Valiant

[Valiant #46: Defined In Opposition]

Log Date: 2/30/12765

Data Sources: Lucanthiline, Feroce Acceso, Kiwi

Event Log: Lucanthiline

V.V. Prominence: Upper Decks Hallway

10:44pm LST

[Luci]: not gonna lie, boss, this argument between the lovebirds is getting pretty gnarly

I send the text the moment I’ve typed it out, maintaining my position next to the open doorway of one of the observation lounges. I’m standing just around the doorway, out of sight, while Kiwi and Songbird are within, but I don’t need catlike hearing to catch the raised voices coming out of the room.

“You had a chance to end this! To put this to bed for good—”

“I’m not going over this again, Kiwi! That is not who I am; that is not what we do!”

“This isn’t a matter of your pretty little morals and ideals, Feroce! She is a threat! Not just to the Valiant, but to other people as well! She’s the one that authorized CURSE raids on the Quill Sanctuaries, and she’s probably the one that signed up your genocidal buddy-pal to be CURSE’s attack dog! Her choices have weight; her actions are dangerous, and the orders she gives could get our people killed, could get MY people killed! You had a chance to kill her, to eliminate the threat, and you passed it up, and you had no right to do that—”

“I had EVERY right to do that!”

My phone buzzes again, and I look down to check the message.

[Boss]: can u call me so i can hear how bad it is

I immediately place a call to Sierra, who picks up within a couple seconds, though she doesn’t say anything. Staying silent, I hold my phone near the doorway so it can pick up Songbird and Kiwi’s argument. As I’m doing so, I catch sound further down the hall, my ears flicking backwards towards it; turning my head, I can see Forecast and Jackrabbit coming up behind me, their conversation fading as they pick up on the shouting from the lounge. As they start to slow down, clearly curious, I put a finger to my lips to encourage them to remain quiet.

“—think that you have a right to decide what happens to her just because she threw you under the bus fifteen years ago? Well I’ve got news for you: you might be her biggest victim, but you sure as hell aren’t the only one! She’s hurt plenty of other people, and the rest of us have a right to punish her as well! You don’t get to be her sole judge, jury, and executioner!” Kiwi snaps.

“This isn’t about her! This is about us, about what we choose to be—”

“Well I’ve got news for you, if it’s about us as a whole, about the Valiant, then we’ve got you outvoted, because Ridge, Renchiko, and myself were ready to put that bitch in the ground! And I’ve talked to other people on the ship as well, and they agree that we should’ve ended her when we had the chance—”

“Don’t go dragging everyone else into this!”

“YOU’RE the one that said this was about us! About the Valiant! So don’t go backing down now! You said this was about what we choose to be, and I can tell you right now that most of our people would’ve chosen to kill her, and for good reason!”

“Just because that’s what everyone thinks should’ve happened doesn’t mean it’s the right thing, Kiwi! What you’re proposing is just democratized murder!”

“Yeah, well, maybe have you considered that maybe there’s a good damn reason why most of the Valiant want Nova dead? You, of all people, should understand that better than anyone else!”

Down the other side of the hall, I can see one of the Viralix stepping out of the elevator along with Valkyrie, both of them noticing the shouting. I immediately give them the hushing motion the way I did with Forecast and Jackrabbit, both of whom are now hovering behind me as they listen in on Songbird and Kiwi’s blowout fight. Valkyrie and the Viralix both come closer, slowing as they near the open door to the lounge and staying against the wall, just out of sight. My phone vibrates with another message from Sierra, and I check it.

[Boss]: goddamn theyre really having it out, arent they

[Luci]: yeah neither one is backing down, I’m pretty sure one of them is going to end up sleeping on the couch tonight

“Do you even believe any of the shit you’re saying, or is this just you trying to protect her?” Kiwi’s accusation just ripped open a new front in this verbal battle, and I can already feel my tail puffing with dread as I realize the direction she’s pushing this towards. “Even after everything she’s done to you, everything you’ve suffered on her account, you’ve never hated her as much as you should’ve, as much as a normal person would’ve in your position—”

“Yeah, well guess what? I don’t have the luxury of being a normal person! And trust me, I wish I did!”

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it! There are plenty of people on this ship, normal and abnormal alike, that want Nova dead. You’re the outlier, Feroce, you’re the one that’s holding everyone else back from doing what should’ve been done years ago, what Kaiser told you to do back then—”

“Don’t you DARE go there—”

“Well if you don’t want me to go there then maybe you should stop passing up chances to do the right thing—”

“I WILL NOT BECOME NOVA!” The building tension in the lounge suddenly snaps at the same time that Songbird does, something coming loose and unhinged in his voice, and manifesting as a bass reverb that you can feel clear through the wall. There’s an actual physical impact that sets me staggering a couple of steps, and hits the others the same way. “I am not like her; I will not be like her, and I will not kill my friends and the people I once cared about simply because it is convenient or because they are in my way. That is not who I am, and I refuse to turn into her, not for you or anyone else. I will never, EVER, EVER become that kind of person. If that is who the rest of you want to be, then the rest of you can be those kinds of people, but you WILL NOT force me to be that kind of person. That is not who I am. That will NEVER be who I am. And if you don’t like that, you, you, you can…”

It’s only at that point that his words falter, and the wild, unchained power in his voice starts to ease up. It no longer feels like there’s a vicelike force gripping the back of my neck; the air is still sizzling with raw magic, raising the hairs on my forearms, but it’s less directed and organized now. The silence doesn’t last long; boots against the floor form a quick stride headed for the doorway, and we all draw back, knowing too well that it’s going to be impossible to hide the fact that we were eavesdropping.

But Songbird doesn’t seem to care. He barely even seems to notice us when he stalks out of the room at speed; his pupils are narrowed to pinpricks, and rather than being furious, the man looks like he’s barely holding in a full-blown panic attack. Everything about him is tense, but in a way that comes from feeling like you’re losing control and you can’t do anything about it. He makes a beeline directly for the elevator and gets into it as quickly as possible; glancing into the lounge, I can see he’s left a startled and speechless Kiwi in his wake, staring at the spot where he disappeared from view.

“I will handle this. The rest of you should probably go get some rest.” Forecast says, moving around me and into the lounge. He waves the door shut behind him; then there’s a rush of air as Jackrabbit sprints past me in the direction that Songbird went, calling to Valkyrie as she goes: “I’ll check on him to make sure he’s stable.” Valkyrie nods to her, while the Viralix does a U-turn in the hall, dropping to all fours and loping after Jackrabbit, clearly intent on tagging along.

That leaves just me and Valkyrie in the hall. She raises an eyebrow at me, and I give an uneasy smile — Valkyrie’s direct, stone-grey gaze always makes me feel squirmy. “Guess I’ll just, uh… get on my way now. Eight hours of sleep and all that.” I say, putting a thumb over my shoulder in the other direction, then turning and speedwalking in that direction. Even when walking away, I know that she’s looking at me, because I can feel the pressure of her gaze keeping me locked down in the hall, unable to use my quantum uncertainty to shimmer back to Sierra’s room.

It’s only when I’m about to turn the corner that I feel that pressure lift off of me, and I fight the impulse to let out a sigh of relief as I duck around the curve in the hall. Giving Sierra the firsthand account is inevitable; if Kiwi and Songbird can’t get their spat sorted out, then someone’s going have to step in and get the two of them straight with each other. Normally I wouldn’t push my nose into someone else’s relationship, but…

I’d hate for the two of them to be on the rocks with each other after everything they’ve been through together.

The Galactic Daily: Front Page

GOVERNMENTS REACT BY NOT REACTING

While confirmations of the return of Nova continue to flow in throughout much of yesterday, with most verifications coming from media outlets and independent intelligence organizations, governments have been slow to react to the events on Kasvei. None of the major nations have yet given a confirmation of the former Challenger’s return, with most of the official responses stating only that the events are still under investigation, and that there would be no further comment at the time. Even the Halfie Protectorate, to which the Kantrix System belongs, would not give a positive confirmation of Nova’s return, stating only that the events on Kasvei concerned them, and the appropriate resources were being deployed to investigate the matter, begin disaster relief, and provide answers for the public.

However, leaks from behind the scenes seem to point to a growing frustration with CURSE. While many sources insist on remaining anonymous due to lacking authorization to speak publicly, the consensus seems to be that this revelation has blindsided many governments, forcing them to reevaluate their positions and relationships with CURSE. Officials in many governments are questioning why CURSE withheld Nova’s survival from even their closest partners, and whether the organization can be trusted in the wake of this bombshell. Some of the sources spoken to have even mused that this reveal could be the turning point which pushes some nations into publicly pursuing working relationships with the Valiant, who have sought legitimization ever since their entry onto the galactic stage over a year ago.

