Valiant

[Valiant #23: So Much Nothing]

Log Date: 2/13/12764

Data Sources: Feroce Acceso

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

M.V. Accatria: Feroce’s Quarters

4:40am LST

If I was having a dream, I don’t remember what it was.

All I remember is the jolt, slamming me awake with all the force of a meteor strike.

It starts with a flash of orange light that’s headsplitting. Not painful, but it scorches away any and all thoughts I’d had prior to that. My reaction is uncontrollable; I jerk so far upright in my bunk that I slam my head against the underside of Ridge’s bunk, and normally I’d recoil from that. But there’s pure energy pounding through my veins and images flashing behind my eyes, and pain is irrelevant right now. I claw and fight to get free of my blanket, rolling off my bed and falling on the floor as I fight to figure out where I am.

A moon in orbit around a vast blue gas giant

A temple, dug into the earth, away from the light of sun or stars

A statue at the center of a pool, hanging above an endless pit

My face slams into the door of my quarters, and I realize I’ve found my way to my feet, trying to get out into the hall. It takes a moment for the door to slide open, but once it does, I stumble out into cold air of the hall, thudding against the opposite wall as I clutch my head and try to get my bearings.

Within the pit, a stone colossus

Within the pit, a test of character

Within the pit, one chosen to carry a Spark

“Whoa, dude, Songbird, are you okay?”

Someone’s holding my shoulders; I blink rapidly, thrashing my head back and forth as I try to anchor myself here and now. I look up to see that it’s Cahriu that’s got me by the shoulders, looking concerned — though he lets go of me the moment I look at him, backing off a couple steps. I realize, as I feel the burning in my eyes, that whatever’s happening right now has probably caused me to Spark off. Shaking my head, I push past him, staggering down the hall as I feel myself pulled back across the galaxy, trapped in two places at once.

It is done.

In that split second I see him, brown hair and grey eyes, suffused with clementine light. I fall to my knees in the hall, just the same as he is, at the feet of the keeper of the Sparks. In that moment, I can feel each of the other Sparks across the galaxy on their knees as well; all of us in this same position, staring up at her. And then the link is severed, and it is just me in the hall once more; yet as my eyes clear, I can see Jack has stumbled out of her quarters, braced on the floor just as I am, her pupils alight with the yellow glow of her Spark. As Valkyrie crouches next to her in a nightgown, Jack looks up, and our gazes lock.

Neither of us know where, but somewhere out there, there’s a new Spark on the block.

GalaxyGuide App

SGT and LST

SGT is the acronym used to denote Standard Galactic Time, which is the synchronization standard for galactic timekeeping. Based on the 24-hour standard from old Earth in the Milky Way Galaxy, its primary use is for timekeeping in space travel, as there are no planetary rotations or cycles for a crew to orient their daily schedules by. Use of SGT on ships and other space-based installations is nearly universal, as the 24-hour standard is easily divisible into smaller equal units of time, which helps in setting balanced periods for work, downtime, and rest.

Because of this widespread use, SGT is also used as a reference point for a vast number of governments and organizations, helping coordinate meetings, schedules, and exchanges where there is a mismatch between local timekeeping standards in two or more locations. SGT is likewise critical for universal coordination in industries such as banking, interstellar freighting, galaxynet infrastructure, and many more that rely on the timed reception of goods, services, or data from other parts of the galaxy. The Timekeeper Agency, known as the TKA, is responsible for ensuring the safety and accuracy of the Galactic Time System, a network of temporal measurement devices throughout the inhabited regions of the galaxy that ensures each star system has accurate SGT data to allow for timekeeping in sync with the rest of the galaxy.

SGT is, unfortunately, a victim of the effects of FTL travel. Time dilation and contraction are a common side effect of all three drive types, and though their more severe effects have largely been mitigated through improvements in FTL travel, temporal drift remains an unavoidable fact of modern space travel. During FTL travel, a ship’s time is measured as LST — Local Ship Time, which runs on the same 24-hour standard as SGT. Depending on drive type, length of distance traveled, and sometimes the speed of travel, ships will often arrive to their destinations with their LST several hours removed from SGT, and in certain cases, sometimes several days removed from SGT. Here, the Galactic Time System again comes into play; in the vast majority of ships, their onboard systems are programmed to automatically reach out to the nearest GTS beacon in order to resynchronize their systems to SGT upon exit from FTL, and keep the ship running on the same clock as the rest of the galaxy.

