Tea with Timoteo

Prince Timoteo finished his cup of tea in silence. “Are you feeling any better?” Lithuania asked. Timoteo glowered at her.

“You ask me how I feel, yet you keep me here like a prisoner,” he snapped in his sharp LusciousLockian accent, a melodic hybrid between frequent variations in inflexion and blunt, choppy consonant sounds. Lithuania sighed. She knew Timoteo had a point.

As soon as she had seen Timoteo shivering uncontrollably in his cell, she resumed her role of First Commander full force and gave Felix quite an earful. Timoteo was a prince, she told him. It didn’t matter under what suspicions he was being held—he had to be treated with dignity and respect, especially when the suspicions under which Timoteo was being held were unsubstantiated. She then ordered Felix to bring Timoteo two more blankets, and something warm to drink. She didn’t care whether there actually was anything warm to drink, or whether Felix actually had two more blankets stashed up somewhere—that was his problem, and she expected him to solve it.

“I’m sorry you’ve been treated this way,” Lithuania said, now that Timoteo was done with his tea. “I assure you, I will make sure my men improve your living conditions... But I’m sure you understand why we cannot just—let you go. It’s not safe out there.” Lithuania offered to retrieve Timoteo’s empty cup, but Timoteo hurled it abruptly against the dungeon wall.

“Typical of you Foggistanis,” he spat. “Pretending to be the hand that feeds, when the only reason you feed is because you’ve hoarded all the food.”

Lithuania’s pride got slapped in the face, but she quickly tried to quell any hint of indignation. It wasn’t justified, and Timoteo had every right to be angry. He was, after all, a prince in a cell. “I would only like to speak with you,” she said, trying to keep her cool, “I’m sure you’ve noticed LusciousLocks isn’t what it used to be—and plenty of people out there actually think you might be the one behind it.”

“That is bullshit,” Timoteo sneered. “Why would I do this to my own people!?”

Lithuania shrugged. “Revenge, maybe? You were passed up for the throne, after all.”

Timoteo looked at Lithuania incredulously. “Do all Foggistani’s reason as stupidly as you do?”

Lithuania jumped to her feet and turned her back to Timoteo, peeved. She felt herself having surprisingly little patience for the man. Felix, meanwhile, was looking at her from outside the cell, his arms crossed, his expression smug. He was still angry at her for yelling at him, but the hard time Timoteo seemed to be giving Lithuania’s ego was lightening him up just a little. Lithuania looked at Felix in frustration. Her expression clearly a cry for help, though her ego would’ve never admitted it. Felix shrugged, his face one of mock disappointment over not being able to be more helpful.

“Prince Timoteo, I only want to hear your side of the story.”

“I am no longer prince. And I would assume your friend over there,” he indicated Felix with a movement of his chin, “Would fill you in. No?”

Lithuania took a seat again, looking Timoteo straight in the eyes. “He says you say you aren’t responsible for all this. He says he believes you. But I’m not so sure. I would like to hear you for myself.”

“So you don’t trust your friend’s judgment?” Timoteo asked, stealing a glance at Felix. “I knew Foggistanis couldn’t be trusted, but I thought they could at least trust each other.”

Felix snorted. Lithuania bit her lip. “Timoteo. Do you know what brought your aircraft down?”

“You?” he joked.

“No. I’m serious. Do you know?”

“I was brought down by the same thing that brought you down," he paused for dramatic effect. "AssMachenstan.”

The cell fell quiet. Felix was holding his breath, waiting for Lithuania’s reaction. Lithuania was holding her breath, absorbing what Timoteo had just said. It was one thing to hear it second-hand from Felix—an entirely different thing to hear it from Timoteo. The confidence with which he spoke—it was surprisingly persuasive. “Why do you think this?” Lithuania asked.

“Oh shut up. Don’t say ‘think.’ Say ‘know.’ How do I know this? Because AssMachenstan is why I left my country in the first place.”

Lithuania narrowed her eyes at Timoteo incredulously. “What the hell are you talking about?”

This time it was Timoteo’s turn to stand. He rose, towering over Lithuania, his expression one of almost dramatic intensity. He was frighteningly tall—imposing even, and his bony, angular features, as seen under the flickering torchlight, gave him an overly gaunt, wraith-like appearance. “Do you actually think I was passed over for the throne? Do you think I would have permitted that, when the throne was rightfully my own?”