Of all the sources spoken to, one which works in the Colloquium offered an explanation for why most governments have so far refused to officially acknowledge the return of Nova. “They need to buy time,” the source stated. “This is how they do it. They say they’re investigating the events and won’t comment until they’ve verified what’s true and what’s not. That gives them enough time to figure out the posture they want to take when they finally acknowledge the truth, and when they’re ready, they can announce their findings and the stance they are taking on it. It’s already obvious to everyone that Nova’s back, but once you acknowledge it, people are going to want to know your thoughts on it, and how you plan to react to it. And a lot of governments haven’t figured that out yet. They’re just as confused as the rest of us are, and they’re trying to figure out the response that minimizes the amount of risk for their nation.”

With uncertainty in the air, markets have been fluctuating wildly over the last few days, which only seems to be exacerbated by the refusal of most governments to confirm the return of Nova. Gains for the year have been wiped out as traders nervously wait to see what stances the major nations will take on Nova’s return…

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

V.V. Prominence: Sparring Room

3/1/12765 9:18am LST

I figured nobody would be in the sparring room this time of morning, but the door spirals open to reveal Ridge punching a hoverbag across the room. The look on his face is a familiar one, and after a moment, I step in, waving the door shut behind me.

He doesn’t say anything as I come in, and doesn’t acknowledge me. Walking across the room, I catch the punching bag and hold it still for him; his hands are wrapped, little spots of blood seeping through the fabric. Once the bag is stationary, he starts pummeling it; his training in basic and with Cahriu is showing through. He can throw a punch now, knows how to put force and focus into it; he’s come a long way from being part of the mob of orphans that ambushed me in the Challenger museum.

I don’t say anything as he keeps hammering the punching bag; there’s not really much that needs to be said. His fists are doing all the talking, making it clear that Quincy’s betrayal is still eating at him; even three days removed from that night, it’s still fresh and raw. And if my own experience is any guide, that pain is going to remain fresh for weeks. Months. Perhaps even years.

And that’s why I don’t say anything. Because I know that nothing I say right now will make things any better.

Ridge keeps pummeling the punching bag for several minutes, though I can tell his arms are starting to get tired when he starts mixing in kicks as well. Even so, that continues for a while, and I continue holding the bag in place for him, knowing that he’ll wear out eventually. The pace of the punches starts to slow down over the course of minutes, trickling to a halt rather suddenly, and after a moment of bracing himself on his knees, he gives the punching bag a last swat, then turns and heads for the wall. Letting my hands drop off the punching bag, I push it away as I follow him over to the wall, where he sits down and hooks his arms over his bent knees.

Sitting down a few feet from him, I reach into my jacket and pull out my flask, unscrewing it and taking a sip. After a moment, I offer it out to him, and he glances at it. “It’s fizzwater, isn’t it.” he says.

I shrug. “Sorry, kid. You’re not eighteen yet. Still got…” I check the date on my phone. “…two and a half months to go before you’re legal.”

He sighs, then takes the flask. “Dunno why I bother asking. You never drink anyway.” he says, taking a swig. “Figure you would need it more than anyone else right now.”

“I’ve got my reasons.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m a sad damn drunk. It’s not fun for me. Brings all the trauma and anger and resentment back to the surface.”

Ridge takes another swig from the flask, then starts screwing the lid back on. “Before now I would’ve called bullshit. But after the week we’ve had, I can see it.” he says, holding the flask back out to me. “Makes sense why you stick to fizzwater.”

I take the flask back, realizing that something feels different about the way Ridge is talking now. There’s something that feels distinctly more mature about it, more… jaded. Before now, he’d been cynical, but it was the sort of arrogant cynicism that came from a teenager that thought they knew everything. That cynicism was still there, but there was something different about it now. It was no longer there because he was seeking validation or trying to come across as cool; it was there because he’d experienced something that gave him a valid reason to be cynical.

It was like he’d had an emotional growth spurt. A very painful, negative one.

“Can’t say I wasn’t tempted to medicate with alcohol in the past.” I say, tucking the flask back in my jacket. “I did try it a few times. Result was always the same, so I learned my lesson and found other ways to manage my issues. Wasn’t easy, but the alternative was having my issues manage me, which probably would’ve gotten me killed eventually.”

“Pretty sure most other people would’ve medicated with alcohol if they went through what you went through with Nova.” Ridge mutters. There’s a bit of a lull, then he asks: “How did you do it?”

“Do what?” I say, glancing at him.

“Let her go. Let her live.” Ridge says, leaning back against the wall. “I wanted to strangle Quincy after what he did to me. Still want to wring his neck, and the next time I see him I’m going to give him the thrashing of a lifetime for betraying us, betraying me. After what Nova did to you, I thought you’d feel the same way about her. But you just… let her go. Aren’t you angry?”

I arch an eyebrow. “You saw the fight I had with her, right?”

“Well, I mean yeah, but then you won that fight, and you had her on the ground in front of you. You could’ve ended it, gotten revenge for everything she put you through, for everything you suffered because of her lies. You could’ve ended her right then and there, and the Valiant would probably never have to worry about CURSE again. But you let her go instead. Why did you do that?”

I look away. “My reasons haven’t changed since that night, Ridge. I already told you and everyone else—”

“Okay then, how did you do it? If it had been me and Quincy in the same situation, I would’ve gone over there and beat his ass to death. Or held him under the water until he drowned. I don’t think I would’ve been able to walk away.”

I’m quiet for a bit, not answering right away. “I think a lot of people think that. Someone they love betrays them in a deep, intimate way, something that cuts all the way to the core, and it hurts so much that all you can think of is hurting them back. Not even necessarily because you want them to hurt, but because you want them to know how you feel, to understand how painful it is. A lot of people think they want that. But then you get to the point where you could hurt them, and they know you could do it, that you want to do it, and you see the fear in their eyes.” I pause for a moment, gathering my thoughts. “You see fear in the eyes of someone you used to love. And you hesitate at that point. You wonder if this is what you really want, if this is really what you want to be.”

“Even after everything that she put you through?” Ridge asks again.

“Yes, even after all that. I still see a little bit of the person that I used to look up to, the person I loved, the person I thought she could be. If you and Quincy ever cross paths again, I think you’ll find it’s not as easy to hurt him as you think it’s going to be.”

“Still going to beat his ass for selling us out.”

“I’m sure that’s what you want. And I’m sure that’s what he deserves. And if you ever do get that chance…” I pause, searching for the right words to say. “…just remember that you loved him for a reason.”

“I loved him because he paid attention to me.” Ridge retorts angrily. “Because he saw me, listened to me, spent time with me, made me feel like I was important. But that was all a lie. He only did it to get close to me, to have a cover and make it look like he belonged here and was invested in… in all of this, all of us. I was just—”

His voice catches at this point, and I can see the grief welling up underneath the anger as the words get stuck in his throat. I know what he’s trying to say, what’s on his mind, because I’ve been there before as well.

“You feel like you were just a means to an end. A stepping stone for someone else to walk on.” I say softly.

He wipes his nose as he takes a deep breath, clearly fighting to keep all the hurt and pain from coming out. “I just don’t understand how you do it. How you’re so calm after everything that Nova did to you. You loved her, right? Didn’t it hurt?”

“Oh yeah. I loved her. For years, even though she never loved me back.” I answer gently. “I was always hurting, watching her be with other people… always hurting, trying to be more than what I was. To be what she wanted. And I was always hurting, because it was never enough. It hurt when she betrayed us and tried to defect to CURSE, and it hurt to feel like I was the one responsible for her death. And when she showed up on Kasvei and revealed it’d all been a lie, and I had suffered for years because of that lie… that hurt a lot. Even if I no longer love her, that still hurt.” I allow a moment for all of that to settle, before going on. “Maybe I’m calm because I’ve gotten used to the pain, since I’ve lived with it for so long. For you, it’s going to hurt for a while. It just will, because that’s how this works. It’s gonna take months, maybe years, but the pain will fade. Things will get better and you’ll move on. The scar won’t go away; it will always be there, and there will be times when the memories come back all of the sudden, and it’ll hurt just as much as it does now. But it’ll only last for a day or so, and then you’ll move on again. Quincy won’t be a part of your life at that point, so there’ll be no reason to keep living it like he’s still part of it.”

Ridge shakes his head, wiping at his eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over this. It’s just…”

“It will get better. I’m not gonna sugarcoat it and say that it’ll happen right now, or anytime soon. You’re gonna feel like shit for a while. You’re gonna be angry. You’re gonna wonder what the point of even trying is.” I say, lacing my fingers together. “But it will get better eventually. And if I had to tell you something, it would be to remember that there are still good people out there. Quincy is just one person out of an uncountable number. There are other people out there that are good, that are kind. That are worth protecting and living for.”

“I mean, that’s easy for you to say; you’ve got Kiwi.” he mutters.

