Catastrophic Personality Adjustment: Part 1 (Blood and Profit Returns in 3 weeks)

Death is not an easy concept for the average person to handle, which is funny because it’s pretty clear that most of us don’t have the first clue about life either.

Cold was the first sensation he registered. At first he couldn’t locate the origin of the sensation but as more of his mind regained awareness it became the input that defined his reality. The cold moved closer and began to awaken and define the extremities of his body. He could feel his back and shoulder blades pressed against it. It traveled up his neck and into his shoulders. Curved around his elbows and brought feeling into his hands. He could sense it defining the edges of his hips and the bulk of his rear end. As his legs began to register sensation he could no longer hold back a full body shiver and his teeth began to chatter. He opened his eyes slowly as he reflexively wrapped his arms around his torso. Where ever he was there was very little light and it was diffused softly, he touched his face, but found nothing clouding his vision. He blinked several times and his vision cleared. He could now see that he was naked, He was sitting on a metal table, a sheet had covered him and bunched at his waist when he sat up. Next to the table there was a chair with what turned out to be a gray pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

It took him almost ten minutes to get the pins and needles out of his legs and make sure they could carry his weight. Once he was sure he could stand he got dressed and felt the stiffness in the rest of his joints. There was a piece of paper under the sweat suit. All it said was ‘Room 305’. The room he was in was small, barely enough room for the table he had woken up on and the chair that held the clothing. From where he was standing he could almost reach the handle of the door, which led him into a plain looking hallway that was brighter but still not fully lit, There was a sign on the far wall that had 300 – 315 with an arrow pointing down the left side of the hallway and 316 – 330 with an arrow pointing down the right side of the hallway. He checked his paper again and made his way down the left side of the hall looking for room 305.

The door to room 305 was open. Soft orange light drew a rectangle on the concrete floor. He stopped and knocked on the door frame, taking a look into the room. There was an woman sitting in an old worn reclining chair. She wore no shoes and her feet were buried in a deep plush rug that appeared to be nothing more than random sprays of color. She smiled warmly when she noticed him in the doorway.

“You must be Tony.” She said, waving her hand. “Come in, sit down.” She gestured to the empty couch across from her recliner.

More than anything the mention of a name caused his curiosity to override his caution. “I can’t remember anything, why can’t I remember anything?” He asked, sitting down.

She sat back in her chair and looked at him for a moment, taking in his current state of awareness. Finally she replied. “Because you died.”

The answer hit him like a truck. “I what?” He asked in shock.

She nodded slowly. “It says here” She held up his report. “That you were stabbed during an attempted robbery.”

His gaze was a thousand miles long as he tried with what little cognitive power he had to remember something. “I – I don’t remember anything.” He finally admitted.

She nodded. “That’s one of the primary side effects of the Necrophage.” She handed him a pamphlet that was covered with smiling people in fun settings. “It’s the medical term for the disease that brings the dead back to life.” She said.

He looked at the bright green letters screaming this is your afterlife! At him. He opened it, scanned it, quickly realized he didn’t have the desire to read it at the moment and closed it again. “I’m a freaking zombie?” He said in disbelief, mostly to himself.

The woman in the chair nodded. “In layman’s terms.”

He tossed the pamphlet aside in anger. “I don’t care how you’re supposed to say it. I died and some virus I have brought me back to life.”

The counselor nodded quietly. She readjusted, picking her feet up off the carpet and sat cross legged in her chair.

He grabbed the pamphlet again and started folding it in half. “And that's why I can’t remember anything?” He asked.

She nodded. “Side effect of the Virus. Honestly we’re not really sure why it happens, but everyone that is infected with the Necrophage comes back to life with almost no memory of their past life. Its one of the reasons we started this program.” She explained with a softness in her voice.

He looked around the room and held up the pamphlet that had now been folded and unfolded in different ways half a dozen times. “What is this program anyway?”

“Catastrophic Personality Adjustment Counseling. Or C.P.A.C. for short. I’m here to help you assimilate back into society.” She handed him another stack of papers that explained the program.

