Valiant: Tales From The Drift

[Tails #15: Spiders And Mosquitos]

Log Date: 12/30/12763

Data Sources: Jazel Jaskolka; Lysanne Arrignis

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

Talingrad: Macchiot District

10:23am SGT

“I’m kinda surprised they sent us back to Talingrad so soon.” I say, walking down the ramp of the skipper. “Usually they have us jumping from one arm of the galaxy to the other.”

“It was probably just a matter of convenience.” Lysanne says, hooking a small, stone-carved lantern to her belt as she follows me down the ramp and into the woodland meadow where we’d parked the skipper. “We hadn’t gone very far from Talingrad after we picked up Ozzy. CURSE probably wanted us to save fuel and take care of the assignment while we were in the region, instead of sending us back later.”

“That’s another thing.” I say, turning and whistling to Ravoc, who pads down the ramp of the skipper, then bounds out into the grass, his finned tail lashing. “Something like this, I figured the Vaunted or a CURSE strike team would take care of it. Shutting down a pelt mill isn’t exactly our wheelhouse.”

“Yeah, I’d noticed.” Lysanne says, pulling a remote out of the pocket of her jacket and clicking it back at the skipper. The ramp starts to pull back up, closing and locking as we head off into the woods. “We’ve done raids like this before, but for rare creatures and stuff. The Vaunted probably could’ve handled this, so I’m not sure why CURSE is getting us on it.”

“Maybe Dandy knows?” I suggest, brushing some branches out of the way.

“Maybe. We can ask her when we get back.” Lysanne says, her boots crunching through the leaf litter on the ground. “You got all your kit, right?”

“Yeah.” I say, patting my field jacket. “First aid supplies, the remote for Ravoc’s collar, and…” I hold up my left hand. “Pretty much everything else I need right in here. What about you?”

Lysanne runs her hand over the lantern and deckholder on her belt, then pulls open her field jacket and checks through the pockets and vials holstered within. “Yeah, I should have enough. Dandy said that based on the intel from HQ, we should only be dealing with five armed individuals max. The rest of the people in the pelt mill should be the pelt skinners, and then the captive Halfies.”

I make a face at pelt skinners. “Still can’t believe there are people in this galaxy that would…”

“Capture sentient individuals and kill and skin them for their fur?” Lysanne says heavily. “Yeah, those kind of people exist.”

“No, I know those kinds of people exist.” I say as Ravoc catches up to us, then bounds ahead, head tilted up in the air to take in all the new scents of this world. “What gets me is that there are people that will pay for the products made out of those pelts, knowing where it comes from. There are people that think it’s okay someone died for their fur-lined coat.”

“Well, those people exist as well.” Lysanne says, picking up a stick off the forest floor and using it to brush aside a cobweb between trees. “It’s a status symbol in some parts of the galaxy that don’t respect Halfies as a race. The good news is that the Colloquium’s made strides towards shutting down the industry over the last few decades, and you and I will be helping take that another step further today.”

I click my tongue at Ravoc, keeping him from getting too far ahead. “Yeah, I just… you figure a pelt mill wouldn’t have turned up on Talingrad, of all places. We’re in a metropolitan system; the people here are really futurist and progressive.”

“You figure, right?” Lysanne says, stepping over Ravoc’s tail as she walks around him. “Talingrad’s the fashion capitol of the galaxy, though. Fur’s been part of the clothing industry for a long time. It makes sense that a criminal enterprise would set up a pelt mill here; there’s probably still a good number of designers that incorporate fur into their pieces and claim heritage, legacy, and tradition or… something like that. They find ways to justify a tradition they don’t want to let go of.”

“Even knowing where it comes from?” I ask, running a hand over Ravoc’s back as I pass by him, and he falls in step beside me.

“The people that sell it tell lies about where it comes from, and the people that buy it choose to believe those lies.” Lysanne answers. “Some of them know better; others… don’t. It’s messy all around… but regardless of what lies they believe, we’re here to put a stop to it.”

“What’s the exact assignment?” I ask as the midmorning light coming through the trees starts to get stronger. “Are we just breaking out the Halfies, or are we chasing down the pelt skinners too?”

“Just here to break out the Halfies.” Lysanne says, brushing some ferns out of her way. “But we are authorized to use lethal force in self-defense. We’re not chasing the down the pelt skinners if they run.”

“If we let them get away, they’ll just start up their pelt mill somewhere else.” I point out, looking at Ravoc. “We’ve got Ravoc with us. He can run them down if they try to flee.”

“It’s literally just the two of us and Ravoc, Jazel.” Lysanne counters. “We’re not here to make arrests, and even if we had that authority, we don’t have the manpower or cuffs for it.”

“Who said anything about arrests?” I ask as Ravoc noses ahead, bulldozing through the brush at the edge of the treeline.

Lysanne gives me a sharp look. “We’re not executioners, Jazel. We don’t decide who lives and who dies.”

“At least not until they start attacking us…” I mutter as we step beyond the treeline. Down the hill, an abandoned textile mill rises up out of the landscape, adjacent to the fields where cotton once grew. Nature has started to reclaim those fields, which have turned into a vast stretch of shrubs and trees bursting up from the fallow ground. “This is odd. Why was this mill abandoned? There should be plenty of demand for the products it would’ve produced in the fashion capitol of the galaxy.”

“Sustainability commitments. Products leaving this mill had to do so by road, instead of by rail line.” Lysanne says, pointing out the road coming out of the woods and leading up to the mill. “A rail line for moving product costs less than getting truckers to move it, and has a lower energy cost per freight container. Talingrad’s government may have subsidized the company to build a new facility along the rail network if they idled this factory.”

“Dandy said we should be dealing with five armed people?” I ask as I trace the road’s winding path to the mill’s parking lot and front door.

“Yeah. Security’s supposed to be low because this location is out of the way. Basically nobody comes by here now that the mill’s been shut down.” Lysanne says.

“What’s that, then?” I say, pointing out a trio of armored vehicles in the parking lot. People in suits are posted outside the front doors of the mill, with a few more walking the perimeter of the mill.

Lysanne stares. “That’s… a lot more than we were told to prep for.”

For a long moment, we both stare at the vans and the people outside the mill. Beside us, Ravoc shifts on his broad paws, staring at us with three of his six eyes.

“I bet we could still take them.” I say after a moment of silence.

Lysanne licks her lips. “I don’t… think we should…”

“I mean, what are we going to do?” I ask. “Wait for them to leave? Come back later?”

“We should retreat and come back once we’ve got updated intel and maybe some reinforcements, yeah.” Lysanne says, taking a step back.

“Okay.” I say. “How long’s that gonna take, and how many Halfies are going to get killed and skinned in the meantime?”

Lysanne stares at me, then motions back down to the parking lot. “Those are armored vans, Jazel! Each one could carry up to six people, which means we could be dealing with twenty extra enemies! We are way outnumbered here!”

“Yeah, but we don’t need to fight them.” I point out. “We just need to sneak around, set the Halfies free, and that should even up the odds.”