I press my lips together, a little twinge of pain going through me. “Yeah. Well. Relationships aren’t always butterflies and rainbows. Sometimes the people that love you can hurt you, even if they don’t mean to. And often they’re really good at it. Really, really…” I pause for a moment, taking a deep breath. “…really good at finding those old scars and just twisting a hot knife into them.”

Ridge is quiet for a bit, looking away. “Is that what Renchiko was talking about earlier? About you and Kiwi having a fight last night?”

I open my mouth, then close it as I consider how to respond. It’s tempting to do so, but I know I shouldn’t air my dirty laundry to someone else. Especially someone as young as Ridge, who still has a long way to go in terms of maturing. “It isn’t our first fight. It probably won’t be the last.” I eventually say. “Let’s just say that you’re not the only one going through it right now.”

He lets out something that sounds like it could be a derisive snort, as if my struggle couldn’t compare to his. But after a moment, he says “Everybody always says misery loves company. I think I get it now. You don’t feel as bad about yourself when someone else is going through it too.”

“Yeah. Pretty much.” I agree, looking around and checking the holographic clock display hovering over the wall. “Anyhow, I don’t like to spend too much time sitting around and feeling sorry for myself. You gotten breakfast yet?”

“Nah. Haven’t really been hungry lately.”

“Getting thrown under the bus by someone you love will do that to you. C’mon, let’s go hit up the mess hall. Sometimes a good meal will take your mind off things.”

Journal Of An Unknown Maskling

12/29/10648

I mull upon my legacy more often nowadays.

I have secured a spot in the history books for having helped design and oversee the construction and completion of the Cradle. It is a grand accomplishment, one that marks my gift, my contribution to my race; for legacy ought not be for the glorification of the individual alone. True legacy is measured not in the aggrandizement of self, but in the enrichment of the greater whole; measured not in what you have acquired for yourself, but in what you have given back to others. This is why I detest that capitalism has seen a recent resurgence in the Republic; this foolish assumption that those who have amassed obscene wealth should be revered, and that wealth somehow correlates with intelligence.

What vexes me even more is that the rich in our society, and many other societies, don’t do anything with their prosperity. It just… sits there, in stocks and bank accounts, accruing interest and value, rarely moving except to migrate to another financial instrument or scheme designed to increase the rate of return. Wealth for the sake of wealth, never used, infinitely growing, enjoyed only by a select few who keep it all to themselves, passed on through the family, generation upon generation. I cannot count the number of times I have advised the Council to return the tax rate for the wealthy to its original levels, but they have ignored me each time, possibly because many of them often come from these selfsame wealthy families that allow them to participate in politics. I have stopped trying to convince them on that point, and many others besides. They did not listen to my counsel on the shuttering of the Rasa program, so it comes as no surprise that they would discard my advice on tax reform.

But I digress. Legacy — I have considered it more and more often recently. I have left a legacy in the form of the Cradle and many other, smaller national projects; and while it does bring a measure of satisfaction and fulfillment, I sometimes still feel that there is something missing. I think it may be my solitude — I never built a family. There was never time for it, and while I have had partners in the past, there was limited tolerance for my dedication to my nation. These days, I look around and wonder to myself if I should’ve made more time for finding and keeping a partner. I wonder what it would’ve been like to have and raise children, watch them go off on their own and become their own people. I think I would’ve liked it; I think to myself it would not have been all too different from the work I have done shepherding my nation over the last few centuries.

I write all of this as if the possibility of a family or offspring has been foreclosed to me, even though it’s not. I could still have children if I so chose; Masklings do not need partners to reproduce, since we can break off shards of our Masks and use them as the starting point for the creation of a new Mask. I could do that; I have mulled doing that; and yet it does not feel right, at least right now. I ask myself if I could raise a little person; if I have the skills, wisdom, and temperament to do such a thing. Silly questions to ask, are they not? Coming from someone that has led entire organizations and overseen entire departments. I have handled hundreds, thousands of people in the past; you would imagine I would be qualified for handling one. And yet I feel doubt when faced with the proposition of raising a child.

Conflicted as my thoughts and emotions are, I feel that getting them on the page has at least helped organize them, so that I may see them and process them more logically. Writing out my problems sometimes has the effect of granting me a clear mind, if for no other reason than that I can disburse some of my mental load to the page and leave it there. I will come away from this journal entry relieved of a burden that has been plaguing me for some time, and will be more at peace, at least for a little while. The desire for a smaller, more intimate legacy has not left me, but it will be contained for a time when I have a better idea of how to act on it, and when I am more prepared for seeing it through.

Event Log: Kiwi

V.V. Prominence: Songbird and Kiwi’s Quarters

3/2/12765 3:50pm LST

Reaching the end of the page, I glance at the empty spot on the bed beside me, feeling an odd pang after all the words I’ve read in the journal. After a moment, I close the journal and set it aside, deciding that I’ve done enough reading for today.

Getting up, I run my hands through my hair and walk a couple paces, then glare back at the journal. It’s given me odd thoughts, odd feelings — reading through the musings of a father I’d never met or known, seeing that he’d wanted a family, but then found himself wondering if it was too late for that. Something about that had made me uncomfortable, and it had been hard to pin down at first, only to realize it was because it felt familiar — the creeping, quiet worry at the back of my head that I would eventually find myself all alone, having missed my chances while all the people I knew had families of their own…

“No.” I mutter, shaking my head and starting to pace a bit more, trying to outwalk the thoughts. “Don’t need to be someone else’s wife, don’t need kids, don’t need to be trapped in a house for two decades raising little people…”

That wasn’t what I wanted. That’s never been what I wanted. I don’t want kids; kids are work, and they’re messy, and I’m way too maladjusted to be someone’s parent. I like being able to go where I want, do what I want, enjoy my freedom, and not worry about having to corral a tiny person that doesn’t have common sense or a self-preservation instinct. That’s not me, and that’s not what I want.

Going to the closet, I open it up and start looking for my pajamas, only to catch sight of Feroce’s pink hoodie hanging on one of the hooks.

He’s calm and kind and sensible, but also strong. Good moral compass. He’d be a good father.

“No!” I shout, pushing away from the closet and grinding a palm against my forehead as I try to squash the intrusive thoughts. “He can’t even have kids, he’s a vampire, he’s sterile, that’s one of the things we like about him, I don’t have to worry about… no! Just no. I don’t… that’s not what I want.”

But if you did want it, he’d be your first pick.

“That’s not what I want!” I growl, pacing away and faceplanting back onto the bed, then thumping my fists against it in frustration. Turning my head, I glare at the journal again. “It’s all your fault. I wasn’t thinking about any of this beforehand, but I’m thinking about it now. You put this idea in my head, projecting your wants onto me. I don’t want kids. You wanted kids. And then you couldn’t even be bothered to raise them once you had them, because you apparently gave me away to Forecast or the Council after I was born. So no! I’m not going to have kids! You weren’t good with kids, and I don’t want kids, so it runs in the family and we’re better off without kids! So there!” To make my point, I shove the book away, knocking it off the bed, where it flops to the floor, out of sight.

In the ensuing silence, I realize how dumb this is. I’m arguing with a book over whether or not I want to have kids.

“Stupid.” I mutter, rolling over on my side, and again noticing how big the bed seems when Feroce isn’t here. After our fight, he went nomadic, drifting around the ship instead of coming back to our quarters at night. When I texted him, his short reply was that he needed some space to cool down and clear his head, but he still hasn’t come back. And I can’t stop thinking about the fight we had, the way he snapped and unloaded on me.

Reaching over, I grab my phone, unlocking it and digging up Tarocco in my contacts. Once I find her, I call her, rolling over on my back as I wait for her to pick up. When she does, the first thing I do is blurt out the question that keeps on chewing away at me. “It wasn’t my fault, was it? Like, he should’ve killed Nova, right? Everyone with an ounce of common sense agrees with me on that, right?”

“Whoa, whoa whoa whoa okay, hold up, Kiwi. You can’t just dump that on me at the start of a call.” Tarocco replies, sounding a little muffled. Seems like she’s rushing to finish chewing and swallowing something. “How about ‘Hi Tarocco? How are you doing, Tarocco? Got a minute to talk, Tarocco? You’re not busy right now, are you Tarocco?’ We got manners, right?”

“Okay hi, yeah. Hello. I’m right though, right? He should’ve killed Nova when I had the chance?”

“I mean, yes, but—”

“But nothing! That should be the end of it, right? He should’ve killed her!”

“Well, there’s a difference between being right, and telling someone that they should’ve killed their childhood friend. I do think you’re right, he should’ve killed Nova. I don’t think you should’ve taken him to task for not doing it.”

“Why not?! She’s a threat, and she’s going to keep being a threat since he let her get away!”

