Valiant: Tales From The Drift

[Tails #13: The Nuances of Necromancy]

Log Date: 12/9/12763

Data Sources: Jazel Jaskolka; Lysanne Arrignis

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

Dandelion Drift: Lab 2

4:34pm SGT

It’s quiet as I stand in front of the center console in the lab. Hovering over it is the soul-stealing Viscori knife that I’d nabbed from Grimes and his gang two and a half months ago. Until now it had formed the centerpiece of my research into finding a dietary alternative for Kayenta — although, if we were being realistic, it was actually the backup, my plan B, in case I couldn’t find or create something to sustain Kayenta. And with what I’d turned up in my research so far…

Plan B was starting to look more and more likely.

The problem I was encountering in all the research papers I read was that souls just weren’t something that could be easily replicated. I’d started reading more and more books on the philosophy and theory of souls to try and figure out what I was working with, and what I’d read wasn’t encouraging. A soul, as posited by many scholars, was formed by three things: a unique core persona, which was then modified by experiences, and defined by the memories that had shaped it. As a result, each soul was truly unique, and most importantly, took time to mature and cultivate. That, above all else, was the biggest barrier.

You couldn’t just whip up a soul in an afternoon, or a day, or a week, or even months. It took years and decades to create a soul, simply because a soul required a life lived.

Unfolding my arms, I reach up and run a hand through my hair. Ever since the little spat that I’d had with Lysanne in front of the CURSE Administrator, the pressure to find an alternative to Kayenta’s soul diet had ramped up. It seemed obvious enough, but Lysanne wasn’t happy with the fact that I was letting Kayenta feed on me. Even though it’d been ten days since that argument, and a week since we left the CURSE HQ, things were still tense between the two of us. And they probably weren’t going to get un-tense anytime soon.

“If you would just help me figure this out, instead of implying that it can’t be done every time the topic comes up, maybe I wouldn’t have to let her feed on me.” I mutter, stepping back from the Viscori knife. Things I wish I could say to Lysanne, but that I don’t say, because I know she’s going to argue with me, and it’s not going to go the way either of us want it to go.

Shaking my head, I turn away, and walk along the terrariums I’ve set up along the far wall of the lab. I’ve replanted the spirit blooms in here to space them out after their explosion of growth two months ago. They’re doing well, and haven’t spread in their new housings; probably on account of the fact that I haven’t fed them any more soul. Though now that I know what they need to thrive and reproduce, I think it’d be possible to cultivate and farm them — and considering that I’d seen Kayenta eating a spirit bloom like candy the first time she came aboard the Drift, perhaps that was the dietary alternative I was looking for. It was almost perfect, except for that one problem that kept cropping up:

It required souls.

Every solution so far, whether direct or indirect, eventually boiled back down to that basic problem: souls were required in order to make it work. And it was hard to get those without also killing a person in the process. The only person I could think of that could survive that was me, and only then because I’d lived lives before my current one, but if I let Kayenta keep feeding on me, it would piss Lysanne off…

Gods, going in circles like this was giving me a headache.

The sound of the lab door spiraling open gets my attention, and I look around to see Milor stepping in. The first thing he does upon seeing me is raise an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you? You look like someone pissed in your cereal.”

“S’nothing.” I mutter, walking back to my desk to start closing out screens. I need to take a break from this; if I kept on grinding away at it, I’d burn out and get sick of it, and then I wouldn’t want to work on it later. “Did you need something?”

He gives that Milor-esque shrug. “Just wanted to see how you were doing. Spent a lot of time holed up in here ever since we left the CURSE HQ. You still on the rocks with blondie?”

“She’s pissed off that I didn’t tell her I was letting Kayenta feed on me. Not like it was any business of hers, anyway.” I say as I work on saving documents and clearing my desktop. “I don’t go digging into her crush with Dandy, so I don’t see why she should be sticking her nose into what goes on between me and Kayenta.”

“Well I reckon it’s because what you’ve got going on with Fluffy McFoxtails might get you killed.” Milor says, leaning back against one of the worktables. “Blondie making batty lashes at the robutt ain’t gonna get her killed. You makin’ out with the fox, though… I mean, let’s face it, kid. It ain’t good for your health. I’ve seen the way you look after she gets done sippin’ on your soul.”

I lock the screen, then look over my shoulder. “You can tell when she’s been feeding on me?”

Milor snorts, taking his toothpick out of his mouth. “Everybody can tell, kid. You look like death warmed over every time she gets done with you. You’re pale, you’re tired, you sleep longer than you normally do — Lysanne thought you were catchin’ a cold every month or so, but now that the cat’s out of the bag, we know exactly what happened when you’re trudging around like that. Answer me this: how much does she take every time?”

I shake my head. “It’s never a lot. Just bits and pieces. I told her she can eat whatever she wants, so long as it isn’t anything from my current life.”

“Graves of the gods.” Milor says, shaking his head. “Are you listening to yourself? You’re rationalizing letting someone else nibble on your soul like it’s a soup cracker! What if there’s something important in those past lives?”

“Even if there was, it’s not like I could access them!” I protest, turning around to face him now. “I don’t remember my past lives when I’m awake! They only come back when I’m dreaming, and even then it’s just a confused, jumbled mess. I can’t make sense out of any of it, and I can barely remember it when I wake up.”

“Alright then, you got me there. If you can’t make sense of it, then clearly it’s just junk and you can let her chow down on it.” Milor says sarcastically. “Riddle me this, then: how much you got left?”

“How much… what?” I ask, confused. “Soul?”

“Yeah, soul!” he says, gesturing the toothpick at my chest. “How many past lives you got packed away in there? How much longer until her favorite automated soul dispenser runs dry?”

“I… I don’t know.” I say, shrugging defensively. I have to admit that I’d never stopped to think about that.

Milor stares at me. “So you don’t even know how long you can keep this up. Crissus, kid, did you think any of this through?”

“I was under pressure, okay?” I say, reaching up and rubbing at the X burned into my skin beneath my shirt. “My immediate survival was on the line when I made the pact. I wasn’t really thinking about the long-term consequences.”

“Well, based on how it went down, I suppose I can’t blame you for that.” Milor says, tucking his toothpick back between his teeth. “But shit, kid, you’re basically living on borrowed time. I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but even I can see that this arrangement you got with the fox is gonna kill you if you don’t find a way to feed her something other than your own soul kibbles. That’s why blondie’s in a bad mood; she’s worried about you.”

“Yeah, well, she could be more supportive about it.” I mutter, looking away.

“C’mon, Jazel, use your brain.” Milor says, exasperated. “Why would she support what you’re doing? That’d be like handing an addict a box of needles and a bag of stardust. Letting the fox nibble on your soul is self-destructive; why would she support that if she cares about you?”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe because if I don’t keep her fed, then she gets to feed on the rest of the crew?” I retort. “Maugrimm have mercy. I don’t expect you all to fall down at my feet, but a little sympathy would be nice here. You’re right; it’s not fun when she feeds on me. I feel like shit afterwards. But it keeps her from going after the rest of you. That’s why I keep letting her do it.”