He looked down at the cover page where the program name was printed in bold black block letters. “So, zombie 101.” He clarified.

She shook her head. “We’re not going to teach you how to mob humans and tear them limb from limb, It’s more focused on helping you discover what kind of person you are now. Helping you define and understand your new personality so you can live a pleasant and fulfilling afterlife.” She noticed he seemed to be blankly staring at the stack of documentation in his hands. “You’ll want to check those pamphlets out this week, they cover the powers of the Z.R.A”

 He looked up at her. “The Z.R.A?” He asked.

She nodded. “The Zombie Rights Amendment. It’s been the law for almost ten years now.” She leaned over the side of her chair and grabbed a book out of a cardboard box on the floor. She then handed the book to him. “This is your daily personality journal. Try to write in it at least once a day. It’s going to be one of the most important tools you have In developing your new personality.” She then grabbed the cardboard box, handing it over as well. “This is everything you had on you when you came to the hospital. There is a map in there that will lead you back to your apartment.”

He rustled through the items in the smallish box for a second until a thought hit him. “Did I have a job?” He asked while looking at his license.

She nodded. “You do. You have already been transferred to a different department to make it easier on yourself and those you used to work with. You start your retraining next week.” She clarified.

With the box in his hands he stood up and looked at the door to the counselor’s office. “So, do I come back next week or something?” He asked looking back at her.

She nodded. “And once a week. Until you feel you are ready to take on the world by yourself.”

He nodded and opened the door, went out into the hall. “I’ll see you next week then, I guess.” He said as he closed the door.

The counselor went to her desk grabbed his file from a stack and flipped it open to the patient status page and began writing her notes. 

Lidarion: Chapter 5

When the war began there was no shortage of ready recruits to fill the ranks for the Lidarion army. But by the end of the first year all they had to show for their efforts was a nearly identical border layered in bodies and twisted metal. The Lidarion army had been shattered, regrouped, spread thin and nearly wiped out, rebuilt, and redeployed, each time with smaller numbers in less units, with fewer supplies between them.

The war entered its third year and Trent didn’t even know what to call the group of soldiers he was a part of. He and Brandon had been assigned to a forward scouting party almost half a year back, but shortly after they arrived the unit commander deserted. Surprisingly there were no arguments over field promotions or changes in leadership, the group continued to operate on their most recent orders, scouting the border and keeping the actual combat units advised of possible dangers or decent places to attack. At first Trent thought the men who stayed were just loyal citizens concerned with protecting the border, but as they scurried from town to town like mice in search of cheese they began to hear less about orc raiding parties and marching battle companies and more about the war being over. 

They had met up with the forward most Lidarion company and while there were plenty of rumors surrounding the possible end of the war, there was nothing official heard or seen. And so their traded information for food and what meager supplies they could and headed north. The company had heard nothing from the northern most villages at the edge of the Cliffside Mountains, and it seemed as good a place as any to carry out their duty.

Which is how they ended up with five terrified families hiding in the village barn desperately hoping the orc raiding party that had emerged from the protection of the Infinight Forest. It had taken most of their time to round up the families and get them to the barn at the furthest edge of town. The initial plan being to slowly sneak them out of the back door and get them to safety. Unfortunately the barn had no back or side entrances of any kind leaving them stuck as the raiding party entered the small village and ransacked house after house. The killing of the cows, sheep, and pigs gave them a buffer of time to place as many bales of hay in front of the door as they could. But there weren’t enough to blockade the door and the raiding party made quick work of the raw meat that used to be the towns livestock.