“You treat killing people like it’s taking out the trash, Kiwi. It’s not that simple—”

“It is that simple! She’s trash! After what she did to him? It should be as simple as taking out the trash because she is trash!” I exclaim. “How is it that he’s not frothing at the mouth to kill her? I would’ve turned that bitch into a crater if she’d done to me what she did to him! Do you think he’s still in love with her?”

“Jesu Christi, Kiwi, calm down. Your man is not going to leave you for some corrupted star-slut who strung him along years ago. After everything she’s put him through? Nobody in their right mind would go back to that. Besides, you saw how he clobbered her ass on Kasvei. That’s a lot of things, but it ain’t love.”

“Yeah… I guess.” I concede grudgingly, remember how he’d punched Nova in the head hard enough to send her rocketing face-first into the asphalt at his feet. “But still. He should’ve killed her.”

“Girl, you gotta let that go. It’s in the past. You can’t change it now.” Tarocco chides. “Besides, I don’t know what you were expecting. Your man isn’t a cold-blooded killer. He’s a softie that tries to talk people out of fighting; we’ve all seen it. I dunno why you think he’d kill someone when it’s something he always tries to avoid.”

“Thought he’d make an exception for the bitch that ruined his life.” I mutter.

“Well, he didn’t, and it shows that he’s got a lot more restraint than the average person does. I’m guessing if you’re calling me about this, it means that the two of you still haven’t made up after your fight?”

“He’s been wandering around the ship and sulking. Doesn’t come back to our quarters at night, so I think he’s been surfing on the couches in the observation lounges. Tried texting him, but he shut me down when I asked him where he was.”

“Damn. Forecast told me that you two had a fight, but he didn’t tell me it was a blowout. Have you apologized to him yet?”

“Why do I need to apologize to him?! He’s the one that blew up at me!”

“Because I know that Songbird doesn’t blow up unless there’s a good reason, and I also know you a little too well.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“C’mon, Kiwi. You’re not fooling anyone.”

“I was only saying what everyone was thinking!”

“All these years, and all these handlers you’ve burned through, and you still haven’t learned. Just because you’re right doesn't mean it’s polite or kind to tell someone else they’re wrong.”

“How else are they gonna know if you don’t tell them?!”

“Well, you could do it more gently than telling someone they should’ve killed their childhood friend. Honestly, did you even stop to think about that before you opened your mouth? What made you think it was a good idea to tell him that?”

“I dunno! It just kinda… went there on its own, I dunno. I didn’t really have time for thinking. You don’t think when you’re in an argument, you just react.” I reply, waving my free arm around. “Now he’s all pissy and sulky, and I don’t know how to get him back to normal.”

“Well, like I said, an apology is a good place to start.”

“I’m not gonna apologize to him! I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Oh great, so you’re taking his side now?”

“I ain’t doin’ shit, Kiwi. You’re the one that called me! Did you think that I was gonna give you a free pass and tell you that you’re right?”

“I mean, yeah, you’re supposed to back me up on this.”

“Well, just because you’re right doesn't mean that what you did was right. That’s the best I can give you. You’re right on principle, but not on action.”

“I don’t like that.”

“I’m aware. Did you need anything else? My carbonara is starting to get lukewarm.”

“Bitch, put down your pasta and talk to me. It’s not even dinnertime yet! And why are you eating that many carbs?”

“I had to morph to my combat form to help with some heavy machinery repairs down in engineering. Apparently the hoverlift burned out after fifteen years of hibernation. Gotta replace some of the calories I burned.”

“Fine, whatever. If you see Songbird wandering around, tell him I’m waiting for him.”

“Here’s an idea: why don’t you tell him yourself, and apologize to him while you’re at it.”

“I told you, I’m not apologizing to him!”

“Listen, Kiwi, you can be right all the time, or you can have a boyfriend. You pick.”

“Why can’t I have both?!”

“That’s not the way relationships work. If you can’t get up the nerve to apologize, you’re gonna have a rough time of it whenever you two have a fight.”

“I’ll take it under consideration.”

“You should do more than that, but I know how stubborn you are, so I’ll take that as a win and leave it at that. Do you need anything else?”

“Can you morph and sniff him out for me? I’ve gone looking for him, but it seems like he knows this ship like the back of his hand, and I haven’t been able to find him.”

“I’m not gonna track your boyfriend’s scent, Kiwi. That’s just weird.”

“I’ll pay you in carbonara!”

“I’m hanging up now.”

And she does exactly that before I can offer any other bribes. Grumbling, I let my phone drop to the pillow, flopping my arms out to either side. I know, deep down, that I probably took things a little too far when I was arguing with Songbird. I didn’t mean to, but one thing led to the next, all of it powered by the fact that I knew I was at least partially right. Letting Nova escape was a mistake, one that I knew we were going to regret, and I needed him to see that so that he wouldn’t make the same mistake again in the future. Because if he couldn’t acknowledge that…

It wouldn’t be long before Nova caught on and started abusing his mercy.

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

V.V. Prominence: Intelligence Center

3/3/12765 1:08pm LST

“…since we now have the Valiant insignia figured out, and Fashionista’s design expertise has given us a workable set of uniforms, Command wanted to start setting up color codes for the chevron insignia so we can easily organize our staff. Drill came up with the original color key, and we ran it past Valkyrie and Kaiser, so here’s what we’ve got based off their input. Yellow chevrons will be support and logistics staff, orange will be rank-and-file combat staff and general field ops, red will— hey. Featherhead. You still with me here?”

I blink, refocusing my eyes on the holoscreen that Legaci’s shoved in front of me. “Mm. Yes, I’m listening. Yellow is logistics, orange is general ops. What is red?”

“Good. So, red chevrons will be high-risk, elite strike force staff — basically Special Agents, that’s you and Kiwi and Jackrabbit and all the rest. Green chevrons will be science and research staff — people like Boaris and Midnatt. Blue will be medical, humanitarian, charity, and refugee staff — that one’s aspirational, we’re not big enough for that yet, but we’re hoping to make it a thing one day. Purple will be covert ops, so Kaiser and everyone else under him. And white chevrons will be administrative and diplomatic staff, so people like Drill and myself. Any thoughts? Feedback?”

I press my lips together, shaking my head. “No. Seems… seems pretty good to me. I’m fine with it.”

Legaci stares at me for a moment, then swipes the screen away and folds her arms. “Have you talked to her yet?”

I blink at her. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You’re distracted because you’re still brooding over that blowout fight you had with your girlfriend. Have you talked with her yet?”

I let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Is nothing private nowadays…?”

“Seriously, Songbird? Nova comes back, you kick her ass, then get in a fight with your girlfriend afterwards. Everybody’s been watching you since Kasvei. You’re a public figure; your life is not private. Of course everybody knows about your fight with Kiwi. There’s rumors going around the ship that Kiwi’s jealous about your ex.”

“What?” I hiss. “Nova isn’t my ex! She could barely be bothered to be my friend!”

“Yeah, well, tell that to every armchair historian. You know there’s been a recent influx of interest in you? Search engines across the galaxynet have logged a huge spike of keyword searches with your name in them. Your profile on the BGAP crashed the other day when your symps started flooding it.”

“My… what? On the what? And the who?”

“Your profile. On the Bad Guy Appreciation Page. Crashed when traffic to the site, spurred by your fangirls and apologists, started flooding the page.”

“Oh, that.” I say, rolling my eyes. “Why hasn’t anyone taken that down yet? Haven’t I proved that I’m not a bad guy?”

“Tell that to CURSE. Honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if they were bribing BGAP to keep your profile up. Anyway, you never answered the question. Have you talked to Kiwi yet?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It is my business.” Legaci says, moving to stand in my way when I try to turn away from her. “Because you’re in here, wasting my time with your half-assed attention to this briefing. The sooner you and Kiwi get your shit together, the sooner the rest of us can stop worrying about you two.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about us. We’ll be fine.” I mutter, turning in another direction.

Legaci takes a deep breath, bringing her hands up and curling them into fists. “Now that I have a proper body, I’m suddenly starting to understand the temptation to strangle stubborn people.”

I give her a wary look. “That’s a joke, right?”

“Just go talk to her! Is it that hard?” Legaci demands, ignoring my question.

I shake my head. “She doesn’t understand—”

“THAT’S THE POINT OF TALKING TO HER, YOU IDIOT!” Legaci snaps incredulously. “How is she supposed to understand if you don’t talk to her?”

“Okay, I can talk to her, but the problem is that she doesn’t listen to me!” I protest, throwing my arms out. “She doesn’t understand… doesn’t… she doesn’t get it. She just kept pushing, and pushing, and I was telling her, but she wasn’t listening to me, and she— she just doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand why I can’t kill Nova. I was trying to explain, but she wasn’t listening to anything I was saying, she was only hearing what she wanted to hear and flipping it back on me. She was hearing me but she wasn’t actually listening to what I was trying to tell her!”

Legaci hitches her hands on her hips. “Okay, well have you considered giving it a second go?”

I give her a flat look.

