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Altered Heading - Ch. 1 (Beta)
🕑 Added 2025-08-15 10:00:07 +0000 UTCAltered Heading
This is a science fiction story that may occasionally include erotic scenes.
Enjoy.
This is a Beta release, and is subject to change before final publication
Chapter 1 (Beta)
Silas scanned the battlefield in despair. The Stellar Imperium forces were everywhere, and he could see another drop ship descending through the sky to the south, bringing in even more reinforcements. The Gygaxxian Guard, the military forces of his home world, had been pushed back again and again, losing ground, until the remaining combat-effective units had gathered here, at the Rona River Valley, for a desperate stand, hoping to weather the offensive and push through it in a counter-offensive.
Silas could see no hope of that now. In his role as a perimeter scout, necessity compelled him to push far beyond the forward lines of engagement, probing for weak points which could be exploited. He had searched far and wide, finding none.
The Imperium forces were not as well equipped as those of the Guard. He knew that firsthand, having encountered small pockets of Imperium advance units probing the Gygaxxian perimeter. He had easily defeated groups that outnumbered him by twenty-to-one or more, his shields and powered armor protecting him from the brunt of their weapons, propelling him faster than they could react, and enabling him to deal swift, crippling blows to the invaders. However, each such encounter took its toll. Scouts were not equipped to sustain heavy combat, and every such encounter moved him closer to his final one.
His last engagement had left Silas’ weapons depleted. All projectiles had been expended, the charge on his beam rifle’s power pack was near zero, and he was out of thermal detonators. He had resorted to dual-wielding a pair of red-limned swords, the blades' edges made deadly by an energy sheath that stacked their molecular structure, making them honed such that they sliced through sheets of plazsteel like they were paper.
Scanning the battle lines, his heart sank. Better equipment could not defeat overwhelming numbers forever. Slowly, the Imperium was wearing them down. He watched hopelessly as a pocket of Guardsmen – warriors, by the look of their armor - were toppled one by one, each taking hundreds of Imperium troops with them as they went down, but the waves kept coming. Even with such lopsided casualties, attrition was taking its toll.
Silas’ observations were interrupted when a phalanx of Imperium troops burst through the jungle wall directly in front of him, lighting him up with a hammering attack of energy and kinetic weapons. The brutality of their attack registered immediately as his armor absorbed blow after blow, his shields' power cells having been depleted. Clenching his jaw, he lowered his head and charged directly into them, scattering Imperium troops by the dozen with each sweeping slice of his swords, only to have more surge into the fray, packing so tightly against him that he struggled to move. He could not maintain this pace, however, as his power modules, both for his armor and his swords, were being rapidly depleted. Without the power to their blades, his swords were oversized butterknives.
All too soon, he was out of options. Munitions spent, batteries dead, swords all but useless, he opted for the no-win solution. A quick verbal order sealed all external access panels on his armor, then he gave the command to eject the power core. This should have caused a disastrous feedback, resulting in a thermonuclear blast, small in yield, yet sufficient to wipe out all the nearby Imperium forces. Silas would die, but he’d take all of their sorry asses with him!
Nothing happened. His suit, power depleted, no longer accepted his commands. Clinging arms of enemy soldiers tore at him from all sides, pulling him off balance. An alarm started to pulse in his ear as he felt himself falling over onto his back, struggling to make anything work. Thrashing around desperately for any option.
****
The repetitive beeping of the alarm finally pierced his nightmare, dragging Silas back to wakefulness. Blinking sweat from his vision, he swept a trembling hand across his slick brow, scrubbing the grit from his eyes.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” a soft voice pierced his confusion. “I was afraid I was going to have to give you a jolt to get your attention.”
“Mmmwhadds happennnin?” he slurred, still struggling to clear his head.
“We are approaching the rendezvous point,” the voice replied calmly, oddly soothing him, which helped to clear his confused thoughts. The dreams often took hold of him, taking him back many ages to a battle he wished he could forget.
“Understood,” Silas replied more clearly, snapping out of his delirium. “How long until the resupply ship arrives?” he asked, sitting up straight in his flight chair.
“I am detecting the resupply ship on the outer edge of sensor range. I estimate two hours until they are alongside,” the female voice in his head informed him. “This would probably be a good time to go grab a shower,” she suggested.
Nodding his head absently, Silas unstrapped his acceleration restraints and stood from his pilot’s seat, moving toward the rear of the flight deck. “Hold my calls, Luma. I’m gonna go clean up.”
“Of course, Silas. That’s a marvelous idea,” the voice agreed sardonically.
Silas shook his head in bemusement. One of the perks – he nearly sneered at the word - of serving as a Warden for the Stellar Imperium was the Synaptic Sentient Interface they’d bestowed upon him. His SSI was a constant companion, if only in his thoughts. Luma helped keep him sane during the lonely parts of his job, when he was surveilling alien worlds, sometimes having to avoid any contact with the natives, forcing him to go for long stretches without interacting with another person.
“You need to step up your pace if you’re going to complete your assessment of planet Delta-Echo-Foxtrot-44,” she reminded him, prodding him to quickly complete his hygiene tasks and return to the flight deck.
Settling back into his seat, he swept his hands across the console, bringing up various images he’d captured during his recent stay on DEF-44, known to the locals as Untala. Their technological advances had gotten them, as a people, very near the threshold that would merit an incursion by the Imperium. However, their culture had begun to collapse, following a pattern of degeneration, a symptom not uncommon among most species he’d encountered.
Science and technology eventually push past the barriers typically imposed by religion, enabling cultures to accomplish wondrous and dangerous feats. However, entropy is relentless, and it is usually at that same time when most cultures are in the greatest danger. Strife between tribal communities, coupled with moral decay, leads to global conflicts, involving weapons of mass destruction, resulting in a global setback – sometimes one that spans many Continua, sometimes one that results in the death of the planet – at least as far as that species is concerned.
In other scenarios, cultural decay leads to division and strife, and the wasting of resources and talent which could have carried the populace to the stars, but instead mired them in a battle for how to best waste what few and diminishing resources remain, until eventually the species starves itself out.
Silas had observed similar results more than once in the Ages that he had served as a Warden. So far, only three planets had risen to the point of becoming interesting to the Imperium. He did not know what had become of them, having had them removed from his area of responsibility, but he suspected they suffered a fate similar to that of his native world.