The scouts had long ago come up with silent hand signals for almost anything they might need to communicate regarding troops, locations, numbers and types of weaponry, which for over a year now had consisted of mostly orcs, the edge of the Infinight Forrest, raiding parties, and basic melee weapons. Which is why when the ground shook with a terrifying rumble Trent signed to Drew the forward scout who had first seen the Orc’s leave the tree line. He asked if he had seen a Troll with the raiding party, Drew shook his head as the ground shook again, scaring some of the younger children into crying out. They were quickly silenced by their parent’s terrified hands over their mouths. The ground shaking steps were getting closer to the barn and the disgustingly labored grunting confirmed that the raiding party did indeed have a Troll with them.  Trent looked around the barn for Brandon but could not find him among the peasants. He wasn’t one of the three men waiting behind the hay bale pile with swords drawn. Trent started to scan the rear of the barn, until a pebble bounced off the top of his head. He looked up to Brandon making his way over to an open window in the partial loft of the barn. He had a bow and several arrows and hand found a semi decent source of high ground for what was almost certainly going to be a very bad fight. Brandon gave the sign for Troll and the sign for Club. Trent nodded and motioned to the families to get back along the farthest wall of the barn and hide as best they could among the supplies and loose hay. The ground shaking was deeper now and getting louder. Trent knew there wasn’t much time left and drew both his swords. He didn’t hear 

Brandon’s first two shots because the Troll had smashed his hand through the wall of the barn to grab their lookout and squish his head like a grape. The Trolls other fist game through the sliding door of the barn and caused two of the hay bales to explode. The Troll screamed and let go of the bloody mess that was the unfortunately look out. Brandon Dropped down next to Trent with no arrows left in his quiver.

“I tried to blind him boss, I only got the left one, which he doesn’t seem too happy about.” Brandon explained as the Troll wildly slammed his fists into the barn door and quickly disintegrating wall.

“Every little bit Helps” Trent replied as they barn door fell apart under the aggressively pounding fists of the half blind Troll. The troll then picked up one of the orcs and threw him through the hay bale blockade and then decimated what was left coming through himself. Trent and Brandon moved to engage the Troll when two of the scouts who had been helping the peasants hide in the back of the barn dropped down on the Trolls back. Their swords buried almost to their hilts in either side of its neck.

The troll wavered a few steps, moaned, fell to its knees, then onto its lifeless face. The sudden loss of their advantage gave the orcs pause which was all Trent, Brandon and the other two scouts needed as they launched themselves into the battle.

The XP: Chapter 5

The cloth armor shop was owned and managed by a player. They had a wide selection of styles but apparently really enjoyed the color purple. Trart followed Bob around the store as she went through to visualization options to see what he would look like with each item she showed interest in. “Trart If I gave you a pink and white polka dot dress with legendary stats, would you wear it?” She asked him as she browsed.

Trart shrugged his shoulders. “I guess, I mean legendary stats is legendary stats.”

Bob shook her head. “The correct answer is ‘no’. Part of gaming is looking bad ass, and IF you wanna look bad ass you gotta have your own style.”

Trart looked himself over. “I have style.” He protested.

Bob shook her head. “Let me rephrase, I am not running dungeons with a French clown that looks like he drank himself colorblind then got dressed for work.” She handed him a tunic.

Trart took the tunic and added to the pile of clothes she had already given him. “You could’ve just said ‘I don’t like the way you’re dressed.’” Trart pointed out.

Bob stopped searching through armor and looked at Trart. “I did.” She pulled another tunic and handed it to Trart. “Lets go over to pants and boots.”

Trart’s shoulders slumped “You mean we’re not done yet?” He moaned.

Bob shook her head. “We’re just getting started kid.” She smiled, looking through the available pants.

It look almost an hour but Bob finally got Trart into a set of cloth armor that nearly tripled his stats.

Trart looked at his avatar’s set up and had to admit that he liked his current gear a lot more than what he had previously been wearing. “Wow Bob, thank you, I look bad ass!”

Bob shook her head. “Nah, you look decent, which is infinitely better than you looked an hour ago.” She clarified.

Trart looked around. “Where’d Blackout and Stygian go?” He asked as they came through the front door of the shop.

“Perfect timing.” Bob said with a rare smile. “Did you get it?” She asked.

Stygian nodded. “This thing kinda makes me want to start a Rainbringer.” He replied. Pulling a massive chain gun out of his backpack.

Trart’s eyes nearly exploded out of his head. “What the heck is that?” He nearly yelled in excitement.

