# [MF] Intolerable It’s a cool morning, and Sergei is taking a walk through his neighborhood as he usually does, weather permitting before he goes to work. Sergei is a seemingly average man. He has short light hair and harrowing grey eyes that he wishes weren't so piercing. Sergei is about six feet tall and 165 pounds making him appear long and, in combination with his eyes he appears almost specter like. As seemingly intimidating as he may sound, he is a gentle man; he goes about his business doing his best not to interfere in others’. Sergei has a few close friends that he meets with after work and occasionally on the weekend for drinks, or to discuss whatever esoteric topic he is infatuated with at the time. Sergei is for the most part content, never wanting for much, perfectly ok with how his relatively uninteresting life has panned out. After all, he has food on the table and money in the bank, which is all he has ever really asked for. So, as he is taking his routine morning walk on a crisp autumn morning, he is surprised to find an old friend of his walking as well. A friend he has not seen in, what he figures, must have been at least 5 years. He was close with the man for a time and remembered him well. As he can just barely see the man approaching he fumbles through his memory, scouring his brain to find the man’s name. Just as the familiar man is a few paces away from Sergei he remembers and greets him respectfully with a casual handshake as if to signify the time that has passed since their last meeting. The man’s name is Edward, and in truth Edward and Sergei had been very close for a very long time in their youth. For a summer they had traveled through Europe after University and had celebrated their shared accomplishments thoroughly. But there is a reason Edward had not seen Sergei in years, and it was not by accident that Edward had returned. Edward and Sergei had known each other since they were fifteen, Edward was actually sixteen at the time, but that is beside the point. They had formed a close bond and it was beneficial for both of them for most of their youth and early adulthood. Sergei was smart, collected, introverted, morbid at times, but never brutal or demanding. Edward was fiendish on occasion, driven, he had surface-level knowledge of most things but could do a lot with a little. Plus, Edward was rich, and Sergei was not. They were an unstoppable pair with a successful formula for getting things done; Sergei plans and thinks things through, Edward executes, and both parties profit. Edward was less aware of this cyclical behaviour than Sergei but neither of them minded, at least not in moments of conflict. However, there were several notable moments where Edward decided to think for himself, or rather think he was thinking for himself. This usually lead to misinformed decisions across the board, or worse yet personal conflict between Sergei and himself. Sergei would not accept Edward’s irrational thought processes and could not accept the risks Edward always seemed so willing to take. Probably as a result of his relatively stress-free upbringing. This kind of conflict became more and more prevalent in the two’s friendship until it felt more like a partnership than a meaningful relationship. The two argued endlessly and while Sergei was, all things considered, usually, in the right, Edward insisted on supporting his stances to the very end. Sergei would speak, then listen. Edward would shout then, well, shout more as his emotions blended with his rational thought. Sergei to a point could separate Edward’s predictable negativity and deal with it through basic ignorance, however, this became increasingly ineffective over time. Time heals all wounds, except the infected ones. Sergei had an infected wound named Edward. As kids, Edward was always the more physically inclined of the two and this led to a sort of physical humor that Sergei never fully understood. Why would you punch your friend, or mess with them in any way that would cause them obvious trauma? Sergei always wished one day that Edward would apologize for how he treated Sergei for so many years. This never happened. Sergei eventually took the first opportunity he had to leave Edward and his hometown, simultaneously escaping his past situation and toxic relationship. He had come to a breaking point at around age twenty-four and had cut ties with Edward, albeit on relatively good terms as far as Edward was concerned. Sergei was doing well. He was more mentally stable than ever and had for the first time in years been content. He was climbing the rope and getting out of the deep deep hole he had been in for most of his life, and he was doing it on his own. But today, when he saw Edward, he was not climbing the rope, nor was he content or stable. Upon shaking Edward’s hand Sergei reached into his back left pocket and retrieved the pocket knife he carried every day. He opened the knife inside the pocket and grasped it firmly. He carries on small talk with Edward even beginning to wonder how he has been and if he has changed. For a split second Sergei feels compassionate for his victim, the first and last he will ever kill. Then he remembers the years of verbal abuse, physical abuse, constantly submitting to Edward’s brute will. Each day a reminder of his inferiority. With a motion as swift and collected as autumn wind he slashed Edward's throat with the knife. One long stroke from left to right, severing the jugular vein as well as the trachea. Edward could no longer speak and Sergei stayed with him as he bled out on the quiet neighborhood street. Sergei assured Edward he would not be missed and walked away. For a moment Sergei had considered cutting his own wrists or throat, but had decided the ensuing wave of guilt and grief would better suit him. In an instant he became a broken man. The body was left as it was in the street for several hours until a neighbor encountered it. Sergei was never tried, or suspected in the murder case. He would later become a reclusive alcoholic/polyaddict while maintaining his job as a professor of ethics at a local university, only to die an unintersting death in his sleep at the age of sixty seven, having spent half of his life in one prison and half of his life in another. Both prisons he helped to build.


I wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror and stared at my reflection. You can do this! I jumped on the spot getting my blood pumping before exiting the bathroom & getting dressed for the day. By the time I was ready to leave with coffee in hand I was almost vibrating with first day jitters. It was still dark out when I pulled up curb side & checked the time on my watch. I was a few minutes late but the light was still on behind the window so I wasn’t worried. You can do this! You aced your training! You’ve got this! The front room light turned off. I popped the hood of the car as I jumped out. She was out the front door & walking towards her car. “Hello! Miss! Can you help? I need a jump start.” I saw her quickly glance my way but she kept walking to the car. “Hey! Do you have jumper cables?” No reaction. She got in the car & turned the ignition but didn’t pull out. Maybe.. I waved & pointed under the hood of the car. “My battery’s died. Can you give me a jump start?” After another minute, all while holding my breath, she reversed out of the driveway and drove off quickly down the street. Taillights disappearing as she sped around the corner. What the hell?! I slammed the bonnet shut & got back in the drivers seat. My hands shook as I fumbled to put the keys in the ignition. How had this happened? I’d apprenticed for a month! Absorbed all the training! Aced my practise test! I started the car & drove towards the office. How was I going to explain this to the boss? Would I be fired on my first offical day? The boss looked surprised to see me as I walked into the office, shoulders slumped. He must have seen something on my face because he looked over at his receptionist while motioning me back to his office. “Janette hold my calls” I sat down in the chair by his large desk as he shut the door & came around the desk. Before he could say anything I held up hands. “Sir I’m so sorry! I don’t know what happened! I was all set, standing beside the car with the hood up before she came but..” “But what?” “Well I called out just like we were taught. Didn’t deviate from the script I swear! But she didn’t come over! Besides a quick glance over she just went straight to her car and left! I didn’t know what to do! What was I supposed to do? She never tried to help” I all but wailed. Unprofessional, sure. But it wasn’t like I was getting a second chance after this. I wrung my hands staring at the boss. He came around the desk & put a hand on my shoulder while looking down at me. “Son, listen. It’s okay. This is a her problem not a you problem. What kind of a psycho doesn’t go over to someone calling out for help! Not to mention she was getting into her car so it would have been no bother to give you a jump. No.” He shook his head. “You did everything right. I’m proud of initiative and planning. You’ll get the next one, just you wait and see!” The pressure in my chest released. He was right! What kind of a psycho wouldn’t help out a stranger? This wasn’t about me. This was about her! I just needed to increase my surveillance before the next one to make sure she wasn’t heartless like this women! I left the office feeling light stepped & determined to make my boss proud on the next one.


Jessica was holding the phone at an angle so I could see the message on her Facebook group chat. I immediately burst out laughing. "What the fuck?" "That's exactly what I said!" She scrolled with her thumb to reveal a reply. *"wtf LOOOOOOOOOL"* It was Jessica's message. I dropped my jaw and held my head like that Scream painting, then I gave her a stern look. "Jess you shouldn't have done that. You're finna gonna die now." I joked. "I know, right? I was awake all night thinking about it." I couldn't help but spray some Diet Coke from my nose as she finished the sentence. "What if he straight up literally does murder you, though? Like, instead of some magical spell he just comes to your house at night with a knife." "I straight up don't even know who he is. I just know that Milly sent me his phone number once." "Oh. My. God." "What? "We should call him!" I could barely contain my excitement at the prospect. "Seriously?" "YES!!" I screamed, incidentally throwing some of my Diet Coke overboard. "Fine, fine." Jessica thumbed through her messages from Milly until she found the 07 number. "But I don't want to talk to the weirdo." "OK, OK, fine." I said, putting my Coke down and snatching the phone. I dialled the number. "Hello?" A nerdy voice replied, "Who is this?" "I'm with someone from the Facebook group chat. They want to know why they're not dead yet." Jessica slapped my arm and threw me a look of embarrassment before kneeling down and holding her head in her hands. "Oh, that." He said, sniffling. "I'm actually in a pretty optimal mood today. I chose not to release the curse." "Oh..." I said, licking my lips. "Because, uh. We were talking about how magical you were, and we were wondering whether you could make Carl Donny love her." "Stop, please!" Jessica protested, now in the brace position with her head between her knees. "Listen, slut. I told you I'm in a good mood today, but you're beginning to jeopardise that. I suggest you cancel the call and go about your way." "NO, BITCH. I WANT MY FUCKEN SANDWHICH!" I screamed down the phone, hoping Jessica would laugh, but she was crying. "Jessica?" I said, lowering the phone for a second. I walked over and put my hand on her shoulder. "I was just joking around. You don't really think he can hurt you, do you?" From the brace position, she began rolling, like a rolly polly; her golden pigtails, flapping up and down as she moved from her knees to her back to her knees again. I began walking after her but she rolled so fast I could barely keep up. She rolled all the way into the front of a Peugeot 206 coming down the main road. Horrified, I did the only thing that made sense to me at the time: I moved the phone back to my ear. "Are ya happy, now?" The nerdy voice said in a disapproving tone.