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

M.V. Accatria: Mess Hall

5:10am LST

“You’re sure.” I ask as Jack sips from her coffee. We’re sitting at a corner table in the Accatria’s mess hall; there’s not many people here this early in the morning. We’d both come here after getting cleaned up and getting our wits about us after our rude awakening.

“Yeah. It was him. I’m pretty sure.” Jack says. “I kicked his ass around like a spaceball when I was on Chibundi. It was hard to tell, since he wasn’t in his power armor, but I’m pretty sure it was him.”

I take a deep breath, rocking my pocket flask back and forth on the table. “That’s a problem.”

“Yeah. Maybe. But look on the bright side, we’ve still got more Sparks than them.” Jack points out.

“I’d rather CURSE not have any Sparks at all.” I say, frowning. “That kind of power, in their hands… it worries me.”

“Eh, it’ll be fine.” Jack says, taking another sip of her coffee. “Sparks only get given to good people.”

I glance at her. “They do?”

She shrugs. “I kinda figured they did, for as powerful they are.”

I scrunch my brows together. “But Sparks get passed from person to person, right? What if they get passed to a bad person? Or get passed to a good person that turns bad later?”

Jack scratches her head. “…huh. Good point, I hadn’t thought about that.”

Both of us are silent for a long moment, staring at our drinks.

“I kind of… thought you’d know more about Sparks.” I say after a moment.

“I mean, I know some stuff about Sparks.” Jack says. “But it’s mostly stuff about how they work in combat, and that’s all stuff I’ve learned by experience. I don’t really know where they come from or who can use them.”

“The person that gave you your Spark didn’t teach you anything about it?” I ask, sipping from my fizzwater.

“No, he did the same thing Ratchet did with you. Passed it on and tapped out five minutes later. Barely explained what it was before he kicked the bucket. I had to figure the rest out myself.” Jack says. “I got it figured out pretty good, but I’ve got no idea about the rest of it. Back when we were in the program, the higher-ups wanted to keep the Sparks top-secret, so I never got to talk about it with anyone besides Val, Ratchet, and a few scientists. I just knew it was some kind of power, I had it, and it was really useful for turning things around when I was getting my shit kicked in.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good for that.” I agree distractedly, tapping my flask against my lips as I think. “Do you know what happens if you die without passing on your Spark? Does it die with you, or does it… go back to wherever it came from?”

“Not a clue.” Jack shrugs. “Never really thought about it before now. Though, come to think of it, probably would be good to start planning for that scenario. I’d rather pass on my Spark than have it die with me.”

“Yeah.” I say again, still feeling distracted.

“Something wrong, chirper?” Jack asks, noticing my faint responses.

I shake my head. “Just… thinking of this power that we have, but we know nothing about it. Where it comes from or why we have it. What we’re supposed to do with it.” I set my flask down on the table. “That bothers me, I suppose. I never really noticed it before now, because it’s something I always hid, just like you. I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it, and I only brought out when I needed it. But now that I can talk to you about it, I’m starting to actually think about it. And I guess I just want it to… have a reason, I suppose. To have a purpose.”

“You want to believe that you ended up with a Spark for a reason.” Jack guesses.

“Yeah.” I say, slumping back in my chair. “But if I accept that I ended up with a Spark for a reason, then I also have to accept that Axiom ended up with a Spark for a reason. And that’s a harder pill to swallow, because he’s part of CURSE. But on the other hand, the alternative is that none of it has a reason and that it’s all arbitrary, meaning Sparks can end up in the hands of bad people, and that’s not exactly comforting either, and…” I grumble, rubbing my hands over my face. “None of it clicks together neatly the way it does in the stories. You have to take the truths you want with the ones you don’t want; you can’t cherrypick your beliefs unless you’re willing to commit to some form of cognitive dissonance.”

Jack chuckles. “You think too much, chirper. Lighten up. It’ll be okay; yeah, CURSE has a Spark now, but we still have two. We’ll be fine.”

“I sure hope so.” I say, glancing over my shoulder. “I should probably let you go now. Valkyrie’s probably worried about you.”

“I told her it was fine, I just needed a bit of time to discuss things with you.” Jack says, draining the last of her coffee. “Besides, I figure Ridge is just as worried about you.”

I snort. “Ridge is still asleep. He slept through the pirate attack; a little episode like this isn’t gonna wake him up.”

“Ah, well, he’s a growing teenager.” Jack says, waving it off. “They need their sleep, at least according to Val. I think they do most of their growin’ while they’re snoozin’.”

“Yeah.” I say again. For like the fourth time in this conversation. I really need to find something better to say, but ‘yeah’ is just a well-rounded word that does it all. Looking away, I take a deep breath and let it out, still not quite settled with everything that’s just happened.