“The odds? Jazel, I can almost promise you the people down there have guns! The Halfies don’t! Trying to facilitate a prisoner break in these conditions is just going to get a bunch of them killed!”

“And if we don’t do anything, they’re just going to get killed anyway.” I point out. “I think they’d rather die trying to get free than live a little longer and die before they get skinned.”

Lysanne lets out an exasperated groan as she turns away from me. I can tell that she agrees with me on a principle level, but she’s fighting with how dangerous something like this would be. “What were they thinking, giving us an assignment like this? This kind of thing is Peacekeeper and operative work, not Preserver work!”

“Maybe they’re busy with the resurgents.” I say, staring back down at the mill. “I’ve heard CURSE has been hiring like crazy, and they did try to recruit Kayenta… maybe they’re understaffed and offloading these kinds of assignments to contractors like us.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t our cup of tea!” Lysanne says, gesturing to the mill. “We’re arcanologists, not soldiers. We wrangle exotic creatures, not criminals. We’re not prepared or equipped for something like this.”

“We’ve faced down dragons and wraiths before, and those are usually out to kill you from the moment you set eyes on them.” I point out. “This can’t be that much different.”

“It is different! Because the dragons and the wraiths didn’t have guns!” Lysanne exclaims.

“So what, we’re just going to turn tail and let them keep skinning Halfies?” I demand.

“We are not prepared or trained for this, Jazel! And it’s not going to do anyone any good if we go down there and get killed!”

I take a deep breath, looking down at the mill. After a moment, I glance at my left hand, then at Lysanne’s deckholder. “…I do have war spells stored. And the cards in your deck can pack a punch if you draw the right one. We might not be trained, but we are prepared.”

Lysanne looks at my hand, then down at her deck. “…you know this isn’t reliable. What I draw is entirely random. I might be able to help, but chances are, we’ll be leaning more heavily on your spells. Are you sure you have enough to get us through there?”

“It’s a pentafractal grimoire.” I say, rolling my eyes. “It’s got room for storing up to a hundred and twenty spells. Of course I’ve got enough.”

“And how many of those slots are filled?” Lysanne demands.

“Ehhhh, maybe… fifty-ish?” I equivocate. “It’ll be enough. I’m sure of it.”

She sighs, hooking her hands on her hips as she looks down at the mill. “…gods, this is stupid. We’re gonna get ourselves killed.”

“Going down there and doing something about this is better than walking away and doing nothing.” I insist. “If things go south, we can always retreat and say we tried. At the very least, it’ll put a kink in their operations — they’ll probably have to pause any planned executions so they can pack up and move to another location.”

She shakes her head. “You owe me a smoothie for this.”

“I’ll add it to the list.”

“Along with the other eight that you still owe me?”

“Was it eight? I thought it was seven.”

“It was definitely eight. Now nine.”

“I’ll get those to you at some point.”

“Mhmm. Sure you will.”

“I will!”

“Whatever. Let’s get moving; the sooner we get this rolling, the better.”

Dan Splainsworthy’s Encyclopedia of Sentient Galactic Species

Halfie

Though there exist a great many humanoid-animal hybrid species in the Myrrdicato Galaxy, the phylogenetic group known as ‘Halfies’ are by far the most populous. While there are certain technical and scientific barriers to exact classification of what species fall under the Halfie umbrella, the common view is that a Halfie is any sapient humanoid-animal hybrid which has the following characteristics:

1. being entirely or at least 90% covered in fur, scales, or feathers.

2. possessing digitigrade legs such as are common to four-legged animals, and with it, the ability to transition seamlessly between quadruped and biped ambulation.

3. recognizable morphological features of the animal analogue from which their hybridization is derived; examples being tails, whiskers, retractable claws, nonhuman ears, so on and so forth.

The vast majority of the galactic Halfie population can trace their ancestry back to the Halfies of the Milky Way, which were said to be the product of genetic engineering by the other humanoid races of the Milky Way. Originally incepted as companions and luxury items, their numbers exploded once they were no longer reliant on lab production. After their population became a sizable quotient of the human population at the time, they won their emancipation and equal rights, and proceeded to found their own nation with their newfound agency. By the time of the Great Migration to the Myrrdicato Galaxy, Halfies were counted among the primary races of the Milky Way.

The term ‘Halfie’ is believed to have originated shortly after their inception, as the layman’s shorthand for ‘half human, half animal’. Originally descriptive in use, it took on a derogatory connotation as the Halfie population grew, and there are many recorded instances of the word’s use as a slur. The term has since been reappropriated and redefined by the broader Halfie population, and current usage connotes a sense of shared heritage among the subraces underneath the term’s wider umbrella.

In the current era, Halfies make up a sizable chunk of the Myrrdicato Galaxy’s sapient population. They are citizens in nearly every nation throughout the galaxy, though they are most numerous on the worlds controlled by the Protectorate, which was once an exclusively-Halfie nation. Their ubiquity across the galaxy, and presence at every level of society, has ensured that they have a place within mainstream culture, enjoying the benefits accorded to other common races such as humans and Cybers…

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Talingrad: Macchiot Textile Mill

10:43am SGT

This is just stupid.

“Alright, you’re going to need to stand watch while I get the lantern ignited.” I say as I kneel down next to the wall on the backside of the factory. The tall grass that’s growing back here should shield me from the view, but I don’t want to take chances.

“I’m watching.” Jazel says, standing beside me as I take out a flint and start striking it across one of the stone ribs of the lantern. Sparks fly, again and again, until the wick inside finally catches and starts burning with a spectral green light. Tucking it away again, I pick up the lantern and hold it close to the wall — wherever its light touches, solid things become transparent and immaterial.

“What’s inside?” Jazel asks as he starts tapping through his awakened grimoire, which is currently glowing off his palm.

“Storage room.” I say, standing and peering through the ghostly section of the wall. “Looks like racks for giant spools of fabric and stuff. I’m not seeing anyone inside.”

“We should probably enter through there, then.” Jazel says, looking in either direction. “I don’t know how long before the suits circle back around.”

“Yeah, come on.” I say, motioning him towards the wall. He quickly steps through the transparent section, and I do the same, being careful to hold the lantern steady so the wall doesn’t solidify while I’m trying to step through it. “We’ll want to stay undetected for as long as possible, so if you have any spells that can knock people out instead of exploding them, that would be great.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve got something for that.” Jazel says, still poking through the glowing circles and lines of his grimoire as I move around him. “Somnatic Compulsion of the Fifth Order; I’ve got a couple instances of it stored. I can pop one of them now.” Pinching at one of the circles, he pulls at it; it forms a sphere that comes loose of his grimoire, and once he lets go of it, it pops, five dark blue wisps spiraling out of it to orbit around him.