Blackout waved his hands in front of the weapon as if he were show casing a game show prize. “The Spray and Pray One Thousand. The best Player built Rainbringer weapon without a level requirement. Maximum ammo capacity of one thousand rounds, capable of multi target memory, firing enchanted rounds and increases experience gain by ten percent up to level forty five. Because Rainbringer's are the only class that can hit the S.P.O.T”

Trart was all smiles. “Oh man you guys. I don’t know what to say, thank you so much for all of this.” He accepted the gun from Stygian. And held it almost lovingly.

Bob clapped her hand on Trart’s right shoulder. “You can join us on a trial run of the Hall of Shattered Memories. We’re gonna run it till you pay back the five thousand, seven hundred and twenty four gold you owe us.” She headed for the door.

The smile dropped off Trart’s face. “I should have seen that coming.” He said stashing the gun in his inventory.

Stygian nodded. “Don’t worry it’ll only take fifteen or sixteen runs, and it’s the fastest way to earn that kind of cash. Besides it’ll be good training, by the time you’re running the Halls like a pro you’ll have a good handle on your class and you’ll be ready for some of the harder content in the game.”

“Yeah but I’ll be poor.” Trart said following Stygian and Blackout out of the store.

“Just think of yourself as rich in social capital.” Blackout quipped as the door closed behind Trart.

University of Console Heroics: Chapter 5

By  noon the population of the student union had not changed much. There were different girls at the 1 cUPcake booth, but it was still mobbed by fraternity members and independents alike. Foster looked over the sea of students searching for a place to sit.

Thompson had secured a four person table. He was sitting alone, his lunch untouched on the far side of his book. A student nudged the table, Thompson looked up from his book.

“These seats being used?” the kid asked. Thompson nodded and the kid went on about his way.

Thompson stood to stretch for a moment and spotted Foster wandering union looking for a place. Thompson waved at him and Foster waded through people to reach his table. Foster reached the table and set his lunch tray down on the table then dropped into the chair opposite Thompson.

“So how was breathing practice?” Thompson asked.

“I know right!” Foster almost exploded. “I thought combat studies would be about fighting.” He grumbled.

Thompson nodded. “It is, can’t fight if I you can’t breathe.” He pointed out while chewing on a baby carrot.

Foster took three quick breaths. “See that? I’m a natural so when does the fighting start?” He asked.

Thompson shook his head and suppressed a smile by taking a drink from his water bottle. “Go to the rec center tonight. Run two miles, then try and meditate like you were taught today.” He ordered, putting his bottle back on the table.

Foster completely missed the point. “What does that have to do with anything?” he asked.

Thompson picked up another baby carrot. “It’s easy to regulate your breathing right now. You’re not tired, you are not beat to hell. Go run yourself down and see just how easy it is to maintain a steady even breathing pattern.” He wedged the carrot between his teeth.

Foster shook his head. Clay dropped in the third seat. He then put his tray on the table. “DO I look like I need a psychology class?” He asked no one in particular.

Thompson nibbled on his new carrot. “not in the least.” He replied.

Clay opened his soda “Can you tell that to the Thug Studies department? Apparently It’s a requirement to graduate.” He took a large drink.

Thompson smiled around the end of his carrot. “Those bastards.”

Clay glared at Thompson and put his soda down. “See, you always do that. It’s always sarcasm with you, how do you expect people to take you seriously?” He ranted.

Thompson shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I don’t, Dr. Freud”

Clay threw a chip at Thompson and turned his attention to Foster. “Hi, I’m Clay, why are you sitting at our table?” He asked.

“Foster, I ran into Thompson earlier today. He invited me.” Foster explained.

Clay gave a quick side glance to Thompson. “Why is Cynthia the only Combat Studies Major that calls people by their first name?” He asked. Both He and Thompson looked at Foster. Foster shrugged his shoulders. “Oh yeah, you’re going to be a useful addition to the group.” Clay looked at his tray. “I forgot napkins, anyone need anything?” He asked before disappearing.

“Don’t mind Clay. He’s, eccentric.” Thompson tried to explain.

Sanders filled the fourth seat and put his own lunch of the table to take the rest of the available space. 