“You say you want to go, but it looks like you’ve still got something you want to get off your chest.” Jack observes.

“I don’t know.” I say, pressing my lips together. “I just feel… restless. This sent a jolt through me. I was settled before; now, I’ve got all kinds of questions running through me, like what the future’s going to look like, or what we’re meant to do. Before, it kind of just felt like I was meandering my way through this, just taking Sierra’s orders and doing what I was told to do. Now I’m kinda motivated to… I dunno. Do more. Take the lead, start being in charge of some of our efforts to get the Project off the ground.” I shake my head. “Ugh. I dunno. I’m just rambling at this point.”

Jack grins. “Nah, go on. I like listening to you ramble. You’re cute when you do it.”

I give her a skeptical look as I stand up. “I think Valkyrie might take issue with that.”

Jack rolls her eyes. “You’re not a threat to my marriage, Songbird. Me ’n Val have been together fifteen years, and Val knows I’m a sucker for cute things. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna up and leave her; I’ll just coo over them for a bit.” She puts on a sly grin. “Why don’t you go ramble to Kiwi? I bet you ten credits she’ll think it’s cute too.”

“I’m pretty sure Kiwi’s got better things to do than listen to my word vomit.” I say, picking up my flask and screwing the cap back on.

“No way! Women love listening to their men try to get their heads screwed on straight!” Jack exclaims. “It gives us a little window into that ‘strong and silent’ thing that you’re always doing! So we can see what’s going on behind that manly mask that most guys are always wearing!”

I smirk at her. “Everything you just said was ninety percent stereotype by volume.”

Jack sticks her tongue out at me. “I don’t see you disagreeing with me!”

“Touché.” I say, tucking my flask away. “Go ramble to Kiwi, then?”

“She’ll love it.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“You don’t know anything about women! Go on, shoo. Get on out of here and go try it. If I’m wrong, I’ll owe you ten credits and more relationship advice.”

“Alright, I’m going, I’m going. But if she looks at me weird, I’m gonna blame you.”

“I’ll take the fall for that. Hey you! Yeah you, by the kitchen! Tell the cook this is some weak-ass coffee! I’m wereckanan, I need something stronger than this watered-down shit. What else you got back there?”

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

M.V. Accatria: Observation Lounge

2/14/12764 10:28pm LST

Another day, another struggle to find something to do.

We’ve been traveling for about a month straight now, with no supply stops, and it’s starting to take its toll. I’m used to interstellar travel; it’s been a fact of my adult life, from the moment that I joined the Challenger program. But I was used to shorter trips, usually two weeks at most, with time to unwind and walk around before getting back onto the ship for the next leg of the trip.

Being on a ship for a month and counting was pushing the limits of what I was accustomed to.

It didn’t help that the Accatria was a military ship. Most of her accoutrements were strictly utilitarian in nature; quarters and halls were more cramped than you’d see on luxury liners and other long-haul ships. There were exercise rooms and a depressingly small rec room, but aside from the observation lounges, there were no other enrichment areas. No greenspaces, nothing that was really dedicated to the purpose of maintaining your sanity on a long trip.

It’s why I now found myself in one of the observation lounges, carrying a couple of cases with me. There was only so much time I could spend teaching Jai Te to Ridge and Renchiko, and I didn’t want to look needy by spending a lot of time around Kiwi and the other Masklings. I’d patrolled the halls of the Accatria so many times now that I’d started memorizing their unique details, which was never a good sign. I’d done my time in the intelligence center, helping pour over some of the data contained in the second layer of the backup archive, and composing a list of sites and facilities for us to visit once we were done helping the Masklings get their arkship back. I’d scrolled through the news (what little of it we were receiving in the Vorcrueshen), done my laundry, cleaned up the room that Ridge and I shared, cleaned and reassembled my stunner pistol, and checked my ninjato hilts to make sure they were in premier condition. There was literally nothing left for me to do except lie on my bed and stare at the underside of Ridge’s bunk, brooding over the fact that CURSE now had a Spark. Or find something to repeat.

And if I repeated one of the activities I’d already done so many times, I was gonna scream.

So I’d gone through my things, and came up with a couple cases that I hadn’t pulled out in a while, but usually lugged around with me. Free time wasn’t something I was used to having, but there were a couple of hobbies that I used to indulge whenever I hadn’t been busy with work or life. And seeing as we were on a long-haul trip and I’d run out of things to keep me busy, I figured now was as good a time as any to get back into an old hobby.