“Good. Let’s hope you don’t have to use it too soon.” I say, moving around one of the spool racks. Holding up the lantern against the far wall, I stare through it into what looks like a vast operations floor that involves massive dyeing vats, and more spool and weaving machines hanging from the ceiling. All of them look like they’re in their at-rest positions, and probably haven’t moved from those positions in a while. The floor of the operations room, which once was filled with the spool racks now stored in this room, instead has rows of cages covering it. Within those cages are Halfies of every breed imaginable — canines, felines, avians, reptiles, the whole gamut.

“That’s a lot more than I was expecting.” Jazel murmurs from where he’s come to stand on the other side of the ghostly section of the wall. “Either they keep getting in a lot of Halfies, or they’re not skinning the ones they have all that quickly. Keeping all of them fed would require… a lot of food.”

I chew nervously on the thumb of my free hand. “Yeah, this is… a lot. And the cages are all locked the old-fashioned way. There’s no power line we can hit to unlock all of them at once.”

“I’ve got a spell that can saw through the bars on the cages, but it’d take me at least a minute to do a single cage quietly.” Jazel says, poking through his grimoire again. “Let me see what else I have in here; maybe I can find a spell that can open a lot of the cages all at once.”

“Jazel, maybe we should back off this.” I say, staring at the cages and the limp forms within. “We were sent on this assignment with the assumption that once we knocked down two or three of the armed guards, the pelt skinners and the rest of their security would run, and we could call Macchiot’s emergency services to come pick up the Halfies. But two versus five is a lot different than two versus twenty. Knocking out a few of the guards isn’t going to convince the rest to run. It’s going to bring the other fifteen after us.”

“Then we better make sure we have most of the cages open by that point.” Jazel replies as he taps through the layers of his grimoire.

“Even if we get the cages open, there isn’t going to be an emergency vehicle waiting to take them away.” I stress to him. “This wasn’t supposed to be a breakout. We were supposed to secure the site and assume control of it once the skinners fled. But they’re not going to flee if they feel like they have the advantage of numbers.”

“They won’t have the advantage of numbers once we free the Halfies.” Jazel says, peeking through the translucent portion of the wall. “Think I found a spell that could open a good number of the cages. Are you ready?”

“No, Jazel, I don’t think—” I pause when I hear the echo of boots over the concrete floor, and the faint drift of voices through the main room. Both of us lock eyes, before we crouch down on instinct. I quickly pull the lantern away from the wall and set it on the floor so that the portion of it that’s translucent shrinks to a spot no wider than my hand, and both of us lean forward to peer through it.

“I hadn’t realized that the Boss would be stopping in today.” a nervous voice echos down one of the aisles of cages. “If— if he likes we can give him a tour of the facility once they’ve concluded their business upstairs—”

“Perhaps you could.” replies a stronger, deeper voice, and quite curt at that. “And while you’re at it, perhaps you could explain why you’re running behind schedule on your pelt production.”

“Ah— well— one of our skinners was caught last week selling neuranium, so we’ve been shortstaffed since then—”

“I missed the part where that’s my problem.” It’s at this point that the voices come into view, and it’s easy to tell which belongs to which — one of them is a shorter elf in a more rumpled tan suit, looking decidedly anxious about his current predicament, and the other… is a big orc in a business suit, with a big ring on one of his fingers and golden cufflinks on his sleeves.

It’s Jawny, the same orc that chased us when we were delivering the cease and desist letter to Ozzy — the one that worked for one of the Four Ravens. And given that they had been talking earlier about a ‘Boss’ being here, that could only mean one thing: one of the Four Ravens was here in this facility. Which would go a long way to explaining all the extra security — it wasn’t for the mill itself. It was the Raven’s personal retinue of bodyguards.

This was a lot, lot more than we’d signed on for.

“Well, it’s not easy to find skinners, you see.” the anxious elf explains as they approach the end of the aisle. “It’s not an easy job — you have to have a good understanding of the many variations of Halfie anatomy, usually a medical background or some experience performing autopsies. Treating the body, knowing how to make cuts that will minimize bloodstains and make it easy to slip the pelt right off the corpse… it takes training and experience. You can’t just grab some blockhead off the street and expect them to do a good job of it.”

“If you don’t want to have problems with staffing, keep a firmer grip on your people.” Jawny says as they exit the aisle and start up a set of stairs leading to the higher floors. “This is a business, not a playground. We don’t have room for people to goof around selling risky drugs on the side. Seriously, neuranium? What was he doing, stealing it from a government stockpile? That’s a Class 1 regulated substance. He’s going to be in the slammer for at least fifteen years…”

“Yes, of course… I don’t expect we’ll see him again anytime soon…”

Their voices are obscured by the clanging of steps up the metal stairs. As it fully fades from hearing, I lean back against the wall, letting out a sigh, then look at Jazel. “Jazel…”

“We’re already in here, Lysanne, we might as well follow through with it.” Jazel says, already gone back to picking through his grimoire.

“Did you hear what they were talking about, Jazel?” I demand. “Did you recognize the orc? That was the same guy that was threatening to drag Ozzy back to his boss. That means one of the Four Ravens is here in this building, Jazel. One of the four kingpins of the arcane black market!”

“All the more reason to ruin his day.” Jazel says, peering back through the translucent portion of the wall. “I think they’re gone, and I don’t see anyone else out there. We should go.”

“Are you insane?” I hiss. “The Four Ravens are literally the sworn enemies of the Preservers! Everything that the Preservers are for, the Four Ravens are against! If we get caught here, we are going to die a death that is gruesome in no uncertain terms — they are literally the mafia. They will make us suffer before we die!”

Jazel sighs, looking down at his glowing grimoire, then up at me. “We have to do something; we can’t just leave these people here. And I’ve got a plan for if we get caught.”

“I know you do, but just because we have a contingency doesn’t give us permission to take bigger risks.” I insist.

“Alright. I’ll see you back at the skipper, then.” he says, standing back up.

“Excuse me?” I say, grabbing the lantern and pulling it away from the wall so he can’t move through it.

“I get it. You don’t want to do this.” he says, walking around one of the spool racks as he heads for the door. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. But I’m not going to leave these people to get skinned while we wait for backup or a revised plan.”

“Jazel, wait!” I hiss at him, but he’s already opened the door and stepped out. Growling, I touch a hand to my deckholder to make sure my cards are there and ready to grab, then I hold the lantern to the wall, stepping through it as it turns transparent. There’s no way I’m going to let him do this alone, up against one of the Ravens and god knows how many bodyguards he brought with him.

On the other side of the wall, I can see that Jazel’s already headed for one of the aisles of cages out on the main floor, and I hurry to catch up with him, looking left and right as I do so. I fight the urge to hiss at him until I’ve caught up with him. “If we get killed or caught, it’s going to be all your fault. And you owe me another smoothie for this suicidal bullshit.”

“This is our job.” he says, pulling one of his spells from the glowing seal of his grimoire.