“Don’t look at me like that! I’m saying that you might have a better time of it if you try to talk to her when both of you are a little calmer.” Legaci says, gesturing a hand. “People aren’t good at listening when they’re worked up. She’s more likely to listen to you when you two aren’t shouting at each other.”

I press my knuckles against my brow, blowing out a long sigh. “Since when have you been a therapist?”

“That’s not therapy, Songbird, it’s common damn sense. I don’t need a degree to tell you that people are more willing to listen when you’re not shouting at them.”

“I’ll… consider it.” I mutter. “Kiwi’s tough to handle. She’s so stubborn when she thinks she’s right, and trying to get through to her is almost impossible. She just doesn’t… she’s one of those people that only learns by experiencing something firsthand. You can’t tell her that the stove is hot; she won’t believe you. She has to touch it and burn herself to find out.”

“Yeah, well, something to keep in mind is that you’re the stove, Songbird.” Legaci says.

My eyebrows draw together. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what it means. You’re the stove, and when you two had your fight, she was cranking your heat up until you exploded and burned her. She pushed you until you snapped, and I’m pretty sure she recognizes that. Everyone that was eavesdropping realized it when your voice came through the walls and put them in a vicegrip.”

I wince at that, running a hand through my hair and down the back of my neck. “I… didn’t mean to do that. That was my fault. I shouldn’t have lost control like that.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m sure you feel sorry about that. Point is, I don’t think your girlfriend is as stubborn as you think she is. You should talk to her; I think she’ll be more willing to listen after she’s burned her hand on the stove.” She starts to turn away towards one of the other holoscreens in the room, then pauses. “I’ve gotta ask, though. Nova?”

The way she asks it is different from the way everyone else has been asking it, and perhaps that’s why I don’t find it quite as annoying. The question Legaci’s asking isn’t actually about Nova; it’s about me, and whether I can handle this. “She’s just another Peacekeeper. If she gets in our way, I’ll handle her just the same as I’ve handled other Peacekeepers.”

Legaci’s blue eyes linger on me. “You sure?”

“She made her choice. Picked her side. The Valiant don’t owe her anything, and she’ll never admit she was wrong.” I shove my hands in my pockets, falling silent for a moment, then going on. “There’ll be no point in trying to talk to her. We are the villains in her story, and she has to cling to that. She has to believe that. Because if it’s not true, then the story she’s built for herself starts to fall apart, and she can’t handle that. She will do everything she can to keep her version of the narrative intact, regardless of what the cost is.”

Legaci doesn’t reply to that right away; she seems to be surprised by the depth of my insight into Nova. “Pretty bold, coming from the king of deescalation. Hadn’t expected you to be the one to advocate for the ‘no mercy’ approach.”

“She hasn’t given us any reason to show her mercy. Certainly hasn’t shown us any mercy over the last year and a half, trying to use CURSE to stamp us out.” Feeling my mood starting to darken, I try to turn the conversation away from myself. “What about you? How do you feel about her coming back from the dead after all these years?”

She shakes her head. “Stupid. Frustrated. Don’t know why I didn’t seen it before. I should’ve spotted it, should’ve known. It seems so obvious in hindsight; all the pieces fit together.”

“Well, you weren’t the only one she fooled.” I offer. “She managed to pull it over the entire galaxy.”

“Yeah, but I had access to the Bastions’ surveillance and intelligence tools, and the supercomputing array, and I still missed it!” Legaci vents. “I had all the tools and information I needed to figure it out; I just wasn’t looking.”

“And you wouldn’t have known to look.” I add. “Nobody was looking because everyone assumed she was dead.”

“I know that, but it just pisses me off, because she left clues, and I didn’t spot them.” Legaci says, flicking a hand at one of the screens that has Nova’s old Challenger profile on it. “It’s like she was mocking everyone, rubbing salt in the wound for not having figured it out earlier. She put it right in her goddamn name! You know her real name, right?”

“Yeah. Of course.” I say, although it doesn’t give me any satisfaction. “Cherri Locke.”

“Cherriki Locke. She’s one of the Cherriki clones that the Challenger program sold to certain parties under the table, back in the day. Laughing Alice is a Cherriki too; being a pain in the ass must run in that clone line.” Legaci says, scrolling through another window. “The Challengers kept a registry of every Cherriki embryo that they produced, and each one was assigned a designation. You know what Nova’s embryo designation was?” She waits a moment, perhaps for effect, because I definitely don’t know this trivia off the top of my head, and I’m not sure who would. “Her embryo designation was Cherriki 10-G. Clone number 10 from the Girl line.”

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with that information. “…okay?”

Legaci gives me an incredulous look. “Administrator Tenji? Cherriki 10-G?”

“Oh!” My eyes widen as it clicks, and then I wrinkle my nose. “Oh. Man, that’s just disrespectful.”

“Exactly! It was right there, in our faces, for fifteen years, like a joke that only she understood, daring people to figure it out, and they never did. It just— uurrgh! It burns me up.” Legaci seethes, swatting away the screens. “Doesn’t matter anymore, I suppose… the cat’s out of the bag now, and CURSE is getting eaten alive by the news media. If nothing else, I’m getting a delicious helping of schadenfreude out of that. It’s nice to see the shoe on the other foot for once.”

“Is that how it’s been? I haven’t been keeping up with it.” I admit. “How bad is it?”

“Oh, it’s…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, making a chef’s kiss motion instead. “It is so far outside of their control, there’s no way they’ll be able to spin it. No explanation is ever going to be sufficient. It looks bad, no matter which way you turn it, and that is just so, so cathartic. After all the time they’ve spent broadcasting their propaganda through the major media outlets, it’s so satisfying to watch them be reminded that the media isn’t their friend. The media’s loyalty only goes as far as the next breaking story. They don’t pull their punches if it means that they can maximize their views, and this? A controversy like this is gonna get the microscope treatment. Everything is going to be fair game, no matter how unflattering it might be to CURSE.”

“Mm.” I refrain from voicing it, but it does feel like there’s a poetic justice to that, after what I went through fifteen years ago. “We’ll be able to capitalize on it, right? Use it to make a case for why CURSE can’t be trusted?”

“Are you kidding me? Our media office has already released a couple of targeted statements.” Legaci scoffs. “Drill’s working on a new round of funding conferences with potential backers. We’ve even had a couple of the nations reach out to us behind the curtain, wanting to know more about what our operation is and what we do. And the ones we’re already partnered with are asking for permission to release public statements emphasizing their support of the Valiant. Trust me, Valiant Command is going to squeeze this lemon for all it’s worth, and it is a fat damn lemon. We’re not going to give CURSE the chance to recover from this.”

“Good to hear there’s something good coming out of it.” I say, tucking my hands in my pockets. “Is there anything else that needs to be covered for this briefing?”

“No, that should be everything. You can scram now, but you need to get your shit together and talk to your girlfriend.” Legaci says, giving me a shooing motion. “If you don’t get that sorted out soon, the rest of us are going to step in and lock the two of you in a room until you get it hashed out. If you two don’t have that sorted by the time we reach Losinadae, there’s gonna be problems.”

“I’ll… give it some thought.” I say reluctantly as I start to back towards the door, dodging around committing to anything. “These things are easier said than done.”

“Well, if you don’t do them, we’re gonna do them for you.” Legaci warns as I step out. “So get it taken care of before I end up having to lock you and Kiwi in a room together.”

The door spirals shut with that, leaving me alone out in the hall. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly, glancing down the empty hall before turning and walking… in the opposite direction of the quarters that Kiwi and I were sharing.

I know Legaci had warned me, but I just can’t bring myself to start that conversation with Kiwi right now. I hadn’t admitted to it, but there was a deep, smoldering anger still lingering from our last conversation, and the fact that she just wouldn’t listen to me. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, but I couldn’t shake it — normally I’m a very forgiving person, but there was something about this that just clung to me, no matter how I tried to let it go and put it behind me. Maybe it was instinctive — a sonic sorcerer that doesn’t feel like he’s being heard was like a pencil sharpener being given a box of pens. It was insulting and pointless and frustrating.

So I walk away, in the the other direction, for now. I’ll talk with Kiwi, eventually, at some point, when my anger no longer had a grip on me.

Just not right now.

Diaspora Daily (Rantecevangian)

Program: Word On The Streets (WOTS Up)

Timeslot: 8pm-9pm

Spinsy: Hey all, welcome to another episode of WOTS Up, where our correspondents across the colonies hit the street and get the heartbeat of the Diaspora.

Naril: Tonight, the topic that’s on everybody’s mind: Nova. What are the common people thinking? Do they love it? Hate it? Would they like to shake it and bake it?

Spinsy: That’s the question we are asking the people tonight.

Naril: So sit tight and listen up, because we’re about to get you the word on the street.