So now I’m walking over to the coffee table by the couches, setting down both of the cases I’ve brought with me. I put one of them off to the side, clicking open the larger one and flipping the lid open; within is a set of holoarray projectors, each of them anchored within an antigrav harness that, in its closed state, resembles a spiky ball. Pulling one out, I tug on the spikes, watching as they fold out into an interlocking, spherical lattice that starts to glow once all the joints have locked into place. Giving it a gentle push, I let it float across the room as I start to pull out the other projectors, unfolding them one by one.

Once all the projectors have been opened up and sent on their way, I flip up the tray they were resting on. Underneath is what’s essential a computer; a few switches and a lot of ports. Essentially the brain of the entire setup, but not much to interact with, unless I wanted to plug in some extra equipment, or turn it on, which I do. As it hums to life, the projectors do the same, and my desktop springs to life within the middle of the lounge.

Standing up, I walk into the holofield as the programs load up after months of quiescence. I watch as they come on one by one, and reach up to grab my music library as it finishes loading. I expand it with a motion from both hands; it expands to fill the air around me, all my albums and playlists piled into neat little boxes that resemble storage bins.

“Nice.” I murmur to myself as I start picking through my playlists. Everything’s exactly as I remember, though seeing this all here reminds me that I need to catch up on the latest music over the last year or so, and freshen up my playlists. I’ve been avoiding listening to music, not because I dislike it, but because I’m worried I’ll get carried away and start vibing too hard. It’s still something I’m a little worried about now, but it’s pretty late in the day/night cycle, so most of the crew is asleep, and I’m pretty sure that if I keep it to light and easy music, it’ll be fine.

Pulling up my Chillgroove playlist, I flick it up into the air while closing the rest of my library. The rest of my programs have finished synchronizing; reaching out, I grab the Starburst program and open it. I’m immediately greeted by shelves upon shelves of loading icons as it expands to fill the holofield; while those are loading, I turn and head back to coffee table, grabbing the second case and opening it. Inside is my Crescendo gear, ranging from the earbuds, to the headphones, to the portable speakers, and all the peripherals that accompany each one.

“Now we’re cooking with spice.” I mumble, my fingers running over the headphones, before settling on the speakers. Pulling them free of their foam housings, I turn them on and set one on the coffee table, while setting the other one on the ledge of the lounge’s window. Reaching up to the orb that’s got my Chillgroove playlist, I make sure that it’s registering the speakers and connected to them, then set it to shuffle. As the rich voice of Daele starts to drift from the speakers, accompanied by soft piano, I sit on the edge of couch’s armrest and stare around the holographic shelves around me.

Each one contains rows of files, each file a painting or drawing that I’ve done here in the Starburst studio program. There’s more than a fair share of them that are unfinished, while others are in their rough sketch-out phase; some are finished, while some just have their linework cleaned up, but with no color added yet. This was my habit, my secret hobby, the dream job that I’d never been good enough to pursue for a living. I might’ve been a Challenger, a fighter, a warrior, but those were things I’d been made into out of necessity, sacrifices made in order to stay close to the person I cared about. If I had the chance and the choice to rewrite my life, I never would’ve picked up weapons and learned how to use them. I would’ve chosen to create things instead, beautiful things.

Standing up, I start to flick through the files on the shelves. I am not a professional artist, but I have gone out of my way to keep pushing, to keep learning more, to keep expanding my boundaries and skills. In art, there is no such thing as natural talent — some people might have a natural predilection for it, and their brains might be wired in a way that makes it easier for them to visual process things, but that’s passingly rare and sometimes doesn’t even make a difference. Art is effort, and learning, and experience, and acquired knowledge. It is an understanding how someone’s eyebrows move when they express concern; it is studying the way late-afternoon light drapes over shapes and forms when it is slanting through the window on a lazy Sunday. It is observing the world around you, how it turns and moves, and how the laws of the universe holds it together. Some of this comes naturally, instinctually, from years of observation.

The rest has to be learned and practiced.

That’s what I reflect on as I flick through these files in their various states of progress. My paintings and drawings aren’t a gallery of finished works, perfected and flawless; they are a journey through the things I have learned, and then incorporated into my work. Half-finished failures sitting next to works in progress, next to completed masteries… or, well, what seemed like masteries at the time. With the benefit of retrospect, I can see the flaws in even my best works.

But of these, I’m not concerning myself with my flawed completions, instead rooting through the bins of sketches that I left unfinished. Deleting the ones that I don’t think can be salvaged, and keeping the ones that I might be able to turn into something.