Milor doesn’t reply to that right away; he reaches up to scratch an eyebrow first, his mouth puckering in thought. “…alright. That’s fair. I’ll give you that. You’re takin’ one for the team; that should probably get a bit more recognition. But the point is that we wish you didn’t have to do it in the first place. Yeah, it might be keeping the rest of us alive, but it’s killing you slowly. That’s not a tradeoff any of us want to make.”

“Well, unless any of you have come up with any bright ideas for what to feed to Kaya, it’s one you’re going to have to live with.” I say, throwing up my hands. “Last I checked, I was the only one looking for dietary alternatives for her, and it’s not as easy as it looks. Turns out you can’t just magic up a soul out of nothing, and finding an equivalent or substitute for one is next to impossible.”

Milor puffs his cheeks out, pushing off the worktable he was leaning against. “Well, I wish I could help, but I ain’t good for much besides shootin’ stuff and charmin’ the ladies. Just let me know if there’s something I can do to help out, though. You need someone to smoothtalk their way through the bad part of town, or kick ass and take names — I’m your guy.” Wandering across the room, he sizes up the Viscori knife, then gives it a flick, setting it spinning in its gravity column. “Anyway, the reason I came up here in the first place was to see if you were all ready to go for tomorrow. Didn’t seem like Lysanne woulda checked on you with the mood she’s in right now.”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be ready.” I say, starting to gather up my jacket. “It’s just a standard cease-and-desist, it’s no big deal. We’ve done it dozens of times before.”

Milor raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, but this is a cease-and-desist for a practicing necromancer. That’s a lot bigger than, say, an illegal breeding mill or someone that’s trying to hide a pet dragon.”

I shrug, making my way to the door. “Not really. This might actually be easier than rehoming someone’s illegal dragon. We just go out there, tell the dude to stop, and if he doesn’t, then we come back in two months and help the local police arrest him.”

“You’re not worried it could get nasty?” Milor asks as I walk past him. “Necromancers don’t seem like the type to just roll over and do what they’re told. He might have a mob of undead hanging around the corner, ready to throw at us.”

“You watch too many holos, Milor.” I say as I reach the door. “You think we’re going to facing down a wrinkly old man in tattered robes, don’t you.”

“Well I’m sorry, I’ve never had the chance to throw down with a necromancer.” Milor says, following me to the door. “I don’t know what they’re suppose to look like.”

“It’s probably just some middle-aged sorcerer that wanted to make a little money on the side by using some of the knowledge he picked up at his mage college twenty years ago. He’s probably got a day job and might even have a family.”

“A family man, raising the dead.” Milor says drily as the door to the lab spirals shut behind us. “How charming.”

“Everyone’s got a hobby, Milor.”

“A hobby is going bowling on Friday nights, or running a side business sellin’ homemade soaps or candles. Diggin’ up the dead and reanimating them through means unnatural ain’t a hobby.” Milor says as we start down the hall.

“Just because it doesn’t fit your definition of hobby doesn’t mean it isn’t one, Milor.”

“Just callin’ it how I see it, kid. Say, are you and the fox going steady now? I heard you two were sharing a room while we were staying at the CURSE HQ.”

“We were just sharing a room. She slept on a bunch of blankets next to my bed. She likes sleeping near things that are familiar to her when she’s in unfamiliar places; it makes her feel safer.”

“…you mean to tell me that you shared a room with Fluffy McFoxtails for two weeks and you let her sleep on the floor beside your bed the entire time.”

“Well… yeah?”

“Did it even once occur to you to invite her to share the bed with you? Not even as a matter of cashin’ that ass. Just, y’know, as a matter of common courtesy, so she wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor the whole time.”

“I mean, she seemed comfortable down there, and there was an entire room made up for her if she really wanted to sleep on a bed…”

“You’re hopeless, Jazel.”

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Talingrad: Sovenor District

12/10/12763 12:44pm SGT

“He’s a rude, immature, spiteful son of a bitch, except I can’t say that because I know his mom and she’s not a bitch, she’s actually pretty nice.” I fume as I stalk down the sidewalk in Sovenor, one of Talingrad’s less glitzy districts. Milor’s following along behind me, chewing on his toothpick as usual.

“I’m not so sure about that.” Milor equivocates. “I’m pretty sure he went to the burger place because Kaya smelled the burgers and she wanted one, and since she doesn’t understand the concept of money…”

“No, he did it to spite me, because he knows I’m a vegetarian.” I growl. “He’s never had a problem with eating vegetarian before this. This is his way of getting back at me for giving him the cold shoulder.”

“Do you really think Jazel’s got enough social smarts to recognize when someone’s giving him the cold shoulder?” Milor drawls. “The kid had the fox in his room for two weeks and he let her sleep on the floor. Never once invited her up onto the bed, and it apparently never once crossed his mind to fool around with her. He’s dense, Lysanne. Book smart, but gods, is he dense.”

“Oh, he knows, believe me.” I mutter as I come to a stop at a crosswalk. “He may not understand at a conscious level, but he understands it on an instinctual level, and he can reciprocate it. He has been reciprocating it. He doesn’t understand what it is he’s doing, may not even realize he’s doing it, but he can give a cold shoulder right back. Trust me on that. He does it every time he gets sulky over being told he’s in trouble for doing something he shouldn’t have.”

“Okay, I guess that makes sense, but that doesn’t mean that he went to go get a burger specifically to spite you.” Milor says, coming to a stop beside me. “He went because Kaya wanted a burger, and he’s hungry, and it’s lunch time.”

“And because he wants to thumb his nose at me.”

“No, not because he wants to thumb his nose at you.” Milor sighs. “You two. I mean, you’re both… what, almost thirty now?”

“Twenty-eight. We’re both twenty-eight.”

“You’re both twenty-eight, so why does it feel like I’m babysitting a couple o’ kids sometimes?”

“Like you’re any better, whiskey fiend.”

“My penchant for whiskey is an adult problem.”

“It’s still a problem, so you don’t have a leg to stand on.” I say as the crosswalk flips from red to green. Stalking across the street, I shove my hands into my pockets as I go. “He should’ve told us. Would that have been so hard?”

“Well, considering you probably would’ve flipped out anyway, yeah. Probably a little easier said than done.” Milor says, keeping astride with me. “His heart’s in the right place, y’know. He’s letting her feed on him so she won’t feed on the rest of us.”

“That doesn’t convince me, Milor!” I hiss at him as we reach the other side of the crosswalk and continue on the sidewalk once more. “All that tells me is that my first instincts were right and we should’ve ejected her from the airlock first chance we got! She shouldn’t be roaming free on the ship if the condition of her being on the ship is that she either eats us or she eats him!”

“Well yes, but. She can’t help it, can she?” Milor points out. “She’s gotta eat souls. It’s not her fault she was made like that.”