[cut to Xalomerren montage]

Passerby 1: I mean, kinda makes you wonder, right? If CURSE lied about that, what else did they lie about? Is the recording of the Songbird Incident even real, or did they just fake it? I don’t know anything, I’m just a dude, but I do know a thing or two about liars: if they’ve told you one lie, they’ve probably told you others.

Passerby 2: I think it’s good she’s back. She did some pretty good work when she was a Challenger, y’know? Nova, that is. People loved her for a reason, right?

Passerby 3: I don’t think it’s Nova. There’s trillions of people in this galaxy, right? And people have been doing Nova lookalikes and cosplays for a decade now. They prolly just found someone that looked like her and dressed her up. The real Nova’s still dead — we all saw the footage from the Songbird Incident.

[cut to Laiquedux montage]

Resident 1: Honestly, if you ask me, I don’t know why we’re supposed to care? Like, what has CURSE ever done for the Diaspora? They don’t wanna come within ten lightyears of any of our worlds, and we don’t like that they’re the Colloquium’s mutts, so yeah. I don’t get why we’re supposed to care about any of this. Now the Valiant, on the other hand. Talk to me about the Valiant. There’s a group that’s got my eye.

Resident 2: Oh, me? I think it’s pretty obvious why Nova was in hiding for all those years. Everyone saw the fight on Kasvei. She’s scared of Songbird, and for good reason. I’d be scared of him too. Lots of women know what it’s like to be scared of a man, so I totally get it.

Resident 3: I’m just tired of hearin’ about it, man. Like literally, it’s been the only thing I’ve heard over the last week. Nova this. Songbird that. CURSE this. Valiant that. Yamma yamma yamma. Like, can we please talk about something else? Anything. I’d take anything at this point, even if it’s another Colloquium scandal.

[cut to Rantecevang montage]

Bar Patron 1: Look, don’t get me wrong — like, this is big news and all that, and people deserve to be curious, deserve to ask questions about what’s going on with the Nova thing. I get that, I respect it. But at the same time… put it all into perspective, y’know? I think people have blown this way out of proportion. Yeah, a popular Challenger that was supposedly assassinated by Songbird came back from the dead, but also, an entire planet got scorched two months ago. The Collective assimilated a world last summer, and they’re starting to mass up again. There are bigger things to worry about, and this Nova thing is being blown out of proportion.

Bar Patron 2: It’s just a bad look, if you ask me. Like, was that supposed to be CURSE’s ace? ‘Cause if it was, their ace got her ass kicked. They’re not convincing the rest of the galaxy that they’re cut out for the job they’ve got. Can’t keep order in the galaxy if you’re too busy getting your ass beat like a bass drum.

Bar Patron 3: Here’s my thing: the modern CURSE was built on Nova’s martyrdom, right? That was their rallying cry. Well, she’s not dead. She never died. So, the modern CURSE is built on a lie, right? It was all a lie. And we tore down the Challengers based on a lie. People threw rogue Challengers in jail and sent kill squads after them based on a lie. It was all based on a lie. Are we gonna go back and fix any of that stuff? Apologize for any of it? Or are we just going to pretend it didn't happen?

[cut back to hosts]

Spinsy: Citizens United? More like citizens divided, if you ask me.

Naril: Just a taste of what we’ve got for you on tonight’s program.

Spinsy: So stick around after the commercial as we go for a deep dive on the streets, and we find out—

Together: WOTS Up!

Event Log: Kiwi

V.V. Prominence: Cahriu’s Quarters

3/4/12765 7:32pm LST

I lift and lower my hand a couple times, reaching for the door pad and hesitating each time. Normally I wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t go this far, but I’ve started to realize that that I must’ve drawn blood during my fight with Songbird. He hasn’t responded to any of my texts, and he still hasn’t come back to our room, ghosting around the ship to the point that even the others are having trouble figuring out where he is. I’ve considered using our shared wristmark to find him, but if he’s as angry as I think he is, that might just make things worse.

Problem is, I don’t know what to do now — I’m usually on the other side of this. I’m not accustomed to being the one that has to chase someone down and patch things up, because normally other people were trying orient their lives around me. The Council, Forecast, all my previous handlers — I was the indispensable asset, so they had to come to me.

That’s not the case with Songbird. I’m on even footing with him, which means that when he decides to get some breathing room, I don’t have the leverage to force him back to the table like I do with other people.

So here I am, in front of Cahriu’s door, since Tarocco’s not telling me what I want to hear, and I already know what Forecast is going to say if I talk to him.

Getting over my reluctance, I tap the access pad’s doorbell icon, and wait for the response. After fifteen seconds, I hit it again, shifting nervously, then wondering if maybe he’s out for drinks right now. I’m starting to reach for my phone when the door spirals open, showing Cahriu standing there in shorts and a plain t-shirt.

“Oh good, I thought you’d wandered off to get drunk.” I huff. “I need your help with something.”

“Do you now?” he says, folding his arms. “Let me guess: you’re realizing that you don’t have as much control over your man as you thought you did.”

“What? No!” I say indignantly. “Give me a break, you think I’d be asking for your help with that?”

“He’s not responding to his texts, is he.” Cahriu says, holding up a finger.

“I— well, no, but—”

“He’s couchsurfing, isn’t he.” Cahriu says, holding up a second finger.

“I mean yeah, I think—”

“And you’re starting to realize that pet names and little compliments aren’t a good substitute for a proper apology.” he says, holding up a third finger.

“Okay, look here, Mr. Know-It-All.” I growl at him. “I came here looking for help, not another lecture.”

He flicks one of his wolven ears. “So what, you came here thinking you could talk me into trackin’ your runaway dog and bringing him back to you? I ain’t gonna do that, Kiwi. That’s your dog, your responsibility. You go chase him down and bring him back. You’re the one that chased him out in the first place.”

“Oh c’mon, don’t be like that!” I complain. “Is this you being salty because you couldn’t hack it as my handler?”

Cahriu snorts, leaning against his doorframe. “Don’t flatter yourself. I ain’t stupid; I know where my limits are and when to tap out. And if I ever forget it, this reminds me not to bite off more than I can chew.” He taps his forearm, the ones that still has the black fissure marks from when we were tangled. “Nah. Songbird won you fair and square, and I respect him for that. I’m not gonna hunt him down and pressure him into making nice with you.”

I let out a grumble through gritted teeth. “Of all the times for you to grow a sense of morality… look, if I… buy you a drink or something, will you do this for me?”

He shakes his head. “I ain’t gonna sell a brother out, Kiwi.”

“Where is this coming from?” I demand incredulously. “It’s like you’re better friends with him than you are with me! He’s not even a Maskling! You and I had sex! How is it that you’re taking his side over mine?!”

Cahriu pushes off the doorframe, reaching out and planting a hand on my shoulder as he gives me a grave look. “Kiwi, it is important that you understand that among men, there is one rule that transcends race, creed, religion, and politics. It is a code that you live by when you respect another man, especially when that man has saved your life, the way Songbird did for me.” He leans a little lower, his orange eyes gazing right into mine. “It’s the golden rule: we put our bros before our hoes.”

I stare for a moment, then tilt my head to one side. “I’m gonna kill you, you know that?”

“Then I die with honor.” Cahriu smirks wrily.

“This is ridiculous!” I says, swatting his hand off my shoulder. “Are you calling me a hoe?”

“No, but, I am saying that Songbird is my bro.” Cahriu says, straightening up and leaning against the doorframe again. “I respect the man, so yeah, I’m on his side, and I want the best for him. Which means that yes, I will help you, because he won’t be happy until he gets straightened out with you — but you might not like my advice.”

“Finally, now we’re getting somewhere.” I say, folding my arms. “What’s this advice, then?”

“My advice is that you need to listen to him. You are not listening to him.” Cahriu says.

“I have been listening to him!” I protest.

“No, you haven’t.” Cahriu says. “I’ve spoken to Tarocco and Ridge, Kiwi. And I’ve got connections with Sierra, who somehow got her hands on a partial recording of your shouting match with Songbird, and I got to listen to that. You are hyperfixated on the fact that he should’ve killed Nova when he had the chance.”

“Yeah, well, he should’ve!” I say defensively. “Am I wrong? Is that wrong?”

“No, but this isn’t about that, Kiwi.” he counters. “Songbird knows he should’ve killed Nova. He knows that already. He’s not mad at you because of that. He’s mad at you because you’re telling him he should’ve been like Nova. Ruthless. An executioner that kills people while they’re defeated and helpless. He’s angry because you’re pressuring him to turn into the person that has caused him so much pain. He didn’t spare her because he’s still in love with her; he spared her because he doesn’t want to turn into what she’s become. And he’s angry at you because you won’t see that, and because you want him to turn into her.”