“I would have gone with rude and often offensive. Who’s the noob?” He asked not even looking at Foster.

Thompson shook his head slowly. “Speaking of rude, Sanders this is Johnathan Foster.” Thompson pointed to Foster.

“Is that your first name or last?” Foster asked.

Sanders gave him a sort of stunned glare. “Does it matter?” He asked as a reply.

Clay returned with napkins and everyone dug into their food. “You seem edgy Sanders. Rough first day?” Clay asked.

Sanders rolled his eyes “Yes mom, but I’ll be fine.” He replied. “So, what are you?” He asked Foster.

Foster looked up from his lunch. “What am I?” He repeated the question.

Clay nodded. “Like what are you majoring in?” He clarified.

Foster caught on. “Oh! I’m a Combat Studies major.”

Sanders threw a dryly judgmental glance in Thompson’s direction. “Picking up strays now, are we?” He asked rhetorically.

Thompson shook his head. “He’s not a stray, He’s cool.” Both Clay and Sanders glared at Thompson in disbelief. “It has nothing to do with that!” Thompson declared unconvincingly.

Sanders nodded. “Oh sure it doesn’t. Because you and Cynthia are the best of friends now and 

everything is fine and dandy again.” He rolled his eyes.

Foster was lost again. “What are you guys talking about, how am I a stray?” He asked.

Clay sat back in his chair and grabbed his soda. “ Our dear friend Thompson used to be a Combat Studies major. End of last semester rolls around and he switches to Adventure Studies on a whim and cuts all ties with Cynthia.” Clay leaned over to Foster, held his hand up and pretended to whisper to him “They were, swapping pixels, if you, catch my meaning.” He sat back up right.

Thompson put his fork down. “And everyone lived happily ever after. The end”

There was a few seconds of awkward silence before Sanders broke through. “Anyway, I’m a Targeting and Terrain Management major.” He offered.

Foster was grateful for something to pay attention to other than relationship drama, silence and his less than average lunch.

Thompson nudged Clay’s chair with his foot. “You working tonight?” Thompson asked. Clay nodded with a mouthful of food. “Mind if we drop by and use your employee discount?” He asked and Clay nodded again, taking a drink from his soda.

“Sure no problem” Clay confirmed.

“Where do you work” Foster asked.

“The Supply and Demand across the street from Campus.” Clay replied pointing in the general direction of the store.

Foster was confused. “They have employee discounts? I didn’t even think they had health insurance.”

Clay shook his head in the negative. “I have an employee discount.” He emphasized.

Foster still didn’t catch on. “How much?” He asked honestly.

Clay held up his hand. “five fingers.” He stated bluntly.

Foster raised an eyebrow in confusion. “huh?” he questioned.

Thompson shook his head and pinched the brow of his nose. “He steals stuff. He is a Thug Studies major. It’s kind of his modus operand.” He finished killing the unfunny and overly dead joke.

Foster looked at Thompson “Ok now I’m really lost, his modo what now?”

Clay downed the rest of his drink and stood up. “Get used to that feeling kid, you got a long life ahead of you.” He fist bumped Thompson and cleared his garbage away.

Thompson put his book back in his bag. “Don’t mind Clay, He’s been emo a lot lately. Apparently he’s no ready to quit being a Toys’R’Us Kid.

Sanders stands up and gathers his garbage. “Hey Thompson, I gotta get to the bookstore, but give me a call before you go shopping.” They fist bumped and Sanders disappeared with his stuff.

For a few moments Foster and Thompson sat awkwardly silent in the near deafening noise of the student union. Foster finally cleared his throat. “So uh, Cynthia say’s ‘hi back’” He used air quotes to emphasize the ‘Hi back’.

Thompson swirls whats left of the water in his bottle. “That’s nice.” He replied.

Foster pressed forward. “How come you’re ignoring her?”

Thompson glanced at Foster for a moment. “You aren’t a big fan of subtly are you?” He asked.

Foster shrugged. “Sorry, it just seems like the history between you two has been the theme of the morning.”