A shiver escaped Lithuania’s body, one she hastily masked with a quick cough. “You mean that isn’t what happened?” she asked, looking to Felix for reassurance. This was clearly as much news to him as it was to her.

“Of course not. They would've liked you to believe that. But I abandoned it. I abandoned it all!” Timoteo turned away from Lithuania and faced the wall. “I wanted nothing to do with it.”

“But why?”

Timoteo turned and glared at Lithuania. “It was not my calling,” he said flatly. “At least I didn't think it was... not then... The Influence was too strong in my family. We came to hold disparate political ideologies. And our differences only increased over time. My interests and those of the LusciousLockians in power—they no longer agreed…”

“You mean you're against the whole ‘woo-hoo save the planet don’t cut the trees’ deal?” said Felix.

“We are more than just trees!” Timoteo snarled, his coal black eyes glinting furiously. “Of course all you Foggistanis would notice is our environmentalism—you’ve always been a people to go by stereotypes.”

“Now wait a minute there—” Lithuania snapped. Timoteo gave her a stare. “Never mind,” she retracted.

“I would like for you to release me,” Timoteo said.

“But you’ve hardly told us anything,” said Lithuania, rising again. “Like: why did you return? How did AssMachenstan cause you to leave LusciousLocks? What is this Influence you're talking about? And where are you headed? Do you know the whereabouts of the King?”

“What right have you to keep me here, imprisoned in my own land?” Timoteo growled, the anger in his voice mounting like a storm. “What right have you, a filthy Foggistani, to demand answers of me!? Tell me why I tolerate, for even a second further—” his nose was now dangerously close to Lithuania’s, “tell me why I tolerate being interrogated by the likes of you, a woman?”

Lithuania slapped him across the face.

Timoteo slapped her back, knocking her to the ground. “HEY!” Felix roared, sliding the cell door aside and rolling up his sleeves. “YOU’D BETTER TAKE THAT BA—”

“Felix no—” Lithuania said softly, covering over her face with her hand as the imprint of Timoteo’s hand grew hot pink on her cheek.. “It’s OK.” She rose to her feet. “It’s OK,” she repeated.

“But the bastard just—”

Lithuania shook her head. “Let’s come back to him in a few hours,” she said, her voice strained. Giving Felix a quick pat on the shoulder, she turned and left the cell, without so much as a glance back at Timoteo. Fuming, Felix gave Timoteo a long, hard stare before backing out of the cell and locking the door with a slam.

Her hand still covering her cheek, Lithuania hurried along down the narrow underground hallways. Her lip was now quivering uncontrollably. She reached the exit of the concrete tower, pushed the massive iron door open, and scuttled out into the woods.

Black clouds were swirling restlessly about in the sky, the wind picking up dry leaves from the ground and spinning them about in fleeting whirlwinds. The darkness in LusciousLocks was unyielding, but not impenetrable. A pale sun could still be distinguished somewhere behind the clouds, casting everything in LusciousLocks into a dreary gray monochrome.

As usual, it looked like a storm was coming, but Lithuania didn’t care whether she got rained on or not. Walking almost a mile into the woods, leaving the tower far out of sight, Lithuania dropped at the foot of a large symia tree, pressing her face tightly against her knees. The bark of the tree was rough, but it was her sole comfort as she leaned against it. Hiding between the roots, she was alone now.

And alone, Lithuania wept.

Presence

Marco Northern was bored as beans, and going just a little mad.

Ever since his crash landing into LusciousLocks, he felt he had been wandering through the woods for days on end. The sky in LusciousLocks was impenetrably dark, and the thickness of the woods only made things worse. His helmet flashlight had long since lost power, though fortunately his eyes had grown accustomed to the dark. He became overly perceptive of shadows, movement, and sound, while becoming entirely oblivious to details and color.

Still, what bothered him most was having no sense of time. Had the sky been a swirly haze of dark clouds, with some hint of sunlight behind it, maybe then he could have coped. But as it was, the sky was black, his watch was frozen, and time dragged endlessly. When he woke from sleep, he had no way of telling how long he had slept. When he walked, he had no way of telling how long he had been on his feet. His internal clock had gone haywire, and he was beginning to feel just the faintest hints of mania creeping in.

