Dreamweaver (part 3)

Tempus and the Lucky Cat galloped across the landscape, their donkeys' hoofbeats crushing the grass it didn’t manage to part. The suns had begun to sink behind the far horizon, which was composed entirely of bushy tree tops. Orange light oozed through the trees, an amber shine permeating the thick scattering of the forest.

They didn’t talk as they rode. It made Lucky Cat think of a school trip the two of them had been on a few years earlier. A five hour drive there and then back again yet they didn’t talk once. Arguably because Sophie had been asleep for most of it, but that was neither here nor there. There was a frostiness in the air and Sophie didn’t much like it.

Eventually, the donkeys came to a stop. They were at the very nearest fringes of the woods, where a cabin of cobbled stone was slowly sinking into the shadow combed ground. A lantern hung from the left of the door, an orange flame alight, flickering against the glass surrounding it. 

“How do you want to do this?” Freya asked, clambering off her donkey. 

“I don’t mind. Whatever’s best for you.” Sophie replied.

“Sophie, please, I really don’t mind.”

“Me neither.”

They both paused, stuck in the ultimate battle of politeness versus complete lack of self confidence. Sophie let out a brief laugh. “This is why we need Stephen. Even if he doesn’t think things through, at least he’s willing to put his ideas forward.” She paused and frowned. “Don’t tell him that I just complimented him. I couldn’t bare him to be that smug.”

Freya let a smile cross her face. “You and Steven are good friends aren’t you?”

“We all are. All four of us.” She paused for a second. “Is this why you’re not your usual chirpy self? Do you feel left out?”

“I don’t feel left out. And, more importantly, I’m fine. Just as chirpy as ever.”

“You can tell me if you’re not.”

“I’m fine, Sophie. I’m fine.”

“Good. Let’s go kick some English teacher ass.” Sophie said and gestured to the house.

They wandered over to the hut, leaving the donkeys to graze. Sophie splayed a hand and changed the probability of the door opening of its own accord. The sound it made as it did made the whole experience just a little bit spookier. Great, Freya thought.

She tensed herself as Sophie led them in. Unlike back at the Dungeons and Dragons club, she would be ready this time. If she needed to be.

There was a sudden explosion from their side. Freya through up her hands, trying to pause time. It was like trying to click Lego bricks together. Metaphorically, she had two on top of each other, between her thumb and index finger, the studs on top leaving their circular indentations in her skin. Except, as much as she might squeeze, she couldn’t get them to click together and hold. What was wrong with her? Why was it so difficult?

Luckily for them, the explosion had come from a cauldron. Hunched over it, half muttering, half cackling Macbeth quotations, was the wizened, crooked figure of their English teacher. She looked up in terror as she saw them, a green cloud parting around her head.

“Celia Carpenter?” Sophie asked, frowning.

The old woman stared at them for a moment and then her eyes widened. “Sophie? Sophie Khan? Freya Carter? What, what on Earth are you doing here?”

Mrs Carpenter stepped around the cauldron and inspected them. Under the light of the setting suns, they could make out their teacher, if not twenty years older than they'd known her. It was unnerving to see her so different yet so similar. For Sophie, who had developed a pathological hatred of English, it was unnerving to see her at all.

“How did you escape jail?” Freya asked, regretting her bluntness the instance she processed it.

“Jail? What are you on about?” She frowned. “God, how many years has it been since you were in my class? I’m afraid my eyesight isn’t what it used to be, but you don’t look a day older. Miss envies your youth, she does.”

“Miss, how did you get here? Are you working with Mr Coin?”

“Mr Coin, dear? As in Jon Coin? I haven’t seen him in years.”

“How did you get here?” Sophie insisted, becoming almost irritated by her avoidance of the question.

“You’d think me ridiculous if I told you! I don’t think you’d believe me one bit, even you, Freya, with your wonderful creative writing.”

Freya frowned. She was, although too modest to admit it, brilliant at all aspects of English, except from creative writing. Something was afoot.

“Miss, we are desperate for information.” Sophie said. “Please tell us.”

She sighed. “I promise Miss isn’t going crazy, but, well, I was talking to Mr Taylor- we still meet up for coffee sometimes, even after all these years- about a couple of the funny stories from my other set. Then, all of a sudden, the door of the cafe explodes open and a gentlemen in 3D glasses and a purple cloak comes running in with one of those guns from the First World War. What are they called?”

“Gatling guns.” Freya said, who’d watched an anime set in the First World War and was an avid History student but knew the name of the gun because she was just generally aware of popular culture.

“Yes, exactly. This man came running in and shot me. The next thing, I woke up here. I haven’t seen Mr Taylor.” She paused for a second and then said, “You don’t reckon this is Heaven, do you?”

“It’s one possible interpretation.” Sophie said. “Can’t you build some Antithetic Gear? You made the staple gun and the ninja cue cards, right?”

“What are you on about, Sophie?” Mrs Carpenter frowned. “Ninja cue cards? What?”

“She doesn’t know about the Antithetic.” Sophie hissed to Freya.

“I noticed.” Freya hissed back, then turned to their teacher. “Miss, did this man in purple give you a name?”

“He called himself Dreamweaver. He said that he’s working on something miraculous in his castle but that, as soon as the doors were aligned, he would return me to my destiny.”

“His castle? Where’s that?” Sophie asked, not knowing if she really wanted an answer at all.

Back in the centre of Fanderling, Chris and Steven had been shown to a church and asked to wait for the girls to return. Steven reckoned their plan was to ransom Steven and Chris to Dreamweaver, should Sophie and Freya turn out to be working for them. Steven didn’t mind; the church was surprisingly comfortable for its gothic stylings. 

Steven got up from his pew and observed the Stained Glass windows. They appeared to show some sort of tree, a big one with various branches coming off it. It looked almost familiar. He decided it’d come to mind soon enough.

“When the girls get back, are we going to get Ali from Dreamweaver, wherever he is?” Chris asked, his eyes concentrated on the hands pursed across his knees.

“You tell me, Cap.” Steven shrugged. “You make the big decisions.”

“Cap.” He let out a slightly amused humph. “I’m not the Captain.”

“What do you mean you’re not the Captain?” Steven frowned. “That’s your thing; Captain Jaffa Cake. Like I’m the Summoner.”

“You’re the Summoner, but I’m not Captain Jaffa Cake.” Chris sighed. His face was wrinkled up in a scowl. It was the type of scowl that often graced Graphics and Computer Science lessons, when a net or a programming task was a little too much. “For God’s sake, just end me.”

Steven frowned. “Chris? What's wrong?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He said and gestured up at the tree. If there was one way he knew of getting Steven off his case, it was to let Steven talk about something that interested him. “What do you reckon it is?”

“The only thing I can think of is this thing from Thor.”

“Thor?”

“Yeah. You know the one with the Hammer?”

“Oh. I thought you meant the number.”

Steven sighed. His mispronunciation of the ‘Th’ sound was an ongoing problem. “Anyway, in that, there’s this thing about like a universal tree or something. It has some weird ass Norse name.”

“Which you could tell me, right?”

“No, of course not.” Steven lied, knowing he could bloody well spell Yggdrasil, never mind say it. “The point is that every branch is the pathway to another dimension or something. There’s Midgard and Asgard and Niflheim and Muspelheim and Alfheim and some other ones too. I don’t see why it’s in a church window, though. And, more importantly, why is it in a church window in a forest in the middle of nowhere?”

Chris sighed. “And why’s Mrs Carpenter here? And why’s Mr Coin trying to be a mage?”

“Why are the people being so primitive to think a mage is possible? It’s like we’re in Dungeons and Dragons.” He stopped, frowning. “Oh my god. What if we are?”

“What?”

“What if we’re in a game of Dungeons and Dragons?”

“But, that doesn’t make any sense.” Chris frowned. “I mean, surely that’s impossible.”

“Says Captain Jaffa Cake.”

I’m not Captain bloody Jaffa Cake, he thought, and I never will be. “You know what I mean.”

The doors swung open and Sophie and Freya came running through. “Guys!” Freya cried. “We’ve got a theory.”

“It’s brilliant. Amazing even, and you know my feelings about the differences between those words.” Sophie said, a vocal announcer of her feelings between those two words. “Freya came up with it and it totally blew my mind!”

“That is the most Clickbaity exclamation I’ve ever heard.” Chris said.

“What’s the theory?” Steven asked.

Freya grinned. “This Mrs Carpenter seems pretty much the same as our Mrs Carpenter except for two major differences. One, she’s a lot older. Two, she never became the Antithetic and doesn’t seem to be aware that there was ever an explosion to hand out powers.”

“Like a generous Stan Lee.” Sophie added.

“So what are you thinking?” Chris asked.

“We’re thinking, what if this is a bubble universe?” Freya hypothesised. “Mrs Carpenter is plucked out of an parallel universe, we’re plucked out of ours and put here.”