“You really should avoid such negative thoughts, Silas,” Luma reminded him. “You know they do you no good, and your life is much better now than it might have been, had your planet gone the way so many others have.”
“Of course, Luma,” he replied automatically. “Thank you for your positive guidance.”
It did him no good to pursue his private thoughts deeper. She was keeping watch on him, and he risked her reporting him to the Imperium for reeducation and probable reassignment if he dwelt on ‘what-ifs’ for too long.
Wrapping up his conclusions about Delta-Echo-Foxtrot-44, he entered his findings into the official record. Luma attested to the veracity of his report, and the findings were transmitted to Central Command.
His immediate task complete, Silas sat back, awaiting his next assignment as the replenishment ship arrived. Tiny pulses of plasma were emitted from various nodules dotting the hull of the newly arrived vessel as it maneuvered alongside his craft, a transfer gantry extending to mate up with his starboard docking port.
As soon as the two ships were securely coupled, service droids got to work transporting supplies to his ship’s cargo hold. A vidscreen above his console flickered, and Silas was presented with the grimacing features of Torman Shudd, the pilot-captain of the supply ship, Coriolis.
“Silas, you scrag, you look like drek!” Torman’s gravelly voice screeched across the channel, sending shudders of revulsion up Silas’s spine. “Who’s Command got you peeping on next? A real up-n-comer, or some never-gonna-make-it?”
“You know I can’t tell you, Torman,” Silas replied in an exasperated tone. “I don’t know why you always ask. It’s as useless as me wondering if you know how many kids you’ve fathered.”
Torman gave a hearty belly laugh at the rebuff, his features jiggling in disturbing ways. “Well, at least women will have me!”
“For the right price, no doubt,” Silas shot back, leaning into their familiar routine.
“Of course!” Torman conceded, before he added, “But that’s because I don’t have that little thingamabob you’re packing to zip-zap their memory!” The fat man gave a leer at the camera, moving his tongue over his lips in a disgusting display. “I mean, there’s no telling how many primitives you’ve hooked up with, only for them to wonder twenty cycles later why they have such an ugly baby, hahahah!”
Silas stifled the revulsion the other captain generated, instead shrugging casually, replying calmly, “I suppose we’ll never know.” Subconsciously, he patted the zippered pocket on his left forearm that held his neuralizer. In reality, he’d not needed to use the device more than a few times, but each time, the device had blanked the targets’ memories for a pulse, giving him enough time to remove himself from a tricky situation.
Checking his instruments, Silas noted that the droids had completed their resupply tasks. His reserves were all topped off, and he was once again ready to continue onward to his next mission. Checking his comms queue, he saw that Central Command had released his next set of orders. He also had several personal communications, but those he could read once he’d entered the coordinates for his next destination.
Looking up at the vidscreen, he mock-saluted Torman. “My orders are in, so if we’re all done here…”
Glancing at another screen, he could see that the droids had left, and the docking gantry was being withdrawn, folding back into the fat man’s resupply ship.
“One of these times, Silas, you should treat me to a sampling of local cuisine from one of your worlds,” Torman chuckled, a rare moment where his guard was lowered. “I think our hard work deserves the occasional perk.”
“I’ll see if I can’t come up with something next time,” Silas acknowledged, opening the mission specs and transferring coordinates to the Nav System. “Until then…”
“Until then,” Torman repeated, then the signal was cut, and Silas’ screen showed the resupply vessel moving away from his ship, then turning to head toward its next rendezvous.
Looking down at his console, Silas took note of the target destination he’d been directed to. Interesting, he thought to himself. This one’s out on the rim.
Silas had not before been assigned a planet out on the rim of the region under the Imperium’s influence. He suddenly found himself a bit more interested in this mission, as it could lead to unexpected opportunities.
“Silas,” Luma’s voice cut across his thoughts, “perhaps you could plan your escape after you engage propulsion?”
As always, instead of chastising Silas for having negative thoughts, Luma instead sought a peaceful compromise, permitting the man his fantasies while encouraging him to do his job in the meantime.
“Thank you, Luma,” he addressed her aloud as he engaged the helm, setting the ship into motion. “What would I do without you?”
“The same thing you do with me, I suppose,” she answered wistfully, “just more slowly.”
Ouch. Sometimes, she played a bit rough.
Ahead of the ship, space distorted visibly, and a slip-gate spiraled open, allowing his ship to seamlessly transition from normal space into a hyper-reality that existed outside of space-time. Executing a series of complex maneuvers, his ship piloted itself through the torturous existence that the human mind could barely register, let alone comprehend, navigating toward its destination with no further input required from the pilot.
Checking his instruments, Silas noted that the transit through slipspace would continue for another span, giving him plenty of time to grab some food. Unstrapping from his seat, he easily made his way off the flight deck, moving aft to the rudimentary galley to fix himself a meal.
He mused at the ship’s chronometer as he entered the galley, its reading unperturbed by his ship’s transition from normal space to slipspace, silently tracking the passage of time, based on the galactic time signal it received from the chrononet. The numbers on the far left may as well have been painted on, as they would not move in his lifetime. As it was, they abstractly measured the current time, meaningless if one were planetside, but necessary to coordinate activities on a galactic scale.
Silas had learned during his training that ancient humanity had come up with what was now a universally adopted system of timekeeping. It was based on the half-life of Isolon-377, a naturally occurring element discovered in the core matter of comets. Isolon-377 was found to have a perfectly stable half-life under quantum vacuum conditions of 1.184 seconds (Old Earth Time). Thus, the system began with the Tick (about 1.184 seconds), and progressed to the Pulse, which was 100 Ticks (~2 minutes OET), then the Span (100 Pulses, or ~3.3 hours OET), the Cycle (100 Spans or ~13.8 days OET), the Age (100 Cycles or ~3.8 years OET) followed by the Epoch (100 Ages or ~381 years OET), and finally the Continuum (100 Epochs, ~38,100 years OET).
The chronometer on the galley wall displayed 05:42:67:13:96:46. Thus, the reading indicated they were in the 5th Continuum, 42nd Epoch, 67th age, 13th cycle, 96th span, and now the 46th pulse, or very nearly 192,356 years since Galactic Time began being tracked. So easy a child could suss it out.