Blooming orchards used to surround him. Sounds so distant, yet so vibrant, resonating inside of his head. Each step, each movement, luring all cares away - no longer a worry. He peered around out of his hoodie, sun gleaming, grass swaying - but so much grey. It’s not how it once was. The trees wail; begging for mercy. The rain no longer restores, but only drowns. Tyranny. Had he anymore hope, no longer would he dream, but instead act. But it was too late. The good times were over - the world was not the same. The faces of those who stray through the lonely paths so soulless - blank, pale. Where had it all gone, the people, for they were no different to ghosts. This is exactly where he knew, he was alone. A speck of dust in an endless universe. It was all taken from him. The wonder, the curiosity, it no longer mattered, as they had stolen it all. In his head, he does question if it had to be this way - so organised, so regimented. The lack of beauty and creativity took a heavy toll on his mind. This town was beautiful once, but, along with all else, that had withered away. Further down the path, his old school. He still remembered those smiling faces. She had the most memorable smile of all. Even amongst the monochrome, she was colour. A beacon. Someone who resonated hope - an aura of golden warmth. Pointless - they’d always find out. She couldn’t stay this way, but who could. Like tears falling down my page, the ink smearing, they’d find a way to ruin the art. The letters caving inwards, each line bending and swaying - no longer reaching any clarity. The freedom and life within the page was evanescent. These, ‘intrusions’, were the root cause of the sickness. He would no longer see a glow, because they had stolen it. Who are we? And who is he? It’s clear he doesn’t accept the blame for this - but the hypocrisy is an invisible dagger, being pushed further and further into him. Who else could be the cause but him? The ghosts on the street? The thieves who never cease from taking more? Unbeknownst to him, he is a thief. This grey, this fog, he is the very matter it is made from. Maybe he is not entirely accountable, as he is just a simple piece within a machine. Nevertheless, even one bolt coming loose can send trauma, shockwaves, throughout even the whole skeleton. However, if he doesn’t change, he may as well be another blood cell surging through the thief’s body. To accept, or defy, is the dilemma faced by every cell. Acceptance leads to easy comfort. Defiance is never so simple. He might be seen as a lonesome virus, soon to be ensnared by carnivorous antibodies. But there is always light after such a struggle. You might be like her - a hopeful radiation, changing someone's very matter, letting them see their own chains. You might turn into him - reminiscing the morning dew and sunlight, but failing to wake up in time to experience it.


You’ve been comatose, sleepwalking through every joyless day. Every wall of your mind is painted grey. There are bad days and then there are worse days. On the worse days, everything hurts. Every small action or inaction gets you. You can be decimated by the most impersonal acts, your head working on them, twisting them into something painful that cuts you and keeps cutting you. Does that person like you? Probably not (and here is a long list of reasons why and here is a series of interactions with them that you fucked up). Does the world have to be so full of pain and anger and hate? (Well that’s a whole other kettle of fish but unfortunately human conflict feels tediously inevitable and therefore so does human suffering and this is a thing you can’t change even if you want to and that makes it worse and so on and so forth). On days like these you wonder how your brain got to be this broken. What on earth is it trying to achieve pursuing the same self-destructive pathways time and time again? The first time you had that unpleasant, unhelpful thought, you pushed it away. Why did it boomerang straight back, replaying in your mind as frequently as a Place in the Sun plays on Channel 4? (Why are trivializing your clearly problematic state of mind by comparing it to a mediocre day time TV show? Why are you alienating all your readers who aren’t British, or who don’t spend an uncomfortable amount of time watching day-time classics like you? Are they classics, or do you just not have a life? Why do you assume you have readers when nobody really likes you and you’re an awful writer? Etc etc.) On the merely bad days, you are visibly alive but invisibly dead. It’s curious that everybody sees you and interacts with you as if you exist. Well, it would be curious. Curiosity involves some level of engagement, and you are no more capable of engagement than a banana. Or a fish. (Like your curiosity, your desire and therefore ability to think up interesting comparisons has deserted you. Therefore, you are no more capable of thinking up an original metaphor than a banana. Or a fish.) Realistically these days are probably worse than the worse days. Your total detachment from the world around you is frankly terrifying and would probably scare you if you were capable of feeling that emotion directly. Compared to the worse days you’ve already experienced, though, these days feel like a welcome reprieve. You float through them glibly. You smile at people and interact with them disingenuously. At some level you are aware that there is a mental cost to your insincerity. Being fake, pretending that you are a normal, emotionally functional human is problematic in and of itself because it only increases your sensation of detachment. You watch yourself as if on screen, buzzing around, smiling and laughing at everyone and everything (kind of like Jasmine Harman on A place in the Sun). Inside, your emptiness expands (probably not the case for Jasmine Harman). Which one is the real you? Actress you performs in the real world. Real you hides away in your head, dwindling away to nothing until there’s only hollow you left. (You know that it’s a real option to share your apathy with the people around you instead of pretending to be Jasmine Harman. You also know that people can’t relate to the way you’re feeling and in any case will find it hard to process, perhaps blaming themselves, which is another thing you don’t want to engage with right now. You would also have to make a difficult decision about how to relay the news. Do you opt for dispassion, therefore embodying the very lack of emotion you are trying to express to them? Or do you opt for a glib, superficial delivery that takes some weight out of the message? Option 1 is probably the easiest delivery but the intensity of your message, combined with the strength of your soulless gaze and impassive tone you’ve used to deliver it, might be a bit strong. Option 2 might soften the blow but if someone tells you that they feel nothing with a rictus grin pasted all over their face might that actually be worse?) And then there are days like these. The sun erupts over the horizon, obliterating the darkness that you thought was you. You’re drenched in halcyon sunlight, illuminated in glorious rays of warmth. You thaw slowly. Degree by degree, dispassion fades. Where there was grey, there is hope. Today will be better. Maybe every day can be better. Tiny you imprisoned in a slither of your head is melting. You begin to embody yourself, your whole self, your whole possible range of emotions. You had forgotten that life could feel so intensely full, so intensely radiant. You feel like you are overflowing. You’re no longer watching someone else interact with the real world from a little corner of your mind. You exist in the real world now. You interact with joy. Every encounter is painted in vivid colour. Every experience excites you. It’s like you’re discovering the world for the very first time. These are the best days. These are the days where your hibernation ends and your life restarts. On these days you don’t look back on the grey days. You simply enjoy them. The grey days will return. When they do, perhaps you can retreat to your dark little corner of brain and bring this memory with you. Perhaps it can replace the black thoughts that overwhelm you. Perhaps it can remind you that there is hope after all the apathy. Perhaps, just perhaps, it will remind you that life is worth living after all.


December 10th, 2022 Imagine that you’re Barack Obama and you’ve just won your first presidential election. It’s election night, the results are in, and you’re buzzing. How long do you keep feeling that way? All night for sure. And I bet you wake up the next morning walking with a hell of a swagger. But within 72 hours he put the milk into the cabinet and cereal into the fridge, started washing his hair with body soap instead of shampoo, or realized he was out of toilet paper only after using the bathroom, and instantly felt like a doofus. Because for me I spent about four hours being the swash-buckling, space-pirate, hero then became the guy at a dorm-room party where he doesn’t know anyone else and smiles along to inside jokes and shorthand he doesn’t get. As a side note, I don’t know what a swash is, nor what buckling is - assuming it isn’t a reference to buckles? It’s kind of embarrassing to even admit that after 24 days of being totally alone I kind of miss the solitude. Big hero to socially awkward engineer in four hours. Breaking more records every day up here. It does make me wonder about the future of humanity though. Orion is spacious compared to the Apollo capsule, yet it still has as much privacy as that dorm-room party would. It could well take centuries before we get up to Star Trek level population densities on spaceships. So does that mean the only people going out and inhabiting strange new worlds are all going to be extroverts out of necessity? Could Mars end up being THE night club destination of the future and Earth just filled with people who wear headphones and type on their laptop whenever they go to Starbucks? In movies they always show really spacious ships going to Mars, but no one bothers thinking about the mass involved in so much structure for so few people. The reality is that every cubic inch of space has a cost in terms of structural mass which in turn means more mass in the structural elements that support it, which means bigger, heavier engines, and more fuel for all of that stuff, and then the extra fuel to lift that extra fuel. With spaceships: mass breeds mass. When we do go to Mars, every square inch of that spaceship is going to be necessary, and Alex Whelm getting some alone time isn’t NASA’s idea of necessary. Anyways, I’m not some masochist who just likes to tell people about his insecurities, flaws, and embarrassing personality quirks for fun. I’m only telling you about this because it is necessary context. You’ve got to understand that when Mark gets on the radio and tells me that Jess would like to talk with me, there are four sets of eyes that pivot around to look at me. Sarah gathers everyone together and pushes them to the bunks and just out of sight - but absolutely not out of earshot. I take the call with a live studio audience of god only knows how many. “Hey Alex. How are you doing?” It’s been months, but hearing her voice is like there’s a well trod path of neurons in my brain that lights up and it really could have been yesterday that we broke up. Or were dating. I tell her about my toes. She doesn’t know what to say back to that, so I make a joke about never liking thong sandals anyways. My brain chooses that moment to present me with a very vivid imagined image of her rolling her eyes in response. “Did you ever watch Love is Blind? It’s on Netflix,” she asked. “I’m aware it exists… But I haven’t seen it.” Why do I talk like that? I’m honestly trying to be helpful. What I meant to communicate was, ‘I’ve seen the icon and know the idea, but haven’t watched it.’ Instead, I went for brevity and technical accuracy and the words just come out like a challenge, or like I’m too good to watch something like that. How often do you think Barack Obama says something he feels like an idiot for a quarter second after he finishes saying it? That’s what they should ask Michelle about in interviews. “What’s something Barack did that he’s still embarrassed about?” “The producers gave me a call. They’d like to sit down with us when you get back, pitch an idea to us.” “I don’t think that’s really for me,” I say. There’s a long silence on the other end, a few minutes of even more awkward conversation, and Jess gets off the radio. This is probably worth saying because, given what you know about me and relationships, it might not be obvious, but I did understand she was asking me to give things another chance. At least, I think that’s what she was asking. She was right? You know what: doesn’t matter. In my head she asked me to get back together, and I said no. Why? Because Jess was right to break up with me. I’ve lived my whole life thinking that when you get dumped it’s because you did something wrong, or should have done something differently, or you’re just not good enough for the other person. But that isn’t it. People break up because they don’t like the other person. I’m a Hawaiian pizza, and not everyone likes Hawaiian pizza. I’m not going to pick off my chunks of pineapple and hope she doesn’t notice the little juicy divots left on me. I need someone who loves Hawaiian pizza. Yeah sure, there are easy-to-love lucky folks out there who are pepperoni pizzas, but I’m done regretting the fact that I’m not one of them. People like Hawaiian pizza too! “Whatcha writing?” Sarah asks. I jumped, and fumbled the pad that I’m writing this out on. If you think jumping on Earth is embarrassing, try doing it in zero-g. You just kind of… spasm in space. Despite my repeated objections, she reads the whole thing before giving the pad back. She doesn’t say anything, but she’s got this look on her face like she’s thinking about saying something and is close to laughing at her own joke. People suck. And are the best. Maybe Orion crashes tomorrow and I’ll never have to feel embarrassed again. \*\*\* I’m Nathan H. Green, a science-fiction writer with a degree in aerospace engineering, and I’m going to be doing daily semi-fictional stories tracking the Artemis I mission. You can follow along through my reddit (u/authornathanhgreen). *Artemis I Has A Stowaway* is a work of semi-fiction. All incidents, events, dialogue and sentiments (which are not part of the mission’s official history), are entirely fictional. Where real historical figures appear, the situations, incidents, sentiments, and dialogues concerning those persons are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events, personality, disposition, or attitudes of the real person, nor to change the entirely fictional nature of the work. Save the above, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. © 2022 Nathan H.