“And here is what?” Chris asked, frowning.

“A fictional realm.” Steven whispered. “Coin’s going by the name Dreamweaver and he’s a Dungeon Master in DnD.”

“Who did his degree thesis on Everett’s Many Worlds Interpretation.” Sophie said.

“We reckon he has the power to create new dimensions, or at least step between them.” Freya said. “And if he can do that, it gives him the ability to carry out multiversal domination. We have to stop him.”

“Let’s go, team.” Steven said. “Sounds like we need to save the world. Well, worlds. Well, universe. Well, universes. Universi? Multiverses?”
"Multiverse." Sophie said, rolling her eyes.
"Let's save the multiverse." Steven grinned.

The four of them ran towards the door of the church, ready to do just that. If any of them had turned around, they might have noticed the last of the light glinting through the window, revealing an image that hadn’t been visible up until then. It was of the true master, the puller of all the strings, the two humped, four legged deity that held all their fates in its jaw. It was an image of the Camel God and the door of its cage was beginning to be unlocked.

Dreamweaver (part 2)

The light was golden as it shimmered between the leaves, sparkling across the ground and glinting on the dew. Shadows were cast every which way, long black straps resulting from the reaching claws of the trees. A rabbit hopped along, minding its own business, its buck teeth nibbling on the blades of grass and the finer plants, the greater delicacies that nestled amongst the vegetation. Its ears were long, its fur grey, its tail fluffy. It was having a perfectly ordinary day.

Then, quite suddenly, there was a strange humming in the air. Its fur began to rise, as if a acetate rod had been rubbed against it and transferred electrons. Its eyes widened. If it had a pair of eyebrows, it would have frowned.

There was a bright flash of energy, lightning bolts striking off in all directions, and then the air seemed to warp. Large bubbles spread out from the air, inflating, growing, and then there was a bang. The rabbit was blasted back through the forest. It blacked out for a few seconds but when it regained consciousness, it wondered if it was not still dreaming. Lying, on a huge blackened patch on the floor, were a group of teenagers. 

One of them sat up, blinked a few times and then picked up the sword to his side. He clambered to his feet, despite a slight dizziness in his head, and turned around, pointing his sword between the trees, worried that Mr Coin might still be waiting for him. When he was sure that he wasn’t, he shouted, “Guys! Get up! I think we’ve teleported or something.”

Sophie sat up. “Teleportation is impossible, except for with individual particles (potentially), and even then you need a entangled quantum states and we haven’t been put in trucks to be driven to wherever the heck we are.” She paused. “It was a lot simpler when Mr Andrews taught me.”

“How many science lectures has he given you?” Steven frowned. “You’re like a little Brian Cox but with better hair.”

“Despite the hair comment, I am still more offended than I have ever been in my life.” She said. 

“He natters to her in Tutor.” Freya said. “They’re best friends.”

“I am no longer offended!” Sophie exclaimed. A massive grin crossed her face. “Me and Mr Andrews are best friends.”

Steven knelt down and grabbed Chris’ arm, pulling him up. “You alright, Captain?”

“I’m not the Captain unless I’ve eaten the Jaffa Cake.” He sighed. There was something despondent in his eyes. Steven decided to mention it later; they had more pressing matters to concentrate on.

“Where are we?” Sophie asked, looking around. They were stood in a clearing, large trees of thick brown oak rising up around them. The ground was covered in grass, black streaks spreading away from them. There was a fried rabbit just beyond the nearest trees, looking at them bemusedly. Sophie wasn’t entirely sure how she could tell the animal’s emotions but she suspected it was something to do with the wrinkling of its adorable little nose.

“I don’t know but I’m doubting it’s Beacon Fell.” Steven said, looking around, frowning. “That gun that Mr Coin had, could it have been a teleporter? He’s a physicist by degree, isn’t he? Is it possible the explosion could have given him the intellect to build one?”

“It’s unlikely.” Sophie shrugged. “According to current ideas, the only way teleportation could be carried out would be by taking two particles, and we’re talking atomic particles, it’s almost totally impossible to teleport a molecule, never mind a person, never mind five people! Anyway, you take your two particles, entangled them at a quantum level, then you have to move them apart, keep one particle in, say, Lab A and move the other to Lab B. Then you hook the two labs up with a phone that provides all your information and shizz like that. Then you transfer your information and some physicsy magic happened and, boopydeboop, the particle at B takes on the role of the particle A and…” She trailed off, as she saw the others were staring at her, slightly perplexed, slightly bored. “Basically, no. It’s really fudging impossible, and there’s no way he could fire some teleporty magic out of a gun.”

“I’m not going to argue with Professor Hawking over there,” Steven said, “but I can summon stuff with nothing more than a thought, so perhaps conventional physics should be ignored for now?”

“Whatever’s happened, Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in M-Block anymore.” Chris said, pointing up. “Look at the sky.”

“What about it?” Steven asked as they looked up, but then he saw it. “Oh, good golly gosh.”

The blue sky was perfectly blue, perfectly cloudy, but perhaps a little too sunny. Why, you might ask? Well, dear reader, this was because the sky held two suns.

“That’s a bright idea.” Sophie whispered.

“Guys, I’m so sorry.” Freya said. “I’m so, so sorry. This is all my fault! If my powers had just freaking worked like all yours, we wouldn’t even be in this mess.”

“I summoned a sword, Freya.” Steven said. “I brought a sword to a goddamn super science fiction cannon fight!”

Freya smiled for a brief second but shook her head. “The point is, if I just had more control over my powers, the five of us would be arresting Mr Coin and getting to the bottom of this, rather than just, just standing around here!”

“No.” Chris said. “The five of us aren’t just standing around here. Where’s Ali?”

They looked around and realised. The Flish was nowhere to be seen.

Birds twittered to each other, unaware of social media. The sun dazzled against a running river, twinkling and splashing over glittering stones, beset with quartz. In the woods, elves probably played, singing sweetly amongst their furry companions. The scene could have been a picture in an English Language exam, with the caption, “Write a description of this summer day’s scene.” To put it more bluntly, it was six hundred goggling tourists, three car parks and a garden centre off being a British natural beauty spot.

That is, of course, all true but for one small factor. There was a rock face, against which a waterfall of frothing white hydration roared on its way down to form the river. The spray from this water fall leapt through the hair, forming cross arched rainbows beneath the glare of the two suns. And this wasn’t the problem, indeed, the waterfall was as picturesque as the kingfishers and the flamboyant plants and the singing trees and the flowing river.

No, the problem was the gigantic tower of darkness that jutted out of the rock face like a pitchfork from a vicar’s chest. From its base, magma oozed like blood and from its peak, ravens and bats shrieked into the gloom of the tower’s dark recesses. It was the type of property that would leave priests needing exorcists, estate agents needing councillors and girl scouts delivering cookies with a tip and a, “Hope you’ve had a nice day!”

Deep within the bowels of that Lovecraftian construction, as much a tribute to gothic architecture as it was to darkness as a whole idea, was the grand hall. It was a chasm of a room, the walls cast in shadowy flames, black darkness flickering across engravings of ancient battles. The floor was a cold stone, the type that sent shivers through the spine, and in places it was strewn with straw. Besides that litter, there was also the presence of huge spouts of machinery, all cogs, levers, pulls and steampunk macgyvering. In the far distance, there was the sound of an electric violin playing but, despite its gloomy horror, that sound was far too modern to fit in.

Ali was sat in a cage. She was not a bird, so she did not appreciate that. The cage didn't have a seat, nor even a bed. Just a bit of straw. She wondered if the room had been a stable once, or perhaps it was run by scarecrows. Deciding that was probably not important, she set about trying to escape.

Her powers still worked fine, but despite all the acceleration she could must, there just wasn't enough force to smash through the bars. By the time she'd come to this conclusion, however, she'd smashed her head into the bars far too many times and felt slightly dizzy.

Summoning what little strength she had left, Ali pushed her back against the bars directly opposite the doorway. She concentrated on the door frame, tensed her muscles and then exploded into a haze, flying forward in a purple flash. Her shoulder smashed into the door way, exerting enough force on the lock to snap it. The door swung open and she stumbled out, just managing to slow herself enough to avoid smashing into the table in front. Solidifying again, Ali looked down at the top of the table. "Say hello to my little friend." She said to herself, picking up the gatling gun that Mr Coin had brandished. It was quite bulky and pleasantly sci-fi, with each barrel holding some sort of crystal and electrodes coming off the top of the gun, out of what looked like a small computer. There seemed not to be a safety- she'd seen enough American television to understand guns- so she picked it up and slid her finger into the trigger.

“I wouldn’t try that if I were you.” Said a voice from the far side of the room. She turned, pulling the gun with her as she did, and saw who was looking back at her. Mr Coin, in all his glory. It wasn’t for how malevolent he looked, she would label him a prat.