The chronobuoys were an ancient technological marvel that existed long before the formation of the Imperium. Despite the varying diurnal, seasonal, and annual cycles across different planets, all systems in the Imperium adopted Galactic Standard Time. Standardized timekeeping became crucial during the early days of deep space travel in the Epoch of Expansion and remains essential today. Chronobuoys played a key role in keeping all chronometers synchronized, as they were interconnected to the master time source through quantum entanglement, allowing them to accurately relay the master time signal across the Imperium with absolutely zero temporal drift.
Silas had noted earlier that his orders included the task of deploying a chronobuoy upon arrival in the target system. The chronobuoys themselves were an ancient technological wonder that had been in existence long before the Imperium had come into being. They were built to be extremely rugged and had a nearly inexhaustible power supply, meaning that none had been installed there before, or a replacement was needed. The latter option intrigued him because if one had failed, it was likely not due to an expired power supply or simple collision with space debris.
****
The Rona River transitioned smoothly back into normal space, the wildly swirling kaleidoscope of stars outside the ship quickly returning to normal. Ahead, a planet could be seen, its primary slowly peeking out from behind it, its only moon hovering off to the right. A graphical overlay projected on the vidscreen, showing Silas where the chronobuoy needed to be dropped off, and he made the necessary adjustments on his console to direct his ship along the requisite course.
The launch of the buoy was completed by the ship's automated systems, and the Rona River was soon on a heading to enter a high orbit about the planet, identified as ZZQ-1271. He wondered what the locals called their bitty rock. He would likely find out soon enough.
Silas’ ship was not pretty, or sleek, or fast. It was designated as a JT-636 class scout ship, but Silas was sentimental and had christened his vessel with the name of the final battle for Gygaxx. It was really two vessels in one. The crewed portion of the ship contained the bridge, galley, sleeping quarters, and a utility space, mostly used as a serviceable fitness area. This portion of the ship was capable of both space flight as well as operation within a planetary atmosphere. The other portion of the ship – the larger portion by far – contained extended stores, as well as the slipspace engines.
Silas and Luma played a little sing-song game for the next hour as he ran through the parking orbit protocol, followed by the ship’s undocking protocol, whereby he separated the part of the Rona River capable of operating within a planet’s atmosphere, the part he nicknamed the Little River. The greater part of the craft would remain behind, safely tucked into an orbit that used the planet’s natural satellite to shield it from detection.
As soon as the Little River had split away from the bulkier propulsion block, Silas quieted down, becoming more focused on ensuring his approach to ZZQ-1271 was undetected by any planetary or orbiting observation platforms.
He spied several of what appeared to be crude visual or radar-based platforms, but all appeared to be focused on distances well beyond the local space, so he simply avoided those. He did not detect any weapon platforms or other planetary defense systems along his approach, but he maintained a watchful eye nonetheless.
As he crossed the demark, into the umbra of the planet, he wondered at the clusters of tiny pinpoints of lights scattered across the land masses below. He never tired of this peaceful image of a new planet. There was no noise. No senseless jabbering of too many beings pressed into too confined an area. Only the peaceful quiet of space, and the beauty of the lights below, mixed with the occasional aurora on display.
Silas orbited the planet for the greater part of a day. He carefully gathered as much information as he could about where the population centers were, where he might be able to set down and conceal his craft, yet still be within easy travel distance from a population center. Finally, confident in his selection of a primary landing spot, he began the procedure for atmospheric descent.
Breaking thrusters fired, and the Little River dipped lower, then lower still, until her shields began to glow. Silas slowed her speed, using advanced thrusters and antigrav propulsion to minimize the blaze his ship gave off as she entered the denser band of the planet’s atmosphere.
Finally, the Little River transitioned to atmospheric flight mode, coasting along at just under the speed of sound as she passed through heavy banks of clouds. The lightning flashes were particularly beautiful to Silas, reminding him of the giant thunderheads on his home world of Gygaxx.
Eventually, he drew near to the site he had selected to land. It was rugged terrain, perhaps fifty kilometers or so beyond the nearest population center. He could easily conceal the Little River and then take a small hover sled to the nearby community, then transition to foot travel once there to better blend in.
Luma had carefully analyzed available public communications to ascertain whether his physical form would draw attention. Fortunately, his physiology was within the range of physical parameters common among the locals. A minor adjustment to his wardrobe, including the addition of a hooded overshirt or a cap to conceal the cranial differences, would suffice to allow him to pass unnoticed among the local population. And, as a last resort, if everything went to shit, he had personal camouflage screens capable of concealing him from detection in the visible spectrum. If things somehow got kinetic, he wore quick-on personal defensive shields, capable of warding him from most small projectiles or energy weapons. For self-defense, Wardens were authorized to carry a stun weapon. Knowing that sometimes shit happens, Silas also carried his swords. Swords that were outlawed, declared contraband by the Imperium, but he’d be damned if he didn’t carry them anyway.
Just in case.
As he powered down the Little River, Luma gave him an update on the local weather, which helped him to pack the correct types of outerwear in his travel pack. His gear also included replicated items that would enable him to function within the nearby culturesphere for long enough to allow him to determine the nature of this society as a whole. Sundry things like a payment card with unlimited digital resources, and his scanning and recording devices were now mocked up to resemble a popular personal data appliance.
As a Warden, it was his responsibility to assess the planet, its people, and its culture. His task, to evaluate and make the call. Was the culture still progressing toward becoming a starfaring world? If so, a more detailed analysis would be needed to correctly determine how and when the Imperium would need to deal with them before they become a threat. On the other hand, he might find that this world had succumbed to one of the more common setbacks, his findings removing them from the galactic gameboard. Optionally, his findings could be indeterminate, requiring follow-up in a ten-age or so.
Soon, his gear was packed, and he began a final checklist, glancing quickly over at his ship where it sat carefully concealed beneath a camouflage drape. With his weapons hidden beneath a simple cloak, his items secured within a pack slung across his back, and the ship rendered inert, emitting no power signature whatsoever, Silas deemed himself ready.
Luma concurred, albeit adding a snarky warning about his swords. She knew he always brought them along, but still felt the need to remind him that merely possessing them was a serious infraction. Still, she’d not yet reported him for this transgression. Without a look back, he set off in the darkness, heading toward the distant glow of artificial lights on the horizon.
Luma kept him on course, displaying a minimal but helpful overlay on his vision. When he scanned the landscape during his trip, tiny displays would give him insight into various flora and fauna he passed, and whether or not they represented any potential threats.
Perhaps twenty ticks before dawn, he arrived at the outskirts of the city. Silas saw little activity during that pre-dawn time. The locals must still be asleep, he surmised. Dismounting from his hover sled, he deactivated it, then compressed and stowed it in his pack.