I start swaying back and forth as I do so, humming to the music as I feel it work its way through my veins; it’s been a while since I felt like this, a while since I put some music on and jammed at my own speed, working on something that doesn’t involve training recruits or planning future missions or preparing for CURSE. And it feels good to feel the magic kindle to life inside me, flowing to the beat and the tempo of the music, like dipping my toes in a river of sound and emotion. It hits a point where I can’t hold it in anymore, and I open up a new canvas, my fingers brimming with light as I start drawing lines in the air. It’s been a while since I’ve created anything, so I figure I’ll start with flowers — something simple, easy, straightforward and satisfying.

And that’s what I do for the next while, simply losing myself in twin pleasures that I haven’t enjoyed in a long time. Listening to music, and creating things, with no outside distractions and nothing to interrupt me. In fact, I get so into it that it takes me quite a while to realize I am being watched, and I only realize it when I feel a ripple go through the music, a note of hesitant curiosity that doesn’t belong in the song I’m listening to.

I pause in the act of putting the finishing touches on the stamen of a hibiscus, then twist around all at once, peering towards the open door of the lounge. I catch the glow of green and blue irises, quickly and furtively retreating out of view.

Knowing what it is, I can’t help but smile. Reaching up in the holofield, I take the hibiscus, passing a hand over it as I keep on humming, the magic in the music weaving itself into a ghostly copy of the flower — one I can pick free and flick towards the doorway. It drifts out of the holofield, slowly spiraling as it passes into the hall, and keeps on going until a grey-furred pawhand reaches out and catches it. A moment later, a vulpine head peeks around the doorway, wreathed in a cloak and sizing me up.

“C’mon in, I don’t bite.” I say, sitting on the arm of the couch and pulling the original hibiscus to me so I can continue working on it.

The green-eyed Viralix eases around the doorway and into the lounge, while the blue-eyed one pokes his head into the room, then cautiously pads in on all fours. Both of them are wearing cloaks that have gaps in the hood for their ears, and nothing else beneath it; I’m guessing that these are the two Viralix that Rishua insisted on having travel with us, as a way of monitoring the mercforce while we were in Viralix territory. The green-eyed one pads over to me, offering the hibiscus copy back to me. “You are a magician.” she states.

I give a wave with one hand, the copy fizzling out in her hands. “Mm… not really. Although I see why you might think that. Magicians are purveyors of parlor tricks, performance magic. Sparkle and dazzle, razzmatazz. It looks impressive, but it doesn’t really do anything substantial. I am a sonic sorcerer, so I have a few parlor tricks up my sleeve, but also much more than that.”

“We sensed you across the ship.” the one with blue eyes says, padding forward a bit more, but not going past the edge of the holofield. Unlike the female, his thoughts are projected towards me, arriving half a second before his words are spoken, like most others of his race. “You started radiating feeling. Emotion. More than anyone else on the ship.”

“Ah. Sorry about that.” I say, reaching up to my playlist and dialing down the volume on the speakers. “I get a little carried away when I’m listening to music. It’s why I don’t do it as often as I would like to.”

“You are Songbird, then.” the one with green eyes guesses.

I offer her a tired smile. “Everyone seems to know who I am.” Fiddling with the shading on the petals of the hibiscus, I go on. “Tell me who you two are. Your battle group commander assigned you to our ships to monitor them, but they never told us your names.”

“I am Sol, and this is Midnatt.” Sol says, gesturing to Midnatt, who’s still on all fours and cautiously prowling the edge of the holofield, sizing up one of the projectors. “I am a ranger scout with the Tazelhart Corps, and he is a junior design psientist.”

“Is that why he looks like he’s thinking about dismantling one of my holoprojectors?” I ask as Midnatt gives one of them a tentative poke, before looking at me.

“This is an unusual mobile computer setup.” he says, padding into the holofield. “Most individuals prefer a single-point holoarray for their mobile workspace. Less to carry around. With hovering holoprojectors, it allows you to adjust the dimensions of your desktop, and presumably the canvas you work on. I think I would like one for myself.”

“Definitely a psientist.” I agree, folding my hands in my lap. “Are both of you enjoying your stay on the Accatria?”

Both of them exchange glances, before Sol answers. “We have been comfortable enough.”

“Your vessels are old and leave something to be desired.” Midnatt says less diplomatically. “I do not believe your crew likes us. They assume, as many mouth-speakers do, that we can hear their thoughts or are reading their minds, and so they view us with animosity and suspicion.”