At the far end of the chasm of a hall was a stained glass window. It was positioned so that the sun shone through it in just the right way to project huge purple and golden glimmers in every direction. The image matched that of Mr Coin, descending down the three circular steps below the stained glass window and in front of what looked like an organ. He had the pan up to his neck, the bow carving back and forth, creating an incredible sound. The other sides of his neck were covered with huge Dracula-esque collars. A purple cloak spewed down from around his neck, forming a pool of glorious silk around his brogues. He wore a waist coat with his blue trousers, as he always did, except these looked a little more professional than the ones he wore on a Wednesday, Period Three.

His cloak trailing behind him, Coin marched forward, still playing his violin, stalking until he reached Ali. The fiddling reached a crescendo and then, with a dramatic squeak, he finished and lowered the instrument. He fixed Ali with a stare, his ginger facial hair glinting in the light. “Let go of it.”

“Or?”

“Or nothing.” He said. “It only works for me, so you’ll just be stood there like an actor in a sci-fi flick, pretending to shoot.”

“Guns aren’t biometric.”

“It isn’t a gun.” Mr Coin shrugged. “It’s a Doorway Aligner.”

“I thought every teacher was an English teacher?” She frowned.

“What?”

“Well, evidently, you weren’t in teacher college when they taught how to market stuff.” Ali said. “That’s the worst name ever.”

“It’s not bad! It’s really cool!”

“It sounds like something from Classic Doctor Who.”

“Exactly! It’s so cool.” He paused and sighed. “The youth of today, no appreciation for the finer things.”

“What is it?” Ali asked, looking it over and then placing it back onto the table. She had no idea how she was remaining so calm but she wasn’t going to question it; the calmness was good.

“It’s exactly what it says on the tin. It takes the doorways between the universes and aligns them, to allow for simple and easy interversal travel.” He grinned. “Clever, isn’t it?”

“But there’s only one universe.” Ali said. “There can’t be anymore; that defies the whole meaning of the universe!”

“Someone doesn’t know Everett’s Many Worlds Interpretation.” He said, almost mocking. “Or inflationary multiverse theory.”

“Actually, I do.” She said. The Flash Seasons 2 and 3 had introduced the idea and a quick Wikipedia search had educated her well enough. “But that’s science fiction.”

“So was hyperspeed.”

“It still is.”

He hummed for a second. “I really must publish my findings.” 

“You’re completely mad!”

“Mad? No. I am a messenger of the Gods! My work will bring about the Convergence and the ends of these frightful days.” He grinned a manic grin. “Ali, the multiverse implies that there are infinite universes but I believe that there are only three of true import. One is our own, another is this one in which we talk, and the third is the Banished Dimension, home of my almighty lord.”

“Mr Coin, you’re talking nonsense!”

“Coin?” He laughed. “Jon Coin is dead! He was drowned beneath a sea of radiation, from which I awoke. I am the vessel, the mouthpiece of the reckoning, the mechanic of the Convergence. I am Dreamweaver!”

Sophie changed the probability of there being a series of signs pointing to the nearest settlement and Steven summoned some horses. Sophie had control over her powers and so the signs included numbers indicating the distance yet to go. Steven didn’t and so they got donkeys.

It took them about an hour to ride to the village, which was apparently called Fanderling. The town looked old; the stone buildings were dressed in scarlet ivy and the wooden buildings had begun to crack. There was a street down the centre, like the village was one from an old Western, except there were too many trees around the small settlement.

It gave way to a large drop at the end, which the heroes rode towards and looked down. The town of Fanderling spread out for countless miles, into a mixmatch of various farms, all contesting for space. It was almost patchwork in its tapestry of crops. With the two suns starting to dip into a yolky set, it was almost beautiful.

“I feel like I’m in Dungeons and Dragons.” Steven said.

“I love it.” Sophie replied.

“I’m so sorry.” Freya muttered.

Chris said nothing.

“Hey, you four. Dismount your mules and put your hands up.” Said a voice from behind them.

Freya, Chris and Sophie dismounted the donkeys. Steven fell off and very nearly broke his leg trying to get back up again. Once he had however, he assumed his role of gnomish bard and attempted a Charisma check. “Hail, fellow man. How can we helpeth ye?”

In the vernacular of Dungeons and Dragons, he rolled a natural one. Chris facepalmed. 

“You talk funny, kid. What’re you doing in Fanderling, and where in the name of Fharlanghn did you get those asses?”

“Are you talking about my mates or the donkeys?” Steven asked.

Freya rolled her eyes and tried to take over. She might have got them into that mess but she could sure as hell try her best to get them out of it. “Sorry about him, your liege. We bought him as a fool but it turned out he’s got enough of a brain to speak.”

In the vernacular of Dungeons and Dragon, she rolled a natural twenty. The man, who was rotund in an imposing way, let out a raucous caw of a laugh. “I like you, young girl, I really do, but you don’t answer me questions. What are you doing in Fanderling?”

“We’re looking for our friend.” Freya said. “She’s about my height, blonde hair, perhaps a little cheeky at times. It’s possible she was kidnapped by a guy with ginger facial hair.”

“And a purple cape!” Steven added.

The man’s face lit up in horror. “You speak of the Mage, Dreamweaver! Be you not his slaves, I hope!”

“Nope, we’re not loyal to him one bit.” Freya said. “We want to stop him and rescue our friend.”

“Well, I cannae help you with that, my girl, but I can tell you who might.”

“Who?” She asked.

The man peered over each shoulder, conspiratorially. “You need the hermit on the outskirts of town. She’ll tell you where you can find the Mage.”

“Sidequest time!” Steven squealed. “Think of all the experience points.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Thank you, sir. We’ll be on our way to see her.”

“Aye, well, you four be careful. She’s a mysterious wench, and an evil one at that. She speaks of other worlds and something she calls… the Highlighter.”

“What’s… what’s the Hermit’s name?” Freya asked.

“They call her Celia. Celia N. Carpenter.”

The Winter Highlighter. They all thought, with a gulp.

Dreamweaver

In the Realms, knights dare the crypts of the fallen dwarf kings of Dellzoom, seeking glory and treasure. Rogues prowl the dark alleyways of teeming cities such as Rarelyspring and Baldur’s Fence. Clerics in the serve of gods wield mace and spell, questing against the terrifying powers that threaten the land. Wizards plunder the ruins of the fallen Netherese empire, delving into secrets too dark for the light of day. Dragons, giants, demons and unimaginable abominations lurk in dungeons, caverns, ruined cities and the vast wild places of the world.

The Fellowship were haunched outside a kobold cave, broad swords in their hands. There was Plappy, the dual sword wielding dark elf with a goblin slave, Port, the Welsh school child druid, Merla Greenbottle, the halfling rogue with a mysterious past, Sile Cobaltcrusher, the human warrior, and cheeky gnomish bard, Asquith Luwin. The five of them were debating whether or not to set up camp- the orange suns were drooping behind the imposing Gauntylgrim hills- when Plappy dropped quite the bombshell.

“Guys, I’m just saying, I need to consume flesh every night otherwise I’ll die.” She said, as if it was the type of thing one regularly brings up in conversations.

“According to the brief, we’re an accustomed fellowship who have been working as sellswords for the underworld of Rarelyspring for years.” Asquith pointed out. “So, we already knew that.”

“I’ve got,” the rustle of paper, “five rations left over.” Merla suggested.

“Got to be living flesh, or at least recently dead.” Plappy said. “Sorry, guys. It seemed like a good flaw when I was writing it.”

“How about your goblin slave?” Port said. “We could kill him.”

“You’re meant to be a druid.” God said, the heavens shaking. “You should be protecting all forms of life. Sile, being the warrior, should be suggesting this.”

“My flaw is that I’m a pacifist.” Sile said.

“A pacifist warrior? I give up.” God sighed, and disappeared again.

“I’ll kill the goblin.” Plappy sighed. The scrabble of a twenty sided dice. “Is it Dexterity or Strength modifier?”

“How do you want to kill me?” The goblin asked, God speaking through the scaly mouthpiece.

“I want to push Stabby, my short sword, through your neck. If that’s alright.”

“That’s a Melee attack, so Strength.”

She did a quick bit of mental arithmetic. “What’s your Armour Class?”

“Sixteen.”

“That’s a hit.” Another roll. “Hit points?”

“Five after Asquith cut my arm off.”

“He was annoying!” Asquith protested.

“Well, you’re dead now. I’ll just feast on your flesh and then,” Plappy did just that, coating her face in a crimson smear, and then drawing a small white handkerchief to clean up, “on with the adventure.”

“Can I set fire to that bush over there?” Port asked.

“Why?” God asked, now speaking from the heavens.

“Because there might be animals in there and I don’t like animals.” 

“You’re a druid. You’re meant to protect all life.” God replied.

Port shrugged. “Can I do it anyway?”