“This isn’t our job.” I grumble back to him, looking at the cages on either side of us. There is at least some organization here; we’re on a row that is largely composed of canine Halfies, some of which are following us with dulled eyes. Most of them don’t bother to get up, simply watching us as we walk by their cages; I can spot foxes, wolves, dogs, and down at the end I think I see a jackal. “We are Preservers; our job deals specifically with rare and endangered magical creatures. Halfies are not endangered by any stretch of the imagination; something like this is the job of the Vaunted, and I only wonder why their local chapter isn’t out here earning their pay.”

“Well, since they’re not doing their jobs, we have to do it for them.” Jazel says, slowing to a halt in the middle of the aisle, studying the marble-sized sphere in his fingers. Red light is twisting and swirling around inside of it as he crouches down. “How many of them do you think we can fit in the skipper?”

“Maybe a couple rows, but we won’t have room for all of them unless we’re stacking them like firewood.” I say, noticing how some of the Halfies’ ears are start to perk up. “We’ll work on that once we get them out. Right now we have to make sure we don’t get caught—”

“Oi!” The shout comes from down the aisle, where one of the mill’s guards has turned the corner, with a skinner in a butcher’s apron at his side. The guard starts to sling his rifle off his shoulder, and I fumble for my deckholder.

But Jazel just raises a hand, making two flicking motions, one at the guard and one at the skipper. Two of the dark blue wisps orbiting around him go racing down the aisle, the first one slamming into the guard’s face and the second into the skinner’s chest. Both wisps wrap around them before sinking into them; the guard’s grip on his rifle becomes clumsy as he takes a couple steps forward, blinking heavily, then folds to the ground all at once, sleeping heavily.

The skinner stays up, though. He reaches out, bracing one arm against the nearest cage as he tries to shake off the lethargy washing over him. His mouth opens as he looks up, as if he’s about to shout out for others, and catches the third dark blue wisp right on the tongue.

He’s snoring before he hits the ground.

“Mm.” Jazel murmurs softly. “The second guy had some resistance. I don’t like that.”

“Jazel, we gotta pick up the pace.” I murmur, looking back down the other side of the aisle. More of the Halfies are starting to rouse, perked up and paying attention now that we’ve knocked out a guard and one of the skinners. Whispers are starting to pass between the bars of the cages, spreading across the room.

“I’m working on it.” he says, setting his spell on the floor. As soon as he lets go of it, the sphere pops, releasing a pile of flames that spill out across the discolored concrete. They quickly resolve into the form of salamanders that scurry away, spreading across the aisle, each one moving towards a cage. At the nearest cages, I can see that they’re clambering up the bars, crawling to the bolt that keeps the cage locked and wrapping around it. Once they do, they start to glow with an incandescent heat, squeezing the bolt until they’ve melted right through the metal.

“Stay quiet.” I urge them, moving forward to pull cage doors open as more of the bolts are melted through. “Stay together and look for an exit.”

The others start pushing the cages open of their own volition once the bolts have been snapped by the fire salamanders, and I can’t help but wince at how many of the hinges squeak. Some of the Halfies come out on two legs, but most of them seem to have trouble standing after having been in cages for god knows how long, so a lot of them stay on all fours. Most of them are uncertain once they’re out of their cages; I point back the way we came, quietly urging them to move that way and look for an exit.

“Hey, what about the rest of us?” demands one of the feline Halfies on the next row over. “Don’t leave us behind!”

I grit my teeth, whirling around on her and hissing a sssshh through the bars of the cages. “If you don’t shut up, we won’t be able to get you out! Stay quiet!” I order, trying to strike a balance between urgent and quiet. I turn to Jazel, finding him still crouched on the floor; the salamanders are working their way down the rows, melting through bolt after bolt on the cages, but with each one they burn through, they get smaller and smaller until they fizzle out. They aren’t going to last long enough to open all the cages. “Do you have another instance of that spell, Jazel?”

“I don’t. I don’t use it too often.” he answers over his shoulder.

“How are we gonna get the rest out, then?” I demand.

“You’ve got your lantern.” he points out. “Just hold it by the cages and they can step through the bars.”

For a moment I’m thunderstruck. Then I look at my lantern.

Jeezus, why didn’t I think of that?

Marking it up to anxiety and tension, I hurry down the aisle to the end of the row, moving to the next aisle. Starting at the first cage, I hold the lantern to the bars, motioning the Halfie within to step through it. There’s some hesitation, but at a second urging, she does so. Once she has, I move to the next cage, repeating the exhortation; the other Halfies down the row see what’s happening and start lining up at the doors of the cages, waiting me to arrive to their cages. It isn’t long before Jazel’s joined me on this aisle, poking through his grimoire for another spell while I help the Halfies escape, cage by cage.

Everything’s going a lot better than I expected, at least until we hear shouting from the far end of the facility.

Both of us stop dead, looking back down the aisle. From what I can hear of the muffled shouts, it sounds like some of the escaping Halfies have been found out. It isn’t long before the crackling echo of coilgun shots is heard somewhere deeper in the facility.

“Hey! Don’t leave!” one of the feline Halfies further down the row shouts as the rest start rattling the bars of their cages. “Let us out! I don’t want to be skinned alive!”

“Jazel—” I start, my pulse already rising.

“Keep going. I’ve got you covered.” Jazel says, pulling another spell from his grimoire. As the sphere pops, it billows out into a concave shield made of little yellow hexagons, hovering in the air in front of his forefinger. Staying beside me, he points it around so that we’re both behind it.

Taking a deep breath, I continue down the row, picking up the pace as much as I can. The Halfies are eager to get out now, many of them stumbling out of their cages once their turn comes up, some of them almost running into me in the process. Once we finish with the row, I turn and start on the other side of the aisle, even as the shouting in the mill starts to spread and get closer. In their cages, the Halfies are shifting nervously, agitated and worried that I won’t get to their cage in time.

“There’s a breakout! Get to the cage room!” I tense up as I hear the shout, but I flinch outright when I hear a door being kicked open on the opposite side of the room. Twisting around, I see one of the suited guards bursting out of the control room, where glass windows permit an overview of the operations floor down below.

“Jazel!” I shout.

“I’ve got you.” He sidesteps around me, his hexpaneled shield lifted up to stay between us and the pistols that the guards are pulling out. Seconds later, I hear the loud cracking and clanging of coilgun spikes hitting Jazel’s shield, and ricocheting off the cage bars. “Keep going, I’ll cover you!”

I start rushing along the row, but I know we’re out of time. Even as I keep helping Halfies out of their cages, I can see the individual hexagons in Jazel’s shield breaking whenever a spike hits them. Whenever one shatters, another hexagon filters in from the edge to close the gap; yet that means that Jazel’s shield is slowly but surely shrinking as we go.

“Jazel, we need to leave now.” I hiss over my shoulder. “We’ve done what we can, we can’t stay anymore!”

“We’ll finish this row and then we can run.” he says over his shoulder as he launches the last two wisps around his shield. They streak across the room, each one hitting one of the guards on the catwalk, who fall flat on their faces as they fall asleep. But there’s still at least another three guards coming out of the control room, guns out and pointed at us as they start down the stairs.