“Ah.” I say, turning the hibiscus a little, but otherwise leaving it for now. “So you’re not liking it.”

“It is why we came when we sensed the satisfaction you were radiating.” Midnatt says. “It was very refreshing. Your crew seems downtrodden and discontent most of the time.”

“Well, we did lose our mobile fortress a month and a half ago, so things haven’t exactly been on the upswing for us.” I say, turning and sliding off the arm of the couch so I can sit properly on it. “You came all the way across the ship just because I was relaxing?”

“We cannot read minds unless we try, but we can sense emotions depending on the strength of the emotion and our proximity to the individual.” Sol says, moving around to stand in front of me again. “Because of the mood of your crew and how they regard us, we have struggled with our deployment aboard your vessel. We are sad almost all the time.”

“Oh.” I say, not sure what to make of that. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything that I can do to help?”

“We want to spend more time around you. You do not regard us with suspicion, so we are more comfortable around you.” Midnatt says, padding around to sit beside Sol. “May we spend mealtimes and evenings with you?”

That hits me out of left field. “Oh, I… guess so. I don’t see why not. I’m a vampire, so I don’t need food, but if you would like me to come to the mess hall with you during lunch and dinner, I wouldn’t mind doing that. So long as I’m not doing something else.” Something else occurs to me, and I tag it on quickly. “You do realize that I’m not happy all the time, right? Often I’m thinking about problems, sometimes I’m frustrated with people — I’ve got a whole range of emotions when the music isn’t guiding them.”

“Yes, we know.” Sol nods. “But you are not hostile to us, the way that others are. So it is easier for us to be around you.”

“You intrigue us. As the one who killed Nova, we thought you would be harsher and colder than you are.” Midnatt adds, tilting his head towards the hibiscus. “But you are gentle. We would know more of you.”

It takes me a moment to parse the archaic phrasing. “You… want to be friends?”

“Is that not permissible?” Sol asks.

“No, it’s fine. Just a little unexpected.” I say, reaching out to take the hibiscus by the stem and rolling it between my fingers. “I think you’ll quickly find that I’m not nearly as interesting as the media portrayals make me out to be.”

“Galactic media rarely provides a full picture of an individual.” Midnatt says. “So far your conduct suggests a very different individual than the one that is typically portrayed.”

“We have distracted you enough, though.” Sol says, bowing her head politely. “We understand you were in the midst of something when you discovered us, so we will allow you to return to it now. If you do not mind, we would like to stay with you as you work. We will not disturb you, and we will remain out of the way.”

“I claim the lounge chair.” Midnatt says, already turning and padding towards the chair at the end of the coffee table. Hopping up onto it, he circles a few times, then curls up on it, his tail tucking over his muzzle.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” I say. “I don’t imagine I’ll be here for more than another hour or so, but you’re welcome to stay, so long as you don’t mind the music or me singing along to it every now and then.”

“Your generosity is appreciated.” Sol says, inclining her head once more before clambering onto the couch, curling up in a similar manner as Midnatt. As each of them settle into their repose, I reach up, snagging my playlist and turning the volume back up a couple notches, then turn my attention back to the hibiscus I’ve drawn. After a moment of contemplation, I save it, close out the canvas, then pull up one of my works in progress — a tree with crimson leaves in the middle of a clearing, every detail rendered in photorealistic style. Opening up the file, I expand it to fill the holofield, a 3-d painting that one can wander around within as if it were the real thing. Pulling my panel of brushes and painting tools off to the side, I smile faintly to myself as I go back to swaying with the smooth, easy beats of my late-night playlist.

It feels nice to be making friends again.

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

M.V. Accatria: Kiwi’s Quarters

2/15/12764 2:23pm LST

“I’m thinking… tropical.”

“Oh, tropical does sound good.”

“Whitesand beach, crystal-blue waters…”

“Palm trees?”

“No palm trees. I don’t like palm trees.”

“Where’s the shade, then?”

“Palm trees don’t provide, like… any shade. They’re ornamental trees; it’s why I don’t like them.” I explain. “Shade can come from… shacks or umbrellas, yeah.”

“Well, wheres the green, then?” Kiwi asks. “You gotta have some sort of foliage on the perfect beach.”

“Dune grass.”

“Dune grass? Seriously?”

“It’s good for beach dunes. Helps reduce erosion and dune attrition.”

“You’re too practical. I want palm trees on my perfect beach.”

I smile, opening my eyes. I’m laying on Kiwi’s bed, my head resting on her lap; she’s sitting at the head of her bed, her pillows piled up behind her so she can lean back comfortably against the wall. “If it was a choice between here and a beach with dune grass, I’m pretty sure you’d pick the latter.”