God sighed. “Fireball’s a cantrip so sure.”

Port threw his hands out and released a ball of fire. The trees exploded into an orange blaze. This alerted the small camp of guard Kobolds and Mindflayers to their presence. Fifteen Kobolds ran out, their scaly skin spiked with horns, their eyes large bulbous, their tails interchangeable with their scabbards. They all carried spears. Behind them were three Mindflayers, Lovecraftian masters of Psionics, their faces covered in beards of flailing tentacles. They weren’t very angry; they were bloody furious.

“For God’s sake, Chris!” Steven cried then cursed. Out of character. Again. Why couldn’t he ever remember these things?

“Let’s have a quick break there.” God said from above. The Half Remembered Realms dissipated and was instead replaced by M9. M9 was located in the main block of Gilliam High School in the North West of England, a land of exciting and intriguing misadventures such as the annual Blackpool in Bloom competition and the ever psychologically arresting drama that was popping to Sainsbury’s. Chavs dare the tanning booths of badly photoshopped models. Muggers prowl the Primarks in search of victims to follow down dark alleys. Traffic wardens in the serve of bureaucrats wield tickets and law, questing against the terrifying powers that park outside Burger King for too long. Drag queens, tall people, benefit scroungers and unimaginable abominations (visitors from Fleetwood) lurk in hospitals, cafes, tram shelters and the vast wild shopping centres of the town.

The Gang were sat around a game board in M9, a Geography classroom that Mr Coin had commandeered to run his Dungeons and Dragons club from. There was Freya, the Time Controlling superhero Tempus, Chris, who could turn into Captain Jaffa Cake but thought an exciting DnD character would be a Welsh schoolchild with a hatred of animals, Sophie, the Physics loving Lucky Cat, Ali, the CW copyright violating Flish, and overly tall Summoner, Steven. They were playing Dungeons and Dragons and, at least two out of the five of them, were absolutely loving it.

Children of the atom, students of Computer Science, nerds misunderstood and stereotyped by the teachers and students they have sworn to protect, these are the geekiest heroes of all! The Gang!

“So, anyone want a drink?” Mr Coin asked. His Dungeons and Dragons club, which they were having to attend because Miss Francis had been suspicious of their superheroic activities (see the Winter Highlighter), was held every week on a Wednesday. This was only their second week; the plan was to do three weeks and then say they’d all been struck down by severe flu that was triggered by the mention of fantasy role playing games. This was Chris, Freya and Ali’s plan, but Steven and Sophie were having to go with it, much to their dissatisfaction. “I’ll see if the Upper School is still open; there might be biscuits!”

“What drinks are there?” Freya ventured, knowing that now she’d asked that question, she was going to have to ask for a drink no matter what.

“Tea, coffee, Radnor Fizz. I might even be able to get some orange juice if you want to go wild.”

“I could do with something a bit stronger to get me through this.” Ali muttered.

Mr Coin somehow heard this and replied, “Me and you both, Miss Grant. What with the way Chris is playing.”

They all laughed and asked for their drinks; Ali and Steven on Radnor Fizz, Sophie on an orange juice she probably wouldn’t drink for fear of spilling it, Freya going with tea and Chris pulling an orange Sainsbury’s bag from his rucksack and revealing he’d brought a bottle of water inside it.

Once Mr Coin was gone, they relaxed a little. He was definitely the grooviest obscure fact knowing, probably drug addicted, Physicist in the school- “Mr Andrews is groovier but not as likely to be a druggy,” Sophie pointed out- but he could be a little overbearing, especially when engaging his passion; Dungeons and Dragons.

“So?” Sophie said. “What does everyone think?”

“I think I could be at home making a revision guide right now.” Chris replied.

“Oh, don’t be such a spoil sport.” Steven shook his head. “If we find the sunsword, we can slay Strahd once and for all and finally the people of Baldur’s Fence will be free of tyranny. They’ll love us!”

“But the examiners won’t when we don’t know what carbon capture is.” Freya pointed out.

“Do we even need to know what carbon capture is?” Steven asked.

“He’s only asking that because he doesn’t know what it is.” Sophie said.

“No I’m not.” Steven paused then added, “What is it?”

“It’s when they pump carbon dioxide underneath fields instead of into the atmosphere.” Ali said. “I know that because I’ve been revising.”

“I’ve been revising!” Steven protested. “Just… not necessarily the right bit.”

“What?” Chris frowned.

Sophie laughed. “He revised Unit 2 instead of Unit 1.”

“What, seriously?” Ali grinned. 

“It’s an easy mistake to make!” Steven cried. “And, anyway, we’ve got a Unit 2 exam soon enough so I’m just ahead.”

“You’re such an idiot.” Sophie added, shaking her head.

“I’m not an idiot! I have a +2 intelligence modifier.”

“And I have a +2 strength modifier but I couldn’t pick up a car!” Chris argued. “Well, not unless I’ve eaten a Jaffa Cake.”

Elsewhere, Mr Coin was working his way down M-Block corridor. He rubbed his hands together malevolently in that way that only evil villains could. He had concocted a rather complex plan on how he could capture the five heroes, involving an electric violin, endless repeats of QI and the zeroth law of thermodynamics but in the end it hadn’t been necessary. Miss Francis had saved him all the time in the world. His ginger facial hair curled in smug satisfaction.

On the day of the explosion, he’d been teaching a class of Year Seven students. The idea repulsed him, how dare they be so young, but he’d got on with it. He’d been in the process of explaining Everett’s multiple world interpretation- it was meant to be a Biology lesson but he didn’t want to be accused of boring the students to death- when the radioactive explosion had launched him across the room, smashing him into the far wall. When he woke up in the hospital bed, he felt fine. The doctors analysed him, said there was no apparent damage except for a broken nose. It was when he’d got home that he realised what powers he’d gained. That night, as he’d sat there in his basement, fragmented until he barely even remained, the voice speaking to him, grinding into his mind. The Camel God, whispering his instructions. He wanted to return and who was Mr Coin to refuse a deity his demand?

He needed a way to communicate with the Camel God now, to tell him the trap was sprung. If he had time, he’d create a portal, a small one, just to share the message. It was the only way they could talk inconspicuously, unless he wanted to tear a hole in the fabric of reality. He’d have to invent something for it, some easier method of communication.

“Hey, Jon!” Cried a voice from up the corridor, with it gave the pad of hearty footsteps as the speaker approached.

Mr Coin stopped and wished the explosion had given him the power to incinerate people with nothing more than a thought. Realising wishing would get him nowhere, Coin turned and smiled. It was Mr King, the school’s Principal. “Ah, Marcus. How can I help you?”

“I was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind signing a card for Mr Andrews?” Mr King smiled. “It’s approaching four months since the explosion.”

“Yes, yes of course.” Mr Coin sighed. “Is he showing any signs of waking up?”

Mr King shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I was speaking to the nurses at the weekend. They’re thinking of moving him to a different facility, clear up the wards. The good news is that he isn’t on a ventilator, just in a coma. If it was anymore than that, well, they’d have to consider switching it off.”

“He’ll pull through, Marcus.” Mr Coin said, scrawling his best wishes onto the card. “He’s a stubborn old sod, is our Mr Andrews. He’ll be just fine.”

“I hope so.” Mr King said. “I’m going to do an assembly on it next Monday, which you’re more than welcome to attend if you’d like.”

“I’ll try to make it.” Mr Coin smiled, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to. By then, the Camel God would have risen and the world, as they knew it, would be over. As he walked off, Coin chuckled to himself. The Camel God had told him how to construct his instrument, the Doorway Aligner, via secret whisperings in the dead of night. He would collect it from its hiding place in the new Science Block and then he would begin his conquest of the multiverse. The Convergence could begin. 

“What’s taking Mr Coin so long?” Steven frowned.

“I’m not complaining.” Ali said. “If we have to do any more RPGing tonight, I think I might roll attack on myself.”

“Are you really not enjoying it?” Sophie asked. “I love it.”

“It’s just not my kind of thing.” Ali shrugged. “How about you two? Freya? Chris?”

“I’m indifferent.” Chris said.

“No, you’re very different, Christopher.” Steven grinned.

“It’s alright,” Freya said, “but I wish I could be at home revising. We’ve got so many exams and I want to be prepared.”

“Come on, Frey!” Sophie replied. “You’re like the cleverest person in the room, no offence you lot, in the school even! A couple hours hanging around with your friends isn’t going to make a difference.”

Freya laughed, a really cynical laugh. “I’m really not that clever.”

“She says, having never got anything lower than a Grade Nine.” Steven exaggerated his point, but only just.

Freya scowled at him then sighed. “If Mr Coin isn’t back in half an hour, I’m going. I’ve got Biology to revise for tonight and if I don’t keep to my schedule, I’ll get behind.”

“You think you’re behind?” Ali said. “Steven’s revising Chemistry for the Biology exam.”