“Your shield isn’t going to last that long!” I hiss as I help another Halfie ghost through the bars of their cage.

“It definitely won’t last that long if you keep stopping to talk to me!” he shoots back.

Before I can answer, I hear a shout and see a Halfie go sliding across the floor at the other end of the aisle. Half a second later, Jawny lumbers into view, all seven feet of him, and locks onto us. The look in his eyes tells me all I need to know in a single second.

It’s time to go.

“We’re leaving, NOW.” I say, blowing out the wick on my lantern and hooking it back on my belt. Jawny starts towards us, and I turn around, grabbing Jazel and starting to push him in the other direction, back down the aisle. Looking over my shoulder, I can see that the last Halfie we freed has decided to run past Jawny, but he grabs her and lifts her over his head.

I don’t like where this is going.

“Jazel, go go g—” I fret, trying to push him faster. I’m cut off by something big and furry slamming into my back, knocking both Jazel and myself to the ground. The air is knocked out of me as it rolls over both of us; I curl my hands into fists as I try catch my breath and push up onto my forearms. Before I can, a big hand hooks into the neck of my jacket, lifting me up into the air. I try to kick free, but I can see that the same thing’s happened to Jazel.

“Stop squirming.” Jawny orders, just before slamming both of us against the cages on one side of the aisle. My head bangs against one of the bars, disorienting me as I’m yanked back once more. When I can see straight again, it’s to see that both of us are being dragged across the floor to the stairs leading up to the control room. “You’re lucky the Boss wants to talk to you. Otherwise I would’ve snapped your necks on the spot.”

This isn’t good.

I blink rapidly, trying to get my bearings back. I can still see Halfies running around the main floor, some of them being chased or prodded by the mill security, a couple of which are following behind Jawny with their pistols trained on us. When I reach up to feel at my head where it smacked against the cage bar, one of them kicks me and shouts. I cough and gasp when his boot makes impact, going back to being limp as Jawny starts to drag us up the stairs; I’m not going to be able to pull any fast ones when we’re being watched like this.

It’s not more than a minute before we reach the balcony outside of the control room. Since Jawny’s got both his hands full lugging Jazel and myself, one of the guards steps forward and opens the door for him. Dragging us inside, he makes his way around a couple of the control consoles, and dumps us in the middle of the floor in front of one of them. I don’t get up, instead looking around to see what we’re dealing with; there’s a couple more guards in this room that are big, stocky orcs like Jawny. The elf in the tan suit is there as well, and I think he may have been getting chewed out before the breakout got underway.

“On your knees.” Jawny orders. It’s accompanied by a kick from each of the guards that have their guns trained on us; gritting my teeth, I roll over and push myself up, shifting onto my knees as Jazel does the same. “Turn to face the Boss.”

Jazel and I both look around, but neither of us are really seeing anyone that could qualify as one of the Four Ravens. Unless it’s one of the other guards, there’s no one else in the room with us. “Umm… is it one of those guys, or…?” Jazel asks, pointing at the other two orcs.

“Turn them around.” Jawny orders. The guards on either side of us grab us by the shoulders of our jackets, yanking us around to face the console we were dumped in front of. It takes a moment to realize what we’re staring at in the dim light of the control room, but perched on the control console is what looks like a small cat bed. And seated within it is what looks like… a small bat with long ears and big, pale red eyes. And a tiny little glass of scotch cradled in his tiny little fingers.

I stare at it for a moment, then look back at Jawny with an expression that says Really?

Jazel isn’t nearly as diplomatic, though. “No offense, but you’re kinda small for a mob boss, aren’t you?”

That earns him a pistol whack on the back of the head from guard beside him. Jazel grunts as he braces on the floor, holding the back of his head, while the bat sips from his scotch glass before going back to idly swirling it. After a moment of staring, he opens his mouth.

“Size carries no intrinsic value, Preserver.” Instead of the squeak I’d expected from a creature this small, it’s a deep bass baritone, even deeper than Jawny’s voice. “I am no stranger to jokes about my stature. Continue making them at your own risk.”

“Noted.” Jazel groans, still clutching the back of his head.

“Now, indulge my curiosity.” the bat says, his gaze roving over to me now. “There are no rare or exotic magical creatures or relics here. Your kind have no reason to be here; this is nothing more than a lowly pelt mill. Are the Vaunted getting the Preservers to do their dirty work now?”

“Hell if I know.” I say, glaring at him. “We were just following orders.”

“Were you now.” he says. “Spit it out, then, this isn’t a serialized crime procedural and I don’t have time to play twenty questions with the heroes of the week. Who gave the orders?”

Jazel pushes himself back up. “You don’t really think we’re going to tell yo—” He’s interrupted by another pistol whack to the back of the head, and he braces back on the floor, groaning some more. “—okay nevermind, it was CURSE, we contract with CURSE.”

“Seriously, Jazel?” I hiss at him.

“You’re not the one getting beaten about the head with a gun!” he hisses back at me.

“I’m not the one that’s saying stupid shit to a mob boss!” I retort.

“I see CURSE isn’t sending their best and brightest anymore.” the bat says, interrupting our little back and forth. “I suppose this explains their recent recruitment surge. They must be shortstaffed if they’re sending the clown car to handle their light work.”

“I object to that characterization.” Jazel grunts from the floor.

“You just can’t shut up, can you?” I hiss at him.

“You’ve got spunk, I’ll give you that.” the bat says, sipping from his scotch. “Though learning when to keep your mouth shut would take you a long way. Jawny, you said these were the Preservers that helped Ozzy escape?”

“The same. Though they had a bodyguard of their own last time.” Jawny answers. “I haven’t seen him with them this time around.”

“Unfortunate for them.” the bat says as Jazel tries to sit upright again. “Since I intend on speaking with you longer than I otherwise would for a different set of intruders, introductions are in order. I am Medukat, one of the heads of the Gang of Four Ravens. I am a facilitator of capitalism and business, though others have less generous descriptions for my line of work.”

“You’re a Mingo, right?” Jazel grunts, still holding the back of his head. “This doesn’t make sense. Your species is on the endangered list; you should know the impact that the black market has on endangered species and relics.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself. We still haven’t finished with introductions.” Medukat says, his tone terse. “Hold the moral posturing for another sixty seconds, and introduce yourselves.”

“Lysanne Arrignis.” I say before Jazel can get another word off. “And that’s Jazel Jaskolka. Both of us are Preservers.”

“So I gathered from the high horses that you rode in on.” Medukat remarks drily. “You’ve created quite a mess here, not that this mill was profiting me much with its lacking production of late. And yes, I know the impact that the black market has on endangered species. In fact, you might say that I am a fan of it, in some respects. One of the forces of natural selection at work.”

“How can you say that when your own species is endangered?” I demand, stunned by his callous admission. “You know what it’s like to struggle for survival, and you’d choose to put others through that?”