“I know right? I’m super popular, I have some paparazzi on back order.” He snarked.

Foster shook his head. Thompson pulled a pen from his pocket and wrote his number on a napkin. 

“Are you Happy Thompson?” Foster asked while Thompson was writing.

Thompson handed the napkin to Foster “I’m positively filled to the brim with glee.” He shouldered his backpack and pushed his chair in. “Call around six for a ride.” He said before taking off, waving to Foster without turning back around.

Foster looked at the number on the napkin and his barely touched lunch. “Nice going” He said to himself. “Lunch alone, what an awesome day.” He poked at his mac and cheese with something nearing disgust.

Shades of Justice: Chapter 9

Warren separated off from the other Shades after breakfast and caught the bus over to the mall. He hadn’t been to QQ PewPew in over a year but now he had no other options. By the end of his rookie year playing Movers and Shakers as a pro he had purchased the laptop that he had lost in the crash. The arcade was as dark as he remembered it. It had moved locations within the mall recently and hadn’t yet accumulated the baked in nerd stink. He checked the M.A.S. twitter feed for updates and saw that they were still on schedule. He found Arthur behind the counter, like always. He owned QQ PewPew and had yet to miss a day in the nearly twenty years it had existed. Arthur looked up from his classic gray Gameboy. When he saw warren he smiled ear to ear.

“Well if it isn’t Uneven Bubbler! How you doing Warren?” Arthur asked, putting his Gameboy down and coming to the front side of the counter. Warren wasn’t used to hearing his gamer tag in person and looked around the room, no one noticed. “So how’s the game?” Arthur asked.

Warren shrank a little. “It’s why I’m here actually. I have a tournament in less than half an hour and I need a place to play.” He asked.

Arthur nodded and made his way to the back of the store. “Of course. Let me set you up in the back” 

Warren followed him to an open computer in the back corner. He pulled out his wallet and Arthur held up his hand to deny. ”Your money is no good here my friend.” He smiled again heading back to the front counter and his Gameboy.

Warren was logged in and ready to play. He had just lost his noise canceling headphones along with his laptop, but the café wasn’t crowded and Arthur had turned the music down. His clock showed one minute to the start of his first game, his opponent and the commentators Id’s appeared in the chat window.

“I want to play a game” a kid asked coming into the store.

“Well we’ve plenty of those kid. What are you interested it?” Arthur asked.

Warren’s game was about to start but he couldn’t help looking up at the front where Arthur was talking to the new kid. What he saw made his blood run cold. It wasn’t a kid at all. It was Hexa Decimal. He didn’t know why Arthur couldn’t see him but he knew his friend was in danger. He ducked his head down low and slid his glasses on. “Step into shade” he whispered to himself. He felt the suit materialize around him and watched as the helmets heads up display lit up in his visor.

Arthur was leading Hexa Decimal around the shop showing him the reclining chairs and giant screen TV’s playing ads for the games that were available.

“Arthur get away from that thing!” Warren’s disguised voice surprised him a little. “Go! Now!” he yelled.

Arthur looked at Hexa Decimal, the illusion shattered and Arthur panicked, ran and dove behind the safety of his counter.

Decimal turned to face off against the Evergreen Shade. “Well if it isn’t a Shade of Justice! Why so blue Evergreen?” Hexa Decimal launched himself at Evergreen and they traded blow after blow in the cramped quarters of the store. Evergreen used the layout of the shop and to maneuver their fight away from Arthur was still hiding behind the counter. Hexa Decimal realized this and made a dash for the counter. He was stopped and dragged to the ground by Evergreen’s vine whips wrapping around his ankles. Hexa’s screen face disappeared and was replaced with a cartoon hypnotic swirl. He turned to face Evergreen. “I can help you, you know.” The hypnotic swirl spun faster as Evergreen sank under Hexa’s control. The vine whips loosened and Hexa Stood up. “I can share your pain with the entire world!” Hexa shouted as Evergreen just wavered back and forth under Hexa’s spell.