“Oh shut up!” Steven cried. “It was an easy mistake to make!”

At that point, the door exploded open and Mr Coin ran in. He was wearing a trailing cape of shimmering purple and had blue and red goggles, not unlike the ones that Sophie wore as part of her Lucky Cat costume, over his eyes. In his hands, he had what could only be described as a gatling gun, but with each barrel containing a glowing crystal. There were electrodes on wires trailing off the handle of the gun and connecting to his forehead. 

“Praise the Humped One.” He whispered and squeezed down on the trigger.

The heroes leapt up, Ali smashing the table out of the way with the force she gained from her increased speed. Steven summoned a shield and Sophie changed the probability of the blast hitting them. “Freya! Freeze him!” She cried.

Freya raised her hands, concentrating as much as she could, summoning the powers she’d gained from that explosion. The powers were difficult to control; she had to grab hold of the reality around them, command an entire dimension. She reached, between the planes of existence, trying as hard as she could, allowing the energy to flow through her, but it didn’t work.

Time did not stop. A bright flash of energy flowed from Coin’s Doorway Aligner. The world around them seemed to warp, seemed to bubble, then there was a bang and they were gone…

Are You Sitting Comfortably?

"It was the worst day of my life."
A church. God's house on Earth, amongst a million others. It was the only building in miles; New Mexico seemed vast to that purportedly divine shack. The sand was almost pink, pleasurable to the eye but treacherous to the touch. A wind had dragged a heap of the stuff onto the eroded boardwalk that sat outside the church. The dust had tortured the white walls for too long. Paint flecked away in ugly clusters, neglected till it decayed and trickled down between the planks.
The inside was bare, but for the barren pews. A chandelier hung from the vaulted roof; a strong breeze could knock it into one of the cantilevers and send a rivet of dust falling. There was an old lady- purple hair, curlers- who used to light it with a brass torch. She was dead now, buried beneath a mound of sand outside.
Centre of the church. She'd said there were three people in the church. One had fled. One had died. One had been arrested. The Sheriff had assumed a Bride, a Groom and a Vicar. He had been right and wrong.
The Bridge wasn't beautiful. They'd say she was but they were nostalgia tinged lies. She was a puritan, a 'stiff' as the cool kids had called her. She was offended by drinking and swearing and fun. The Groom loved her nonetheless. The Bridge was wearing a wedding gown bought from a charity shop in a town that was on the far horizon. It was too big but neither of them cared.
Meanwhile, the Groom wore the suit he wore every Sunday; black and ordered and dusty. It was completed, not by a tie but by a dog collar. The Sheriff had been right. A bride and a groom, but two of them were the same person.
The doors creaked, like a haunted house in one of those old movie pictures. A breeze entered. The chandelier hit a cantilever, trickling dust from the roof. The candle in the brass stand to the Bridge's side was extinguished. Then came the footsteps.
The floorboards creaked beneath the interloper's feet, like the pain gasps of a man with a foot on his chest.
"What are you doing here?" The Groom whispered, his face as white as his bride's dress.
"Did you think this would just end?" The interloper asked. His left leg dragged across the floor behind him. "Did you think you could just leave me to die?"
The Bridge raised her veil, straining her eyes at the interloper's disfigured face. It was a patchwork of scars, a collage of pain. She turned back to the Groom. "Johnny? Who is this man"
"Don't you recognise me, Beatrice?" The interloper demanded. "It's me. Ben."
"Ben?" She frowned. The Chaplin? But... he'd been a sinner, a monster. Johnny had kicked him out for that. She turned now to her Groom. "What's he on about?"
The Groom's face was as pale as the snow that never fell. "Beatrice, go to the vicarage."
"No!" Ben cried, his voice almost delusional. "Let her hear what a b*****d her dear fiancé is."
"I don't... I don't understand." Beatrice whispered.
"Your darling groom left me for dead." Ben screamed. "We were drinking, celebrating your engagement, he was lighting out smokes. Then he thought it would be funny to light my face. He made me crash my car! We veered off the road. He got out, stumbled away, left me to bleed out." He drew a glinting, silver revolver. "Let's see how you like bleeding to death."
The sun ran, an amber ooze, like yolk cracked from a cosmic egg. Huge sheets of an autumnal glow ran through the windows, glinting off the barrel of the revolver. The wind seemed to grow stronger, shaking the building, rattling the chandelier. The gun raised, higher, higher. She felt rage pass through her. She didn't know why she did it. She just did. Her hand leapt out, wrapped around the brass candle stand, heaved it towards her off the floor and planted it straight in Ben's head.
His body hit the floor with the force of a leviathan. The entire world seemed to splinter around it, the universe ending. Microwaves ceased to expand, blood ceased to flow. Life, as she knew it, was over.
And so Beatrice planted the candle stick into his head once more, bringing it down over and over again, until Ben's head was nothing more than a bone flecked jam. She didn't even realise it was happening until it was over. She dropped the stand into the expanding scarlet pool, her arms shaking, sweat soaking into her wedding dress, perforated by the red spray. She didn't start crying, she just turned and very quietly said, "Run."
"Beatrice?" Her groom said, his front silhouetted against the umber spewing.
"No." She said. "Run. I never want to see you again. You're the Devil. I will repent for your temptation."
He didn't say anything, just turned and left. There was no arguing with her when she'd made up her mind, just acceptance of her new state. He left, and the last she ever saw of him was his silhouette against the doorway. She was surprised there were no horns.

Keaton Duster, known as Dusty to his mates, had been a Sheriff for twenty years. When he'd started, he'd worn his belt on the sixth notch and worn the hat for shade. Now it hid his receding hair line and his belt had a new notch cut, before the first so that his expanded waste line could be accounted for. In all those twenty years of policing, he'd never seen anything that would go with him to his grave quite like the sight of the bride church.
By the time they reached her, the blood soaked into her dress had turned a crisped burgundy. Her hands were still shaking, the sleeves reddened by the slits she'd 'repented' into her arms. she was sat in the pool of Ben's blood, rocking back and forth, her train sticky, and her lips quivered over and over as she whispered, "This was meant to be the best day of my life."

Icarus (part 4)