I reach for the words, but struggle to string them together. “I— I don’t want him to turn into her, that’s not, that’s not what I meant by telling him he should’ve killed her—”

“It’s not what you meant, but that’s what he heard.” Cahriu says, all the jokes and levity absent from his tone now. “The man defines himself in opposition to Nova, Kiwi. I heard it when he snapped at you on the recording: he wants to be everything that Nova isn’t. Everything that Nova should’ve been, but wasn’t. He used to look up to her, admire her, until she threw him under the bus. And he decided he didn’t want to be that kind of person she was, but then you come along and tell him that he should be acting with the same brutality that she showed to him all those years ago. Of course that would upset him.”

“Well then— why didn’t he say that?” I retort, feeling decidedly uncomfortable with this new information.

“He did say that. You just weren’t listening, because you were only hearing what you wanted to hear. Assuming that he showed mercy to Nova because he still loves her, when it’s actually because he despises what she’s become, and he doesn’t want to turn into that.” he says calmly. “So that’s why I’m saying that when you go to talk to him, you listen to him. Don’t plaster your own assumptions on top of his words. Listen to what he is saying. Because if you don’t listen to what he’s saying, he’s going to stop talking to you. Nobody likes trying to admit their fears and vulnerabilities to someone that isn’t listening to them.”

I shift a little on my feet, furtively looking around to make sure there isn’t anyone else in the hall to overhear us. It is starting to come into focus now; Songbird’s stubborn refusal to kill Nova, his meltdown when I wouldn’t back off the point, his complete avoidance over the past few days. I still think that he should’ve killed Nova, but I’m starting to understand why he refused to do so. Why he might actually be incapable of killing her.

“Look, I… I really don’t like having to be the one to tell you all this, Kiwi.” Cahriu admits. “I prefer it when we’re casual, and doing the buddy-buddy banter stuff that I can do with you and Tarocco and the other Agents. But I’m gonna say it anyway, because I think you need to hear it: Songbird isn’t just your handler. He’s your boyfriend. You can’t just steamroll him the way you did with all your previous handlers. Firstly, because it won’t work; Nova obviously did that to him for years, and he clearly got tired of being treated like that. But secondly, because he’s your partner. Nobody wants to be in a relationship where they’re getting flattened into compliance. It doesn’t make you feel loved or valued; it just makes you feel lonely.”

My ears are heating up a little, one of the signs that I’m feeling embarrassed — it’s a feeling I haven’t felt in a while. “Okay.” I concede. “Can you at least help me with finding him, though?… I’ve tried looking for him, but he knows this ship really well.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. I’m pretty sure he’d dodge me just the same as you. But I’m pretty sure that Legaci could nail down where he is if you go ask her. It’s impossible to hide anything from her.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, slipping my hands into my pockets. “I’m not she’d be okay with snitching on Songbird…”

“No, trust me. She’ll help you; I heard her venting to Renchiko the other day about how you and Songbird need to get your shit straightened out.” Cahriu says quickly. “If you go to her, and ask politely, Legaci will help you track down Songbird.”

“Okay.” I say, checking my phone. “I’ll do that tomorrow, after I’ve gotten my thoughts together. I need some time to think about what I’m going to say.”

“Fair ‘nuff. Just don’t put it off for too long. We’re going to be arriving to Losinadae eventually.” Cahriu says, pushing off his doorframe. “I’ll let you go do what you need to do now. Good luck talking to him.”

I nod. “Thanks for taking the time, Cahriu.” I step away from his door as he retreats back into his room, the door soon spiraling shut. As I head back down the hall to my quarters, hands still in my pockets, I ruminate on his insight into Songbird’s mindset, going back over it again and again until I find myself standing in front of the closet. That birthday-pink hoodie is still hanging on a hook in the back.

After a moment, I reach in, pulling it out and holding it close, breathing in the scent. It’s faint, but it’s there; hints of fizzwater, kitchen spices, blood, and something else I can only describe as Feroce. Hard to describe, but easy to yearn for.

Instead of putting the hoodie back, I pull it on. It’s a size too large for me, but that just makes it more cozy and comforting; zipping it up, I crawl into bed and curl up, pulling the covers over my legs. Even though he’s not here, if I close my eyes, I can fool myself into thinking that he is, courtesy of the soft pink warmth and the scent. It’s not a perfect imitation, but it’s close enough to help me sleep.

And tomorrow, I can talk with Legaci, and take a shot at fixing things up.

Event Log: Kiwi

V.V. Prominence: Engineering

3/5/12765 8:10pm LST

“Of all the places to hide…” I mutter, glancing into windows as I make my way down the halls in the engineering section of the ship. Just as Cahriu had promised, Legaci had been plenty willing to tell me where Songbird was; in fact, she didn’t even wait for me to step into the intelligence center. The moment the door spiraled open, she had called over her shoulder: “Engineering, fusion core, likes to hang out on the second-floor catwalk. If the door’s locked, text me when you get there and I’ll open it for you.”

And with that, I’d retracted the foot I hadn’t yet put down on the floor, twisted around, and started heading towards the engineering section without another word.

So now here I was, in the hallway adjoining the fusion core chamber. It was disorienting to come down to this area of the ship and be reminded of how truly large ships are — you could fit an entire two-story house in the fusion core chamber, which was filled with the fusion core itself, then packed with pipes, power cables, and tanks that formed the complex interchange of fuel, coolant, and power transmission that fed the rest of the ship. Walkways wind around the core and the tanks, permitting maintenance access, and sure enough, there’s Songbird, on one of the second-floor catwalks.

Well… sort of.

I think it’s Songbird, because I’m not entirely sure. It looks like someone with blue hair sitting in the middle of a rippling, distorted bubble of… something, about ten feet wide in all directions. Nothing else appears to be happening, so I assume that it’s safe, but it isn’t like anything else I’ve ever seen before — a distorted sphere that just shimmers and bends all the light going into it or coming out of it.

I try the door, and finding it locked, pull out my phone and text Legaci. Seconds later, there’s a hiss as the bolts in the reinforced hatch retract, and the panels spiral open, allowing me to step inside. As it closes behind me, I make my way down the catwalk to where the distortion begins. Reaching out, I graze a finger over it, and when nothing happens, I tentatively poke at it; still nothing happens, though the temperature within the bubble feels different, cooler and more humid. Once I’m sure that I won’t catch fire from entering the bubble, I step forward into it.

What immediately catches me by surprise is that my foot sinks when I step in — I draw back on reflex, my heart jumping a little, before I realize that it’s sand underneath my boot. That’s just the first surprise, as I look around and find that everything’s dark. Here in the bubble, I’m not in a fusion core chamber. I’m on a beach at night, with a fire burning in a pit in the sand, and the constant sound of waves rolling up on the shore, and a big, full moon hanging over the ocean, near the horizon. And Songbird is sitting on the sand, facing towards the silvered ocean, with the fire burning behind him, and a portable speaker sitting in the sand beside him, quietly pumping out calming lo-fi music that’s almost lost beneath the soft rushing of the waves.

Gingerly making my way over, I come up beside him, and when he doesn’t react, I quietly sit down beside him. The sand near the fire is warm, but the further away you go, the colder it gets; the heat of the fire against my back makes up for it, a little. It’s only when I sit down that his head tilts towards me a little, and in that slight turn, I can see his irises are a solar blue, while his sclera are black — this little bubble of altered reality must be tied to his sonic sorcery.

“A lot of people think that living on the beach is nice.” he says quietly, his arms resting on his bent knees as he laces his fingers together, and returns his gaze to the ocean. “A great view of the ocean. Access to tons of shops and stores. That we’re just a hop and a skip from surfing and sandcastles. But it’s nothing like that. We work here, but we don’t get to live here. All those houses back there, they ain’t for people like us.”

He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, and I look back to see row upon row of houses on stilts behind the dunes, most of them two-story affairs after the stilts — sometimes more. While each one is technically different, they all have the same look, at least as far as I can tell in the night shadows. All cultivated to look like the perfect, weathered vacation rental down on the coast.

“None of those houses belong to people like us. We build them, we clean them, we repair them, but we can’t afford them. They’re all second or third homes for rich assholes that don’t even live in the province, or they’re owned by corporations that rent them out to tourists for the summer. Worst part of it is that half of the year, there’s nobody living in them. They just sit empty during the off season. Thousands of houses just… sitting there. Meanwhile, back on the mainland, people are living in shacks and having to drive an hour over the bridge just to get out to the islands for their day job.”

I don’t know what to say to any of this. I hadn’t imagined our talk going this way, and I really don’t know to do with it, so I just wrap my arms around myself and listen to him.