He’d followed this routine dozens of times before. Always the same approach. Seek out a quiet little establishment that serves food. Establish himself there. Observe. Gather information from the local outlets, including print, broadcast, and gossip. The sources of information should be varied in order to eliminate bias and gather the best overall results possible.
It did not take Silas long to locate the weathered little diner at the edge of the sleepy community. Luma had been coaching him all night during his journey into town on the local dialect, and his first foray into the diner would let him put his skills to the test.
Chrome stools lined the bar, and flickering neon lights buzzed on the wall behind. Small booths lined a wall with a large window overlooking a bustling sidewalk, and Silas selected a booth at the far end from the door, although he’d spied a back door just past the bar. It would be close enough in a pinch, he thought as he slid into his seat, checking to make sure his cap was in place.
A tired-looking waitress approached, placing a menu in front of him on the table. “Can I get you a coffee, hun?”
Making a show of clearing his throat, Silas simply nodded in response, croaking out, “Water, too, please.”
“You got it,” she quipped, spinning on her heel and heading to the far end of the bar.
Scanning the menu, he tried to make sense of the various food combinations.
“You should ask her for the special,” Luma suggested.
The waitress returned with a steaming cup of coffee, a carriage with sweeteners and creamers, and a glass of iced water. “How about something to eat, darlin’?” she solicited, holding a pen to her tattered pad.
“What’s the special?” he asked, earning him a chuckle from Luma.
“Today, we’ve got a two-egg omelet with bacon, sausage, and cheese. Comes with hash browns and toast,” the woman rattled off.
“Sounds perfect,” Silas replied, handing her the menu.
“You got it,” came her response, and again she was gone.
“That was easy enough,” Luma said. “Now, if you slide out the tablet in your pack, I’ll help you connect to the local news feeds. If the waitress or anyone asks, just tell her you’re a novelist, searching for inspiration for your next project. That should keep you from drawing too much attention while you sit here.”
“I know the role, Luma,” he scolded her. This was not his first time doing such a task, after all.
Removing the tablet from his pack, he studied its slightly altered appearance. It would easily pass as a popular device from this culture, but the result no longer had the sleek lines he preferred. Shrugging, he tapped the screen to bring it to life, going through the steps to connect to the local data network. With minimal effort, he was soon scrolling through popular news feeds, examining the headlines.
“Don’t forget to drink your coffee,” Luma reminded him. “Lynn will expect you to need an occasional refill.”
“Lynn?” he questioned, as the waitress reappeared with a plate laden with food. Noticing her nametag, he understood.
“Thank you, Lynn. This smells delicious.”
“No problem….” She looked expectantly at him.
“She wants to know your name,” Luma supplied helpfully.
“I’m Silas,” he stammered quickly. “Silas Roet. That’s R-O-E-T, the T’s silent.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Silas Roet, with the silent T,” she responded with a warm smile. “What brings you to Flankston?”
“I’m just taking in the local culture,” he explained. “I’m a writer, and I’m looking for inspiration for my next novel.”
“Oh, that sounds fascinating,” she assured him. “Although I’m not sure how inspiring Flankston can be, let alone this old diner.”
“You never know,” he commented mysteriously, adding a grin that disarmed her.
“Well, you let me know when you need a refill, you hear?” she instructed him as she headed off to service another customer.
“That was well done,” Luma assured him, attempting to bolster his confidence.
“Told you I’m not new at this,” he reminded her.
Setting his tablet aside, he noticed a large vidscreen on the wall opposite the bar that appeared to be broadcasting local news. Quietly watching the broadcast, he let Luma enhance the audio for him as he devoured his meal. The flavor and smell were excellent, especially compared to the rations the Imperium provided him on board the River.
Somewhat distracted by the food, he was only peripherally aware of the information being disseminated. Fortunately, Luma could help him by replaying important clips, allowing him to begin to form a picture of the trajectory of this world. Still, he would need a larger sample interval to derive an informed conclusion.
Finishing his food, he pushed his plate aside and requested a refill of his coffee and water. When Lynn returned with a hot pot of coffee, he solicited information from her. “Lynn, I’ll need a place to stay for a few days while I’m in town. Is there any place you’d care to recommend?”
Putting the tip of her pen into her mouth, Lynn appeared to think about the question for a moment, allowing Silas to examine her more closely. She was an attractive specimen, being slightly above the average height of the female passersby he’d observed out front through the large window. He couldn’t help but notice her mammary glands were of a healthy size, and her hips suggested ease in future childbearing. The wavey locks of hair adorning her head were of a honey golden hue, framing a classically attractive oval-shaped face with a nose that was slim and straight, neatly maintained eyebrows, and large, golden-brown eyes.
His observations were interrupted when she cleared her throat slightly before answering his question. “Well, there’s a bed and breakfast a few blocks away, but Missus Malone isn’t too keen on lone gentlemen guests. The next best option would be a hotel one block west of here. Old man Winters would be glad for the business, and he’ll treat you right, especially if you mention I sent you his way.”
“Hotel. One block west. Old man Winters. Got it,” he repeated, smiling disarmingly. “Thank you, Lynn. I’ll head over there after lunch.”
Raising an eyebrow, she nodded, then turned to fetch him a refill.
As she walked away, he couldn’t help but watch the sway of her hips as she departed. She’d not gone more than a half-dozen steps when she briefly looked back, a knowing smile on her lips.
“Busted,” Luma stated, startling Silas.
“I doubt it,” he argued, denying the obvious just to be contrary. “Besides, I’m simply observing her… social mannerisms.”
“Uh huh,” the voice in his head responded, a hint of sarcasm in her tone. “Well, judging by your heart rate and your endocrine secretions, you might want to try being more subtle from now on, lest you become… distracted. Like last time.”
“Okay,” he began to protest. “That was a one-time thing. I’m not that guy!”
Silas could practically feel Luma’s eyes roll. He snickered slightly at the mental image, then got back to work, scanning his tablet for more news feeds.
****
Sometime after lunch, Silas paid his tab at the diner, adding a hefty gratuity to offset the fact that he’d occupied a booth for several hours, then made his way one block west. Spying the hotel, he approached it and observed the neon sign indicating that the establishment had rooms available. Entering, he approached the desk and rang the tiny bell.