She felt herself thrown off her feet but she didn't black out. Flowers didn't; they had no consciousness to lose. Clio was a BioAssistant, colloquially known as Flowers, a subspecies of genetically engineered slaves each with a different specialty. Demeters were farmers, Thalias were councillors and entertainers and Clios were usually archivists or historians. Her speciality was memory and so the fact that someone had slapped an Antimnem patch on her violated her to her core. She was filing the shivering, quaking emotions she received every time she contemplated this under 'Deal With Later,' in order to concentrate on the situation in hand.
Avksenity was unconscious; the lack of Whizzer on his back was making it difficult for him to live conventionally, never mind having half smashed his head against the wall. Luna was out cold next to him and the sounds of scuttling from above had silenced. She was all alone and, according to the view through the end window, she didn't have long left.
Clambering to her feet, Clio pulled herself up the ladder and stuck her head into the technician's duct. "Can you hear me?" She shouted, as loud as she could. The duct snaked away from the opening quite rapidly so even with the amber sprinkle of server bulbs, it was difficult to make Po out. The lack of reply didn't calm her at all but she remembered the old mantra she'd taught herself long ago. Control what you can and allow fate to take its path.
Climbing down from the ladder, she hurried over to Luna and Avksenity on the floor. There was no hope, or point, waking Avksenity, so she instead grabbed Luna's shoulders and shook her until she woke. It didn't take very long; Lourdauds tended to be quite headstrong.
"Huh?" Luna groaned, slightly groggy. "What's going on?"
"We've been hit, some sort of gravitational wave." Clio replied. "I recognise the signs from when I worked on a photon miner."
"You're remembering too!" Luna grinned, her snout wrinkling as she did.
"It doesn't matter what I'm remembering. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Now we've been pushed away from the sun something must be pushing us back, quicker. We're running out of time."
"I'll wake Avksenity." Luna decided, kneeling down but Clio shook her head.
"We haven't time. We need to wake Po and get her to pilot the ship away."
"If she could do that, she already would have. There's got to be another plan."
The sun grew bigger, a crimson sphere of furious energy looming over them, ready to digest them.
The solution was in Clio's mind before she could even begin to comprehend it. Besides the milky white obscurity of the last few days, Clio could remember everything she'd ever experienced. Every conversation, every scent, every pair of smiling eyes, every subconscious tick. She knew every single fact she'd ever been told and she could remember her entire service aboard that photon miner, trying to capture the elementary particles from the grasp of blackholes in the hope of powering special types of cells. She was the ship's clerk and close friends with a lot of the crew, most crucially the ship's Psychic Pilot.
Now, don't get ahead of yourself. A Psychic Pilot wasn't a superhero who could fly a ship with just the power of their mind. They were the metal interface between man and machine, back in the days before the creation of complex TTCs. The idea was that such a person would be hooked up to the computers and would control the ship with just their mind. It was well paid but lonely, and dangerous, work. Clio liked to keep the photon miners' PP company and, through their friendship, she'd learnt an awful lot about it.
"I need to plug myself into the server. Act as a psychic pilot." Clio said.
Luna laughed, almost arrogantly. "Psychic pilots? I frown on them! If it can't be done by hand, what's the point?" Her grin widened still. "I remember! I'm a pilot. I'm a ship pilot."
"That's brilliant, Luna, but it doesn't help us." Clio said. "This ship is automated. It can't have a real pilot, it needs a psychic one."
"Then hook me up." Luna said. "I've got qualifications and everything."
"No." Clio said. "Psychic piloting carries massive brain damage risks. It needs someone dispensable to do it. Let me."
"None of us are indispensable." Luna said. "We're meant to be a crew. That's the point."
"Luna, you're a young pilot. You've got your life ahead of you. If Avksenity dies now, he'll never deal with his grief. Po, well, she's selfless enough as it is. I need to contribute something, and if it's saving all your lives, then that's that."
"Clio-"
"No, Luna." She said. "This is my duty."
Luna sighed. "I'll help you do but only if you let me help you pilot too, which means you think what I tell you to think. Understand?"
She nodded. There was no stopping a Lourdaud with good intentions. She'd learnt over the years that too. "Okay. Let's do this. We're going to need cables plugged into the TTC server upstairs. That means we need Po."
Luna nodded and scampered over towards the ladder. She crammed herself as much as she could into the technician's duct. She had longer arms than Clio- a skill that made clothes shopping a nightmare but reaching for unconscious Zoradians as easy as imaginable- and so found the rough fur lying close to the TTC server. She gave a couple of shakes but her hand became damper and soggier with the soaking blood. There was no reply. Po seemed clean out.
There was a sudden electrical buzz in her hand. Luna leapt back, bumping her head on the cage and frowning. Tentatively, she reached out once more, feeling around blindly once more. There was another zap but it was softer this time, perhaps more like a buzz. She reached around and grabbed her electrocutioner. Pulling it closer, she realised. "Whizzer!"
The little red droid flashed at her idly.
"Whizzer, I need you to wake Po up. Give her a zap."
The droid flashed again.
Rolling her eyes, Luna said, "Come on. Help a sister out."
Whizzer flashed in such a way that a sigh was implied. It turned around and rolled back over to Po, reaching out a small prong and zapping the Zoradian. Whatever current touched that purple and grey fur seemed to reverberate through her, smashing her eyes open and dilating the pupils more than previously thought possible. She jolted up and bumped her head into the duct above her head. "Klick." She whispered, patting her head and in the process discovering the bloody welt at its rear. "Oh for gods' sake."
"PO!" Luna shouted. "You're alive. How's the ship? Can you fly us away?"
"How's the ship? How am I? My brain is bleeding."
"Po, we're being pulled into a sun."
"My day can't get anymore Klick, can it?"
"Can you pilot us out of here?"
"No." She said. "The TTC is frazzled. There's no saving us."
"Then we need to do Clio's plan. She wants to be a psychic pilot."
"That's too dangerous!"
"That's what I said but she won't listen. Come on. It's that or we die without a fight!"
Po sighed. "I'm going to have to take Whizzer apart if we're going to do this. I'll need some of his circuits."
Whizzer began to flash in alarm.
Clio heard the request and hurried over to Avksenity. She did her best to shake him awake but he was a big man and heavy for it. It took a lot of violent, vigorous shaking- the sun growing larger and larger all the still- but eventually she got him awake. His face was turning paler by the second, the tan fading.
"Can you hear me?" She asked.
The General frowned at her, his eyes woozy. "Just about. I can also hear a slow chimera's howl but I think I'm making that up."
"We need to take Whizzer apart to fly the ship away from the sun."
"Then do it. The droid won't care and, if he does, you can turn off the emotion chip."
"But what about you? We take out Whizzer, there's no saving you."
"I made my sacrifice." He said. "Now hurry up and save yourselves."
With that, he blacked out once more. Clio placed him lightly against the floor and hurried over towards the ladder, shouting up, "He says we can do it! Come on."
Whizzer seemed somewhat sedated by this, not resisting at all whilst Po pulled the droid apart with her bare hands. She took one of the ringed caskets and hooked it up to the droid's neural relay, which she plugged into the TTC server. She then scrabbled down the ladder and hurried over to Avksenity, pulling the neural transmitter from his forehead and clipping it onto the casket. The wire didn't go very far so Clio had to stand next to the ladder to use it. Luna looked at her. "Are you sure about this?"
She nodded. "Let's do it." And with that, she placed the casket crown upon her head and felt her mind connect with the machine.
The sun disappeared, replaced with the ringed planet emblazoned with 'F' that was the Federation logo. The lights flicked on, the walls move apart. A group of people wearing red jackets hurried in, some grabbing Avksenity and carrying him away, others removing the crown from Clio's head.
"Who the hell are you?" Po demanded, the only one who wasn't unconscious or shocked.
It transpired that they were cadets for the Interplanetary Federation of Cosmic Exploration. All had agreed, as part of their final exam, to undergo a mind wipe to then be placed into a training environment. The exam would assess their capability under pressure in conditions they couldn't possibly prepare for. It also assessed their aptitude for team work.
They all passed with flying colours and received their flying colours in turn, stripes to place on their shoulders to show their qualifications. Clio would go on to become the clerk of an exploratory vessel where Luna worked as its pilot. Avksenity and Po, alongside a reconstructed Whizzer, acted as astromechanics and technicians respectively aboard a merchant ship. The crew of the Icarus Exam flew once more.

Icarus (part 3)

It was warm. Po, who was a Zoradian and so treated Edeners with the good humoured ridicule that they deserved, had heard stories of the long extinct Earthfolk. They'd believed that computers didn't like being warm, so they designed entire cooling systems for the single purpose of cooling down the technical components. Since then, relatively heat retardant materials like Pardium had been discovered and so components- which were fewer in number due to advancements in virtual computing- were built from those. Now, there was no need for a cooling system. The computers didn't mind the heat, only humanoids did, and what humanoid would be stupid enough to crawl through a closed up computer bank when it was on?
Po sighed. This furry little humanoid would be, and she was dragging a droid with her as she did.
The Zoradians of Zorada were a mostly subterranean species with eyes adjusted to darkness and fur evolved to the cold that resulted from heat permeating out of their caves. The computer bank was quite dark, besides the occasional twinkle of orange warning lights, but Po's eyes had grown use to light so they didn't mind it. The heat, on the other hand...
She'd only got a few metres away from the hatch by the time her fur was thickly matted with sweat, her entire body craving hydration. Her eye brows, the pride of her body due to their volume, worked wonders but not miracles, the occasional droplet splashing through. Some of this sweat hit her eyes and stung, momentarily blinding her and blurring the partitions between the lights and the computers. Some of this sweat hit the floor and sizzled.
Po crawled on. Whizzer was on the floor in front of her, rolling along the smooth material of the technician's duct quite happily. It wasn't meant for in flight access, that she knew. On docking, the ship would be deconstructed by robots, each section carried off by conveyors to the department that dealt with it. The computer section would be carried to its relevant technicians and then a stent of sorts would be inserted that expanded the room, making the duct easier to access. It wouldn't get any bigger, most astrotechs were quite small as a result, but unnecessary blockages would be removed. Unnecessary blockages like the one coming up in front of her.
It was a bar of metal. On expansion, it would probably slide up, through the open gap in the duct's caged covering above, and support the roof. Unfortunately, at this current time, it horizontally intersected Po's path. Not even Whizzer could have got past it on his own. Sighing, she hauled herself up as far as she could and pulled the multitool attachment out of Whizzer's rear end. It was heavier than Avksenity made it look but she managed to carry it over towards the obstruction. "Give me a power saw."
Whizzer beeped at her and then a small disk on the top of the multitool began to revolve rapidly. As it got up to speed, she pressed the disk into the obstruction. A shower of sparks resulted, singing her fur and dissipating as they hit the cage surrounding her. The tool began to move through the metal, breaking it down, but the material was thick and it was going to take a while. A pair of second lids dropped over Po's eyeballs, transparent but resistant to the flinging sparks.
With a crunch, the tool broke through the other side of the bar. She quickly removed it and turned to the other side. The rubbery exterior of her spacesuit, pressed against the metal floor, was becoming softer and softer. She cursed and willed the tool to rotate faster.
It felt like an eternity passed before she managed to cut through the metal. The obstruction fell and she pushed it up the duct, rolling Whizzer after it and then crawling on.
From the way the duct was getting hotter, she assumed she was getting closer. She strained her eyes as much as they'd manage and saw, not very far ahead, the machine she was looking for. The Primary Interface. It'd take a few seconds of hot wiring and then she'd be able to take control of the ship from it. Maybe get some answers, maybe find some new questions. Definitely save them. She pushed Whizzer on, ready to reach it.
There was a metal plate over the front of it. It only took a few minutes of sawing from Whizzer and then it had fallen away, allowing her access to the interior workings. She retracted the buzz saw and pulled out the omniport, sliding one of the attachments into smallest attachment on the server. Three patches lit up on Whizzer's brow, signifying it was online. "You hear me, boy? There's a screen just here." Po prodded it twice with one very furry finger. "Try turning it on will you?"
There was a heavy whirring from Whizzer for a few seconds and then silence from the droid. The screen didn't light up. Po frowned and then listened to the series of beeps Whizzer gave off. "Oh." She whispered, reaching over to the exposed cables in front of her. They required a quick rearrangement and then the screen lit up. Giving it a quick poke revealed it wasn't touch screen. She groaned. "How old fashioned?"
Whizzer beeped again and she told him to open up the ship specs. It read simply that the ship was an Automated Carrier, programmed to fly from one destination to another, in this case from Kael to the other end of the Lorem System. She ran a diagnostics scan. It took a few seconds, the background thrum of computers growing stronger momentarily, and then a report flashed up on screen. There'd been some form of EM damage. "What kind of damage, Whizzer?"
The droid beeped and a new window opened on screen, reporting that the Electromagnetic Inteference had scrambled the TTC drive. Beneath her wonderful eyebrows, Po's eyes rolled. The TTC was the Turing Tournament Champion, a computer program that had been programmed to such an extent that it could fool an Edener into thinking it was alive. Such programs were then connected to ships, either assisting their pilots or replacing them. In this case, the TTC had replaced the pilot and now the TTC had been killed, Which meant they were flying into a sun without a pilot.
"PO!" Someone shouted from downstairs. She thought from the hoarseness of the voice it might have been Avksenity but she didn't get a chance to properly think about it. Something hit the ship, shoving her into the cage to her side. Whizzer's omniport snapped, dislodged by some dislodged metal collapsing from the ceiling. The droid fell away and rolled, helplessly on the floor. Its sensors studied Po and realised she was unconscious, blood beginning to soak out of a wound in her forehead.
The ship continued, drawn towards the sun.