When, late at night, I heard commotion from my son's room, I thought I'd find him jumping on the bed again. My telling him off never did seem to stick. What I did not expect to find as I swung open the door was the Tooth Fairy, standing on the bookshelf near my son's bed, holding the Elf on the Shelf that normally resided on said bookshelf in a vicious headlock. In the Elf's hands was clutched a tooth, the same one my son Carlos had shown me with so much excitement during the day. "Oh my God," I said. "It's happening again." The Fairy had the Elf in a headlock with one arm, the other was clamped over his mouth. "Sshhh," the Tooth Fairy hissed. She nodded to where Carlos was fast asleep. "As soon as I let go he screams," she said. The Elf grunted, as if to say, *damn right*! "Okay," I said, thinking fast. "Okay, here." In one swift motion, I stepped across the bedroom to where the Tooth Fairy and the Elf struggled and gingerly scooped up the pair. The Fairy's wings, like that of a gossamer butterfly, shimmered with what I knew to be anger. "Well what else am I supposed to do?" I whispered. I took them to the living room and set them down on the coffee table. "One sec," I said. I popped over to the kitchen and grabbed a tall glass from the cupboard. Then it was over to the fridge, where I filled it to the brim with cold water. "Elf," I said, approaching the coffee table, glass in hand. "mmpph!" the Elf said, struggling feebly against the strength of the Fairy. "If you scream," I gestured to the water. "You get dunked. You feel me?" The Elf gave a big shudder, then nodded. "Okay," I said. "Let him go, Sienna." The Fairy gave me a long look, then stepped back from the Elf. The Elf dropped the tooth, then fell to his knees, gasping. Rather melodramatically, I thought. Fucking *Elves*. "So," Sienna said. "You remember me." I did. And she looked much the same. A tiny, beautiful ballerina with shimmering wings that glowed blue. She was clad from head to toe in black clothing, complete with a hood. A tiny ballerina moonlighting as a ninja. "Of course I remember you," I said. "I mean, of course." Her response was unexpected. Her wings flushed from light blue to a light pink that climbed near to the edges, and she flit across the table away from me. "Right, of course," she said, and I couldn't see her face. "Some don't, that's all." The Elf took this moment as his time to bolt. He scrambled across the table and dove over the edge. I caught him easily. "You!" the Elf cried. "You sick, sick man! I'll take your teeth! Every last one!" He clawed wildly at the air as if to make good on his threat. I dunked him in the water. \~\~\~ "So," I said. "They're coming for Carlos now." I sat on the couch, leaning against the armrest. I'd fetched a blanket, and coffee brewed in the kitchen. I figured I wouldn't be getting anymore sleep. "Yes," Sienna said. She sat on the back of the couch, her eyes on the coffee table. The Elf lay there, his face and hands duct taped, a pool of water having formed beneath him. He seemed to be playing dead. *Elves*. "I should've known better than to get one," I said, nodding towards the Elf. "I just thought...well I thought it was over." "It's never over," she said bitterly. "The Elven King will never stop seeking the teeth of children." *The Elven King*. I remembered, and shuddered. "But, that's why you're here, isn't it?" I asked. "To do as you did with me. To take Carlos down the Fae Path to face that bastard." Sienna was silent. From the kitchen, I heard the coffee brewer finish. "Hold on," I said, and left her there, returning with two mugs. One, the regular size you'd see in anybody's kitchen. The other, a miniature, the size of a thimble. Both steaming with hot coffee. "Look," I said excitedly. "It's your size." Sienna looked surprised, then her expression morphed into something I didn't understand. She looked away again. I set both mugs on the coffee table. That startled the Elf, but after taking in his surroundings again, he flopped back onto the glass to continue playing dead. "No," Sienna said softly. "No?" I asked. "I'm not here for Carlos," she said. "We got a tip. Elf activity in this area. And I...recognized the name." "Oh," I said. Then, touched. "You came for me?" No response. "Sienna, that means so much. Thank you." I was smiling, I couldn't help myself. I lay back against the couch and sipped my coffee. "You know, after you left, I told everybody I knew about you." Sienna scoffed. "As if they'd believe you." "They didn't, of course. I remember being so frustrated. As if they'd never been a kid. Like, don't any of you remember not being believed? Anyway. That didn't stop me from talking about you. I told everyone stories about my new 'imaginary friend'." "Really?" Sienna said, and I heard the ghost of a smile in her words. "What kind of stories?" "Oh, you know," I said. "How Sienna and I faced the Tremor Queen in the Whittlewood. How we rode eagles over the Lake of Myth. Stories." "I remember," Sienna said. She lay back to stare at the ceiling. Doing so made her hood fall, and white hair spilled out over the back of the couch. "Did I ever take you to see the Star Sea?" she asked. "No," I said. "I don't think so." "It's beautiful," she said. "I wish we'd gone." "We saw plenty," I said. "And I saw...enough, I think. Thank you." Sienna was silent for a long while. I finished my coffee and set down my mug. "You could take Carlos," I said. Sienna sighed. "I was afraid...you'd ask that." "It's what you need, isn't it? The Elven King, he wants their teeth. But the realm. It just needs to see their wonder." "I just..." she trailed off. "You really don't remember, do you?" "Remember what?" "It wasn't all adventure and wonder for you. You got hurt. Remember?" And then I did. How had I forgotten? I'd had to learn how to use crutches. The kids at school had made fun of me. My mother had been feverishly overprotective for years after, terrified that her boy would wander off again and come back with broken legs, or worse. "Yeah, I do now," I said. "It's funny the things you forget." Sienna sat up, looking pensive. Her wings glowed violet. "I'm not going to do it. I'm not going to risk it again." I was confused. "It's been years, Sienna. Surely you've taken other kids?" Sienna paused, then shook her head. "I see," I said. "I failed," she said, folding her hands in her lap. "I couldn't protect you." "I barely remember," I said, smiling. "It was just pain. I didn't die." "What's that supposed to mean?" she said, and her wings flushed red. "You didn't die? Are you serious?" "Kids get hurt, Sienna," I said. "And you protected me from worse. You were amazing." "Are you kidding me?" Sienna said. "You should be furious. You could've--" "I didn't," I said. "I'm right here, talking to you. And I'm grateful." "You're grateful," she said flatly. "I am," I said. She scoffed and flew off the couch, settling onto the coffee table next to the Elf. "I've got to get this idiot down to processing," she said. She dug around in a dark satchel at her waist and pulled out the tooth she'd wrested from the Elf. She examined it, then pulled from the satchel a ten dollar bill, which she set on the table. "My regards to your son," she said. "Sienna," I said, ignoring the fact that she'd just set *ten dollars* on the table, a standard for tooth exchange that I'd simply never be able to live up to. She paused, then turned around, arms folded, wings extended, pulsing blue and red. It was an intimidating sight, even if she was six inches tall. "I would do it again," I said. "I'd do it all over again." "Then you're an idiot too," she said. "And still quite possibly a child." "That's not fair," I said. "You'd put your own son in danger? You'd risk everything?" "I'd put him in your care," I said. "And I'd trust you to protect him." Sienna stared at me, then slumped, looking exasperated. "Why?" she said. "Because you showed me a wonderful, wonderful world," I said. "And you were my best friend when I needed it most." The Tooth Fairy wavered. The red faded from her wings. "You got hurt," she said. "Because of me." "I am who I am because of you," I said. "You loved me and you helped me grow up. That's all we can ask of anybody." Sienna sank to her knees, and lay her hands upon the glass on either side of her. With her hair falling on either side, and her wings glowing blue, she looked exactly as I remembered her. Ethereal, like a little angel, sent to protect me against the night. "He'll have to face the Elven King," she said. "As all mortal children do." "I know," I said. "And you'll show him how to win." Sienna tilted her head back, staring through space. Then she looked back at me, and her face broke into a smile. "If he's anything like you, I'll have my work cut out for me," she said. I laughed. "Don't worry, he inherited all my worst qualities." The Tooth Fairy stood, and her wings fluttered. "I'll take this Elf in," she said, as if preparing a mental checklist. "And then..." "You'll show my son the Star Sea," I said. "And you'll keep him safe.