“Don’t lose it Marco,” he told himself. “You were trained for situations like these.” Except he wasn’t. Being stranded in a hostile country, he could deal with. Finding food in the wild, using nothing but his bare hands, he could handle. Distinguishing north from south, he could (at least in the presence of daylight) normally manage. But in LusciousLocks, everything was just wrong. His very sense of reality was beginning to slip away.

His entire life, Marco had managed his time carefully. His hunger didn’t determine when to eat; the time of day did. How tired he was never determined whether he’d take a nap or go to sleep; his schedule and list of duties did. But now, with no sense of structure to guide him—with no mental landmarks or guidelines whatsoever—he felt he was beginning to lose it. He found it strange, how the loss of what he initially thought to be nothing more than the subjective and inherently meaningless concept of time, could result in his feeling so intensely removed from reality.

Luckily, he hadn’t run into any more monsters, but the air around him seemed to be growing progressively warmer. Humidity within the forest was rising, and Marco was finding it harder and harder to breathe. Fatigued, he decided to call it a day, taking shelter in a nook between two massive tree roots.

As soon as he lied down, he felt a strange, familiar presence. A smell, or essence—a something he couldn’t quite figure out. Probably nothing more than more signs of his oncoming insanity, but whatever it was, he felt oddly comforted and safe between the roots. Then he thought of Lithuania… And more quickly than he expected, Marco found himself drifting into a deep and peaceful sleep…

…A sleep that would last only a few hours—for that very night, the entire woods of LusciousLocks were to burst into flames.

Switching Hands

“Latvia!” Peter cried.

“Hey Pete,” said Latvia, her face deathly pale.

Only a few minutes after his briefing with the neuroscientists from PENIS, Peter received a call from the receptionist of the Helo-Fleet Headquarters’ Visitation Area. A girl had come to see him—it was urgent, and apparently confidential. It hadn’t taken Peter too long to guess it was Latvia, but why it was urgent or confidential, he couldn’t tell.

What concerned him most was breaking the news of Lithuania’s disappearance to her. If he had only just found out, there was no way Latvia could’ve already known. Then again, Latvia did have a knack for figuring things out before they even happened. More than once, her intuition had left Peter in awe. Latvia always claimed she just knew things by virtue of being female—by virtue of being observant, and highly aware of her surroundings. Peter thought it was spooky—borderline supernatural, even. And when he saw her waiting for him in the Visitation Area, her face deathly pale and her lips tightly pressed, he knew she already knew.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Latvia, just as Peter opened his mouth to speak. “Lithuania’s missing, isn’t she.” It was an assertion, not a question. Peter’s expression was grave as he nodded. Yet somehow, he felt Lithuania wasn’t the reason Latvia had just come to visit him.

“Something else is on your mind,” Peter said, looking at Latvia tenderly as he brushed a strand of jet black hair behind her ear.

“Yeah,” said Latvia, taking Peter’s hand. “Do you think we could go somewhere a bit more… private?” Peter looked around. The Visitation Area was rather empty, but the bright chrome sheen of its walls along with the room’s inescapable echo didn’t make for the most private of meeting places. Peter frowned.

“I’m not supposed to leave the grounds… especially not now.”

“What with my sister missing and what-not?”

“That, and something else. Let’s go to the Café downstairs. We can talk there.” Latvia nodded, and Peter led her to the glassy elevators and down to the café.

“How are you feeling?” Peter asked, as soon as they had both taken a seat. They were sitting opposite one another at a two-person table in the corner of the Helo-Fleet Headquarters’ café. The café was a no-frills, unpretentious affair, free of airs and entirely utilitarian. The glossy chrome theme pervaded throughout the entire Headquarters, and the café was no different. The wall next to Peter and Latvia was entirely of glass, looking out upon a modest garden with a trickling fountain at its center. It was a painfully bright day out, and a couple of Helo-Fleet lovers were sunbathing out on the grass, enjoying the natural sunlight which, as of late, had become more and more of a commodity. There was only so much indoor training and white fluorescent light bulbs a Helo-Fleet trainee could take.

“Peter,” Latvia took Peter’s hand, “Don’t ask me how I know about Lithuania.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Peter said.

Latvia smiled, a grim, rather lifeless smile. “Thanks.”

“You haven’t slept much, have you.” Latvia shook her head.

“It was an interesting night,” she said. “Let’s just say I had this horrible feeling about Lithuania, all night. So I went over to Estonia’s, and we basically just ended up fighting.”