“No, she doesn’t have to eat souls!” I counter. “Other morphoxes don’t have to eat souls! It’s an optional thing; go out and find any morphox except for her, and they will tell you that the soul-eating thing has become mostly taboo in their culture.”

“Well, yes, but she’s not like other morphoxes, is she?” Milor points out. “She’s way past the natural lifespan of her species. Yeah, soul-eating prolly ain’t culturally acceptable, but she has to do it in order to stay alive.”

“Well then maybe she shouldn’t be alive!” I snap at him. “If that’s the cost for it, maybe she shouldn’t be alive. Maybe she should accept that her species has a natural limit on their lifespan and she’s exceeded it, and it’s time for her to let go of her own greedy desire to live and make room for someone else in the galaxy.”

Milor stops and stares at me. “Lysanne. C’mon.”

I stop, rubbing a hand over one side of my face. “I’m sorry. That came out harsher than I was intending.”

“Ya think?” he says, reaching up and taking his toothpick out of his mouth. “What if you’d said that in front of Jazel? He’d be devastated to hear that coming out of your mouth.”

“But am I wrong, Milor?” I ask. “If this is the cost of her living as long as she has, and continuing to live, is that a cost that the rest of the galactic community should have to pay? Is that a cost that Jazel should have to pay?”

“Well, I don’t know about the galaxy, but Jazel seems perfectly willing to pay it.” Milor shrugs.

“That’s not the point, Milor!” I groan, turning and starting to walk again. “The question was rhetorical! The answer is no, that’s not a cost that anyone should have to pay!”

“Except that the question isn’t rhetorical.” Milor says, following me. “Your answer assumes that nobody wants to pay the cost, but Jazel does. It is worth it to him. And who are you to say that it isn’t worth it?”

“I’m his friend, and friends don’t let friends feed their soul to ninetailed bitches.” I retort, looking around when his bootsteps stop. “Why are you just standing there?”

“This is our stop.” he says, using his toothpick to motion down the alley he’s standing in front of. “This is the alley where the necromancer’s supposed to have his little shop. Ya got yer head so far up your ass ya don’t know where you’re goin’.”

“Oh, stuff it, Milor.” I grumble, walking back to the alley. “I know I’m worked up. It’s not my fault.”

“Well, you should prolly check yourself before you wreck yourself.” Milor says, stepping into the alley and leaning back against the wall. “Rolling in there hotheaded is a recipe for disaster. We can just wait right here in the shade until Jazel and Kaya catch up to us.”

I step into the alley, leaning back against the wall opposite Milor. “Why do you care, anyway? Why does it matter to you if Jazel and I are fighting?”

He shrugs, tucking his toothpick back between his lips. “I have to live with y’all. And when one of ya’s miserable or grumpy, it spreads to everyone else on the ship like a virus. Usually it passes pretty quickly, then everything’s fine again, but when two of you are fightin’ with each other? It just lingers, man. It stinks.”

“Of all people, I hadn’t expected you to play the peacekeeper.” I say, folding my arms.

Another shrug. “I’m a simple guy, blondie. I want to relax, have a good time, and drink booze, mostly in that order. When things are tense between people, I have to flip the order because the other two aren’t possible unless the booze comes first. That’s how I know things are wrong: y’all are makin’ me want to drink more than I usually do.”

“Oh, so you’re like a human meter that measures social unrest by the frequency of your booze consumption.” I quip.

“That’s the smart way to say it, but yes.” Milor says. “And y’all have me going through my whiskey faster than usual, so you need to hurry up and mend fences, or it’s gonna start showin’ on your monthly grocery bill.”

“I’ll see about talking to Jazel.” I mutter. “I just don’t like it, Milor. What he’s doing, what she’s doing to him — it’s not right.”

“That’s a matter of opinion, blondie, and you know it.” Milor says. “It’s a big galaxy, and there’s a lotta people out there. Lotta different cultures. Lotta different perspectives. Put that college education of yours to work and try to be a little more tolerant, eh? They preach that shit so often I kinda figured it’d be hammered into your skull by now.”

“That’s a reductionist view of a college education.”

“Look, hon. Stereotypes exist for a reason.”

I can’t argue with that, so I just huff out a sigh. Looking askance, I watch as the public magtrain rolls by, followed by a couple cars. Studying the slightly worn buildings, the overfull recycling bins, and the Krysmis advertisements flickering on the sides of the commercial buildings, I’m starting to understand why the necromancer is operating here, instead of in one of Talingrad’s glitzier districts. It’s probably easier for things to fly under the radar in a secondary district like this.

“Say, how are you and the robutt gettin’ along?” Milor asks. “I noticed you two been a little less cozy in the last two or three weeks.”

I glare at him. “It’s none of your business.”

“Yeesh. I was just tryin’ to make small talk.” he says, then puts a hold on conversation when a guy in a cardigan turns the corner into the alley, gives both of us a look, then keeps on walking. Once he’s gotten out of hearing range, Milor goes on. “Something happen between you two? I noticed the redhead’s been a little more businesslike than usual.”

“I said it’s none of your business, Milor.”

“Okay, okay. Someone’s testy today.” he says, folding his arms and watching the cardigan guy walk to the end of the alley. “At any rate, Krysmis is comin’ up. It’s usually a good time to mend fences and give gifts. To show people you care about them. I know a lot of people will call it out as a consumerist holiday, but it’s got its uses. Businesses might capitalize on it, but really, it’s meant for people. Gives us an excuse to show we do care about each other when our pride might otherwise prevent us from doin’ so.”

I just fold my arms a little tighter at that. I don’t say anything, but he’s not wrong. Krysmis is a good time to fix things up with people. Perhaps, once we were done dealing with this necromancer, I could go shopping and find something for Jazel and Dandy.

It’s little more than a minute later when I hear Kayenta’s excited voice down the sidewalk, bombarding Jazel with questions about crosswalks and hovercars and holoposters and the point of lipstick. Leaning out of the alley, I can see the two of them making their way towards the alley, Kayenta’s head darting back and forth as she points out various things and asks Jazel to explain them. His gaze follows her hands, doing his best to provide short, simple explanations before she moves onto the next thing. And for a moment, I can almost forget that she’s making a habit of feeding on his soul. Kayenta looks so excited to be exploring new places and new things, and Jazel is actually engaged with her, a living, talking person, instead of avoiding people.

They’re good for each other, and if it weren’t for the whole soul-eating thing, they’d probably be perfect for each other.

Kayenta notices me when she gets a bit closer, and rushes over to the alley, leaving Jazel scrambling to catch up. “Hey, Lysanne! What’s in here?” she asks, peeking inside and sniffing. “Oh, it stinks in here. Is this where people keep their trash?”

“No, that’s Milor you smell.” I say, pushing off the wall.

“Oh, my sides. They hurt from laughing so hard.” Milor says flatly, likewise pushing off the wall. “Y’all ready for this? Don’t wanna be walking in there half-cocked.”

