
“Most consider Humans to be ‘bad luck’ in general,” said the soft spoken Barish.
“Fine! I’m calling you ‘Bad Manners’ mister ‘BM689’!”
“That is more accurate than you know. I accept.”
“What? No! I don’t want this name!” Lucky said sadly as it settled on her like a noose.
“Ha, it’s too late soft Human,” Grizzly chuckled. “It seems only fair we give you a name in return.”
“That makes a nickname for all of us. How wonderful!” Amy exclaimed, her palps clapping together in delight.

End Chapter

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