Peter sighed. “Your sister can be one hell of a crazy bitch when she wants—”

Latvia punched Peter’s arm, softly. Estonia was her sister, after all. “But yeah,” Latvia agreed. “Estonia is a crazy bitch.”

“Why’d you guys fight?”

Latvia shrugged. “Long story. I’ll tell you about it later. I’ve got something a bit more interesting to deal with at the moment.” Peter looked interested. “But first, what’s this ‘something else’ that’s keeping you on grounds?”

“Oh, that,” Peter sighed. “Well, your sister’s missing, as you already mysteriously know,” Latvia winked at him. She appreciated his tone of mock resentment, especially at a time when anything anyone else would’ve given her would have been false pity, “So that makes me, temporarily, First Commander of the Helo-Fleet.”

“Look at you, mister big man,” Latvia joked.

Peter eyed Latvia curiously. “You know, for someone whose sister just went missing, you don’t seem to be all that freaked out.”

Latvia pressed Peter’s hand softly. “I’m worried, I really am. But I know Lithuania is alive. I’m not saying she’s OK—and I’m also not saying sleep deprivation isn’t throwing me just a little bit off my rocker, but—” at this point Latvia turned her glance towards the lovers sunbathing outside. They reminded her of Lithuania and Marco, or at least of what they could’ve looked like, had they at some point openly professed their love to one another. “I trust Foggistan will do what it can to get my sister back.”

Peter eyed Latvia carefully. What he would have given to break into her mind, and see behind her thoughts. What he would have given to fully understand what she was feeling and thinking. He loved her. They had been together for only seven months, but he loved her unlike anyone he had ever loved before. Yet there was something about Latvia that was always hidden—always guarded against him, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t break past her barriers. This had made their relationship difficult, especially in its earlier months, and it wasn’t until recently that Peter silently acquiesced—silently accepted that whatever Latvia was hiding, she would reveal it in her own time, on her own terms. She was a fascinating woman, no doubt about it. But it never ceased to frustrate Peter that he just would never understand Latvia completely, at least not until she wanted him to.

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Peter said. “Foggistan has no intentions of rescuing Lithuania—not yet, anyway.”

“What?” Again, Peter eyed Latvia carefully. Something in her tone suggested she didn’t find this altogether surprising.

“We have no radio contact inside LusciousLocks. And Jagesic isn’t going to just risk losing another ship and crew—it’s the other reason why I’m supposed to stay on grounds. The scientists at PENIS are running an experiment on me and a few of my men—it’s perfectly safe,” Peter quickly added, noticing the fleeting look of astonishment on Latvia’s face, “Actually, it sounds pretty cool. They’re trying to enhance the ability of the Psychics, so they can read more clearly into Styx and LusciousLocks.”

“Is that necessary?”

“It is now. It’s not just radio communication that’s become impossible… Even the strongest Psychics have been unable to perform psychic scans of Styx’s surface… It’s like an absolute dead zone. So is LusciousLocks.”

“That’s possible?”

Peter shook his head. “It wasn’t. But now, we’re not so sure. In any case, I shouldn’t be telling you all this—”

“You don’t have to,” Latvia cut in.

“I want to,” said Peter, looking Latvia straight in the eyes. “I trust you.”

Latvia gazed into Peter’s eyes only briefly, before withdrawing her hand from his, slowly. “What’s going to happen to you?”

Peter crossed his arms, letting his gaze wander outside. “It’s a perception enhancement of sorts. The effects should only be slight, especially since I’m not a Psychic. But once the Psychics go through with it… their powers should get pretty damn awesome.”

“So they’re trying this on you because…”

“They were going to try it originally on Lithuania. They’re trying it on me first because, should anything go wrong, the effects will be far weaker on me than on an actual Psychic. You know, what for me might turn into two days of double-vision, for a Psychic might turn into two months of hallucinations and mania.”

Latvia stared intently into Peter’s eyes. She would’ve reached out for his hand again, had his arms not been crossed. She was trying to see into his future, just to make sure the procedure really would turn out alright, but without physical contact, it was hard for her to do so. “You’re doing that thing where you stare at me funny,” Peter said.

“Sorry,” Latvia blushed, quickly looking down at her hands. And then an idea, a potentially crazy idea, began stirring in her head. The neuroscientists at PENIS… Peter was about to go speak with them, and undergo a trial procedure with them… A procedure related to human perception enhancement, of all things—

“So what did you come here to tell me?” Peter broke in. “What was so urgent, if it wasn’t about your sister?”