“Oh, don’t give me that.” Medukat say, studying the last bit of scotch remaining in his glass. “You Preservers claim to embrace and value the natural world, but you only do so on your own terms. Embracing the natural order of things would be to accept the truth of the natural order: species go extinct when they cannot adopt or evolve with changing circumstances.”

“There’s a difference between threats presented by natural challenges and threats that are engineered or a byproduct of sapient actions!” I protest. “We can’t control when an asteroid will strike. We can control whether or not certain species are hunted for their parts!”

“There is no difference between the two.” Medukat states, draining the last of his scotch. “A threat to survival is a threat to survival, regardless of whether it is natural or engineered. The only option is to adapt or die. Coddling an endangered species, like the Preservers do, is only shielding them from danger and depriving them of a chance to evolve.”

“I… actually, I don’t entirely disagree with that…” Jazel says thoughtfully.

“Thank you. It’s always nice to talk to someone that has an open mind.” Medukat says, setting his empty glass aside.

“Jazel!” I hiss at him. “Don’t side with him, he’s the bad guy!”

“I mean, he’s not wrong, is he? Objectively speaking!” Jazel protests.

“They’ve smacked you in the head too many times.” I growl. “What he’s essentially doing is rationalizing genocide!”

“Ah.” Jazel says, scratching the side of his head. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“Water and rain, it’s all the same.” Medukat says, waving one of his winged arms dismissively. “Let’s not dwell on it. Now, would you care to explain why you deprived me of my necromancer?”

“We needed him more than you did.” Jazel says before I can say anything.

The guard next to him starts to wind up for another pistol whip, but Medukat raises one of his tiny hands, an order to hold off. “Is that so? Now what exactly would the Preservers need with a necromancer?”

I give Jazel a warning look. “Don’t you dare.”

Jazel shrugs. “Why? It’s not like it’s gonna matter to him.” He looks back to Medukat. “We’ve got a specimen that eats souls, and those are… hard to come by. I was going to see if Ozzy could summon souls for her to feed on, but he won’t. And besides, it seems like he can only summon souls from the hells, which are bad souls, and she can’t eat those.”

“Ah, so I’m not the only one he’s frustrated. Good to see he’s just as useless in your hands as he was in mine.” Medukat says, tapping his tiny, clawed fingers along the edge of his cat bed. “Then you will not mind returning him to me in exchange for your safe release.”

“Well, I never said that…” Jazel equivocates.

“And that’s why you don’t run your mouth to bad guys.” I fume through gritted teeth. “Now look what you’ve gotten us into.”

“Would you rather be dead?” Jawny rumbles from behind us.

Jazel points a thumb over his shoulder. “He makes a good point.”

“What do you want with Ozzy, anyway?” I demand. “You’re just gonna kill him once you get your hands on him. It’s a waste of effort when you could be working on something else.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Medukat says, holding his scotch glass out for a refill. One of the orc bodyguards comes over with a tiny bottle in his giant hands, delicately pours a thimbleful into the glass, then respectfully backs away again. “I’m going to have him teach one of my black mages everything he knows about necromancy. Then I will kill him.”

“Yeah, or you could just have your black mage look it up online and learn how to do it himself instead of going through the hassle of hunting down Ozzy to make him do it.” I point out. “Like… not to be disrespectful or anything, but just looking it up and having your guys learning it is a lot easier than putting up with Ozzy’s rambling and wheedling.”

“Actually, she makes a very good point.” Jazel agrees with me. “I’ve had to share a lab with Ozzy over the past three weeks and I’ve come pretty close to beating him to death with my work chair just to get him to shut up.”

Medukat gives both of us a flat stare, before his red eyes move wordlessly to Jawny.

“I hate to admit it sir, but… they’re right.” Jawny sighs. “Ozzy’s an idiot. A smart one, but still an idiot. If he wasn’t useful, I probably would’ve strangled him well before the point that he ran.”

“So you don’t think we should take him back?” Medukat asks.

“Gods, no!” Jawny says reflexively, before clearing his throat and adjusting his tone. “I mean… no, sir, I do not think it would be a prudent use of time, resources, or my patience. Leave him with the Preservers; he’s clearly tormenting them with his incompetence as much as he tormented us. And girl also makes a good point. It would probably be easier just to scrounge a necromancy manual off a black site and tell the boys to start reading.”

“You really think they’ll have a necromancy manual online?” Medukat says curiously.

“It’s the galaxynet, sir. Everything’s online nowadays.” Jawny offers. “It’s just a matter of knowing where to look.”

“Mm. Yes. The future is now, I suppose.” Medukat says, his little claws tapping against his scotch glass. “I suppose that just leaves the question of how to deal with you two.”

“Well, you could let us go back to freeing the rest of the Halfies you kidnapped.” Jazel says without missing a beat.

Medukat flicks his fingers. “Hit ‘em.”

The guard behind Jazel immediately wallops him in the back of the head with his pistol again, prompting Jazel to shout and crouch forward again. “I didn’t need those brain cells anyway.” he groans.

“Would you stop pissing off the mob boss?” I hiss at him, but I am worried. I can see blood running down the back of his neck, and that’s the third time he’s been whacked in the head today. The first thing we’re doing, if we get out of here alive, is taking him to get checked out for a concussion.

“You ought to listen to your friend.” Medukat says to Jazel. “I’ve seen my share of mouthy brats. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last. Moreover, your sense of justice is admirable, but misguided. Those Halfies down in those cages belong in those cages. You are doing no one any favors by releasing them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand.

“It means your view of the galaxy lacks nuance.” Reaching up, he motions to one of the orc bodyguards. “Doubtless you were told that this was some noble assignment with clearcut lines between good and bad. I cannot fault you for believing it, because I was once the same as you. Let us take a walk, and I will disabuse you of the notion that your assignment is as simple or as noble as you thought it was.”

One of the orc bodyguards comes over, carefully lifting Medukat’s luxurious catbed off the console. The guards by me and Jazel grab the backs of our jackets and yank both of us to our feet, Jazel stumbling dizzily as he does so. Once everybody’s up, the whole group moves to the door and starts filtering out onto the balcony, and the catwalk running around the edge of the main room.

“I will admit you made remarkable progress, considering there were only two of you.” Medukat as the group starts, single file, along the catwalk. He watches over the edge of his catbed, staring at the rows of cages below — there are still a few Halfies loose. It looks like some have escaped the mill, while others were caught and forced back into their cages; some of them lie dead on the floor where they were shot down, and I can see at least one guard corpse with his throat ripped out. “And I will agree that this is largely a distasteful industry. Our primitive ancestors used it as a necessity, but in our day and age, it is a luxury, now that we are no longer at the mercy of our environment.”

“You obviously know that it’s wrong, so why are you allowing this to happen?” I demand.

“Because it’s a luxury, and luxury goods have a much wider profit margin than traditional retail.” Medukat replies, sipping from his glass. “Authentic fur is outlawed in some systems, and that is what gives it value. That value, in turn, allows me to fund other ventures.”

“So this is all for money, then.” I conclude, disgusted.