Icarus (part 2)

"That's a red giant." Clio whispered, her repetition achieving nothing. The sentiment had already spread and they all basked in their terror and the crimson glow.
Avksenity backed away from the window, as if he didn't want to risk instant vaporisation. There was no preventing such an unfortunate event, however. If they got too close, all the Pardium in the Cosmos couldn't stop them from turning instantly to ash.
"How close are we to it?" Po whispered, clambering up and looked towards the sun. She shielded her eyes, not because it was bright- although it was- but because she didn't want to consider it.
"More than one Astronomical Unit." Clio said. "That's one hundred and fifty million kilometres in old money."
"How do you know that?" Po whispered. She didn't know why her voice was becoming quieter, perhaps out of reverence for the situation they were in.
"You have to be at least one AU away from a red giant to avoid incineration and we're not dead yet." Clio replied. "I remember stuff, it's my thing."
"Remember how we got here?" Po asked. "That'd be real handy."
"Arguments will solve nothing." Avksenity said, creeping back over to the window and allowing Whizzer to close it once more.
"What're you doing, big guy?" Po shouted. "You scared of the sun?"
"No." Avksenity replied as the window closed, banishing the light. "But Lourdauds find extreme light painful, don't they, Luna?"
Luna, who hadn't been able to see since the window had first opened the window, nodded gratefully. A massive, unmoving caterpillar of glowing light covered her view but a few blinks managed to slay it. "Very painful."
"Oh. Sorry lass." Po said and itched her fur. "Right then. I think we have four questions we need to answer."
"Only four?" Clio frowned. "I can think of at least twelve."
"They're rather general questions." Po said. "Question one: Who are you all? Question two: How did we get here? Question three: Who put us here? Question four: What are we going to do about it?"
Avksenity raised his hand. "I think we should revise those questions. Question three and two are basically the same. I think it would make more sense to insert a new question four in the theme of: How long do we have to do something?"
"I don't think the questions we're asking is the important thing here, Av. I think that it's more of a case of answering them." Po said. "But point taken. Now, question one. Who are we?"
"You said you were an astromech." Clio said. "I'm a clerk. What do you two do?"
"I'm a droid tech." Avksenity said. "Luna?"
"I don't know." She frowned. "It hasn't come back yet."
"Lourdauds are statistically more vulnerable to Antimnem Patches." Clio pointed out.
Po raised her fluffy white eyebrows. "How can you remember that but not why we're here?"
"I hate Antimnem Patches." Clio whispered, then said, "I don't know how we got here but I have a theory about the other two questions. If we could get that trap door open, Po could probably fit in and fix the computer to turn us around."
"How long do we have left?" Luna asked.
"I reckon, from the heat of the walls, about twenty, thirty minutes at most." Clio said. "I worked on a Solar Harvester once and they taught me how to recognise the heat traces. Thirty minutes, if that."
"We better move quickly then." Po said. "Av, can you give me Whizzer to take up with me? I'm going to need tools."
Avksenity looked at his feet and then shook his head. "I can't. Whizzer... he's, part of me."
"He's a droid." Po said. "I get people are attached to the silly beggars but still. Share, matey."
"No, I can't." Avksenity sighed. "Look, I, oh Gods, I've never admitted this."
"What is it?" Luna asked. Clio, whose internal circuitry was designed to detect alterations in the visible emotional states of her surrounding counterparts, noticed something she suspected was shame beginning to consume the droid technician.
"I was a soldier, in the Falout Civil War." His voice faltered, that powerful confidence beginning to waver. "I was on the winning side, before you begin panicking and thinking I'm some sort of aristocratic, self obsessive, out of touch monster. It was after the ambush, the Crown had fallen, every man for himself. The coalition government, having deserted the Crown, were hauled up in a bunker beneath the Pantriatic Mountains. We launched a creeping barrage and then the men crept behind, the idea being that we would enter the blown open bunker and take out any survivors. I was one of the generals leading, in an old Oyweian battle tank that'd been 'liberated' from a museum. It was all going to the plan, tank hovering across the remains of the field and then..."
The way his voice trailed off was spooky. It gave Luna the shivers, conjuring images of a legion marching through the smoke and mist of a war torn landscape, there one second, lost in the mist the next.
"What happened?" Clio asked. Her reassurance filters were fully at play, suggesting she reached up and patted his shoulders. She did just that.
Avksenity said nothing. "One of the missiles hadn't exploded. Our hover pads detonated it. The ship, it was torn apart. Erupted the nuclear drive in the process. Every soldier for a twenty mile radius was vaporised, turned to nothing more than radiated ash. Apart from me. I was sat in the pilot's chair, so I was insulated from the full force of it. I landed but in one piece, except for the shard of metal that had sliced through my body. I lost an arm when they dug me up." A tear trickled down his cheek. "I was kept in a decontamination vault for three years. They only let me out when I stopped glowing. Patched me up and stuck a bionic arm on me, controlled by a motor connected to my back, the rest of me kept alive by life support stored in the same area. I've spruced him up since, little Whizzer, but still." His left hand reached over and patted the right. "They grew it, most realistic than any prosthetic before it, but it's still just silicon. My real arm died, like all those..." his voice tipped over the edge and there was no recovery, "all those poor, poor boys."
There's something powerful in watching anyone cry, Clio supposed. She wasn't the type to experience emotion but she could understand it. To see someone as big and powerful, to see someone so used to power and command, crumble before her very eyes... it made her emotional sensors indicate sadness.
Luna padded over to him and draped her arms around him. "They didn't die because of you."
He said nothing.
She hugged him a little tighter and whispered, "And we're not going to either. Save us, General. This is your chance."
He took a deep inhale and shrugged her away, wiping the tears from around his eyes. "Po, I can survive for ten minutes without Whizzer working as life support. We'll get the door open, you'll get in there, and then we'll take Whizzer off. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Po nodded. "We're going to have to be quick."
Avksenity clambered up and followed Po over to the ladder. The small, furry one clambered up and gave the trapdoor a shove. It didn't quite move so Avksenity dropped the cable from the bottom and handed it up to Po to use. An attachment folded out of the multitool and began to plasma cut through the metal, until the panel was loose and Po was able to use it. Then Avksenity took a very deep breath and pressed a button hidden beneath his shirt. Whizzer detached, the right arm going slack, and Luna carried it over to Po.
"Ten minutes." Avksenity said. "Any longer and I die."
"Any longer and we all die." Po said, and then scuttled away into the inner workings of the ship.