Latvia set her thoughts aside. Her face turned serious—grim, even. “OK, but you have to swear you won’t tell anyone about this.” Peter looked at her with an expression somewhere between amused and perplexed. “I’m serious.”

“Alright, bring it on.”

Latvia pulled a small pouch from her purse, from which she extracted a rectangular red box. “Don’t freak out,” she said. Peter nodded. She placed the box on the table, removed the lid, and before Peter’s eyes appeared that which Peter never suspected he’d actually see in his lifetime.

Peter bounced off his chair. “That’s a frikkin’ quilaire!” he gasped.

“Shhh!!! Sit down!” Latvia snapped. Eyes wide, Peter resumed his seat. Luckily for him, the café was so empty, no one but the barista had noticed his quick little outburst. "Strange, isn't it? How there are so many fake quilaires out there, yet all you have to do is lay eyes on the real thing, and you'll know it's the real thing."

Peter nodded. “But where—”

“In my family’s attic. I have no idea how it got there, and I haven’t dared touch it. But Peter, something just occurred to me.” Peter looked down at the quilaire in awe. It looked like liquid silver—like it would dissolve if merely exhaled upon. “Peter, look at me,” Latvia said. Peter overcame himself, steadfastly locking eyes with Latvia.

“Why did you bring this here?” Peter asked.

Latvia bit her lip. “I’m not entirely sure… But now that I think about it, I think I might know why…” She closed the red box, and pushed it towards Peter. Peter pushed it back.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

“Don’t worry, you can’t keep it,” Latvia snapped. “But… I think it might be a good idea if the neuroscientists at PENIS gave it a look.” Peter was about to ask what for, then thought for a minute, then nodded.

“You’re right… A quilaire is supposed to mess with the human mind in all sorts of crazy ways… Who better to check this out than the people at PENIS?”

Latvia nodded. “Exactly. Do you think they could keep this under wraps?”

“I won’t show it to them if I don’t think I can trust them,” said Peter, taking the box and placing it carefully inside his jacket’s inner breast pocket. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of letting this get taken away from you, much less fall into the wrong hands.” He rose.

“Peter,” Latvia said, taking his hand. She looked at him, her expression affectionate. She could see in his eyes that he appreciated her sharing the secret of the quilaire with him... But something was still amiss. “You know I trust you, right?”

Peter smiled, pulling his hand away from Latvia’s. “Are you saying that to me, or to yourself?” He bent over and gave Latvia a quick kiss on the forehead. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect it. Now let me walk you out.” And with that, Latvia’s quilaire fell into the hands of Peter Pidgeons.

The Jump

They, isa and winfry of course, had been bludgering about the pastoral-turned-infernal LusciousLockian woods for a fortnight looking for… Well, they didn’t know what they were looking for; they just knew that they were looking, and that it, whatever it was, was there in the temperate zone of the arboreal nation of LusciousLocks. But it wasn’t like they had much of a choice–I mean, not after what had happened in nilbmah.

So there they were, getting lost in the labyrinth of row after unending row of space-bound trees that put sequoias to shame. At night, well it had been a while since night and day could be properly distinguished in these woods, but when they could no longer resist sleep pounding on their doors with a sledgehammer, they hid themselves, in a mound of old leaves, from the myriad dangers they faced head-on while awake. While walking the woods, anything could and did happen: it rained blood or something uncannily similar; they were nearly killed by what appeared to be bats on crack; a symia tree dropped all of its fruit, feeding winfry and isa for two days until it gave them severe diarrhea for a day; and yeah. winfry had made it to first captain in the youth guard, but isa’s life in rural nilbmah was better, still inadequate but better, preparation for this adventure. In other words, even with isa’s quilaire and winfry’s librem, they were hanging on to dental floss. Had they not had each other, delirium would have taken over three days in.

However, after two weeks of wandering, sleep deprivation, adrenaline overdoses, and approaching despair, things fell into place. Sort of. It was time for lunch, more out of a sense of hunger than a sense of time. So winfry wrote in potatoes with the librem and isa bent fire to bake them as they had for the past eleven days (it took winfry three days to figure out the potatoes).