“More or less. Every business has a bottom line, and there are several markets that I participate in.” Medukat says. “This one helps fund other enterprises that I run.”

“All equally as illegal, I imagine.” I mutter.

“What you’re doing is wrong.” Jazel says. “You can’t rationalize your way out of the fact that you’re killing and skinning innocent people for money.”

“Innocent?” Medukat says, looking over his shoulder. “Far from it. What we do here is provide a necessary service. One that government is far too timid to render.”

“The animals in those cages down there are criminals.” Jawny says as the group stops on the catwalk to get a good look at the rows of cages across the room. “The killers, the murderers, the rapists and the criminally violent of Talingrad. We remove them from the streets when they become too much of a problem, and send them here to be processed, and where they can be turned into something of value.”

I can’t say anything for a moment. I’m shocked at that, but then I look back down at the cages, and I see it where I didn’t see it before. Hidden behind the dour desperation in each of those furred faces is a sulkiness, a resentment. A simmering anger.

“But… you guys are…” Jazel says slowly.

“We are criminals too?” Medukat guesses. “Not all criminals are the same, and there is a distinct difference between our breed of criminal, and the breed down there in the cages. The crimes of the Gang are focused. They have purpose, meaning, intent. They produce a result, generate profit, bring order to the chaos. The crimes of these…” He makes a disgusted wing-wave to the cages below. “…animals are arbitrary, chaotic. They demonstrate a lack of self-control, of vision, of purpose. We do not appreciate this breed of criminal anymore than the police do, but we actually do something about it, instead of throwing them in stone and steel boxes, and expecting that will somehow change them.”

“But don’t you… like… hire these kinds of people to work for you?” I say slowly, trying to work through my confusion.

“Why would we?” Medukat demands. “The people down in those cages? They’re unstable. Unreliable. If anything, they’d be a liability because they’d lead the police right to us with their inability to control their impulses. I run a tight operation, Preserver. This galaxy deserves a better breed of criminal, and my portion of the Gang will give it to them. We provide services that society hates to admit that they need. Services that they will say are barbaric, but secretly, they agree with them. Services like removing Halfie criminals from Talingrad’s streets, and turning them into materials for luxury fashion items.”

Jazel doesn’t say anything, just staring down at the cages. My chest feels tight as I struggle with what I’m hearing, struggle with the fact that it appeals to some sense of justice in me, even though I know it’s technically wrong. “That’s not— that’s not the way—” I stutter, struggling to articulate my thoughts.

“That’s not the way a civil society does things?” Medukat guesses, sipping from his scotch. “No, I suppose it isn’t, is it? A civil society throws these people in prison, knowing full well it won’t fix them; it merely puts them where they don’t have to think about them or deal with them. Out of sight, out of mind. And then over time, it slowly releases them back into society, one by one, even though some of them are clearly beyond redemption. I know how this system works, Preserver, because I was once a part of it. I used to be a Challenger, you know that? Razorwing, Challenger 4832. I thought I was doing society a favor by catching these kinds of people and putting them in prisons, and I did it for years before I realized I was contributing to the problem, not solving it. There were others that agreed with me, but when we took our concerns to the Admin, he ignored us. Just like he ignored many others, actually. It cost him. Cost the entire program, really. But I suppose you know that story already, and you know where it ended.”

That’s a lot to digest. And I don’t have the time to process it all, not with what’s before me. “But… even so, it’s not right! It’s not your right to decide that these people should die, and you’re violating their basic rights and dignity by skinning them for their pelts once they’re dead! Even if they are bad people, this is not the way justice works!”

“And who’s going to stop me? You?” Medukat says, leaning on the shaped edge of his catbed. “What are you going to do? Go down there and throw open those doors, set them free? Release them back into society so they can go torment other decent, law-abiding citizens? Turn them over to the police so they can rot in jail, or bide their time before getting out and back into trouble? What we do here is a mercy to the rest of society. And sometimes it’s a mercy to some of these poor bastards that don’t know any better and are never going to change.”

I look to Jazel, hoping he’ll say something, something that will back me up or say this is wrong, but his eyes are still fixed on the cages, having the same internal struggle that I am. The struggle for what the right answer is, the struggle to figure out where we fit in this moral grey zone. The struggle to say that all of this is wrong — even though, deep down inside, it feels right.

“I pity you. I do.” Medukat says. “I know what it feels like. To be told by your superiors that what you’re doing is the right thing. I know what it feels like to want to believe you’re a hero, that you’re making a difference in the galaxy. To want all the lines to be nice and clean, to have all the bad guys neatly sorted from the good guys on sides that are easy to tell apart from each other. It’s easier that way. Easier to feel good about yourself and about what you do. Makes it easier to sleep at night.” He takes a long draw from his scotch glass before going on. “But it’s never simple as that, even if that’s how they pitch it to you.”

“So what are you going to do?” Jazel asks without looking away from the cages. “Kill us to make a point or send a message to CURSE about poking their nose in your business?”

“Gods, no. Picking a fight with CURSE? I’m not that stupid.” Medukat scoffs. “We’re an organized crime ring, not a paramilitary organization. Yes, normally I would kill Preservers, and no, not to send a message to CURSE — I’d just do it because you’re Preservers and you’re irritating and meddlesome and bad for business. But I would hate to have spent all this time enlightening you, only to deprive you of the chance to enjoy your new perspective.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re letting them go.” Jawny mutters.

“Just this once. It’s a mercy I don’t extend often.” Medukat says. “You two will skitter on out of here, back to your CURSE overlords, and tell them that the pelt mill was dismantled. Enough of our prisoners have escaped for the Talingrad police believe it when they come to collect the escapees. And we will pack up this operation and move it somewhere a little more circumspect, so we can continue rendering a necessary service to the Talingrad public.”

I have no intention of lying to CURSE about what’s gone on here today, but for the sake of getting out of here alive, it’s something I can pretend to agree to. “You’ll really let us go if we do that? Play dumb and pretend like the assignment went exactly as we wanted it to?”

“I really will.” Medukat says loftily. “Only because you didn’t know any better. But the next time you interfere in one of the Gang’s enterprises, lenience will not be an option.”

I pretend to think about it, leaning on the railing of the catwalk in silence before I answer. “…fine. But we don’t pick our assignments. If we cross paths again, it’s not personal, and it’s not because we were looking for you. We’re just doing what CURSE has asked us to do.”

“Of course. I understand; you have to do your jobs.” Medukat shrugs. “We will, of course, respond in the way we have to in order to ensure our bottom line is protected. No hard feelings; it’s just business.”

“I’m glad we can see eye to eye on that.” I mutter, looking around at the retinue of guards practically hemming Jazel and myself in. “I’m guessing we’re going to be escorted out, instead of leaving the way we came.”

“You will, yes.” Medukat says. “Jawny, see to it. No need to get rough with them unless they start being problematic.”