She puffs out a sigh. “True. I can’t wait to reach the Cradle; being cooped up on this ship for so long has me antsy.”

“You’re not the only one.” I agree. “I got so fidgety last night that I dug out my computer and started drawing again.”

“Oh, you draw?”

“Paint. Draw. Faff about. It’s not professional, just something I do in my downtime.”

“You should show me sometime.”

“Sure. When we’re not relaxing.” I say, then tilt my head back a little to look up at her. “You don’t mind this, do you? Just… laying here, talking?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You think I’d be sitting here burning time with you if I didn’t want to be doing this?”

“Just wanted to be sure I wasn’t keeping you from doing other things.”

“If I had something better to do, I’d tell you, Blueberry. Besides, we’re stuck on a ship, on a long haul, in the middle of the Abyss. It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do.” She pauses for a moment of thought, then plants her finger on my forehead. “You aren’t asking because you want to go do something else, are you?”

I can’t help but smile at that touch, closing my eyes again. “No, I love this. Being lazy, spending time with you. It’s been a while since I felt good doing so much nothing.”

“You’re cute when you smile.” she says, her finger roaming over my forehead to wind through my hair. “You know yesterday was Valentin’s Day, right?”

“Really?” I say, opening my eyes again. “Are we halfway through the month already?”

“Easy to lose track of time when we’re cooped up on a ship like this.”

“Well dang. If I known I would’ve… well, I would’ve taken you out to dinner if we weren’t hundreds of lightyears from the nearest restaurant.”

“Mhmm. Sure you would’ve.”

“I would’ve!”

“I dunno, you forgot that it was Valentin’s Day.”

“You said it yourself, it’s easy to lose track of time when we’re cooped up on a ship!”

“Yeah, but that’s not an excuse.”

“It’s totally an excuse!”

“Mmm. Do something nice for me, and maybe I’ll let it slide.”

“Something nice…? Like what? I can make dinner for you if the galley cook will let me borrow the kitchen.”

“Tempting, but no.” She pauses for a moment. “Tell me what a Spark is.”

I hesitate. “A Spark?”

“Don’t play dumb. You and the other Challengers are all so hush-hush about it; of course I’m going to be curious about it.” she says, running her fingers through my hair and down the sides of my face, holding my head as her wildfire eyes search me. “I won’t tell anyone else. I just want to know. I want to understand what you are.”

I turn my head, looking towards the door of her room. “…Tarocco isn’t going to come back anytime soon, is she?”

“If she does, I’ll tell her to go away.”

I bite my lip. “Okay.” Bringing a hand up, I touch it to my chest. “A Spark is… something living that’s passed from person to person. There are only a few of them. I’d say it’s power, but it’s more than that. It’s almost like second soul, but not? It’s not a complete soul on its own, but it carries echoes of all the people that have carried and used it.”

Kiwi’s brows furrow. “Okay. Weird.”

I roll my eyes. “Weird, says the Maskling that’s made up of all the people she’s Masked up to this point.”

Kiwi narrows her eyes at me, poking my cheeks. “Sassy. Alright then, what do you use it for? You don’t just have it to have it, I assume. You have it for a reason.”

I turn my head, clicking my teeth at one of her poking fingers. “Well, that’s the thing. I don’t exactly… control it. And a Spark is… how do I put this? It’s like it… it makes the impossible possible.”

“Oh really.” Kiwi says, raising her eyebrows. “Don’t suppose you could give me examples or a demonstration?”

I shake my head. “I can’t demonstrate because I can’t really control when I Spark off. It just happens when the time is right, or when the situation calls for it. Or when I get really worked up.”

She blows a raspberry at that. “No fun. Well, if you can’t show me, then tell me what you mean. ‘Making the impossible possible’ might sound cool, but it’s hella vague. It could mean practically anything.”

“I mean… that’s basically what it is. It’s practically everything and anything.” I say, reaching up to brush my fingers over her jaw. “It’s raw strength when you need it; it’s speed and precision that can rival coilgun spikes and plasma bolts. It’s any and every form of magic that’s ever existed, all at your disposal even if you’ve never had the skill or don’t have the knowledge. It’s prescience — only a few seconds at a time, just enough to know what’s coming and give you enough time to react to it. It’s knowledge, revelation, epiphany — seeing and knowing where you need to go and what you need to do in order to achieve a certain outcome. The last two are the most common among Sparks, from what little I know of the others. Knowing what to do, and what’s about to happen, are a powerful combination — often that’s all you need. But if your own abilities aren’t enough, then a Spark gives you more. Any power, and every power, you could ever need.”