“Try not to burn them like last time.” It was the first thing either of them had said all day and winfry regretted it before even saying it. winfry had been hungry since two hours earlier and isa’s habit of sniffing her nose while they walked had crawled under his skin and was rolling around underneath all morning.

“Well, it would be easier if your potatoes were a little more consistent. If you don’t remember, our last potatoes had more eyes than a male peacock during mating,” isa spat back instinctively and before winfry could apologize. Clear thinking had been avoiding isa for two days. As the more experienced of the two, most of the divining was left to her, which is to say she had to channel the quilaire more in one day than she had in the past year. At that moment, even blinking was an effort. In other words, analyzing winfry’s sharpness would have killed her; so she didn’t.

“Excuse me if I haven’t even been doing this for a month. It’s not like I’ve had the comfort of two years to figure everything out.”

“Comfort? It’s not like you’re the one killing all the beasts that attack us or making shelter for us when it rains blood or looking across the woods to see where we need to go or any of that. So stop complaining about the little divining you do.”

The conversation was crescendoing and tempers were cracking their chrysalises as winged spiders.

winfry jumped to his feet. “It wasn’t my bright idea to come here, to this godforsaken inferno.” This comment cut straight to isa’s sense of self, sending her face into his and adding a snarl to her voice.

“We didn’t have a choice.”

“Yes we did! But you let them se”

“Ingrate! I was saving y”

“AAAAAAA,” shrieked the dark red blur as it sped towards isa and winfry, talons bared

winfry, who was facing the creature, lunged into isa knocking her to safety but wasn’t so nice to himself. One of the two-inch black talons caught winfry’s shoulder blade tearing through muscle. winfry hit the ground hard and writhed. Two weeks ago, isa would have been paralyzed. But not now. She saw winfry’s back stain red and seethed. The abomination was swooping around for a second pass.

isa stood her ground, faced the fiend and grasped her quilaire. The demon then wrapped in its wings and shot, fangs-forward towards isa. Time slowed and seconds streched into minutes, literally, and isa’s gaze pierced the black orbs of the startled assassin–even in this fiction, time control is an anomaly. And ever so slowly the deranged bat continued to barrel towards isa, who waited and waited. It was one and half meters away and she still hadn’t done anything. By then, the assassin had regained its confidence and bared its fangs with a shriek. That’s when isa flared her eyes.

“Fucking bitch!” And the red comet exploded, splattering blood and innards across isa’s face.

Without hesitation isa ran to winfry, adrenaline damning fatigue. She was crying hysterically. “winfry! Oh god no! winfry I’m so sorry for getting angry with you! Oh god I’m so sorry! Forgive me!”

But winfry wasn’t speaking or conscious for that matter. He had already lost a considerable amount of blood; his face had grown deathly pale.

isa's panic jumped up three floors.

“Shit! winfry! No!” she screamed as she clenched her quilaire and threw herself onto her winfry’s limp body.

________________

When winfry woke, he was lying in a bed in a room with no windows that resembled a dungeon except that the bed was relatively nice. There was another bed next to his with someone, with isa!, in it. She was fast asleep. Before he could start to remember what had happened and wonder why and where he was, he noticed a woman sitting in a chair across the room. She looked like she had been staring at him for quite some time. She was dressed in a military uniform and her face was cold, no hint of emotion whatsoever. Seeing that he had noticed her, she jumped up and went straight to business.

“Good afternoon. I am Lithuania Starr, First Commander of the Foggistani Helo-Fleet. I saved you. Who are you and why are you here?”

With eyes rolling and head falling back to his pillow, winfry thought, “What a bitch!”

But we’re getting a little bit ahead of ourselves. There really is so much to tell of why winfry left nilbmah for LusciousLocks, of what on Coralende they are looking for and of how winfry can divine without a quilaire. But all that really is a long story and I’m tired. So it will all just have to wait. Sorry to disappoint.

The Communications Bay

His shoes just polished, his face clean-shaven, and his uniform freshly pressed, Peter Pidgeons walked into the Communications Bay of the Coralendian Helo-Fleet Headquarters. It was a large, circular room of a spruce and minimalist style. Its walls were lined with a series of large, liquid chromium display monitors, and in the center of the room was a white, circular holopad, intended for holographic projections.