There are rules when it comes to being a Prince. For one, sit up straight. Charlie was already failing rule one. His mother coughed at him, pressing her fingers into his back and sending an apologetic look to the photographer in front of them. Sighing, Charlie sat up, his shoulders aching from the position he had been in for the past hour. He let his eyes dart around the room, exploring his surroundings for the tenth time. It was a relatively empty room, with a large arching ceiling. Antique furniture was scattered near the windows and walls, including the patterned red couch Charlie and his family were currently sitting on. Most of the space was taken by camera equipment and a large hoard of staff ready to rush forward and deliver anything he or the royal family needed. It was a lot for a 16-year-old boy to handle. Next to him on the couch were his two younger sisters, Charlotte and Elanor, and on either side of him were his mother, the Queen, and his father. He sat firmly in the middle, as the oldest heir of the Crown. Shifting in his seat, Charlie tried his best not to grimace as his suit tightened around his elbows, stiff and ever so uncomfortable. He expanded his smile, trying to look natural as the lights flashed before him. “Okay.” He heard before him as the photographer stepped away. “That should be good.” “Thank you, Rapheal.” His mother said, her voice as graceful and prominent as always. “Shall we see you next week?” He nodded, and Charlie groaned internally. He should be used to photos by now, but each and every one felt like a thousand years wasted. “Well then, we will just pack up and be out of your way.” Rapheal said, his faint Spanish accent peeking through. “It was an honor, as always, your majesty.” He gave a little bow and Charlie’s mom chuckled. “It’s been three years, Rapheal, please, just call me Elizabeth.” She said before walking out of the room, her footsteps echoing against the white walls. Charlie held back as his family left, directing his attention to a boy with curly brown hair and tan skin. He was holding a notebook close to his chest, and chewing on the tip on a pen as his eyes furrowed with a look of determination. Charlie waltzed up to him, stopping to lean over his shoulder. “You’re doing that thing again.” He spoke, and the boy jumped, his notebook spilling out of his hands and onto the floor. Charlie was quick to grab it, reading the first line he laid eyes on out loud as the boy swatted at him to grab it back. “Hair as gold as honey, smile as smooth as the words that roll of the tongue off their tongue.” He raised an eyebrow as he shut the book and handed it back. “Wow, Lucas. Who’s the lucky girl?” Lucas glared at him, an all too familiar look for Charlie. “No one.” He muttered, turning away to walk toward his father. Charlie recalled the first time Rapheal had come to take photos, when he had just turned 13. He had brought Lucas with him, a deal his mother had made to get him to agree. Lucas had sat there the whole time behind the camera, his head in a bright blue notebook and his hand moving at the speed of light. Charlie remembered peering over his shoulder to read the text, he remembered Lucas’s urgency when he hid it from Charlies curious eyes. Drifting out of the memory, he noticed Lucas walking back toward him. “Hello, Charles.” He said, a tight grip on his “book of secrets” as Charlie called it. “Don’t call me that. You sound like my mom.” Charlie joked, falling to match Lucas’s pace as they headed out the door. “Don’t disrespect the Queen.” Lucas said dryly, knowing all too well that Charlie was, perhaps, the only person who dared to disrespect the Queen. “How dare I.” Charlie said dramatically, throwing a hand to his forehead and falling back in fake anguish. Lucas just rolled his eyes and kept walking, his mind in the clouds and his feet clicking on the pavement with each step. The two boys headed toward the garden, stopping when they came upon a large swinging bench. They sat down, melting into their familiar positions, Lucas with his back against the armrest and legs curled up, Charlie leaning on the other side, legs sprung randomly in the air and head facing the sky. He and Lucas had done this countless times before, and probably would for as long as his father kept taking photos of his family. Charlie placed a foot on the ground, pushing the backward so the seat swung. He began to talk, Lucas humming along as he rambled about the most random things. “You know,” he said, breaking eye contact with the clouds to look at Lucas. “You should sleep over.” “Hmm?” Lucas said, looking up from his book. “Sleep over. You know, like friends do. I just realized you never have before.” He tried to read Lucas's face, but as always it was blank, his eyes empty and undecipherable. “Oh.” He said, his voice faltering. “Okay.” He decided finally before going back to his writing. Charlie slumped his shoulders and looked at him, eyebrows raised. “That wasn’t very convincing.” “What do you mean?” Lucas said, his face hiding in the paper. “You don’t have to sleep over if you don’t want, it was a dumb idea.” Charlie said, a frown forming on his face. Lucas shut his book, looking up at Charlie. “I want to.” He said, more confidently. Charlie’s face lit up. “Really?” He asked, eagerness creeping in behind his words. “Don’t get too excited on me Charles.” Lucas said with an eye roll, and Charlie blushed. “Sorry, it’s just, I’ve never had a sleepover before.” He said, biting his lip in embarrassment. “Really?” Lucas sounded overly shocked, so much so that Charlie couldn’t help but shove him off the swing with his foot. He landed with a thud, glaring up at Charlie as he stood and brushed the dirt off of himself. “That wasn’t necessary.” He said with a scowl that didn’t last very long as soon as it made contact with Charlies overenthusiastic grin. “I think it was.” Charlie grinned, standing up with his hands on his hips. “Well then, onwards.” He said, pointing a hand forward and storming in that direction, leaving Lucas to follow behind slowly. He busted into the castle, heading toward one of the main rooms his mother liked to read in. Sure enough she was there, leaning back in a leather armchair with large round glasses covering her a majority of her face. “Mother!” He exclaimed, a bit too loudly, for she looked up at him with disdain. “Sorry.” He muttered before continuing. “Can Lucas stay over?” Much to his surprise, all she said was a simple “sure.” There was no arguing, no complaining, no talks of signing NDA’s, nothing of the sort. “Have fun boys.” She added before going back to reading her book. Charlie froze for a second, slightly unsure of what the next move was. He decided to mutter a “thanks” and walk out the door, pumping his fist excitedly when it shut. Lucas snorted at the sight. “I’m guessing it was a yes?” He asked, and Charlie nodded shyly. He bounced on his toes awkwardly for a second, staring at the floor. “Yeah.” He muttered, shuffling and fidgeting with his hands. “So.” he said, trailing off before he said anything else. “So.” Lucas responded, poking Charlie on the shoulder playfully. “You don’t know what to do next, do you?” Charlie sighed. “No.” He admitted, hanging his head bashfully. “No, I do not.” Lucas chuckled. “Follow me.” Lucas led them to the kitchen, his hand warm in Charlies as he pulled him along, asking him for directions as he did. They walked into the spacious room, mostly empty except for the head chef Luna sitting on the counter. She looked up as they walked in, waving at the boys. “Hey, Charles. And you must be Lucas!” She greeted him with a large smile. “The usual?” She asked Charlie, and he nodded eagerly. “Two please.” He said as she went back to the fridge. Lucas leaned over to him. “What’s she making?” He whispered, and Charlie grinned slyly at him. A few moments later Luna came back, two large glasses in hand. Charlie took his with a grin, taking a large sip through a straw, the thick, chocolaty liquid cold on his tongue. He nudged Lucas to do the same, smiling as melted into a look of pure ecstasy. When he pulled away, he looked at Charlie with shock. “Oh my god.” He said, taking another large sip. “That’s so good.” Charlie chuckled as he pulled away, as a thick layer of milkshake has covered his top lip. “What’s so funny?” Lucas asked. “It’s just-” Charlie paused to laugh again, his breath coming out in short bursts. “You’ve got a bit on your lip.” He finally managed to say, laughing as Lucas rushed to wipe his face. This action only smudged the chocolatey drink further, spreading onto Lucas’s left cheek. Biting back a giggle, Charlie grabbed a napkin and leaned forward. “Here.” He muttered his hand made contact with Lucas’s face, softly wiping away the mess he had made. “All better.” He said as be pulled away, noticing a small blush form on Lucas’s face. “Thanks.” Lucas managed to stutter, still taken aback by the touch, though he would never admit it, never admit to the comforting warmth of his hand even through the cloth of the napkin. He pushed the thoughts back. “Wanna drink these outside?” He asked, and Charlie grinned. “I have a better idea.” He said, grabbing onto the Lucas’s free hand and pulling him out of the kitchen and up a grand flight of stairs and down a hall until they reached a large wooden door. Charlie swung it open, revealing a large but relatively normal room compared to the rest of the castle. Before he had time to fully inspect his surroundings, Charlie pulled him forward toward another smaller pair of doors, revealing a balcony as he slid them open. It was a rather large balcony, complete with two chairs, a table, and a couch. It overlooked the gardens of the castle, the lush bushes and colorful beds of flowers contrasting to the bland stony walls of the large structure. The view was breathtaking, it felt so real compared to the few parts of the castle that he had seen. They all look unlived in, untouched, frozen in time. This left lively, it felt personal. He took it all in as he leaned up against the railing. Charlie leaned beside him, entranced by the way Lucas’s eyes were exploring the place like his had the first time he had been old enough to appreciate it. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it.” He murmured, just loud enough for Lucas to hear but not enough to shake him from his trance. He nodded in response, finally falling back into focus as he felt the fabric of dress shirt rub against his own t-shirt. He hadn’t even noticed Charlie had ditched the suit jacket he was forced to wear at every photoshoot. “Come on.” Charlie finally said, looking toward Lucas. “Let’s sit down.” They both fell onto the couch, conversing lightly as they sipped from their drinks, mouths full at almost every moment. Lucas guessed this was one of the perks of being a Prince, free milkshakes any time he wanted. It was kind of nice, to be fair, even though Lucas himself disliked the whole idea in general. “How do you do it?” He asked, his mouth forming the words before his brain could catch up. “How do I do what?” Charlie responded, putting his drink down for a moment. “Put up with all of this.” He gestured around aimlessly, not exactly sure what he was saying. He was embarrassed to have asked in the first place, but he might as well keep going now. “Like, if I were you, I don’t think I’d be able to handle it. All the responsibility, the formality, all of it.” Charlie shrugged. “It’s all I’ve ever known, I guess. I mean, it can be hard being in the spotlight all the time, but you get used to it. Plus, it’s not all bad.” Lucas nodded at this, but he couldn’t help but ask another question. “Do you ever wish you were just some normal person out there in the world?” Charlie thought about this for a moment. “Yeah.” He finally decided. “Sometimes. But I'm not, nor will I ever be, so I just have to live with it, you know?” He went back to sipping his milkshake. Lucas just sat in silence. A few hours later the boys returned to the bedroom, after sneaking around the castle grounds and eating a very healthy dinner of grilled cheese and ice cream. Lucas had to admit, having a private chef willing to cook them anything was pretty nice. Once they were there, Lucas got a proper view of the room as he wandered around it for a moment, taking it all in. The first thing he noticed wasn’t the large bed complete with a fancy golden bedframe, or the chest at the end of the bed that looked about a thousand year sold, or even the wooden desk that was carved with an unnecessary number of patterns. It was that in the corner of the room, in a pot on a table next to a leather chair, was a rose. Just a simple red rose, nothing important. Lucas wasn’t even sure why that had been what his eyes were drawn to, out of the many plants in the room. But there was something so simple and plain about it, so unfit for the bedroom of a Prince. “That’s Sharon.” A voice rang out behind him, and he raised an eyebrow as he turned to look at Charlie. “Sharon?” He asked, and Charlie nodded. “Sharon.” He confirmed as he walked around the room, inspecting each plant. He stopped at a plant with large green leaves, taking one in his hand and running his thumb across it. “This ones Adam.” He said before moving on to the next. “And this one's Claire.” He gestured toward a blooming cactus. “And that one.” He said, pointing at some vines hanging on his wall. “Is Vincent.” “Do you name all of your plants?” Lucas asked with a giggle. “Is that a normal thing people do?” Charlie glanced at him. “I’m not normal though, am I?” He said, walking toward his bed and throwing himself onto it, his head facing the ceiling as he spread out his limbs. Lucas moved toward him, sitting delicately on the end of the bed and feeling as the soft mattress sunk beneath him. “So.” Charlie began, his eyes still on the ceiling. “Who’s the poem about?” Lucas blushed. “No one.” He said, his voice coming out more defensive than he had hoped. Charlie sat up and looked at Lucas, who's eyes were now trained on the ground. “Oh, come on!” He said, poking Lucas on the shoulder. “Who’s the lucky girl? Does she go to your school?” Lucas gulped. “I don’t-” He began, but no words followed for a few moments. “I don’t like girls.” He finally finished, his words rushed and full of regret. “Oh.” Charlie said, unsure of what to say next. The silence rang loud for a moment before he finally settled on something. “Who's the lucky guy, then?” He asked, smiling widely as Lucas blushed. But no words followed. Lucas stayed frozen, his eyes unmoving his hands the only part of him that did, shaking ever so slightly in his lap. He wanted to speak, but he couldn’t, it's like the words were stuck to the roof of his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say that, he hadn’t meant to say anything. Each second he didn’t speak felt like a decade, and he was too afraid to look at Charlies face. He heard Charlie move beside him, getting up off the bed and walking toward the desk, shuffling around to find a piece of paper. About a minute later something bumped into his elbow, and he turned to look as a paper airplane fluttered to his side. Reluctantly, he grabbed it, unfolding it to see sloppy cursive written on the sleek white page. *Talk to me, Lucas* Lucas smiled, folding it back up and turning toward Charlie before throwing it at him. It hit him square in the chest, and Charlie fell down on the bed dramatically, groaning in pretend pain. He looked up at Lucas with a reassuring grin. “You don’t have to tell me who it is.” He said, his expression going soft. “Good.” Said Lucas in response before falling down next to him. “Because I wasn’t going to.


I want to preface that, this is my first post and I am not sure how reddit really works but I just want to be able to get my work out there. It's nothing fancy just a single parent who enjoys writing. Thank you for taking the time to read my work. Thomas had been single and not looking for about 2 years. His divorce was messy due to the simple fact that his ex-wife had been sleeping with his boss. As sad as it may seem, it was a blessing. He and Jessica had been married and together for 15 years. High school sweethearts, fell in love in Algebra shockingly. The last two years were really rough, Jessica lost her parents in a freak accident back in the summer of 1988. They were headed home from a little get together with their closest friends when a drunk driver hit them head on. Since then she was never the same considering she was the only child and that was her only family left here in America. They came from a small village in China called Heshun Town. Enough of the back story on this witch, but since Jessica was sleeping with his boss, he actually received a pay raise and a new higher position. Mr. Flint had felt bad that he took his wife from underneath but knew he also deserved the raise. Thomas is an honest hardworking man who would have done anything for his ex but this was the time that he moved on and worked toward his own goals and found his true self since he lost his identity because of her. He could get back to his video games and he had this fascination with trains. He would ride them any chance he got. He really loves the first high speed train that was built in 1964 in Japan. It’s known as the bullet train. They have been known to reach speeds of 350 km/h. Thomas was thrilled about the idea of riding it one day. Since Thomas’s boss had been sucking up to him for a year now, Mr. Flint gave Thomas a 2 week paid vacation trip to Japan as a Christmas present. “ You are such a great asset to this company Thomas, I don’t know where we would be without our best journalist here at Flint Stone Magazine.” Said Mr, Flint to Thomas. They thanked each other and went about their day. Thomas was excited. He was about to go from station to station riding all the bullet trains he could within the two weeks allotted for him and everyone knew he needed this vacation. He landed in Kagoshima, Japan, 24 hours later. Thomas had his itinerary already to go, but unbeknown to him it was all going to change. Thomas got to his hotel and passed out for a good 10 hours. Those 24 hour flights are hard on the body as you get older. He needed the rest. He woke up about 9 am feeling refreshed and ready to start his vacation. Thomas handed the stewardess his ticket as he boreded and went to find his seat. He was like a child in a candy store. Taking all the pictures, walking around where he could before the train took off. He touched everything he could until he came to an empty seat that had this old pigskin journal. He looked around to see if anyone was going to sit there but the train was pretty empty considering the time and day it was. It was Sunday 10:30 am. The stewardess made an announcement that they were getting ready to take off and that it wasn’t going to be a long ride. Thomas went to his seat and opened the journal. Unfortunately he couldn’t read it because it was in Japanese. But he has a translation book that would hopefully help him. The train started to move and so Thomas sat back and enjoyed the ride. He was so excited since he was living his best life, even if he had lost the love of his life to his balding suck up of a boss. That wasn’t going to stop him. Thomas finally got back to his room after the train ride and he had been smiling ear to ear once he walked into the room. He had plans to go to the nearest restaurant to grab some grub since he hadn’t eaten since the plan, but he wanted to figure out what the journal said. So he ordered in and got to work. He ordered a plethora of sushi from the hotel because how could you not? Thomas got the first page translated and what he first noticed was the date. It said December 2023. He had to go over it multiple times because he didn’t believe what he read. He even went down to the front desk to ask them if it was correct and they looked up at him and said yes. He started reading knowing that the translation was right, the first sentence had said Earth is about to end. There was a weird sensation flowing through his body because at this point he didn’t think it was a real journal because it dates to the future not the present time. Was it a story book or was it a time travelers journal writing down their experiences? Thomas needed to figure it out. He waited for his sushi to arrive before he started reading. He tipped the bellboy, for bringing his food. Thomas started reading at 1 p.m. and the first sentence that he read was “ If you found this, it might be too late.” Thomas was never this scared to read something in his entire life, including his own divorce papers. But thankfully, Jessica left him everything because she moved in with Mr. Flint and since he owned the magazine, he was a billionaire. She didn’t need anything except some family photos and her ugly ankle biter of a dog, which Thomas hated anyway. But back to the journal, some things weren’t translating correctly so he had to make it out himself and one of the things that was concerning was it had mentioned a spy. Thomas got excited then, he thought, Does this belong to a spy? Are they still alive? Where are they now? What is going on? The second page starts off with “ Be prepared for war!” “ What does that even mean?” he said in a calm voice. He kept going, mentioning that Russia was about to send nukes to Ukraine while China was about to go to war with America. He wondered how bad it was going to get. One line had said “ China and North Korea were sending Nuclear weapons, and troops over to Russia.” How did this person know? They definitely must be a spy at this point, Thomas thought. As Thomas kept translating, it was written that aliens were actually all behind this. He chuckled loudly, “There’s no such thing as aliens! That is barbaric!” he said sternly. Thomas was starting to think this journal was just a fiction novel someone made up because they were high on PCP. He put the journal down and decided that he had enough for the day and he’d continue tomorrow at some point. He just wasn’t believing it. Thomas decided to go back to the train station to ride another train, he needed to get his mind off of everything. He brought his camera so he could take all the pictures. But first, he wanted a nap. Thomas laid his head on the softest pillow he’d ever lay his head on and passed out. There was a loud buzzing noise that woke Thomas right up. His eyes needed to adjust because the lights seemed to be on and way brighter than he thought. When Thomas’s eyes finally opened all the way, he realized he was NOT in his hotel room. He was in an all white room, bright lights and 2 large one way mirrors facing each other. There was no smell nor a door that he could see. Thomas started panicking until the door opened…he looked up and froze with his eyes as wide as they’ve ever been. There, at the door, was a standing reptilian dressed in a fancy red suit. It said, “ We’ve been waiting for your return Thomas.