“Got everything I should need for something like this.” I say, brushing my jacket back to touch a hand to the deckholder on my belt, then touching my fingers to the bone bracelet on my wrist. “This is just a cease and desist, though. We’re delivering a warning and a letter, nothing more. No need to get aggressive.”

“Shouldn’t we have worn our Preserver uniforms for this?” Jazel says, tapping at his left hand until the lines of his grimoire start to glow in his skin. “We’re just going to look like a bunch of random people telling him to stop what he’s been doing.”

“That’s actually a valid point; you two should’ve worn your uniforms.” Milor says, checking his holster under his jacket.

“No, that’s not Milor, that’s…” Kayenta murmurs, pushing Milor and myself to the side as she moves past us, her nose still tilted up as she sniffs. “I thought it was trash because it smelled like rot and decay, but it’s not trash. It’s death magic.”

Milor raises an eyebrow, looking back at Jazel. “She’s pretty good. You got a magic hound on your hands.”

“We’re here to tell a necromancer to stop… necromancing, I guess.” I say, reaching forward and grabbing Kayenta’s shoulder. “We’re not going to hurt anybody, but we are going to give him a warning. Let me and Milor be in the front; we’ll do the talking. You and Jazel can be behind us in case we need your backup.”

Kayenta lets out a discontent chitter as she falls behind Milor and myself. “Why warn him? You should make an example out of him, so that other people know why necromancy is bad.”

“That probably would’ve worked in the stone age, but we’re in modern times.” I say as we reach the end of the alley where it joins to another alley. We take a right, heading down the narrow and gravely street. “We’re civilized people. We give him a chance to stop and change his ways, and if he hasn’t stopped by the time we come back in a couple months, we can help police arrest him.”

“That doesn’t make sense!” Kayenta protests. “He’s doing something wrong. Therefore, he should be punished.”

“Yes, but he may not realize that what he’s doing is wrong.” I point out patiently. “That’s why we give him a warning first. That way, when we come again, he can’t claim that he didn’t know that what he’s doing is wrong.”

“How can you not know necromancy is wrong?” Kayenta demands.

“Ooh, got ’em.” Milor says, giving me a sidelong look. “You have to admit, she’s got a point.”

I glare back at him. “It’s a big galaxy. Lotta different cultures, lotta different perspectives. Try to be a little more tolerant, eh?” I say, parroting his earlier argument back at him.

He narrows his eyes. “I don’t like it when you nitpick my arguments to reinforce your own moral relativism.”

“I didn’t know you understood the concept.” I reply smugly.

“Just because I’ve got a frontier drawl doesn’t mean I have a braincell shortage.” he mutters as we reach the shopfront. It’s unmarked and the windows are tinted; it doesn’t look like the front has been cleaned in a while. “He probably hasn’t cleaned it up because he wants people to think that it’s abandoned. Not that it’ll stop us.” Reaching forward, he pulls the door open, gesturing to me. “Ladies first.”

“You’re only offering so I can be the human shield, right?” I say, walking past him and into the store. Inside, it’s well-lit; there are posters papered on the wall, showing rates and payment plans, bundle packages and cost-saving deals. There’s quotes for reanimating creatures of certain sizes, various warranties, a poster devoted to chats with dead relatives or acquaintances — priced by the minute, of course. The amount of asterisks and fine print at the bottom of these posters is ungodly, but my attention’s soon drawn to the counter, where the man in the cardigan is leaning on it, confronting a thin, weedy guy behind the counter who looks like he’s in his seventies. He’s wearing a tshirt with #songbirdisinnocent plastered across the front in big, bold text.

I sigh as Milor steps in behind me, followed by Jazel and Kayenta. “Sylak save me. The only thing worse than a necromancer: a conspiracy theorist.”

“Ah, but he’s both.” Milor mutters around his toothpick. “How’s that for a double whammy.”

“That unholy thing thing bit my daughter!” the man in the cardigan snaps at the weedy guy behind the counter. “Whatever you reanimated, that isn’t our dog! It doesn’t respond to the commands we taught it when it was alive and it doesn’t act like our dog did!”

“Hey now, let’s calm down, it was probably just a mistake.” the guy says, putting up his hands. “The pet bundle came with a warranty, just bring it back in and we’ll take a look at it—”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” I say, stepping up to the counter and digging in my coat. “I’m Lysanne Arrignis, a Preserver contracted with CURSE. We were tipped off to unsanctioned necromancy services being dispensed at this location. This establishment is to cease and desist practices at once.” I slap the letter down on the counter and slide it across to him. “This is your formal warning. If we hear that this establishment is still in operation in sixty days’ time, Mr…” I stare at him, then pull the letter back, quickly open it, then close it again. “…Mr. Oxiris, then we will return with the police and an arrest warrant.”

“Hold up, not so fast!” Cardigan says, slamming a fist on the counter. “I want a refund!”

“No, you want to get outta here before we charge you with soliciting necromancy.” Milor drawls, leaning on the counter on my other side.

Oxiris pokes the letter back towards me and Milor. “Uhm, can you hold that until I’m done with this?” he says, pointing to Cardigan. “I’ll get to your group in just a moment, right now I’m trying to deal with an angry customer. No offense.”

“He ain’t the only angry customer.” comes a deep baritone from the door. I look around to see Jazel and Kayenta scrambling out of the way of a towering, seven-foot orc squeezing through the front door in a business suit and a tie. There’s a big ring on one of his fingers, and his cufflinks look like they’re made of gold. “Did you think the Boss wouldn’t notice that you’d skipped town, Ozzy?”

“Jawny!” Oxiris squeaks, shrinking down a little. “Wow, it’s been a while! Is that a new suit? Your tusks are looking very… tusky today!”

“This fellow looks like he’s made a lot of enemies.” Milor murmurs, keeping his voice down.

“You’re telling me.” I murmur back, sizing up the orc. “Getting some pretty big mafia vibes coming off this guy.”

“Hey man, wait your turn!” Cardigan says, turning around and confronting the orc. “You’re not the only one that’s got a bone to pick with this guy. Take a number and get in line.”

“Jazel, that’s an orc!” Kayenta whispers, except it’s loud enough that everyone can hear it. “I haven’t seen one in centuries! I didn’t know they wore clothes like that now!”

Jawny raises an eyebrow at Kayenta, then looks down at Cardigan. “Did you just tell me to take a number?”

“Wait, Jawny, please no, I just cleaned the front of the shop, I don’t want to get blood over everything!” Oxiris says, rushing back to the counter.

“This is a goddamn clownshow.” Milor mutters. I can see his hand sliding towards his hip, where his pistol is holstered; reaching over, I grab his hand, shaking my head.

“Alright, everyone take a chill pill and back off!” comes another shout from the door. “What’s all this ruckus?”