Icarus

The first thing she thought upon waking was a question. It was a silly question and one that, as her mother said, was tempting fate, but she mentally asked it nonetheless. The question was this: Why haven't I got a headache?
Not that she made a habit of heavy drinking, but the only times she'd ever woken up without a clue where she was, who she was or what had happened the night before it was a result of a trip to the local saloon. A common symptom that accompanied those was a banging headache, like a thunder cloud was raging beneath the pasty white of her forehead. Yet not today, for some unknown reason. She felt fine, except for a distant absence. It took her a few seconds to realise why but eventually she managed it. The missing memories hadn't come back yet. She couldn't picture the sticky wood of the bar or the beer squelched carpets of the tavern, couldn't feel the unintentionally violent shoves and barges as she jumped up and down in some mosh pit, her ears almost bleeding at the scream of the donkey rock before her. None of that was coming back. She didn't like it.
Deciding that she maybe needed a little longer, to allow the headache to flare up and wash her memories back alongside the pain, to negate the panic beginning to wash through her empty mind, she turned her attention to the room around her. It wasn't big; she'd been in escape pods that were more spacious but neither was it homely. Her first space job had been as a cleaner on a Cycler Hotel between Kirkwood and Isherwood and, although it had been ridiculously small, the owners had made it warm, comforting and homely. A grin danced across her face. She was remembering stuff already. Couldn't have been that bad a hangover.
Anyway, the ship she was on now had walls of a dulled grey with strip lighting along the length of the ceiling. There was a huge circular window at the far end but shutters descended across it, blocking the view. Behind her, on the other end wall, was a ladder leading up to a closed door. Through there would be the computer system flying them. This ship was too small to be a manual drive, which she normally wouldn't mind but, in this situation with a lack of memory, it was making her anxious.
Sharing the small autopod with her were three other life forms. They were all relatively humanoid, ranging in height and build. One of them was a bloke, a big one too, maybe a soldier from his huge frame. Another was a woman, all slight and perfectly proportioned. She had a face like an Edener and instantly Luna- OH PRAISE THE LORDS, SHE COULD REMEMBER HER OWN NAME- felt more and more inadequate. She raised a couple of porky fingers and pressed at the round snout in the middle of her face. It wasn't as notable as her tusks but it was beginning to bristle again. She'd have it waxed next supply stop. A frown crinkled across her forehead. Supply stop? She was on a long haul, then, but a long haul where and with who?
The third humanoid, she couldn't identify gender wise. All Luna could tell was that the person was covered in grey fur, interrupted merely by purple spots. There was a black spacesuit covering her stunted body from the neck down but Luna couldn't make out any deliberate branding. Who were these people? And what was the ship?
Before she could ponder the questions further, there was a loud groan. She turned suddenly and saw the big man clambering to his feet. With him stood, he doesn't look nearly as imposing. Sure, he was bigger than your average Edener but his muscles had partially withered away and too much silver flecked his hair for a big Lourdaud girl like herself to be scared. She also couldn't help but notice a large red drum attached to his back with a plethora of cables. It looked almost like a droid but she couldn't imagine what a droid was doing hooked up to someone. He blinked a few times and then faced her, frowning. "Who are you?" He demanded. His accent was the deep confidence of a Falout soldier, maybe a general of some sort.
"Luna." She said, feeling a little woozy. "I think, er, I think I'm something to do with space."
"What do you mean think?" He asked then frowned. "Wait a second. How'd we get here?"
"I've no idea either. I can't remember anything, actually. Just my name and that I was once a cleaner."
"Hm. Turn around a second, would you?" He asked, clambering over the two others and studying the back of her neck. He nodded. "Thought so. Sorry if this stings."
She went to protest but felt his fingers, cold as they were, scrabbling against the back of her neck. And then she felt his nails digging and tearing. A yelp escaped her mouth as he tore something off her. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm helping you, lass." He said. "Someone put an Antimnem Patch on you. You know what one of those is?"
She raised her hand to the rectangle on the back of her neck where her hair had been torn away, rubbing it softly. "Yeah, I suppose so. They make you forget stuff, don't they?"
"They inject chemicals into your spinal chords which then disrupt your brain chemicals so you suffer an artificial amnesia." He nodded. "Handy little things, aren't they Whizzer."
Whizzer? She frowned and then saw. The red drum on his back was a droid after all, with a small arm rising up from the dome at the top, extending out different attachments to peel off the patch on the back of his neck.
"You're lucky I have a resistance to 'em, lass, otherwise neither of us would know what were wrong." He said. "I'm assuming our companions on the floor have 'em too. I'll get the ginger one, you deal with Little Miss Furball. Looks like it'll need a delicate touch."
"Yes, of course." Luna said, then paused. "How long does it take for memories to come back?"
"Depends how recent they are, and what species you are." He eyed for a second and then said, "You're a Lourdaud, right?"
She nodded. Fifth generation freed Lourdaud, born in the Lorem System but emigrated to the Edens.
"Well then, probably take you a couple of hours to get your most recent memories but base stuff should come pretty quick. You worried you're gonna remember this is a prison ship?"
"Why? Is it?"
"No idea, love. I had one of the patches on too, you know. Now, go get that patch off Furball before she wakes up and blames us for it."
Luna nodded and, as delicately as a girl of six foot with massive feet could manage, made her way over to the furry thing that the man had labelled a woman. She realised she didn't know the bloke's name but then, introductions would probably be made once everyone was awake. Kneeling down, she turned her attention to the pack of the woman's neck. The fur was fluffy and boisterous all over except for one small rectangle at the base of the neck. Pushing the overlapping fur aside, Luna saw the Antimnem Patch. It was a quadrilateral of clear material, interrupted only by a green barcode at the bottom. She reached down and took hold of it. Did she do it slowly and risk waking the lady up or did she do it as quick as possible like ripping off a plaster? She decided quickly, tightened her grip and yanked.
A small clump of fur came with it and the small creature woke up howling. Although her voice was deep, it was recognisably female. She rolled over and swore a few times in a foreign language. Then she switched to the Eden tongues and said, "What in the Hellfire of Raxillion Beta do you think you're doing, lassie?"
"You, er, you had a, oh, look, you had this." Luna passed over the hairy Antimnem Patch. The furball studided it, her beady black eyes sat beneath huge whiffs of white fur. The more Luna stared, the less she was sure what species the creature was. Suddenly, the black eyes turned to her and Luna nearly leapt out of her skin.
"What's so interesting, huh? My eyebrows wonky or something?" She let out a grin, her huge mouth opening to reveal row after row of white teeth. "Who are you and where are we?"
"I'm Luna, that's, er, what did you say your name was again?"
"I didn't." He said. "But I'll tell you now. My name is Avksenity. The little red guy on my back is Whizzer. Who are you?"
"Po." She said. "Where are we?"
"No idea." Avksenity said. "Maybe this little lady will remember?"
"Do you know her?" Luna asked.
"No, but she's a Clio. She's made for remembering stuff." With that, he knelt down and tore the patch off the back of her neck. The woman breathed in dramatically, jumping from the floor and almost attacking Avksenity. She managed to recover and then glanced around the room, terrified.
Now would be a good time to quickly explain that some of the Cosmos' space stations rely not on captured slave species but instead on genetically engineered and organically grown BioAssistants or, as they were colloquially known, flowers. Each was named after an old Earth god that corresponded to their speciality; Mnemosynes and Clios made ideal secretaries and archivists due to their memories, Ares and Athenas were perfect soldiers and guards due to their brute strength and cunning and Aphrodites and Eros, well, let's leave that to the imagination.
The one in front of them was a Clio, characterised by her ginger hair. Once she'd managed to calm herself, she frowned and said, "What's going on?"
"We don't know." Po said. "I reckon we shine some light on the subject. Your droid hack tech, Av?"
"It can." Avksenity said. "Why?"
"That window down there should have a control panel just to the left. I'd hack it myself- I'm an astromech- but I don't have any tools. See if your droid, what'd you call him?"
"Whizzer."
"See if Whizzer can open the window up. Let's see where we are." Avksenity nodded and made his way down the length of the ship, sitting down on the bench on the wall and hauling open a small black panel on the wall. Whizzer let out a whirring and then, from the bottom, a cable was released. At the end of the cable was an omni-port which he brought up and clicked into the wall. Whizzer's lights flickered in a strange array, a few inarticulate beeps were given off and then there was a soft hiss. The omni-port was ejected and retracted back into the red drum. "Here we go." Avksenity said.
The huge grey shutter began to unravel, pulling back and growing smaller. The beam of light that shot through the gap blinded them for a few moments and by the time their eyes cleared of luminescent fuzz, they were able to look out in abject horror. "Is that what I think it is?" Luna asked.
"Oh gods. We're going to die." Po grumbled.
Avksenity didn't say anything, leaving it to Clio to identify their untimely fate. They were floating through space towards a huge, rippling ball of crimson fire. "That's a red giant. We'll be vaporised."