Hexa drew a large orange glowing sigil in the air. He scribbled zeros, ones and ancient ruins around the outside of it. When he had completed the spell the sigil increased in brightness until Evergreen was forced to look away from it. He heard the sound of shattering glass and everything went dark.

Warren awoke to Arthur shaking him. The lights in the shop were out. He sat up and Arthur looked out at the rest of the mall. “Whatever that thing was, it knocked out the power and maybe more. I’ve got some flashlights under the counter.” He said feeling his way back to the front counter.

Warren pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried to activate it, but it too had died. “Arthur, I'm sorry man but I gotta go.” He said grabbing his back pack, stumbling over his chair and then feeling his way out of the nearly pitch black hallway.

Arthur stood back from under the counter with the flashlights. “Warren!” Warren stopped at the entrance of the store and turned around. Arthur tossed him a flashlight. “You’ll need this.” Arthur said and tossed him one of the flashlights.

Warren turned it on and took a look down the main mall walkway. “Thanks Arthur, for everything.” 

He made his way out into the hall.

Blood and Profit: Chapter 35

With the arrival of the Baceten, and the ring system shut down, the Pacific Free Zone controlled the shipyard and the launch facilities. Toll watched as the teams in the landing bay secured the cable cargo launcher and engine on the deck. The system was designed to transport cargo or passengers between ships that were unable to dock together. The launcher fired the second half of the cargo cable system at the closest command and control ship. The second command and control ship sidled up to the far side of the first ship and successfully docked.

The second half of the cargo cable system, attached magnetically to the command and control ship. Not three feet away from the cable mount, there was an airlock door. It slid open and twelve crew members in space suits floated over to the cargo cable mouth, floated down the cable to an latch for their secure transport harness hooks and clipped themselves on. With all twelve of them hooked in the primary part of the cargo cable system back on the landing bay dock fired up its engine and cycled the cable bringing its passengers into the docking bay.

Toll drifted next to Sharea’s ship. Toll had been watching the transport process. He looked over and realized that Sharea was staring blankly at her console. “I know it’s gonna be impossible to take this advice.” He started. “But try not to beat yourself up too much. The fact that any of us survived is a miracle.”

“I – I made a bad turn.” She didn’t look up from her console. “Right into an advancing strike team.” She was talking to herself more than Toll. “Preach, He –“

“Peach did what he felt he needed to do.” Toll interrupted. She looked at him from across the gap, and nodded unsteady.

A system wide open channel appeared in Toll’s communications list. “For immediate release.” Conner's voice came across the channel loud and clear. “The Pacific Free Zone and the Baceten are now a United Corporation. All existing contract obligations will be kept. The actions taken today in Mars orbit are claimed by this corporation.” The message ended and the signal went dark.

The last of the crew had finished their trips and the far side fo the cargo cable was detached from the Command and Control ship, pulled back to the landing back and hooked to its primary half.

A smaller Baceten ship approached Toll and Sharea. The ship opened a channel. “Commanders the C&C ships and the Baceten fleet are ready to depart for the PFZ. Commander Toll, you are overdue on the battleship. Commander Sharea, if you would take command of the return fleet, we can get under way.”

Sharea was lost. “I’m not a commander, I’m going with the battleship.” She clarified. Looking in Toll’s direction and seeing him shake his head.

“Sorry kid, Preach made it known that if he didn’t survive this fight. You would be promoted and assume his rank within the Baceten wing of the Co-op. That means you get to stay here, and help keep the peace along with Ophelia, Arthur, and Third. Plus you have an entirely new air force to train.”

Sharea was shell shocked. “Toll I –“

Toll shook his head, “Don’t worry about it. I out rank you no matter what the co-op says and part of your promotion to my second was that I reserved the right to run for both of us.” He smiled. “Stay here and be the legendary hero for both of us.” He moved for the landing bay.

“Toll” Sharea stopped him. He flipped around to gain line of sight on her. “It doesn’t count as running  away if you're following the people you need to protect.” She stated. Toll nodded and spun his ship back around and landed on the crowded deck.