Milor groans. I look to see a woman with short orange hair and a Vaunted uniform standing into the doorway, with a couple of Vaunted Librarians behind her — it takes a moment for it to click, but I realize that it’s Tashilo, the Vaunted captain that originally tried to take Kayenta from us when we were in orbit over Vissengard.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Oxiris says, throwing a hand at the Vaunted. “You guys couldn’t have spaced this out a little? One crisis at a time, please!”

“You shut up.” Tashilo orders, pointing at Oxiris. “We’ve received reports that necromancy is being practiced in this—” She pauses when she notices Milor. “—the hell are you lot doing here?”

“Hey, carrots.” Milor drawls, taking his toothpick out of his mouth. “We’re here to deliver a cease-and-desist for necromancy. Seems like you’ve got a habit of comin’ in second place, eh? First Vissengard, now this.”

Tashilo throws her hands up. “I don’t know why I try some days.” She looks around the shop, running her hands through her hair, then starts pointing, starting with Oxiris. “You’re under arrest for practice of the dark arts.” Then she points at Milor and our group. “You’re under arrest for obstructing Vaunted officers, injuring officers in the line of duty, resisting arrest, harboring dangerous and exotic arcane creatures, and probably a few other things that I can’t be assed to recite right now.” Then she looks at Jawny. “You’re under arrest for being guilty of something, I’ll figure out what you’re guilty of later. You in the cardigan, you’re under arrest for soliciting necromancy. You’re under arrest. All of you.”

“Aight.” Milor says, flicking his toothpick away. “You got enough cuffs for all of us?”

“Captain, we can cuff like… four of them, tops. Maybe five.” says one of the Librarians behind Tashilo. It’s taken a hot moment for it to click, but I recognize both of them — this one’s Jankens, and the other one’s Cardiff, the same Librarians that came aboard the Drift all those months ago. “I only brought two pairs of cuffs.”

“I only brought one.” Cardiff admits. “I didn’t know we’d be arresting the entire shop.”

“I’d like to see you cuff me.” Jawny growls down at Tashilo.

“Nobody’s going anywhere until I get my refund!” Cardigan declares.

“He’s getting away!” Jazel shouts abruptly. We all turn to see Oxiris slipping through a door behind the counter, trying to sneak off while everyone was arguing with each other. Jazel is already clambering over the counter, running after him and shortly followed by Kayenta, who pounces over the counter in a single smooth motion.

“Oh no you don’t, Ozzy!” Jawny says, rolling over the counter. “The Boss still needs to have a word with you!”

“Not on my watch!” Tashilo shouts, lurching into action. “Cardiff, Jankens! On me!”

Tashilo vaults the counter after Jawny, with the Librarians scrambling after her. There’s a rustle beside me, and I turn to see Milor jumping over the counter as well, bolting towards the back door as the Vaunted disappear through it; grunting, I haul myself up and over the counter, grabbing the letter and hurrying to get after them. “Of all the stupid situations to get caught in…” I mutter. “Jazel! Stop chasing them! Just let the Vaunted take care of it!”

“Wait! My refund!” Cardigan shouts as we disappear into the backroom.

“Y’know, normally I wouldn’t say save the necromancer, but if that orc gets his hands on him, he’s prolly gonna snap the dude in half.” Milor says as we twist and wind through a dimly-lit, refrigerated room with rows of tables, some of them with dead animals on them. Mostly the sorts that would be pets — dogs, cats, small birds, rodents. “And this guy doesn’t seem like the sort to raise an army of the dead, unless he’s planning on taking over the the galaxy with a swarm of reanimated puppies.”

“He’s still a necromancer!” I say as we bust through another door into the alley behind the shop. “Why can’t we just let the Vaunted handle this?”

“Because if we let Carrots take care of this, it’s going to give her ego a boost it doesn’t deserve!” Milor pants over his shoulder. “Ah, gods. Whisper was right, I’m out of shape after fifteen years. Less talking, more running, blondie!”

“Rune trap!” someone shouts up ahead. I look up to see the Vaunted are dodging around the orc, who’s knelt in the alley. Clamped around one of his legs is a glowing snaptrap, sprouted from a rune beneath his foot. As Milor and I run past him, he shouts down the alley.

“YOU’RE DEAD, OZZY! YOU CAN’T RUN FROM THE BOSS FOREVER!”

“Sounds like he’s in deep with a crime ring.” I pant. “I’d be more worried about them than the Vaunted.”

“Incoming!” Jankens shouts as a black bolt of energy comes hurtling back down the alley. He yanks his wand out, and with a flicking motion sends the bolt ricocheting into the wall, where it explodes, sending shrapnel blasting into the alley. Cardiff and Tashilo stagger as some of it rips into their uniforms, and Milor and I jerk our arms up to protect our faces as we get pelted with little chunks of stone and metal.

“That’s it. This guy’s too dangerous to let roam around.” Tashilo coughs, waving away some of the dust and debris as she keeps running, reaching for the pistol holstered on her thigh. “Cardiff, Jankens, lethal force is authorized. If he’s gonna be chucking that kind of magic at us, it’s time for the gloves to come off.”

“Whoa, hey, put away the guns!” I shout. “You might hit our friends!”

“I shot ‘em once, I’ll shoot ‘em again if I have to!” Tashilo snaps over her shoulder as Cardiff starts weaving a sign in the air. I have to give her credit; Cardiff has to be pretty good to be doing that while running down an alley, but this is where I draw the line. I’m not gonna have a repeat of what happened on the Drift three months ago.

“Milor, you’re going to need to hold your breath when you run through the gas.” I mutter aside to him as I reach into my jacket, fumbling around for the inside pocket. Up ahead, Oxiris has turned a corner, with Jazel and Kayenta scrambling after him.

“I’m what?” he pants back at me. “Sorry, I’m really out of shape. I’mma need to start working out again after this.”

“Hold your breath until you get through the gas.” I repeat, pulling a little blue vial out of my jacket. I wait until we’ve all rounded the corner that Oxiris took, then I rear back my arm and sling the vial forward, aiming it at the ground just ahead of the Vaunted. It smashes on impact, letting out an explosion of bright blue gas; Tashilo and her Librarians are moving too fast to avoid running into it. Holding up my arms in front of me, I take a deep breath, bracing myself as I plow through the cloud. I feel myself slam into a couple of the Vaunted on my way through, but I don’t stop running, only breathing again once I’ve come through the cloud. Looking over my shoulder, I see Milor hurtle through the cloud behind me, one hand on his hat to keep it from flying off. Behind him, Tashilo and the Librarians stumble out of the cloud of blue gas, coughing and teetering precariously.

“What was that?” Milor demands, glancing over his shoulder.

“Aerosolized vertigo.” I answer as one of the Vaunted falls over, and struggles to get back up. “Something I picked up a while ago at a witch market. It’s a fast-acting concoction that affects the inner ear and makes it hard to balance — they won’t be able to run while they feel like they’re constantly tilting to one side.”

“Nifty.” Milor pants. “How long does it last?”