December 11th, 2022 Today’s the day we find out if Orion’s fancy heat shield works. This is the part of the mission that was so dangerous that NASA didn’t want real people aboard Orion. Now we’ve got five. I’m back to being this quantum function, both alive and dead at the same time, just waiting to be observed to determine my state. I decided to write this entry before we re-enter. You’ll know what’s become of me from the news, and this is the moment to end this diary. The more I think about things, the more I feel I’ve been thinking about life wrong. It doesn’t matter what happens next. Good luck, or shitty luck, however those quantum functions resolve, I’m not some particle with either an up-spin or a down-spin waiting to be observed. The Alex Whelm who had shitty luck and didn’t get accepted to astronaut training is the same Alex Whelm who pulled off an impossible intercept and spoke with the President of the United States. What I’ve done are just the details of some combination of opportunity, luck, and means. They’re not who I am. I’m every thought in my head whether that’s from something I watched, something I read, or something that popped into my head and made me laugh at random. I’m the imprint in an old pair of my shoes. I’m a voice. Maybe that voice goes and does great things, maybe that voice goes and does nothing, but it’s the same voice no matter what. I’m the same Alex who realized he could sneak aboard Artemis I and saved Dragon’s crew, but I’m also the same Alex who skipped a VR gaming session and just kept working his job at NASA. Why didn’t things work out with Jess? Because we weren’t right for each other. There was nothing wrong with me, there was nothing wrong with her, we just didn’t fit. What about Sarah? Who knows. Once we’re down on the ground though, and I’ve had a chance to shave, shower, and brush my teeth, I’ll ask her if she’d like to go mountain biking together some time and get my ass kicked. We probably won’t fit either, and that’s ok. But I know enough about myself to know that I’m a person who asks a girl out even when he thinks it’s hopeless. But her saying yes, or no, isn’t something I need to know the answer to in order to be happy or know who I am. There will be a time to ask, and I will. This just isn’t it. Maybe the heatshield fails, maybe we all burn up on re-entry. Or maybe I land and spend the next two months doing endless interviews as the big damn hero. But I’m still just Alex, the same guy who got rejected for his dream job and dumped by his girlfriend. We spend so much time judging ourselves by what we’ve done and how luck turned out, that we fail to see the person under it all. We see celebrities who are only exceptionally lucky, or have an exceptional talent at one thing, and transmute them into omnipotent beings. They’re not, I’m not. So take it from the quantum entangled versions of a guy who both saved the lives of four people stranded in space, who saved the Orion mission from a critical computer glitch; and at the same time from the guy who snuck aboard a ship he had no business being on, and then changed absolutely nothing because that ship burned up on re-entry. Hero, and loser, at the same time, at the same moment, the outcome to be decided by forces outside of my control. None of that stuff matters. That’s why it’s ok that it be decided by a roll of the dice. What matters isn’t how things turn out, what matters is who we are, what we try to do, and how we try to do it. So fate, chance, god, quantum entanglement, whatever you want to call it: do what you must, I’m good. \* Sad the story’s over? Want more? I’m Nathan H. Green a corporate lawyer who left his firm job of 8 years to write. It has been a hell of a journey for me and in the last two years I’ve put out three full length novels, a novella, and Artemis I Has A Stowaway. Follow me on reddit (u/authornathanhgreen) for updates about what comes next and, buried at the bottom of my posts is a free audio drama time travel story. If you want to get really wild, check out one of my books! Woe to the Victor came out last week and is getting amazing reviews. \*\*\* I’m Nathan H. Green, a science-fiction writer with a degree in aerospace engineering, and I’m going to be doing daily semi-fictional stories tracking the Artemis I mission. You can follow along through my reddit (u/authornathanhgreen). Artemis I Has A Stowaway is a work of semi-fiction. All incidents, events, dialogue and sentiments (which are not part of the mission’s official history), are entirely fictional. Where real historical figures appear, the situations, incidents, sentiments, and dialogues concerning those persons are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events, personality, disposition, or attitudes of the real person, nor to change the entirely fictional nature of the work. Save the above, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. © 2022 Nathan H.


I’m in a ditch, lying in a crater of my own making. Glass mixed with leaves and bracken on the floor, the heavy weight of machinery crushing the soft, wet earth that always supported me so well. I’m scratched by gently-swaying branches; I always wondered what they felt like as they blurred past me on brighter days. An animal sits poised as it watches me, illuminated only by the last remaining bright thing, me. The world oscillates gently in the wind, but not me. I am still. A wheel sticks up at an angle, like I used to see cats do when they thought nothing was watching. The familiar weight that always pulls me downwards is somehow different; like I’m on a hill, but much worse. Rain spatters where there used to be windows, gently soaking into my seats where people should be. I like rain, but not like this; rain should be on the outside, and the inside should be dry. The inside should be safe. It’s quiet, at last. The fear, the lights, the panicked voices have all disappeared into the distance over the hill, on some other road to be swallowed up by the clouds. I never saw the corner coming, but I see it clearly now, even in my dim glow. I see the wet earth, the oh-so familiar texture that shook me and took me by surprise. Having navigated so many miles, what a strange thing to end on. I remember them now. I remember their faces, I know them so well. I remember Dad, so excited to bring me home to show Mum and Chloe what he bought for them. I was so excited to meet them, so excited for all the adventures we would have together. They all knew that Mum was heavier because she was carrying Sophie like I carried them, but I didn’t know that then. They never knew that I knew them, but I could feel them. I could feel their comforting weight, their warmth, their excitement to see the world with me. I love taking them places, I am so very lucky to be theirs. Dad takes care of me like I’m always brand new, and keeps me company on a Sunday afternoon. One day, Dad forgot to close the window in the car wash, and Chloe squealed in delight as the water flicked through the hole, soaking us all. I remember that day, I had wet seats that day too. But not like this. That water was warm, the lights were on, Dad was happy and laughing, even if a bit annoyed with himself. That was my favourite day, we all shared a joke together for the first time. Mum would say the most interesting things, especially when Dad wasn’t around. I would listen as we drove, she would tell stories to Chloe, and then sometimes to herself when she thought there was nobody else listening. I remember the time she cried on her own by the shops, and I cried with her. I kept her warm, until we turned around and I took her back to Dad and Chloe. Dad was sat on the driveway, and looked so relieved to see us back home. I was part of the family, and I knew I was so lucky. The rain is beating harder. Another car drives past, slowing to look at me before disappearing off into the night. I’m growing heavier, the light is fading. One of my lights is buried in the mud, the other sticking up awkwardly in a futile attempt to illuminate the clouds. Dad taught Chloe the word illuminate, I love illuminating. I never thought I’d get to illuminate clouds. Chloe is my favourite. Dad would take us to the drive through on Thursday nights while Mum was at work, and I’d keep them both warm as she told Dad about her day. Chloe loves Thursday nights with Dad, and so do I. Dad is such a good listener, and always tells Chloe he’s proud of her, and that as long as she does her best, everything would be okay. I remember the night Sophie arrived. I was so clean, packed and ready for my very important. Dad was so calm in the traffic on the way to the hospital, but Mum kept making noises until we pulled over. Very soon, I was carrying three people. They were busy, scared, relieved, but I knew they were grateful for me. I knew Mum had done something important in carrying Sophie around, and I knew I was important for carrying them around, too. I don’t understand why Sophie walking was such a big deal; they don’t need to walk, I’d take them anywhere in the world. But when she could, Dad brought us to the beach, and I watched the seagulls as they ate ice cream and Chloe made sandcastles with Sophie. A seagull pooed on me, and Chloe laughed and laughed, but I knew Dad would take care of it on Sunday afternoon, like he always does. We were a long way from home, so we huddled together for warmth when the clouds came and started our long journey back. The rain came as we drove; I don’t know why they’re always so worried about the rain. I can keep them safe from the rain. I was watching the branches, the corner came from nowhere, and the earth moved underneath me in a new, scary way. We all made noises we had never made before, the world spun until I landed in the crater of my own making, but I kept them safe. I took the force of the earth just like I’m supposed to do, and gave them the airbags that I know I can only use once. It was over very fast, and now it’s cold, and it’s quiet, but I know I did my best. We didn’t have chance to say goodbye, but I won’t forget them, and I don’t think they’ll forget me. I hope Chloe never forgets me. I’m so lucky to have seen such lovely things. The sun is rising, but my light is nearly out, and I’m nearly one with the earth. The animal disappears into the bushes. I love them. I kept them safe. I did my best, just like Dad said. Everything is okay.


I’m sorry Mr. Allen. You missed it. It’s too late. The words struck me deep in the throat. This was supposed to be my future. This was supposed to make everything better. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do? I knew begging would only hurt my chances, but I was desperate for this. No, as I said, it’s too late. You can go home now. I wanted to strangle the lady. I knew she had nothing to do with it and was just the messenger, but I wanted to strangle her nonetheless. I wanted to strangle my cab driver who wouldn’t drive over 30 even though I told him I’d tip him double if he ran the speed limit. I gave him one star as some sort of payback. I wanted to strangle the man at the front desk of the hotel who gave me problems with my credit card for thirty minutes. I almost screamed at him when after so long of arguing, his manager showed him that I was right. More than anything, I wanted to strangle myself. Somewhere in my head I knew it wasn’t the man at the front desk’s fault that I missed this, nor was the uber drivers, and it was especially not the lady telling me I was too late’s fault. I’m to blame as always. I walked out of the building. I lit up a cigarette and took a long inhale. More than anything, the cigarettes were a stress reliever thing. I find myself smoking cigarettes on the sidewalk more often nowadays. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. God New York smells awful. When I breathed out through my mouth, just like my therapist taught me, a cloud of smoke emerged. During the winter when I was younger, I’d pretend like I was smoking whenever the air was cold enough to turn to breathe vapor. I took another hit of the cigarette and flicked it to the street. I’m sure no one will notice it. Ok. Now what? I’ve spent so much time preparing for today, I never thought about what I would do if it didn’t work out—so many nights of preparing jokes and speeches, all for naught. Looking around the streets of Manhattan, I noticed that it was snowing, very lightly. I used to love the snow. When I was with Harlene, it meant fireplace, hot chocolate, and snuggling under a warm blanket. Now, it meant terrible great memories. Does anything mean anything, I thought for the hundredth time as I aimlessly strolled the streets. I always place meaning in the stupidest things. But sometimes I’m right, I countered to myself. Remember Jared? Harlene said that he was just a friend from work, but you knew there was something else there. But that’s why we broke up, wasn’t it? Harlene’s voice asked in my head. You were so paranoid, so fixed on making sure we stayed together, that you neglected our own happiness. Jesus Christ, I’m going crazy. I squeezed my eyes shut and kicked Harlene out. For now. She always found a way back in. I stopped outside a coffee shop. Fuck it, I told myself and walked in. I ordered a hot latte and sat down at one of the tables. I used to come to coffee shops just like this one with my notes to write my script. I spent so long on that goddamn script. That’s what made missing this meeting hurt so much. I was writing for my one golden opportunity. This was my one chance. “Woody? I have a latte for Woody?” I got my coffee, tipped the barista, and walked out into the streets of New York. I was still young, but I fucked up. I guess success isn’t meant for everyone. There’s always the factory job.