After a moment, he heard shuffling steps approaching from beyond a doorway, and an elderly man walked slowly through the door, stepping to the desk and squinting up at Silas. “How can I help you, son?” he asked in an overly loud voice.
Smiling slightly at the stereotypical nature of this experience, Silas leaned close and spoke loudly and clearly, “Lynn at the diner told me you ran a clean place. I’d like to rent a room for a few days.”
Old man Winters broke into a wide, gap-toothed grin, shaking his head slightly. “That gal’s always looking out for folks, bless her heart. Of course, I do run a clean place. And I can rent you a room by the day, but if you’re staying for a spell, it might be cheaper on your wallet to rent it by the week. It’s forty-five a night, or two hundred for a week. Up to you.”
Silas pretended to consider the matter for a moment, then reached into his pack, withdrawing a slim, rectangular piece of plaz. “Do you take these?” he asked.
Pointing to a tiny digital interface to Silas’ left, Mr. Winters nodded, “Just tap it on the screen, then follow the instructions.”
Easy enough. Silas did as he’d been told, not surprised that the card worked, given that it was filled with tiny quantum arrays designed to deceive such primitive payment systems. He prepaid for a week.
As soon as the payment was processed, Mr. Winters tapped the keys on his old computer, squinting slightly through his readers as he scanned the screen. “Since you’re staying all week, I’ll put you in a room with a refrigeration unit and a reheating unit. That way, you can bring in food and beverages as you like.”
Handing Silas a plastic fob, he told him the room number and directed him to the lift.
****
At the end of the week, Silas was nearing his conclusion, having gathered the evidence he needed to make a logical decision. He reviewed his notes with care.
From the newsfeeds, he’d seen evidence of local discord, as demonstrated when a local school board meeting had erupted in violence over the use of AI in classrooms. Some called it progress, others manipulation. Then there was the footage of a test launch from a spaceport. It was celebrated by dreamers while at the same time mocked by skeptics. That story was followed by footage of violent protests in megacities over wealth inequity and digital citizenship. He’d been inspired by one story involving a young girl who’d won a bioengineering competition with a virus-neutralizing algae strain. He could still envision her hopeful eyes in her interview.
Then, there was the local rhythm. Around him in the diner, he overheard snippets of conversations which revealed all too familiar tensions. “Used to be you could trust a handshake. Now I need retinal confirmation.” “My son applied for the space program. I told him, planet-hop all you want, but don’t forget where you’re from!” “I swear, they must pump sedatives into the city’s water. Nobody questions anything anymore!”
Fragments become data points. Hope, fear, resilience, paranoia. He could feel history pivoting over his toast and coffee.
Silas began to formulate possibilities.
Trajectory Model Alpha: Starfaring emergence is possible in less than three ages if creative tension is nurtured.
Trajectory Model Omega: Societal entropy is accelerating; factions fracturing under economic, political, and cultural pressures. Decay ensues.
Silas wondered, not for the first time, whether chaos is the birthplace of ascension, or entropy’s final sigh?
Lynn interrupted his contemplations as she brought him another refill. He realized that she’s been doing so for the past two days without him asking. This time, she paused, pre-verbal tension clear on her face. He raised his eyebrow, silently encouraging her to speak.
“Silas,” she began tentatively, “I can’t help but notice that you don’t seem to be working on your book. Are you really waiting on inspiration, or something else?”
He sighed, shaking his head. “These things can take time. It’s a process I’ve become all too familiar with, I’m afraid.” Not exactly a lie, he told himself.
“A lie that parallels the truth is a strategic ambiguity,” Luma offered. “Consider it nothing more than a constructive deception. What good would it do her if she knew the truth?”
“I’m sure I’ll achieve my goals soon,” he assured Lynn, silently ignoring Luma. “How about you? You haven’t told me anything about yourself. What’s your story?”
Surprised by his question, Lynn pursed her lips as she considered her response. “Well, I’m nearly finished working my way through my doctorate program,” she began, her expression brightening. “I’ve always dreamt of studying planetary ecology. I would have finished earlier in my life, but things got a bit derailed when my dad had a stroke.”
Lynn went on to share little details with him, telling him how she calls the stars ‘those gossiping lights’, accusing them of always watching, but never helping. Silas listened to her in fascination, distracted for the moment from his dour task. After a while, he had an epiphany.
He asked her, “What makes you believe people are ready to go to the stars?”
He watches her closely as she considers his question, her brow furrowed in concentration. Just as she’s about to answer, a nearby customer calls out to her for assistance. Giving Silas an apologetic smile, she turned and rushed off to assist her other customers.
Her duties keep her away for several pulses, giving Silas time to reflect on his own thoughts. As he pondered her possible response to his question, he caught himself thinking about her scent. He realizes that she’s altered it since the first day he met her, changing to a more engaging aroma. Is she expressing some interest in me?
“You need to remain focused, Silas,” Luma admonished him. “Your task here is nearly complete, and we both agreed after the last time that… dalliances… with the natives are bad for your emotional state.”
Silas clenched his jaw, taking a moment to count to a very high prime number as he fought not to tell Luma to fuck the hell off. He knew such a conversation would be worse than useless, as the SSI could easily report his behavior to Central Command, and his Warden assignment could be terminated, replaced by something far worse.
“Luma, dear,” he began, attempting a different line of reasoning, “are you able to physically stimulate me? To engage in physical intercourse with me? To just give me a simple hug?”
“You know the answer, Silas,” Luma pouted petulantly.
“Well, from time to time, this job kinda depresses me, and I need the emotional support that only a physical relationship can give me. Can you at least try to understand that?”
“I do understand, Silas. I’m sorry, I am unable to accommodate your needs better.”
“I’m back!” Lynn startled him as she bounced to a stop at his table. “Now, where were we? Oh yes! I think we’re ready for the stars, but not because we have the technology, and not because we have the knowledge, but because we have the courage to do it. To leave, and not know what’s out there, or if we’ll ever make it back home.”
Silas smiled at her response. It was not what he’d expected, making it a pleasant surprise.
After Lynn returned to assisting her other customers, Silas contemplated her answer. He also considered his question. Never before had he simply asked anyone from the worlds he had studied such a question. In retrospect, he considered that a potentially serious miss on his part.
‘Why?’ was often the most difficult of questions, as it involved emotional motivations, which originated from a part of the brain that often had no link to language skills. Among nearly all the variations of humanoids he’d encountered in his role as a Warden, Silas had come to understand that to be one of the common denominators.