“They’ll be fine in fifteen minutes or so. It hits hard, but goes fast— Milor, watch it!” I reach out, shoving him to the side as another black bolt goes hurtling down the alley. It explodes as it hits a trash container, blowing a hole clear through the metal side. Looking ahead, I can see Oxiris ducking down another alley, with Jazel and Kayenta still following after him. The buildings seem to be getting shabbier as we delve deeper into these alleys, with more trash against the walls and sitting water at low points in the pavement.

“Can we just shoot him and be done with it?” Milor grunts as we round yet another corner. “This guy’s cruisin’ for a bruisin’ if he tries to chuck another one of those black explode-y things at us.”

“You people and your itchy trigger fingers.” I mutter. “First Tashilo, now you. Why is shooting things your go-to for handling problems? Jazel! Rope him up and bring ‘em down!”

“Kinda hard to get a lock on him when he won’t stop moving!” Jazel shouts back.

“Oh my god.” Milor grumbles. “You don’t know how to run and aim at the same time?!”

“Shut up, Milor!”

“I’ve got him!” Kayenta shouts, electricity crackling over her tails. A moment later, a thunderous boom rattles through the buildings as a streak of blue rockets past Jazel and Oxiris in the blink of an eye, slamming into the wall at the end of the alley. Cracks spread across the stone from the impact, and for a split second, I can see Kayenta pivoting on the spot, her tails flaring out behind her as her august eyes lock onto Oxiris.

Then there’s another boom as she kicks off the wall, and Oxiris is knocked flat on his back in the alley, Kayenta skidding to a halt several feet past him.

“Hot damn.” Milor whistles, slowing to a walk as we come up on where Oxiris is rolling weakly on the ground. Milor leans over, elbowing Jazel. “Woman might be small, but she hits like a freight train. You’re not the top in this relationship, are you?”

“The what?” Jazel asks, giving Milor a perplexed look.

“Milor!” I hiss at him.

“What, it’s a valid question!” Milor protests.

“Sweet Sylak, I feel like I got pummeled by the Avalanche herself.” Oxiris wheezes, clutching his chest. “I think you broke one of my ribs… or several…”

Kayenta marches over, planting one of her bare feet on his chest and folding her arms as she casts her shadow over him. “I’d eat your soul, but it’s tainted by the profanity of the art you practice. Your heresy ends here, necromancer.”

“What she means to say is that we caught you, so here’s your cease-and-desist notice.” I say, digging in my jacket and throwing the letter on his face. “We’ve officially served you, so if we come back and find that you’re still practicing necromancy, the next papers we’ll be shoving in your face will be an arrest warrant.”

Oxiris weakly snags the letter off his face. “Seriously? All this over a few reanimated pets? I wasn’t hurting anyone!”

“The guy in the cardigan apparently disagrees.” I remind him.

Oxiris waves that off. “A little hiccup. Sometimes the wrong dog soul gets summoned back into the wrong dog body. An innocent mixup, it happens every now and then.”

“Wait, you know how to summon souls?” Jazel asks, his focus suddenly becoming a lot sharper. “You actually put a soul back into your undead creatures, instead of creating a magical scaffolding to reanimate them?”

I can already see where Jazel is going with this. “No.” I interrupt. “We are not consorting with a necromancer so you can work on your pet project—”

“Oh c’mon, Lysanne, you were giving me shit for letting Kaya feed on me, and now you’re giving me shit for trying to find a way to get her to feed on something else!” Jazel complains. “You can’t have it both ways. Pick one, do you want me to find a way to feed her or not?”

“I… yes, but this isn’t the way to do it!” I fume.

“Okay then, what’s the way to do it?” Jazel demands, folding his arms. “You’re doing a whole of telling me what I can’t do, but I don’t see you offering any ideas. I’ve been the only one actually working on this. You can’t tell me what I can’t do if you’re not going to actually to put in any of the effort.”

“It’s not a matter of work balance, it’s a matter of ethics!” I protest.

“OZZY, YOU SCRAWNY LITTLE SHIT!” All of us turn to see that Jawny the mafia orc is staggering around the corner, blood running down his leg from where the snaptrap caught him. He looks pissed, and he’s pulling a gun out of his business jacket. “I’M GOING TO DRAG YOU BACK TO THE BOSS BY THE BALLS FOR RUINING MY NEW SLACKS!”

“Oh crap.” Oxiris gasps.

“He’s got a gun, get down!” Milor shouts, ducking behind a nearby trash receptacle. I follow after him as Jawny starts to raise his handgun, and Jazel grabs Kayenta, pulling her behind a recycling canister. Oxiris is left to scramble behind an AC unit attached to one of the buildings on either side of us as coilgun spikes start crackling down the alley.

“Alright, I changed my mind.” Oxiris pants. “I’m a criminal. Arrest me and take me into custody. I admit it: I’m a dirty filthy necromancer and I should be in jail.”

“So his former employer is scarier than prison. Good to know.” Milor mutters, pulling out his plasma pistol. “Blondie, you don’t have any more of that dizzy gas, do you?”

“That stuff isn’t cheap, I’d rather use it on a group of people instead of just a single guy.” I say, staying huddled behind Milor’s broad frame.

Milor gives me a bug-eyed look as a coilgun spike pangs off the trash receptacle we’re behind. “We are getting shot at and you’re worried about money?!”

“You got a gun, use it!” I say, motioning to his pistol.

“Well you probably don’t know because you’ve never used a gun in your life, little miss pacifist, but plasma cells for these things ain’t cheap!” he retorts.

“Then you should understand why I don’t want to use more of my vertigo gas!” I shoot back at him.

Our argument is interrupted by a ball of blue light being thrown down the alley, where it expands into a structured, translucent barrier reinforced by spiderweb-like lines. I look back to see that Jazel’s stepped out from his cover, his pentafractal grimoire glowing on either side of his left hand. He looks to Oxiris. “If you come with us, we’ll keep you out of jail and safe from your old employer. But you have to help us with the project I’m working on. It involves souls.”

“No!” I shout, standing up. “We are not bringing a necromancer onboard—” I flinch and crouch a little when I hear coilgun spikes slam into the barrier Jazel’s put up, cracks spreading from where the tips have pierced through.

Oxiris’s eyes dart about. “…s’not a bad offer, all things considered. Can I at least run home and grab some things?”

“Jazel!” I snap at him as Jawny takes a moment to reload his coilgun pistol.

“What?!” Jazel snaps back. “I’m tired of doing this on my own, so now I’m getting help from someone that will actually help and support me!”

“We have been supporting you!” I shout back at him. “Don’t you realize how much we’ve done to make her feel welcome and a part of the group?”

“Yeah, well that support pretty much evaporated when you found out what I was doing to keep her alive!” he shouts back at me.

“Kids.” Milor says in a warning tone, standing up and backing down the alley with his pistol leveled at the barrier as Jawny finishes reloading. “We can play family feud later. Right now we need to bust this popsicle stand before the big guy manages to shoot his way through that barrier. Necro-bro, you comin’ with us or not?”