“This is where we grew up. Worked our first summer jobs. Nova knew about all this. She knew.” he says, letting his arm drop back down to his knee. “I’d think back to this place every now and then, when I was in the Challenger program. I thought to myself that we didn’t just have to make a differences with combat interventions; that we could make a difference in social problems too. I mean, back then, I didn’t have the kind of profile that I have now. Nobody would’ve given a shit about my opinion. But Nova…” He shakes his head. “Nova could move mountains. She could redirect governments. Someone as popular as her, with the profile she had… I told her we should go back home when we got the chance, and bring attention to this.” He waves his hand behind him again. “People driving an hour to their minimum-wage jobs on the beach, while the shoreline is crowded with homes that are never used and aren’t owned by the locals that actually work there. All it would take is a visit and a five-minute interview from her to expose the wrongness of it all, to put the local government into panic mode and all of the corporations into damage control. It’d be easy, for someone with her reach, her level of clout. And I figured it would mean something to her, since she spent her teenage years here. She knew what it was like.”

He laces his fingers together, shaking his head again. “But she never did. Never took me up on the idea. It didn’t matter that she grew up here, that she had friends here, that she knew the problems that could be fixed if only someone would shine a light on them. She was the only person that was supposed to benefit from all that power she had. That’s the way it was ever since she refused to give up her star shard, when we started to age out of being Starstruck. The power was hers, all hers, and nobody else’s. It existed for her to use as she wanted, for her own needs and desires, and nobody else’s.”

I’m hesitant, unsure of if I should take this moment to start the conversation. But I might as well take the chance. “That’s why you’re so obsessed with being everything she isn’t?”

“That particularly? No.” he says, his thumbs rubbing over each other. “I was refusing to see her for what she was, because I loved her. Love blinds us to the flaws of the people we love, or makes us assign those flaws to ourselves. I spent so long bending and twisting and stretching myself into something else, trying to desperately to be something that was good enough for her — because what I was, was not good enough. For her.” He digs the heel of his boot into the sand, twisting it around as if he was trying to stamp out a painful memory. “And when I finally came to my senses, I was disgusted with what I had become in the name of trying to earn her approval. Years of life, thrown away… my humanity, thrown away. All for someone that was selfish and cared only about herself. I told myself I would not be like that. I would not use people up and throw them away like she had. I wouldn’t seek power just for the sake of having it, for the sake of being the most powerful. And if I did come by power, I would use it wisely and carefully, if I had to use it at all. I told myself that I would be all the things I hoped she would be, all the things she should’ve been. All the things she wasn’t.”

“And killing your worst enemy… that would turn you into her?” I ask carefully.

His luminous blue eyes flick towards me, then away again. “No. It’s about how you do it. In the heat of a fight, or in the defense of someone I care about, or someone that’s unable to defend themselves — I will kill in those situations. Reluctantly, but I’ll do it, if there is no other option. But with the situation on Kasvei, where she’s on her back, all her powers burnt out, helpless and unable to defend herself… I won’t do that. I know her powers are going to recharge; I know she’ll be a threat later. But I don’t kill someone that’s helpless. I said I would better than her. I owe that to everyone that got burned by her. To break the cycle. To be better. To be different.” He takes a deep breath. “And I know you don’t agree with me, but it’s not something that I will ever change. So if you don’t like that—”

I turn towards him, cupping his cheek with a hand before he can finish. He tenses up, and then slowly relaxes as I gently trace my thumb over his cheekbone, round and round in calming little ovals.

“We’re different, Feroce.” I say quietly. “We believe in different things. I don’t draw the line in the same places that you do. If I was in your place, I would’ve done things differently on Kasvei… but I understand now why you did what you did. I’m sorry for not listening to you earlier. For not hearing you when you were telling me all of this the first time.”

He fully melts at that, his head slumping against my hand as he closes his eyes, lip quivering a little. “I’m sorry. For… losing control and shouting at you earlier. I panicked, and… it’s hard to hold down my power when I feel like everything’s falling apart.”

“Yeah. You scared me a little with that.” I say, sideshuffling over the sand to sit against him. “I know that I push your buttons pretty often, but I didn’t mean to push your buttons that badly. I was just worried that… y’know.”

He opens his eyes again. “She’s never going to look at me that way, Kiwi. Not the way you look at me. You see me… sometimes not right away, but you see me.” He lifts a hand, brushing some of my hair behind my ear, and then stroking my cheek. “And I can see you. All your passion, your curiosity, your goddamn hardheadedness… your playfulness and mischief. I’d spent so long being miserable that I’d forgotten what it was like to have fun until I met you. You lit everything up, helped me remember what it was like to look forward to things.”

I smile. “Don’t stop there. Keep feeding my ego.”

He lets out a soft chuff. “That’s a dangerous road.” His eyes come down, noticing that I’m wearing his pink hoodie. “…I thought you hated this thing?”

I shrug, pulling on the sleeves so that my hands aren’t swallowed up by the cuffs. “It smells like you, and it’s been pretty lonely at night without you there. It’s growing on me a little… plus, it’s super soft. Are you washing it with angel feathers or something?”

“Cold cycle, hang dry. Some materials are better with air dry than they are with a cycle through the dryer.” he says, his arm dropping to settle around my shoulders. “I’m sorry we couldn’t have this talk earlier. I just… I wasn’t sure you’d listen…”

“No, that’s fair.” I say, leaning against him. “I didn’t listen the first time, so I get why you’d be worried that I wouldn’t listen if you tried again. I think we’ve all just been dealing with a lot since Kasvei… I don’t think anyone’s head is screwed on straight after what went down there.” After a moment of quiet, I ask, “How’s Ridge handling it?”

I can feel him take a deep breath. “He’s… struggling. He’s angry. Betrayed. Hurt… not really all that different from the way I was after Nova sold out the Challengers.” If his pause is any indication, this is weighing heavily on him. “There’s only so much you can tell someone after a betrayal like that. Only so much that they’re willing to listen to. The hurt, the pain — it doesn’t want to listen to reason, or logic. It only has so much tolerance for platitudes and aphorisms.” Tilting his head back, he lets out a long sigh. “It’s gonna need time. He’ll need time to grieve. We can be there for him, give him all the support he needs, but ultimately, he’s the one that decides what this turns him into. I’m just worried that he’ll come out of it as an angry young man, cynical and unwilling to give other people a chance.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Yeah. Took me a couple years to get past that version of myself.”

“I mean, if anyone had a good excuse to be that way, it would be you.”

“Just because I had a valid justification doesn't mean I enjoyed being that way. I eventually realized that wasn’t who I wanted to be, that I wanted to be more than some angry vampire that hated everyone. So I did what I needed to in order to move on. Changed the way I thought, changed the way I looked at things, changed the way I treated other people. Dyed my hair a different color and started to focus on doing the things I loved, trying to master skills I’d always wanted to have. Wasn’t easy, took a while, but eventually I started to be proud of the person I was. The person I was becoming. The person that Nova should’ve been.” He falls quiet for a moment, staring out at the moon over the waves. “I’m just worried Ridge won’t have the same tools to find his way in that direction. That he’ll end up addicted to the anger, and won’t be able to find his way out of it the way I did.”

And in that moment, watching him as he talks and stares out across the night ocean, I can’t keep out the thought from a few days ago, crossing my mind again: he’d be a good father.

I immediately shake my head, trying to dislodge it, and Feroce notices. “You don’t think he’ll be able to?” he asks.

“No! No, I wasn’t shaking my head to that. Just had one of my bangs poking me in the eye and was trying to shake it loose.” I say quickly. “I don’t know about Ridge… but if anyone can talk him into taking a better road, that’s probably you. You see the good in people when most of us don’t want to.” I look around, running my fingers through the sand and watching it trickle through my fingers. “Is this real? Like, from the outside, it looks like this ripply bubble, but in here, it feels like we’re really on the beach. The sand, the smell of saltwater, the heat from the fire… I can feel all of it.”

He shifts a little. “It’s real, yes. Real, within a certain area. I don’t do this very often because it’s kinda disruptive, especially in enclosed spaces. I just needed… I wanted a little bit of home, a little bit of nature. It helps calm me, get my thoughts in order.”

“What is it, though?” I ask, pinching some of the sand between my fingers. “How are you creating an entire beach inside a fusion core chamber?”

He draws a deep breath. “Do you remember when we first visited the Inkspell, and we were talking about magic with Boaris?”

It clicks pretty quickly with that. “Wait, is this… Boaris mentioned something about reshaping reality, and you argued with him about it. Is that what this is?”

“More or less.”

“But how? I mean, it’s like you’ve created a completely new dimension that you can just step into. How do you even do something like that?”

“It’s hard to explain. The best way I can put it is… reality isn’t always rigid, or defined. You can use music to soften it up, so you can rearrange it, bend and weave it into a different shape, to fit what you want it to be. And it’ll keep that shape for as long as you’re willing to maintain it. In my case, for however long the song or playlist is.”

“So this’ll all disappear eventually?”

“Once it plays through to the end of this playlist, yeah. I could end it early though, if you want.”

“No, no, it’s good. This is nice… can we stay like this for a little while?”

“Yeah… of course we can, Starfreckle.”