It was easy for almost all of them to describe ‘what?’. Most even gleaned sufficient understanding to address ‘how?’. But ‘why?’ left many reaching for the right words, and usually failing. Only the most insightful managed to bridge that gap.
Once more, Silas found himself reevaluating his waitress. Did she represent a rare breed among her people, or was she among the majority in this facet? That could easily shift his analysis. He needed to probe this matter more.
“Hey Silas, where do you go when you leave here?” Lynn’s question interrupted his contemplation. Blinking to clear his thoughts and prepare some sort of response, he turned to look up at her, noticing that she seemed to be standing fractionally closer than normal. He inhaled briefly, taking in her scent anew, luxuriating in it for a fraction of a tick before he shrugged.
“Sometimes I wander around for a bit, but most nights I go back to my hotel,” he answered her truthfully.
“Well, my shift ends soon,” she said in an odd tone. “Would you like to go for a walk with me after I get off work?”
Silas maintained a calm demeanor as he appeared to consider her offer. The odds were highly favorable that joining her in a walk would lead to a coupling, and he was certainly open to that possibility. However, his new line of questioning meant that he was not quite done yet with his analysis. Did he dare risk allowing her to discover his true nature? His subtle, yet obvious differences from others of her kind? How would she respond?
“You need to answer her, Silas,” Luma nudged him, surprising him that she wasn’t demanding he decline. “She’s beginning to doubt your interest.”
“A walk sounds delightful,” he finally replied. “Perhaps you could show me areas I’ve not yet discovered, or alternately, some that I have, but with a fresh perspective.”
Lynn’s expression brightened considerably. With a slight bounce to her step, which translated to a nice jiggle in her bosom, she let out a little giggle, then said, “Well, alright then. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Turning, she went back to her other tasks. Did he imagine it, or did her hips sway slightly more than before?
“Silas,” Luma tore him from ogling Lynn’s backside. “You need to consider your actions with care. If you decide to take your walk with Lynn to a more physical interaction, this may require you to neuralize her, or possibly to depart this area precipitously. Unless you have reached your conclusion?”
“You know that I have some doubts remaining,” Silas grumbled, knowing that Luma was not wrong. “I will endeavor to keep things limited, so as not to expose my true form to her. That should buy me at least another few spans to finish my analysis.”
He stewed in his thoughts for a pulse or two before adding, “But after I finish, I will have her if she’s still interested.”
“Naturally,” Luma replied. “That’s all I ask.”
Grunting, Silas reflected for a moment. His SSI was evolving. That much seemed certain. Not only had she not reported his possession of contraband, but she was actually starting to assist him in his prospective ‘dalliance’. Who’d have thought it possible?
Inside his head, he felt her smile.
****
The weather around Flankston was like many other desert towns Silas had visited on other worlds. Dry winds during the day turned to chilling breezes at night. Storms could often be seen brewing in the distance, with their impressive lightning displays, but rain always seemed to avoid Flankston.
The walk with Lynn was pleasant enough. They had stopped by his room so he could grab a light jacket. Lynn pulled a compact bundle from her handbag, which expanded to reveal a remarkably warm, yet lightweight, thermal shell, which she slipped on over her dress. She had changed from her pumps to more comfortable walking shoes before they had left the diner.
Prepared for an evening in the desert town, Lynn led Silas through areas of Flankston that he’d not yet explored. Some were festive and lively, with the hustle and bustle of evening activities, and others were more sedate, with families going about their business, and the occasional sounds of children at play.
The conversation wandered, with Lynn doing much of the talking. She told him of her childhood, of her interest in life beyond their little planet, which he learned in passing was known commonly as Tynaria. He spoke little, preferring to listen to her rather than to attempt to fabricate a personal history that she might see through.
Eventually, however, she pressed him for some – any – personal details.
“Well,” he pretended to think deeply before he continued, “you already know that I am a writer. That makes me, by necessity, an observer. Not only of people, but of everyday events. I spend much of my time looking for patterns within the tapestry of life, seeking deeper insights into how people think, and how that thinking might manifest into action.”
None of this was a lie, and it seemed to mollify Lynn’s curiosity for the moment. Still, Silas chided himself for how unprepared he was when she stopped, turned to face him, and draped her arms around his neck, looking him in the eyes.
“Tell me of your home world, Silas,” she pressed casually, disguising her ploy with physical distraction.
“You should consider neuralizing her,” Luma prompted him.
Hush! She’s either joking, fishing, or she’s already on to me, and the neuralizer won’t help at this point.
“W-what?” he stammered lamely, playing for time. “I’m from here. A long way away, perhaps, but I grew up down south, in a river valley.”
“Oh yes?” she challenged, one corner of her mouth curling into a knowing smile, but no trace of anger or agitation in her eyes. “In which province? What was the name of the river? Where did you go to school? What were your parents’ names? Who was the Premier when you were growing up?” Her rapid-fire questions had overwhelmed any subterfuge he might have otherwise attempted. “I can go on, if you like, Silas. Or, we can get to the part where you tell me who you really are, and why you’re here, on my little world, in my little town.”
Silas opened his mouth and shut it several times, finding himself flustered by her interrogation-like approach, while at the same time very attracted to this obviously intelligent woman. He had to tell her something, and didn’t want to lie, but he could not possibly tell her the truth.
“Constructive deception, Silas,” Luma reminded him.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he decided to tell her a truth. “I did grow up in a river valley, far from here. The stars at night look different there, and the people use different words, sound different than the folks here in Flankston.” That was truthful, he thought. “I served in our military and was injured in combat. Perhaps my scars,” he gestured mutely toward his head, “led you to conclude I am something that I am not.”
Reaching her hand up to gently brush aside his hat, she ran her fingers through his hair, feeling the ridges along his brow line. “These are not scars,” she sighed, smoothing his hair before replacing his hat. “But I believe the people where you’re from sound different.” Looking up at the cloudless sky, she asked, “Can you show me which one you’re from?”
Silas’s mind raced. He could neuralize her, then slip away to his ship and be gone. He could always file an indeterminate finding, which would buy this world another few ages before he, or another warden, would return to complete the assessment. Or, he could relocate – start again elsewhere. Whatever he was going to do, it had to be now, and in any event, he needed to deal with this bright, intuitive, beautiful woman.