Jawny’s gaze goes from Medukat to Jazel and myself. “Feel free to become problematic.” he growls as the other guards start to shift against the railing to make room for us to depart back the way we came. Reaching out, I grab the shoulder of Jazel’s jacket and tug him along with me, squeezing past the guards; once we’re beyond them, Jawny falls in step behind us, his heavy footsteps echoing menacingly on the catwalk behind us.

The walk back along the catwalk is a quiet one, punctuated only by the sound of shouting guards in the background, and the occasional hiss or growl from the Halfies being chased back into their cages. I keep a hand on Jazel the entire way down the stairs, only stopping at the bottom to look to Jawny for directions, which are given in short, clipped tones. In this manner, we make our way to the front entrance of the mill, avoiding the stares of the caged Halfies and the agitated guards alike, until we’re standing outside once more, beneath the sun and blue skies.

“I’m half tempted to shoot you on the spot.” Jawny growls as the front doors swing shut behind us. “We all know you’re not gonna lie to CURSE. The Boss knows it too, so I’m not sure why he let you two go. But he’d be pissed if he found out I killed you outside the front doors, so get out of here.”

I glare at him, but tug Jazel along with me nonetheless. “C’mon, Jazel.” I mutter, starting to hurry across the parking lot and back towards the wooded hills where our skipper is hidden. I keep checking over my shoulder at the mill, and every time I look back, Jawny’s still standing there outside the doors, watching us as we go.

It’s only when we’re back in the woods, and out of sight from him, that I truly relax.

The Grand Compendium of Aurescuran Spells, Ninth Edition

Somnatic Compulsion

Originally derived from spells of dreaming mages, Somnatic Compulsion has been used for generations in Aurescuran society as a sleep aid and as a tool for mollifying violence or negating aggression. Its original use was largely spiritual in nature, allowing dreaming mages to fall asleep and access the Dreaming plane; the adoption of the spell by Aurescura’s witch covens introduced a medical variant, which was used to counteract insomnia and help patients that were in pain fall asleep. Wider use by Aurescura’s other populations soon followed, with a offensive variant being created for law enforcement as a nonlethal tool. The spell’s ability to stop aggression mostly without harming the aggressor made it very popular among law enforcement and the public, and it soon spread to universal use in Aurescuran communities.

In the current era, Somnatic Compulsion is a spell that has household recognition. It is used in hospitals for medical procedures which require the patient to go under; lower orders of the spell are sold at pharmacies as sleep aid for the civilian population. Among law enforcement, higher orders are used for deescalating situations, or apprehending criminals. Countless variations of the spell exist, though knowledge of the higher orders of the spell is mostly restricted to the military, law enforcement, and appropriate industries that have a commercial or medical use for them.

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Dandelion Drift Skipper-2

11:34am SGT

It’s silent in the cockpit as the skipper races through the skies of Talingrad, headed for a gradual atmospheric exit.

Ravoc’s in the loading bay, curled up and sulky that he didn’t get to bite anyone. Jazel and I haven’t said much since we got back to the skipper, and got out of there as quickly as we could. Watching the clouds shrink away beneath us, along with the terrain of Talingrad’s surface, I’m struggling with a sense of discouragement; a feeling of futility. Like everything we’d done today hadn’t mattered in the big picture, and that we hadn’t really improved the galaxy in a measurable way.

“It’s like spiders eating mosquitos.” Jazel says, breaking the silence.

“What?” I say, looking at him.

“The pelt mill. It’s like spiders eating mosquitos.” he repeats from where he’s slouched in the copilot’s chair. “People don’t like spiders. But they like mosquitos even less. And they’re willing to put up with spiders so long as the spiders eat the mosquitos. That’s what the pelt mill is: spiders eating mosquitos.”

I consider that, watching the readings on the skipper’s dashboard to make sure the autopilot is handling the atmospheric exit properly. “It doesn’t make what they’re doing right.” I say eventually. “Even if those Halfies are criminals, they still have rights. Rights to a fair trial, to ethical punishment, to a dignified death. That’s something that all sapient creatures deserve, regardless of their crimes.”

“Mm.” Jazel says. It’s a small sound, but I know exactly what it means. He doesn’t quite agree with that, not all the way. “At least it’s bad guys preying on bad guys, not bad guys preying on good guys.”

“Mm.” I reply. My way of showing that I don’t quite agree with his perspective either.

We fall into silence, watching through the forward window as the blue of Talingrad’s sky gradually fades into the darkness of space. The window’s tinting adjusts to filter out the unmitigated brilliance of the distant sun, turning it into a hazy sphere out in the distance. If you look hard enough, you can see faint little gleams in a line along the curve of the planet — ships that are holding position in one of Talingrad’s low-orbit lanes for short-term visits. The Drift is one of those ships, waiting for our return from the surface.

“What are we going to tell CURSE?” Jazel asks as the skipper’s artificial gravity fully comes online, keeping us from floating out of our seats.

“We tell them the truth.” I say, leaning back in my chair. “That these kinds of assignments aren’t part of our contract, and they gave us way more than we could chew. We’re not paid to take down a pelt mill that’s processing a non-endangered species, and Halfies definitely aren’t endangered. This was something that should’ve been handled by the Vaunted or a CURSE strike team, not a couple of people that chase magical creatures for a living.”

“So we’re not going to tell them about what happened at the mill?” Jazel asks. “About how they’re processing criminals and not innocents?”

I hesitate at that. “…we’ll tell them the truth there too. That the Gang’s been preying on Talingrad’s criminal population, and that they’re going to pack up the mill and relocate. And that we almost got killed trying to shut it down, and we’re not going to do that again. Not for something that’s clearly outside our field of expertise.”

Jazel’s quiet at that. He just keeps fiddling with his hands, as if what we went through isn’t sitting right with him. I can tell something’s bothering him, but I don’t feel like asking about what it is right now. I’m still too shook up about our narrow escape to discuss it; the first thing I want to do when I get back on the Drift is get into a bath and just lie there. Maybe slap some ointment on the bruise on my forehead that I got from Jawny slamming me against one of the cages.

“What would’ve happened if we’d gotten away with it?” Jazel eventually asks.

“What?” I say, glancing at him.

“If we’d managed to free all the Halfies and hadn’t gotten caught.” he says. “We would’ve given a bunch of criminals their freedom back.”

I start to think about that, then shake my head. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s behind us, and what’s done can’t be changed. This was never supposed to be our problem in the first place, and it’s not our responsibility to solve it. We’ll send our report to CURSE, and CURSE will communicate with the Vaunted or the Talingrad planetguard about what steps they should take next. And people that are trained and equipped for this sort of thing will handle it — not people like us.”

Jazel doesn’t say anything more at that, which effectively closes the conversation. I lean forward in my chair to check the systems on the dashboard, but I know I’m trying to distract myself from what Jazel was trying to get at, trying to articulate. An uncomfortable thought that’s been bothering both of us: that no matter what we did in that situation, there were no right choices to be made — only decisions between greater and lesser evils.

Decisions between spiders and mosquitos.