Admiral Jagesic appeared in the holopad at precisely 0715 hours. “Captain,” said Jagesic, saluting Peter with a rigid nod. Peter nodded back, his eyes fixed on the Admiral’s holographic boots. He was uncomfortable with the title of Captain, acquired so recently and under such unfortunate circumstances. “Look me in the eyes son, your new rank demands it,” said Jagesic.

Peter looked up. “Admiral,” he said firmly.

“Good. You understand the circumstances that bring you here,” Peter nodded, “And you understand the weighty responsibility that is now upon your shoulders.”

“Yes sir,” Peter replied. It was the Admiral’s habit to speak in assertions. No assuming, no surmising—he spoke facts, and if he stated Peter had once seen a pig fly, then Peter would unwaveringly agree.

“It is a tragic loss—one that Foggistan does not take lightly. But we have all the reason to believe Lithuania and Marco are dead.” Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Jagesic anticipated him. “You wonder why we believe this? The latest confidential report indicates an absolute loss of communication upon entry into Luscious Locks, and satellite imagery shows a storm so sudden and violent, I doubt even Lithuania could’ve handled it.”

“Is a rescue team in place, sir?”

“No,” Jagesic snapped, his holographic form now pacing back and forth. “We have bigger fish to fry on Styx.”

“Sir?”

“You know we’ve suspected some presence there to be jamming our communications with Luscious Locks. Well, now that we are closer to the moon, even Officer Dameon is unable to read any signals off the planet’s surface.”

“Maia, sir? How is that possible?”

“If I knew, you’d know. As it stands, we will attempt no further ventures into Luscious Locks until this Styx matter has been cleared. We don’t know what sort of technology we’re up against.”

“Yes sir,” Peter assented. “Do you recommend any particular course of action for the Helo-Fleet sir?”

“Further ventures into Luscious Locks are banned. All other projects must continue as planned. I do, however, have a plan for you.”

Peter looked at Jagesic inquisitively. “Sir?”

“This project was originally intended for Lithuania, but given the circumstances… We have a program underway at our Physiological Engineering and Improvement Station (PENIS). This project, you are unaware of. You will be briefed by one of the program’s chief neuroscientists as soon as we finish speaking. Suffice to say, all trial runs have thus far proved successful.”

“What is the nature of the project, Admiral?”

“Human perception enhancement. It became top priority after communications with Luscious Locks fell through. Now with Styx, I’ve decided we are ready to begin enhancing our soldiers. Based on your feedback, we will then proceed to enhance our psychics. Having Maia and our best psychic officers incapable of sensing anything near Styx’s surface is intolerable.”

Peter nodded, not unperturbed by the notion of being the project’s first military subject. Jagesic apparently read Peter’s expression, and said, “Don’t worry son. You will be thoroughly briefed, and the enhancement is safe.” Jagesic’s paternal streak was both slight and rare, yet when exhibited, could prove remarkably comforting.

Peter smiled inwardly. Jagesic could not risk putting the Helo-Fleet’s captain through a dangerous procedure—not after the loss of Lithuania and Marco. He was still wondering what the purpose of beginning the trial with the Helo-Fleet rather than with the Psychics was, when Jagesic said loudly, “With Honor and Moral Character!” It was the official Foggistani farewell salute.

“With Honor and Moral Character, sir!” said Peter, returning the salute. And Jagesic’s hologram was gone.

Peter stood there a while, waiting to be briefed and thinking to himself. The cloud over Luscious Locks... the Psychics being stumped by the silence on Styx… Whatever Foggistan was up against, it was ominous, and powerful. But he would not shy away from what was to come. He had been trained as a soldier, as a pilot, but above all, as a Foggistani. He would embrace his post as Captain with purpose and resolve. Whatever was up ahead, he could handle it…

…so long as it didn’t affect the woman he loved.

The Expedition to Styx: Part 2

The bridge of the starship Platinum.

In part 1, the 12-ship Foggistani task force was moving into position around Corneria's moon of Styx, and the crew on the bridge of the starship Platinum was busy making preparations for the investigation of the moon's surface. Now, the ships are in position, but figuring out what is happening on the ground is more complicated than they had anticipated.

* * *

Cyril Zane, the commander of the Platinum, glanced at his watch. There were six minutes left until the first probe was due to reemerge from the atmosphere. It was an unconventional method of getting information on the surface of Styx, but very little was conventional about this expedition.

He replayed the conversation in his mind. "The ash clouds should be penetrable by close-range scans, but they just aren't getting through," the science officer had said. "The chemicals that could produce that effect shouldn't be in Styx's atmosphere."