He misdirected her, nodding his head upward to get her to keep her gaze directed upward, as he reached for the zippered pouch on his left sleeve. Just as he began to unzip the pouch, he noticed a fiery glow reflecting in her eyes, and then her face began to reflect it as well.
When she gasped aloud, his eyes snapped up to scan the skies. Off to the west, the storm clouds on the horizon glowed with an unnatural light, turning the dark blue-gray masses to a yellow-orange, with shadows dancing as whatever was causing the glow moved downward, through their layers.
Luma, what’s happening? What the fuck is that?
“I am detecting multiple objects falling through the planetary atmosphere,” she informed him. “I’m sorry, Silas, but I cannot give you more information without linking to the Little River’s sensors, and we shut her down.”
Can you initiate a remote restart?
“Silas, what’s that? Are those fireballs from the sky?” Lynn asked him in a quavering voice, visibly frightened.
“I’m afraid there’s a great deal of atmospheric interference preventing me from reaching the ship, Silas. We need to go. Now.” Luma replied.
Fuck. He could neuralize Lynn and leave, but what if this was something bad? It wouldn’t hurt to keep her with him, at least until he’d determined the threat level of what he was seeing. “I’m not sure what we’re looking at, Lynn. But I think I might be able to get a closer look. Do you have a pod?” Pods were the local means of individual transportation, but Silas had observed that only a few of the locals seemed to own or use them.
“My father had one, but it’s malfunctioning, and I haven’t been able to afford the repairs,” she mumbled matter-of-factly, not taking her eyes off the sky.
Fireballs falling from orbit were now more visible, as they were nearer, no longer concealed by the clouds. There were hundreds of them. Perhaps thousands. And they kept coming.
Silas knew time was precious. Making a quick decision, he opened his pack, pulling out his hoversled, allowing it to expand and float gently beside them. Grabbing the steering yoke, he stepped aboard the sled, beckoning Lynn to join him. “Here, climb up behind me, and hold on tight.”
Lynn looked down in wonder at his sled, then gulped and stepped up onto the platform, wrapping her arms around Silas at waist level.
Turning to look at her, he urged her, “Hold on tight. We need to go fast.”
No longer concerned with stealth, he opened up the throttle on the sled and launched away, dodging buildings and the occasional pod, flying at high speed toward where he’d concealed his ship. Lynn let out a startled squeal, but held tight to him, eyes taking in everything in wonder. In seconds, they were beyond the outskirts of town, and Silas, uncaring of who might observe them, abandoned all caution and raced time itself, desperate to get to his ship.
The fireballs began to fall around them. Whatever the hell was happening, this didn’t feel like a natural occurrence to Silas. He was anxious to find out for certain, but his instincts were screaming at him that this was an attack.
But from whom? Tynaria was a non-threat. They were still decades from possibly discovering a means to leave their star system. This must be something else.
Unexpectedly, he had to swerve violently to avoid a near impact, almost losing control of his sled. Clods of sand and stone showered down all around from the impact. Behind him, Lynn’s grip loosened, and she slipped, nearly spilling from the sled. Chopping the throttle, he brought them to a crawl as he checked on his passenger.
“Are you okay?” he pressed her anxiously, wanting to get moving quickly.
She nodded her head, rising to stand close to him once more. She secured her handbag and then wrapped her arms around him once again, this time gripping him more securely.
Turning to face forward again, Silas kicked in the speed once more, flitting swiftly around the hills and dips along the way, speeding as quickly as he could toward the ridge off in the distance, wishing he could get there faster.
Luma! Any luck with remote starting the River?
“I’m sorry, Silas. The interference is only getting worse, with the objects now falling around us,” Luma apologized. She sounded quite worried to him, which did not help.
Impacts around them were beginning to force Silas to take measures to evade the incoming fireballs. Swerving violently to his left to avoid one crater, he very nearly flew into the path of another flaming ball from hell.
“They’re meteors,” Luma informed him suddenly.
“There’s no way this is just a fucking meteor shower!” he half-shouted out loud.
Lynn squealed again from behind him as he violently jerked on the steering yoke, banking sharply to evade yet another incoming projectile.
“Silas, I managed to initiate a remote start on the River. I’m connected to the Rona River – barely. A massive ship entered orbit about seventy pulses ago and has been using what appears to be a mass driver to pound this planet! They started on the far side of ZZQ-1271, and the dust cloud is already beginning to cover major portions of the planet. I am scanning multiple, confusing broadcasts, although many of the signals originating from the areas first hit are going offline.”
Silas worked to process this information, a feeling of dread settling firmly between his shoulder blades. Looking over his shoulder, he could see Lynn, her face a twisted mask of sheer terror.
“I swear to you, I don’t know what this is,” he shouted to her, no longer needing to dodge so much, as the brunt of the assault seemed to be moving away from them.
“Silas,” Luma interrupted him suddenly, “it’s not responding.”
“What? What’s not responding?” he cried aloud, adding a look of confusion to Lynn’s already distraught expression.
“The Little River. I had initiated an engine start-up cycle and was nearly ready to remote pilot her to our location when I lost contact,” Luma responded, her voice thick with concern.
“Okay. Okay, okay, okay, we’re almost there,” Silas stated in a panicked tone. “We’re almost there. We’ll see what’s wrong when we get there, and we’ll fix it, and we’ll get the fuck out of…” he broke off, having rounded the final bend in the terrain, revealing the cause of the signal loss.
Less than half a kilometer ahead of him, the Little River lay over on its side, clearly visible. The camouflage covering was gone, having been blown off, whether by the wind or a meteor impact. The ship appeared to be mostly intact but had taken some damage, visible even from this distance.
“What the hell is that?” Lynn shouted from behind him.
Silas ignored her for a moment, his mind racing. What should he do? The protocol was to leave no trace. If he could not repair his ship, he was under orders to destroy it. If he did not destroy it, Luma would probably initiate a self-destruct, assuming she could regain comms with the ship.
“Silas!” Lynn demanded his attention. “What. The. Fuck. Is. That?”
“That was my ship,” he replied, not caring at this point what she saw, knew, or learned.
Silas drew the hover sled alongside his ship and deactivated the device, allowing it to skid to a stop on the ground below. Untangling himself from Lynn, he gestured for her to remain by the sled, then moved to inspect his vessel. As soon as he stepped around to the far side of the ship, he could see the problem.
A meteorite had struck just forward of the starboard side wing, creating a massive crater, while also causing some damage to the wing and landing strut. Smaller impacts along the hull troubled him, but not as much as the large hole just aft of the flight deck.