A few minutes later the battleship closed the landing bay and weapon hatches. Then two compartments on either side of the battle ship opened. They were spherical like slip gates but there was a funnel that led into the first gate and a funnel on both sides. The funnel lit up a line of lights that went from the center of the funnel out to the edge. The line of lights began to spin, rotating faster with each cycle. For three seconds the battleship picked up speed until, with a small flash of light it was gone.

Sharea and the rest of the return fleet built up to maximum speeds and prepared for the long journey back to Earth.

Far across the stars, back in orbit around Rusty and Toll’s home planet. A massive caravan of human and alien ships had amassed at the slip steam gate.

The planet behind them was being slowly enveloped by something that was not a shadow but also not a physical mass.

The lead ship in the caravan was a massive cargo hauler. On the Bridge the crew was standing around uselessly while Mew kicked the ancient Ring command system. The captain sat forward in his chair and turned to look at Mew.

“What’s taking so long?” He demanded.

Mew kicked the computer a final time. “It was there! It was revving up but then the entire system went down, it’s like, someone pulled the plug.”

The captain got out of his chair. “What does that mean Mew?” he asked trying to stay calm.

She sat down hard. “It means we’re stuck here until the Galaticseeds can grow their hybrid Startree and get us out of here.”

The Captain returned to his chair. “Helmsman. Open a wide band channel. Let everyone know. We’ve got a tree do defend. We don’t have to win our planet back, we just have to not lose it for another six months.

The cargo hauler turned away from the ring and headed back for the planet. One by one the caravan turned to follow.

Lidarion: Chapter 4

There are two types of wars. The ones you win and the ones you lose. The longer it takes you to figure out which type you’re fighting the more likely it’s the second, and we fought the machine war a long time.

You’ve never been there, but far to the south of Lidarion there is an impossibly long island chain. It is the ancestral home of the gnomes. Each island in the chain was the territory of the clan that had settled it, and each clan was in their own way industrious and experimental. The gnomes love technology, always have. And their obsession with gadgets and contraptions had led them to generations of technological advancement that turned their chain of islands into a never ending parade of mechanical marvels. Each designed to solve a specific problem, while accidentally creating three new ones, requiring more machines and gadgets to solve the new problems which created three more and so on and so on. Looking back on it, we were our own best friends and our own worst enemies. At least, until we discovered the outside world.

Gnomes have photographic memory. And they have no schools or universities. All their knowledge is passed down from master to apprentice and from one familial generation to the next. For all the technical knowledge the gnomes had amassed, nearly none of it was written down, the very nature and workings of their society were a part of their living memory.

Orcs and Humans discovered gnomes roughly around the same time. The gnomes were happy to make agreements with both races and for the first time gnomish technology left the islands. It was not long before the brilliance and ingenuity of the gnomes was turned to ruin and damnation in the hands of the orcs and humans.

With their newly acquired tools long silent borders were awoken with bloody conflict. These skirmishes grew until they exploded into a full-fledged war. Not long after war had broken out, representatives of both races returned to the gnomes to request the creation and delivery of grandiose war machines. The gnomes having seen the plans the other races brought for them, they refused to take part, and at first these denials were accepted.

The lies both sides fed to the Gnomes may have been simplistic but they need not be complicated to fool a race of people who by nature assumed everyone was telling the truth. Lies are the enemy of knowledge, so there was no use for deception in gnomish society. By the end of that first year the gnomes were building death machines piecemeal and shipping them back to their respective owners to be assembled and used on the field of battle.

It wasn’t long before both sides realized the gnomes were an advantage they could not allow their enemies to possess and so Orc’s and humans brought their war to my homeland. They burned my paradise to the ground.

Now, there are no more masters, all the apprentices are gone, very few working machines left to remember them by. We had to abandon the islands we had always known as home, islands we had never thought to count, until after there was nothing left to count.

With the factories destroyed, there were no new machines. The war simmered back down to border skirmishes, the fires of conquest were dying out. The machine war did not end with a cease fire, or proclamation of peace. The machine ended because killing with your bare hands was no longer the coolest way to die.

It was these final desperate battles before boredom set in that Trent’s life would change forever.