The hole was dug *in the rain,* the specimen removed, black dirt brushed gently off its smooth red skin: skin we all shall live and die in: You touch it tenderly, like a mother. “I’m… sorry,” the doctor said. Our daughter grew in your womb, only to be born dead. sorry,” you say, brushing dirt from her wings, her face, her bulbous eyes which *lightning, flashing in the diagonally falling rain*, **open** Shovels stabbed the ground. Shovels stabbed. “No!” Raindrops fall upon the illuminated phone screen displaying the map showing the site where the professor hypothesised the specimen would be buried, the phone lies in the black dirt ground, held still by my severed hand— Teardrops fell upon the illuminated phone screen displaying all the calls you did not take from all the people who would not understand the grief of (“I’m going,” you say.) finality. Drops of blood on the phone scre *—am*. You: held by me in the hospital room; yet even I could not stop the world from spinning; yet even I could not understand. The professor’s not mad. They existed,” you said. The professor in gloved hands opened tenderly the leatherbound bestiary; turned page after yellowed page until you—gasping: “Beautiful.”—beheld, illustrated: *thunder* is her heart, beating once and never to be stilled, is her beating heart, is her beating wings, as open-eyed she rises into the storm-grey / diagonally dissected / sky / the indigenous workmen swinging their shovels / fleeing, they / fall dead. It was your touch, your maternal touch. The way you stroked that numb extincted cheek; with love… with life…. “...a monster of vaguely anthropoid outline, but with an octopus-like head whose face was a mass of feelers, a scaly, rubbery-looking body, prodigious claws on hind and fore feet, and long, narrow wings behind,” the professor recited from a deep collective memory. —beheld, illustrated: She is: Alive and by humanity instinctually reviled, in the maelstrom, around whose reanimating form all but you are falling back. She swoops—slashing— killing— she grows, and the professor was right, I understand, blood trickling from my emptied wrist into the black dirt beside the hole in which our ancestors had interned the creature's once-suspended body, buried it with fear after banishing its mother to a long-forgotten ancient nether-realm. I can nearly hear their drumming, their chant, see their painted caves adorned with hand carved idols, of which the professor possessed the sole surviving one… You held it up to the light. "The mother is a fearsome beast," he said, "but the child—the child would have surpassed her in malignity." What unfathomed wickedness. Above the grave, I grasped your frigid hand, during the funeral, I could not grasp your winged heart, already on its final cosmic voyage. Across the ocean, you and I, to the hypothesised burial site. I am. Among the dying and the dead descending. The air. Saltwater. I cannot breathe. I cannot see your face. The setting sun I see. Dulled, distorted—through the hateful and translucent wingflesh of the beast becoming. Anticreation. Antedark in-rhythm with the diminished beating of my drumheart I gaze panting upon the paintings on the cave walls. Prophecy: “She’ll grow,” you say, until she is not of the Earth but the Earth of her, embracing us completely; her translucent skin of youth darkening into a future opaqueness… *The sun will burn.* *But no light will penetrate to us.* *Night, which will have been falling for generations, is—* *A guillotine—* I am. Among the dying and the dead descending, into a personal darkness presaging the total darkness to come. I do not recognise you. I am. **Praying, silently lamenting the fate of our stillborn** At the funeral I wiped tears from the phone screen. In hospital, “She was,” you say. “I was.” We sob in coldest embrace. “She’s gone," you say. “I’m gone.” At the funeral her skin is hazy and unclear, and the pain precipitates a world-enveloping demon. **planet.


System note: The following is translated into a language the reader is familiar with. The choice of words may sometimes sound unusual or simple. This results from the fact that some of the original languages of these texts haven't been spoken for millions of your solar circumnavigations. Most of the species don't exist anymore. The records are still preserved to document historical events. # Krex loves her bar. It is a small building, rarely visited, not much money to get, but the visitors are usually happy to find a shelter this far outside the inhabited systems. Most visitors are miners, traveling through the asteroid belts, the cargo bays full of ores, who want to relax one or two days before returning to the core. Of course, usually she's serving lizards here, mostly her own kind of Agamas, often geckos too. Once an iguana visited this place, but their planets are on the other side of the galaxy, so they rarely travel to this part of space. But recently, this new species visits her bar, too. They joined the galactic civilization just recently, causing trouble wherever they show up. Their furry bodies are like an insult to Krex’s eyes, but they are ambitious and bring good money. At least most of the time. Sometimes they enjoy to cause as much damage as possible, and sometimes Krex doesn't even know what they're doing, like today. Three of them are already there, laughing and drinking when suddenly, the door bursts open. "Careful there", Krex shouts, but freezes the next moment. A fourth just enters, the pupils narrow, the whiskers twitching. The laser weapon on her hip is mandatory, they all carry one. But Krex has never seen one of them actually use these weapons, they usually prefer close combat. One of the others shouts, "Hensutu!" Was it a word in their language, or a name, maybe? The newcomer puts her ears on, pushes out her claws and hisses while turning towards the one who shouted. The other one pushes her claws out, too, digs them into table and floor - probably to enhance her grip - and jumps out of her chair and across the table, approaching the newcomer quickly. Everything looks like a fight is about to start, until she puts her hands on the newcomer's shoulders and lowers her head. Only now does Krex notice that the new one's ears have risen again and are opened towards the other one. "Sister. It's been a while", the newcomer says, lowering her head too, pushing their foreheads together with a growl. "May I introduce you to my sons? We're celebrating their adulthood! Please, join us!" The newcomer nods, then pushes the other one - her sister? - aside to step towards the bar, towards Krex who observes them nervously. "Do you serve some kind of milk?" "I… Yes, sure. Do you want plain milk or something special?" "Rum and milk, 50/50 in that order." Krex thinks for a moment, then she puts a Glass on the bar. "Are you kidding me?" Before Krex really understands what's going on, the glass is thrown aside, falling towards the ground and breaking into a thousand pieces. "What are we going to do with a single glass? We're four!" "Oh… Of course. I'm sorry." She puts a large jug on the counter and reaches for the milk, just to be grabbed on her wrist by the guest. Nervously, she looks at the twitching tail of her guest, knowing that this can be a terrible sign. "When you're trying to anger me, you're doing a good job. What did I say about the order?" Krex freezes, thinking for a moment. Then she nods and nervously reaches for the rum, watching her customer carefully, prepared to stop in case something else is wrong. "50/50 you said?" The fur-covered head nods slowly, and so Krex starts to pour the rum into the jug. Next she fills it up with milk, relaxing when she notices the satisfied nodding of her customer. "See? You aren't as stupid as you look. This probably won't be the last one, you know where we are." With these words, the furry hand grabs the jug and the strange woman turns around. Events like this, demonstrating how aggressive this species can seem, frequently happen around the galaxy, wherever these creatures show up. And somewhere already sits a council of scaled participants and discusses how to deal with them. # "What, you want to be captain? All right, come here if you dare!" Hensutu just returned from her trip to the bar. One of her nephews chose to join her crew, but during their very first meeting with their captain, he challenged him. Sauksez is used to it. A kitten, just grown up, who wants to prove themselves, usually starts at the head of the pack. And so, he fought off almost every new crew member on the first day. He actually likes it because this way he can prove regularly that he isn't captain for nothing. And this one, too, will soon have figured out his place. The fight doesn't last long. They rarely do, and over the last few years the result has always been the same: Sauksez stays the ship's captain and the new one submits to him. He'll search and challenge other crew members soon, until, in a few days, his position aboard the ship is settled. Sauksez turns towards Hensutu. "Why exactly did you bring this one here?" "He’s from my sister, the one from the same litter as me. She asked me for it when I met her in a bar." "I was afraid you picked up a stray. Not that I would have refused him then, he's a strong fighter. But you’ve proven yourself, so a relative of yours is particularly welcome." "Thank you", Hensutu replies while bowing down to her captain. He dislikes to compliment, so this was worth a lot for her. Or did he only acknowledge the litter they had together? Whatever it is, Hensutu just feels more valuable because of it. Then she turns around to go to the cantina. Her nephew would find his way alone from here, and she had an appointment. As usual, when both are aboard, she eats lunch with her daughter Zeanah. But today isn't usual. Of course, they meet and sit down for lunch, but as they sit, talk and eat, they are interrupted again and again by young men who try to flirt with Zeanah and show off in front of her. At some point - the fourth or fifth just left - Hensutu stands up and shouts: "The next one trying to mate with my daughter while we eat will have to collect his teeth from the floor!" A young man stops a few steps away, indecisive, looking back and forth between the two. Hensutus growl tells him that she's serious, so he turns around and leaves. She sighs. "First day?" "The third, actually", Zeanah responds shyly. "So there are only seven days left. But overall, the first time as far as I know?" Her daughter nods. "You really should try to set some boundaries. Otherwise, they will never leave you alone." "I'll try." "And next time, please warn me in time. It’s annoying enough when I’m in heat myself, but if I ever have to watch them behave like that to you again, I’m probably gonna kill someone." # "We really need to do something", an iguana demands. "They're terrorizing our people wherever we meet them!" "What's the problem?" One of the eel-people asks. Most fishes haven't even seen a cat yet, their habitats are just too different, and they rarely have a reason to contact each other. "The problem is their attitude. They're proud, arrogant and selfish. They act as if everything's their property, and what they don't like they damage. It's a wonder that so few people died yet." "Are their claws poisonous or something? I've heard stories