Climbing up the side of the ship, he managed to pry open the portside hatch, using the manual override to wrest it open after a struggle. Cautiously, he slipped into the ship’s dark interior, plumes of thick black smoke billowing out around him. Grabbing an emergency lamp so he could see, he got his bearings, then carefully began moving through the oddly canted interior. Using various conduits and panels as hand-holds and walkways, he made his way forward, occasionally jerking his hand away from a surface that was searingly hot.
Finally, after struggling to get past fallen cableways or climbing over broken paneling, he reached the flight deck. Looking to his right, he was able to see the ground outside through the hole in the hull, just aft of the pilot’s seat. The entire auxiliary nav station was demolished, as were several other secondary systems, but of most concern to Silas, the Comm system was destroyed.
Silas sagged against a bulkhead, dismayed by the damage to his ship. She wasn’t particularly pleasing to look at, or especially fast, or powerful, but she was his only way to get around. His only way to leave this planet. With the comms system damaged, possibly irreparably, he was stranded.
“You’re forgetting something,” Luma prodded him.
Right, let’s not forget that the planet is under attack!
“Not just that. You’re forgetting her,” Luma stressed, mentally nudging him to turn around.
Behind him, climbing through the wreckage that was his ship – his home – was Lynn. Her face was covered in smoke stains, streaked with tears that had dried, and her eyes were wide with wonder, swiveling all around to take everything in. “Can you repair it?” she asked, her tone one of concern.
Silas almost shouted at her. She shouldn’t be here, but then he reevaluated the situation. The ship’s automatics could likely fix most of the damage if he could get them back online. The hull could be repaired, as could the wing and the landing strut. The comms would be trickier, but if he could get into space, he could get to the Rona River and use her comms system to call this in. Whatever the fuck this turned out to be. If he had to, he could navigate manually, by sight even, until he reached the Rona.
“Possibly,” he finally replied in answer to her question. “Mostly. I think. But we’ve still got to figure out what the hell just happened, and we may find we’re pressed for time. If this is an attack, we can figure out the ‘why’ part later, but what matters right now is how to survive, and how to avoid whatever comes next.”
“For now, we might need to keep this one around, as she could prove helpful to us,” Luma interjected.
You think? Sorry, that was unnecessary. But I agree. Now hush. I need to focus!
“Okay, so, let’s do this – I’ll do a quick damage assessment, starting with you,” he suggested. “Are you injured?
She started to shake her head, but then flinched, looking down at her right arm, where a stream of blood was soaking her thermal shell, near a tear in the fabric along the back of her upper arm. “Fuck, how did I not notice that?”
“Adrenaline helps us deal with pain until we have time to spend on addressing injuries,” he supplied, as he hunted for the medkit. Finding it in a panel aft of the flight deck, he pulled it out and set it on a crossbeam, opened it up, and extracted a few simple devices that he would need to repair her injury.
“Okay, let’s take that shell off and get a look at the problem,” he mumbled calmly, as he helped her remove the outerwear. Being gentle but thorough, he probed her arm, checking to see if the injury was limited to the flesh or if bone had been damaged as well. After he’d ensured it was only a flesh wound, he took out a small tool and sprayed a pressurized mist over the gash, cleaning away the blood and temporarily stopping any further bleeding.
Lynn hissed softly between her teeth but held still, allowing Silas to care for her.
Satisfied with his progress, he put aside the tool and withdrew a different device, holding it close to the wound. Before her amazed eyes, the torn flesh knitted back together, leaving only a pale silver scar behind that would fade completely before too long. Pulling out a hand scanner, Silas ran it up and down Lynn’s body, checking her general health while looking for other signs of injury.
Odd, he thought. Her respiration was rising, as well as her blood pressure. She was also beginning to evince muscle tremors, small at first, but building. Looking up, Silas was startled to see that Lynn’s pupils were fully dilated, her expression beginning to take on an angry look.
“Luma, what am I looking at here? She looks like she’s about to attack me!” he asked aloud, uncaring if Lynn overheard.
“Silas, Lynn is exhibiting symptoms created by an induced state of rage. You need to sedate her quickly, before it’s too late! Hurry!” Luma practically shouted in his head.
Reaching into the medkit, Silas brought out a hypo and quickly selected a setting before pressing it up to her neck. A quick hissing sound was emitted, and Lynn slumped slightly, not unconscious, but no longer about to attack him. Her eyes blinked slowly, but her pupils were still huge. The sedative bought him some time, but did nothing to prevent a repeat threat as soon as it wore off.
“Luma, is she reacting to something I did just now?” he asked, checking his scanner for any other possibilities. Allergic response was negative. No psychotropics appeared to be in her blood. He was running out of time.
“I believe the cause may be related to the meteor attack,” Luma posited, seemingly out of the blue.
“Luma,” he asked a bit more thoughtfully, “She’s biologically very similar to me. If the meteor attack caused this, why am I not showing the same symptoms?”
Luma responded after a significant delay. “Checking your nanodes, they appear to be working very aggressively to isolate and destroy a pathogen that you have been exposed to. Comparing it to the scans of Lynn leads me to suspect that the pathogen was carried to the surface by those meteors. Lynn does not appear to have any nanodes, so her body is not capable of fighting off the aggressive virus.”
“Would she reject nanodes if I injected her with some?” he demanded, already reaching for the capsule to insert into the hypo.
“Most likely she would survive, and the nanodes would defend her for some time,” Luma replied. “But Silas, her physiology is not identical to yours. Also, you have an artificial gland – a gift from the Stellar Imperium - that recharges, repairs, and replaces your nanodes. Lynn does not. After the ones you inject into her expire, she will be once again vulnerable to the pathogen.”
“Can we replicate more?” he asked quickly, sorting through his options.
“If we were back on the Rona River, yes,” the SSI replied, a sad tone in her voice. “But the Little River does not have the capability to do so.”
“Can I somehow share mine with her?” he asked, grasping at straws.
“In theory, yes,” Luma said slowly, as if giving the matter a great deal of thought. “But it would require a… fluid exchange.”
“So, a blood transfusion?” he asked for clarity, as he prepared the nanode injection.
“That would be one possibility, but another would be far simpler, but require a great deal more… intimacy,” Luma stated quietly.
“Oh. Fuck,” Silas responded softly.
“Nailed it in one,” Luma stated flatly.
****
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Stephen
More please