Cyril had glanced at his Executive Officer, Ain Soll, before responding. "So it's definitely not a natural phenomenon?"

"No, it shouldn't be possible. Not based on our previous samples of the planet's composition."

"And how old is that data?"

"Nearly forty years. Not too long after we first came to this solar system. I suppose no one ever saw the need to go back to Styx."

"So do you think someone intentionally changed the atmosphere? To obscure what's happening on the moon?"

"I don't know what else it could be. What frightens me, though, is that the facilities and the energy you would need to produce that kind of effect can't be built overnight. Whoever is on that moon has been there for many, many years. Decades, even."

Everyone had paused for a moment, taking in the full significance of that idea. "So they'll be prepared for our arrival," said Ain. "The Admiral was right to insist on so many precautions." Admiral Jagesic was not one to intervene much in the responsibilities of his subordinates; he was reserved in the senior staff meetings, preferring to let others debate and guide the consensus, and tended to leave most of the decisions of running the fleet to other senior officers. For this operation, however, he had asserted his role as the commander of the fleet, being intensely concerned with the details, exhaustively questioning everyone and sometimes interrupting and taking control of meetings on strategy.

Admiral Jagesic is not relevant at the moment, Cyril thought, and refocused himself on the present. He had been chosen as one of the officers for the expeditionary fleet because of his experience as the manager of a dangerous mining operation--he understood people, he understood complex systems, and he knew how to react quickly to dangerous situations. At this moment, he felt the same sense of heightened awareness that he did when something was wrong in the mines, and he felt the same need to control the situation, ensure that everything that could go wrong was locked down. He pressed several buttons on the communicator interface on his sleeve, and after a few seconds, he heard a female voice in his ear. "Commander?"

This was Maia Dameon, the Platinum's chief psychic officer. She didn't work on the bridge; her "post" was floating inside a tank of water. It was supposed to minimize sensory input, so she could focus on stimuli outside the range of normal human perception. Cyril found that she often had something insightful to say in difficult situations--maybe all the time floating in the tank gave her time to think--and he wanted her opinion. "Hello, Maia. There's a lull in the action right now, and I wanted to hear your thoughts."

"My thoughts..." Maia was silent for a moment, and Cyril watched his surroundings. A communications officer across the bridge was speaking quickly with her counterpart on another ship. A nervous looking aide moved quickly with a set of computer printouts. Blue computer light bathed the metallic surfaces of the floors and consoles. "We still can't hear anything on the surface," Maia eventually said. "Not even faint traces of life. It's like a black hole, and it bothers me. I told you before that the people might just be too far away, too few, for us to feel them. Even with the psychic anchor." Maia was not the only psychic officer on the ship, merely the leader; with the psychic anchor, they could join their powers together to amplify them. "But now that we know someone is intentionally modifying the atmosphere, I feel more and more like the silence we hear is artificial."

"I thought obscuring psychic resonances was impossible."

"Well, no one has ever figured out how to do it. Theoretically, it might be possible... but it's far beyond our current level of knowledge."

Several links came together in Cyril's brain, and he didn't like what they implied.

"So not only are we dealing with people who have had a major operation on Styx for years before we got here, but they might even have technologies that are far ahead of Foggistani knowledge?"

"If they really are obscuring psychic resonances, then yes. That technology would be way beyond the reach of any of the known human civilizations. Now, I can't say anything for sure. Maybe our government has been conducting secret research and not telling anyone. Maybe the whole operation down there is robotic..."

But Maia didn't believe either of those things. Cyril could hear it in her voice. "Or maybe we're dealing with something we've never encountered before."

"Yes, maybe. Or maybe we just haven't met in a very, very long time."

At that moment, an aide came to command Cyril's attention. "Sir, you're requested at the communcations block--the probes are failing to respond properly."

"I have to go, Maia. Thanks for your assessment."

"Absolutely, sir."

"All right." Cyril clicked off the communicator link. "Thank you," he said to the aide, and moved over to the block of communications consoles. Ain Soll was looking over the shoulder of one of the comm officers, his brow furrowed and his expression concerned. "What's the situation?" asked Cyril.

"We're not seeing the probes on our screens," said Ain. "It's like they're coming back late. Don't know why. Thought you should know."

This new piece of information only added to Cyril's growing sense of danger.