about a scratch from them developing into a deadly disease in multiple cases." "Although they are very clean, they usually do not care about cleaning their claws. These cases you’ve heard of were probably infections with unknown bacteria." "Clean, you say? They *smell* terribly", a serpent comments. "Would you please stop bothering us with your opinion? We're talking about facts, and they *do* spend a lot of time cleaning their fur." "I'd suggest sending them an offer. If they calm down around other species, following common rules of politeness, they're free to go. If they continue to treat other races like shit, then we must restrict their access to our facilities. Anyone against it?" Nobody reacts. "Then it's settled. I’ll contact their diplomats. Any other topics?" # Hensutu doesn't like the idea of visiting her daughter. It's the seventh day of her being in heat, she most likely is with a man right now. But she is the best diplomat they have, and the situation demands her attention. When reaching for the door, she hears something. Yes, Zeanah is with a man right now, so Hensutu waits patiently for their noises to stop. And then a little longer. Finally, she pushes the button. Usually, a bell would announce her request to enter, but the system was set to make an exception for her, the door opens right away. She steps in, surprising both, Zeanah and her partner. "Mom!" "Hey. I see, you met your cousin." "My what?" "Not now. You're required on the bridge, it's urgent." With these words, Hensutu turns around and leaves the room again. "My cousin…?" Zeanah asks the man she was cuddling with moments ago, who looks just as surprised as she felt. He hesitates a moment, but then nods slowly. She shakes her head, jumps out of the bed and gets dressed. "You'll find your way out, I assume." That wasn't a question, she rushes out without waiting for a response. "What's up?" she asks as soon as she closed up to her mother. "Your skills are required. The scaled ones gave us an ultimatum, and we need your help to negotiate the terms." "An ultimatum? But why?" "Seems like our habits aren't very popular among them." Zeanah nods while trying to keep up with her mother. "Did you at least get your heat under control?" "Yes, but… My cousin! And you're requesting a heads-up from *me*?" "Don't worry, it's not as rare for our people as you might think. And you're far enough away so that there are no problems." "Did you, you know…?" "No, but a few of my siblings. It's really no big deal." Around the next corner, Zenah finally finds herself on the bridge. At first, she stops, looking around where to go next, but the captain clearly shows her to come closer. She follows his order and steps in front of a giant screen. From there, the diplomat of the scaled ones watches her attentively. "Greetings. I am Zeanah, this ship's diplomat. How can we help you?" "Simple. Your people need to behave better." "What are you talking about?" "I am Grat, from the Gecko Conglomerate", the lizard starts to speak. "And I'm contacting you with an urgent matter. We're receiving reports from all over the galaxy about cats being rude, destroying other peoples properties, fighting with each and everyone about nothing. Thus far we had two dozen deaths among the lizards, and at least one fish-ship reported a torpedo fired at them. We want to solve this peacefully, but each of our previous attempts has been ignored or ridiculed. If your people can’t offer a solution, we have to come up with a punishment for your kind." "That sounds reasonable", Zeanah responds. "I hope you do understand that I can't speak for my entire species in this case. We'll need to contact our council to establish a ruleset that will stop these unpleasant incidents. Something that's enforceable against every cat out there." "Of course we do. Please keep us informed about every step towards progress. I'm delivering a frequency for direct communication, and I'll permit you personally to contact us without any obstacles. Zeanah was your name?" "Correct, Zeanah from the silverfur-tribe. Thank you." As soon as the connection is closed, she turns towards the captain. "I’m sorry, but this matter concerns our entire race, we must return to Nekkai immediately!" "You're sorry? It’s a diplomatic incident of interstellar magnitude. You're in charge of the ship!" Sauksez responds, steps aside and gestures towards the captain's seat. "Are you serious?" "Do I look like I'm joking?" Zeanah looks across the room to her mother in search for help, but Hensutu nods, smiling. "The rules are unmistakable. In case of a diplomatic incident, the highest diplomat aboard temporarily replaces the captain. Congratulations, you’re the commanding officer." Zeanah puffs out her chest and tightens her shoulders, steps forward and sits down on the captain’s chair. All eyes are focused on her. "Set a course to Nekkai. And send them a summary of the situation", she commands. A strange sense of satisfaction fills her when everyone around her immediately begins to work to follow her instructions. # Zeanah had already seen the negotiations threatened when she had to interrupt them shortly before conclusion. But the negotiating partners agreed that the birth of her Children was more important, even in this situation. The next day she was already back to continue the negotiations, and after a total of seven months, they are finally concluded. Now she's sitting there beside the bed - some would probably call it a box, but for some reason, kitten have always preferred this design against every other option - and watches her children sleeping in peace. Lost in thought, she reaches into the box and caresses the head of one of her children. Of course, this idyll could not last forever. Annoyed by the sound, she grabs her personal communicator and looks at the display. Grat. She immediately accepts the connection. "Hey, Grat. How can I…" the connection is interrupted right away. One of her ears goes flat. What did just happen? She tries to establish a new connection to her scaled friend, but the device doesn't reach him. She shakes her head, twitches with her shoulders and put's the device aside. Then she turns back towards her kitten. One of them just woke up from the sounds. She carefully grabs it, lifts it out of the box and cuddles it gently. # "Are you kidding me?" the communication system asks. The geckos just received a chat request from a cat's ship and responded right away. They were in peace after all. "Beg you pardon?" The lizard at the comms asks confused. "You're trying to dictate us how to behave?" the cat on the other end asks. "Who do you think we are?" "I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about." "We just got the order. Stay calm, don't do anything that could provoke, play along? Who do you think you are?" The lizard looks back at his captain - the diplomat Grat, who just finished the negotiations with the cat's diplomat. "What should I do?" "Try to calm them down. They’re obviously upset, probably a misunderstanding." He nods, turning comms back online. "I am sorry for this, but it's probably not as you thought. We negotiated…" "Not as we thought? Are you calling us stupid? You're trying to command us around!" "Commander", another lizard interrupts. "They're charging something." "Something?" "The instruments can't make sense of it. It's just energy building up." "Shields are up?" "Of course." "Give them a warning shot. We're not fooling around, they need to understand that." "Done." The com system lights up again. "Are you stupid? Can't you even aim straight?" "Boost the shields. Whatever they're doing, we'll just defend and try to calm them down!" "I can't." "What?" "Shields already are at 115%. That's 5 percent above boost level. 120%. 125%! And raising!" "Contact Zeanah! Maybe she can stop this and explain what's going on." "Contacting." "Commander! I don't know how, but… 175%!" The communication system establishes a connection. "Hey, Grat. How can I…" Then, every system shuts down, all lights turn off while the shrill whir of an overloaded generator is heard. The next moment, light around Grat seems to shine while the system continues to overload, and with the silence of deep space, his ship explodes - every life on board is wiped out. # "Captains log. Tamesis, captain of the lantern's fleet. It's been three months since the war started. Whenever the lizards tried to contact them, they were blown up in a matter of seconds. Millions died. We still didn't figure out how they're doing that, but our ships are seemingly not affected. It took us some time to figure out that they don't use shield technology. It seems like a miracle that they managed to conquer space without it. Today we're approaching planet Nekkai, the fifth planet of their home system. We'll finally end this disaster. Log end." "Captain?" Tamesis flaps his fins to turn towards the speaking officer. "Yes?" "We're ready." "Well, then fire, please. Make it end." The officer pushes a button. On their screen, a view of the planet is shown. After a moment, a tiny, harmless looking, shiny ball reaches its atmosphere. As soon as it touches it, a destructive wave of fire runs around the globe, but the tiny light continues its way. A bright light is visible at the location it hit the surface. Red lines start to cover the planet, fractures in the ground, lava raising, and after a while, not more than a minute, a silent explosion rips the planet apart. "Captain? There are still ships of them around." "Let them be. We just destroyed their home world. If they want to fight, we'll destroy them. If they choose to die in peace, who are we to refuse it?" — A few days later, the lizards establish a connection. "What do you want?" Tamesis asks uninterested. "A huge fragment of Nekkai is heading towards the third planet of their system!" "And?" "There are lizards on that planet!" "Are they intelligent? Do they have some signs of culture or civilization?" "Not yet, they're wild animals. But…" "We can't interfere to protect any amphibian across the universe. We have to defeat the remaining cats!" "But these are different!" "They're huge and stupid, aren't they? I just checked our scanners. Calm down, the universe will survive losing one of your variations." # Hensutu hugged her daughter tight, trying to calm her down, to stop the tears flowing. "It's alright. We're still here." "But so many have died! Millions!" Zeanah replies sobbing. "I know. Let's never forget them. We'll hide. We'll rebuild somewhere else." "What about my children?" "I'm sure we'll find a sun for them to enjoy. A small system at the border of the galaxy to settle down. They'll be fine, I promise." # And so, the third planet of the system got hit by an asteroid. The lizards living there were eradicated, the fish didn't care and, after time passed, the planet developed a new species that would become intelligent enough to join the galactic alliance. Nobody noticed the millions of fragments, carrying genetic samples of this horrible species, spreading it across the system, the entire galaxy. By the time the third planet had recovered from the impact, dozens of planets had already been discovered on which four-legged beasts had developed, with velvet paws and deadly claws and teeth. Where the remaining ships of the cats have disappeared, however, could never be found out.