Oxiris starts retreating down the alley as Jawny takes a couple steps back and starts shooting at the barrier again, focusing his shots in a small area that starts to crack and splinter. “Uh, yeah. I’ll come with you guys. We just need to stop at my apartment so I can grab my stuff, then we can get to the starport.”

I don’t agree with that plan of action, but with Jawny about to shoot his way through the barrier, now’s not the time to argue about it. I start running down the alley, getting behind Milor while Jazel takes the lead in looking for the fastest way out of these alleys. Kayenta stays behind Oxiris, keeping an eye on him and pushing him along whenever he starts to slow down.

“You and I are gonna have a talk when we get back to the ship.” I mutter to Milor as we retreat down an intersecting alley, losing sight of Jawny as we do so.

“Seems to me like you need to have a heart to heart with Jazel more than you need to talk to me.” Milor mutters back, still checking over his shoulder every few seconds. “He seems pretty stressed out about not getting the help he needs to solve his big problem.”

“I told him before that this wasn’t gonna end well!” I hiss. “I told him it wasn’t going to be easy, I told him he was embarking on something that was harder than he’d ever done before, but did he listen to me? Nooooo! He did it anyway, and now we’re in this mess!”

“Yeah, but give the kid some credit: he’s trying.” Milor says as we duck down yet another alleyway, this one getting a little wider, and the sound of street traffic growing nearer. “He’s pullin’ his weight. He’s taken initiative and made sacrifices to make it work. He knows he needs help, and he wants help, he just doesn’t know how to ask for it, and he’s not going to ask you for help because he thinks you want to see him fail.”

I let out an indignant little noise. “I never said I wanted to see him fail—”

“Well, ya act like it a lot of the time!” Milor interrupts. “Lysanne, he’s asking a necromancer for help instead of you. Think about that for a moment.”

That stings. “We have been helping him. We’ve been helping socialize her, and teaching her how to be a functioning individual, more than he could, at least. We’ve put up with her antics and given her a chance to become part of our group. It’s not like we’ve been sitting on our hands and just watching him struggle.”

“Okay, that’s fair. That’s entirely valid.” Milor concedes as the sound of traffic starts to get louder. “And if you don’t wanna to give him more help than that, y’know, that’s fine, that’s your choice and you don’t owe him more than you’ve already helped him. But you also can’t get mad at him for looking for help with something he knows he can’t handle. If you’re not gonna help him, he’s got every right to look for that help somewhere else. And you don’t get to complain about where he finds that help.”

“I get to complain when he’s bringing that help onto our ship!” I hiss.

“For god’s sake, Lysanne, the man’s getting a chunk of his soul sucked out of him every month or so!” Milor exclaims. “Have you stopped to consider how desperate he must be to ask a necromancer for help?”

I let out an angry huff. “We don’t have time to talk about this right now. We need to get somewhere where we aren’t being chased by a trigger-happy mafia orc.” As we come out into one of the proper streets in this district once more, I can see that Jazel and the others are running to the nearest bus stop. “Let’s go. I trust that necromancer about as far as I can throw him. He agreed to Jazel’s offer way too quickly; I don’t like it.”

“Trust me blondie, you get mixed up in the mob, you’d want an easy out too.” Milor says, holstering his gun. “But ya got a point. I’ll keep an eye on him, just in case.”

“I’m thankful we can at least agree on that.” I say as we rush the bus and hop on. Moving down the aisle, we find seats next to the others, and I watch out the window as the bus starts to pull away from the curb.

I didn’t like there weren’t any easy answers to these problems that keep coming back to haunt us.

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

Dandelion Drift Skipper-1

4:24pm SGT

“Alright.” Milor says as the two of us sit down in the cabin of the skipper we took to the surface of Talingrad. Across from us is Oxiris, clutching a beaten backpack, with a battered suitcase on the seat behind him. “We’re gonna need to ask some questions and set some ground rules. Got it?”

“Uh, yeah. Okay.” Oxiris says, looking between Milor and myself. I have to admit, he doesn’t really seem like much of a threat: he’s definitely in his sixties or seventies, brown-grey hair thinning prematurely, and more lines on his face than you would expect of something that’s middle-aged. He’s got that skinny-fat thing going on, with thin arms but a bit of a belly. “So, what do you want to know?”

“First, your name, and second, your boss and why he wants you back.” Milor says. “I want to know who he is. If we’re going to piss off a major crime ring by taking you in, we need to know so we can plan for it.”

Oxiris’s fingers tighten, curling into his backpack. “Jarom Oxiris, but uh… you can call me Ozzy. And I used to work for one of the bosses in the Gang of Four Ravens, provided him with, uh… warehouse… labor…”

“So you reanimated the dead to shift boxes and move freight for him.” I guess.

“Wait, hold up.” Milor says. “What’s this Gang? I’ve never heard of them before.”

“We are not letting someone onboard our ship that used to work for the Gang of Four Ravens!” Lysanne shouts from the cockpit. “That’s like letting a fox into the henhouse!”

“The Gang of Four Ravens is a crime syndicate that traffics in all sorts of rare magical artifacts, relics, materials, and creatures.” I explain. “You’ve probably never heard of them because you lived on Vissengard, but they’re a big deal, especially to Preservers. They often poach arcane creatures, and they contribute to the black market for exotic trafficking.”

“I mean, I was never involved in any of that.” Ozzy says quickly. “I just provided the muscle for moving the goods; I never bought anything from the market or helped them catch or secure product. I’m not a trafficker or a poacher or anything like that.”

“So you never participated, but you definitely enabled it!” Lysanne shouts from the cockpit again.

“You do the flying, we’ll do the interrogation, blondie.” Milor shouts back. “Aight, so you were one of the cogs in the machine. That still doesn’t explain why your boss is pissed at you.”

“I just, like, wanted to get out of the business.” Ozzy says nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was getting a little too intense for me.”

“How so?” I ask.

“Uh, well, I mean, at first it was just, it was just, y’know, he wanted someone to move boxes, right?” Ozzy stutters. “Or people, I guess, he wanted people to move boxes. So I was like ‘yeah, I could do that. And you won’t even have to pay them’. And it was kinda perfect, you know? ‘Cause he needed guys that wouldn’t talk. That’s really important in that kind of business. People running their mouths is what leads to Vaunted raids on the warehouses where they stash their stuff. And the undead don’t talk. Most times, at least. Depends on what kind of souls you summon. But uh, yeah. He was paying me to provide guys to move the goods in his warehouses.”

“So we’ve gathered.” Milor says, making a rolling motion with his finger. “Let’s speed it up to the part where you run away.”

“Oh! Right. So, uhm, we did that for a while, and he really liked it, because they mostly stayed quiet and did what they were told and he didn’t have to pay them.” Ozzy says, one foot bouncing up and down, likely a nervous tic. “So he started using my services for a few more of his warehouses, but then he started asking me about, like, aggressive undead. Like the ones you could use for combat or as bodyguards. And I don’t do those kinds of zombies. Like, I could, but that’s crossing a line for me.”

“Ah yes. The ethical nuances of the necromancy labor market.” Milor remarks drily. “Do go on.”

“So, yeah, I told him that, and he… didn’t really take it well?” Ozzy says. “The relationship kinda broke down, and I, uh. Ran. I ended up here on Talingrad and I figured I’d try to get a fresh start, a new life.”

“Indeed. A fresh start and a new life, doing the exact same thing that’d you’d been doing before.” Milor says. He seems very sarcastic today. “I don’t see how that could possibly go wrong.”

“What do you know about souls?” I ask before Ozzy can respond to that. “You said you use souls to reanimate the dead, instead of the marionette method. If that’s true, then the undead that you raise can have a degree of independence.”

“Yeah, actually, I was never really good at the marionette method.” Ozzy says. “Like, it gives you a lot of control, but it’s a lot of micromanagement, you know? That’s the type of thing that bad necromancers use, the ones that actually want to raise an army of the dead and go attack something. So what I do is more along the lines of summoning and binding instead. It gives the undead you raise a modicum of agency, so they can act and make decisions on their own.”

“And it means that there’s no range limit, since they’re bound to the body and not to you specifically.” I surmise. “Which is how you were able to provide undead labor for multiple locations at once without having to be onsite.”

“Yes! Exactly!” Ozzy says, brightening up. “See, you understand!”

“Alright, let’s not get excited.” Milor says. “So your boss still wants you back, I presume because you were an asset and without you, there’s no more free labor for the warehouses.”

“Well— I suppose, yes.” Ozzy says, going back to sinking his fingers in his backpack. “But he could just get another necromancer, it’s not like I was very good at it. And I wasn’t going to make him any combat zombies. He’ll probably just find someone else to do it for him.”

“You really think he’s just going to run out and find another necromancer that easily?” I ask skeptically.

“I mean, it’s a big galaxy, right?” he says with a nervous chuckle. “Lotta people out there. I can’t be the only guy that practices necromancy, statistically speaking.”

“I’m sure you’re not the only guy, but I think you’re overestimating the popularity of necromancy as a side gig.” Milor says, leaning back. “Now, I ain’t much for buffing the egos of those in questionable careers fields, but I hafta admit that you’re more valuable to him than you think you are. It’s not like he can run down to the nearest mage academy and snag up a fresh new student of the dark arts. That kind of stuff’s culturally taboo, y’know.”

“I mean, really it’s just a misunderstood art.” Ozzy says quickly. “There’s nothing inherently wrong with necromancy—”

“Aside from the desecration of bodies and disturbing the rest of souls passed on!” Lysanne shouts from the cockpit.

“I’d tell her to stop interrupting us, but she’s got a point this time.” Milor says. “But that segues to our next point: house rules. While you’re on the ship with us, we’re not gonna have any of this…” He makes a general, handwavey motion in Ozzy’s direction. “…undead-summoning body-desecrating hobo voodoo nonsense going on. Raising the undead? Not allowed. Summoning dark spirits? Not allowed. Opening portals to hell? Not allowed. The only time you get to do those things is when the Preservers tell you to. Aside from that, all magic has to be of the strictly legal and ethical variety. Got it?”

Ozzy’s eyes dart about, as if he was thinking about that. “…define ‘ethical’.” he says after a moment.

“If you have to ask us if it’s ethical or not, then it’s probably not.” Lysanne interjects again. “And if we catch you doing something hinky, we reserve the right to throw you into the airlock and eject you into the void of space.”

“You wouldn’t really do that.” Ozzy says, letting off a neurotic little laugh. “Only space pirates do that.” He looks back at me and Milor. “Right?”

“We won’t eject you out of the airlock.” I say, folding my arms. “But I may let Kaya feed on you if you step out of line.”

Ozzy leans forward. “Is that the morphox?” he whispers, his eyes darting to the cockpit, where Kayenta’s been in the copilot’s seat. She loves watching us take off from a planet; the view is one she still hasn’t gotten used to. “She’s marvelous! Does she really have nine tails? Do you know how rare that is nowadays? Their culture doesn’t encourage the consumption of souls anymore. She’d command a fortune on the black market! You could retire with that kind of money.”

“I thought you said you weren’t involved in the trafficking of rare arcanological creatures.” I say coldly.

“I didn’t!” Ozzy says quickly. “I mean— you know— it’s just incidental knowledge, something you pick up on the job. Proximity to the industry and all that.” He lets off another nervous laugh at the end, and I’m starting to think this awkward giggling of his is a nervous tic that comes out when he’s under pressure.

“Which brings us to our next house rule.” Milor says. “You stay away from the biosphere and the labs. You only touch those or get into them if the Preservers say you can. Dandy will manage your permissions, so it shouldn’t be an issue, but if we find you trying to force your way into those places, or messing with something you shouldn’t, out the airlock you go.”

“Wait, I thought you said you’d feed me to the morphox.” Ozzy says, looking confused.

“We’ll take a vote on it when we get to that point.” Milor says. “Next — this one isn’t a house rule, it’s more like a warning: lay a hand on Jazel’s fox and he’ll probably break that hand off at the wrist and force-feed it to you. Just sayin’.”

Ozzy looks at me. “Oh. Are you in a relationship with the morphox?”

“No.” I say, heat rising to my ears.

“Yes.” Milor says at the same time.

“Milor!” I hiss, glaring at him.

He shrugs. “She’s nibbling on your soul like a soup cracker, dude. It’s a relationship.”

“It is an arrangement we came to on account of the pact that I made in order to keep the rest of you alive.” I mutter furiously. “But it’s not an actual— it’s not a relationship, it can’t be substituted for one. It’s different.”

“But that’s your foot in the door to an actual relationship, kid.” Milor points out.

“Yes, but that’s besides the point! Can we focus on him?” I hiss, pointing to Ozzy.

“Right, so that about covers it for the house rules.” Milor says, going back to leaning forward on his knees. “You’re going to be helping Jazel with his project, and anything else that we need ya to help us with. If you don’t help us, we’ll kick you off the ship on the nearest settled planet we can find. Sound good?”

“And you won’t turn me over to the Gang or the Vaunted?” Ozzy asks.

Milor shrugs. “Don’t piss us off and I’m sure we’ll all get along.”

“For the record, I don’t like this and I don’t agree with it!” Lysanne shouts from the cockpit.

“You said the same thing four months ago about Kaya, blondie.” Milor calls back. “Give it time, it’ll grow on you.”

Lysanne mutters something low and moody, but otherwise doesn’t respond. In the ensuing silence, Ozzy looks back to us. “So, uhm… what’s this project you need help with?”

“I’m so glad you asked.” Milor says, motioning to me. “Go on, Jazel.”

I lean forward, lacing my fingers together as I stare at the necromancer.

“I need you to help me find a way to feed a soul-hungry morphox.”