This time Kiwi only raises one eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“You’re telling me you’ve basically got a god mode, but you can’t control it, and it flicks on and off at will.”

“I mean, if that’s how you’re describing it, technically I’ve got two god modes; I can kinda control the second one… ish.”

“Oh, you’ve got two god modes?” Kiwi chuckles, grinning down at me. “I’m impressed; usually my handlers are only creative enough to claim they have one. What’s this second god mode?”

I stick my tongue out at her. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would. It’s kinda convenient that you can’t control the first one and you can only kinda control the second one.”

“It’s god mode!” I protest. “That much power is hard to control!”

Kiwi snorts. “Is that why you never use it?”

I open my mouth, then close it, glaring at her. “Yes.” I mutter.

“Oh really?” she asks. When I try to look away, she uses her hands to tilt my face back towards her again. “You mean to tell me you’ve been holding back this entire time? You can do more than swing a couple of swords and some acrobatics?”

Reaching up again, I nab the end of one of the long green locks that frame her face, tugging on it. “Just because you have power doesn’t mean you should use it. With power comes madness; it will eat you alive from the inside out if you indulge it too much, or for its sake alone.”

She rolls her eyes. “Is all that virtue-signaling supposed to make you look like a hero?”

I reach and snag the end of the lock of hair on the other side of her head, tugging both a little to make sure she’s looking me in the eye. “No. No, it’s not. I saw what unbridled power did to people in the last years of the Challenger program. I watched it warp and twist people that got so high on the feeling that they forgot where they came from and what they stood for. I watched it slowly consume people that couldn’t stop, didn’t know how to stop. And even after they realized what was happening to them, some of them didn’t want to stop. They chose not to stop.” I pause for a moment to let that sink in. “When I refrain from using my abilities, that’s not a sign of weakness. It’s a respect for the gravity of power, and the consequences of using it.”

“You’ve never used your powers, though.” Kiwi says impatiently. “I’ve never seen you use them, and there are definitely times when you could’ve or should’ve used them. The two attacks on the Sanctuaries, the fight against CURSE on Valcorria, the pirate ambush just two weeks ago — those are all times when you could’ve made a difference. You could’ve saved lives or changed the outcome if you hadn’t been holding back. I never hold back because I know power exists for a reason: to be used.”

“You’re too quick to resort to force when things don’t go your way.” I say gently. “Yes, power exists to be used, but not with reckless abandon. Power used in that way sometimes ends up hurting just as many people as it helps.”

“Doing too much is better than not doing enough. I’d rather say that I tried and I failed, than say that I failed because I didn’t try hard enough.” she says firmly. “You were a Challenger, part of one of the most powerful and influential organizations in the galaxy over the last century. You don’t understand what it’s like to be the underdog. Yeah, the whole galaxy hates you, but you’ve admitted that you had power. That you still have power, power that you refuse to use. For me, for the Masklings? We don’t have numbers, and the only influence we have comes from pulling strings in the shadows. We have no choice but to use our power when we have it, because it’s necessary for our survival. We don’t get to have guilt-laden conversations about how the power we have is slowly corrupting us; we don’t have the luxury of bemoaning how we’ve got so much power we don’t know what to do with it. That’s a problem that only Challengers had, because only Challengers ever had that much power.”

She pauses for a moment, as if to collect her thoughts. “So yeah. I resort to force when things don’t go my way. That’s a privilege I have that a lot of other Masklings don’t. I have a responsibility to use my power to make things right for my people. I’m not going to be a coward and stick it in my back pocket and pretend I don’t have it.”

“This, despite the fact that you’re constantly chafing against the orders of Forecast and the Maskling government?” I ask, letting go of the ends of her hair.

“I chafe against it because they’re like you.” she says, her hands moving from my cheeks down along the sides of my neck, her fingers tracing my collarbones. “Saying we need to be ‘circumspect’, and act with ‘caution and precision’, and try not to ‘shake the ship’, and that we need to work on cleaning up our image in the galaxy so the rest of the galactic community will accept us. Which is basically just code for putting up with the bullshit that other nations levy on us because of the shit that our ancestors did hundreds and thousands of years ago. Saying we need to wait for the slow tide of social change and other shit like that. Wait for a change that some Masklings are never gonna see because it takes so long to get here.”

“If I’m like them, why do you like me?” I ask.

Her fingertips creep past my collarbones, sliding under my shirt as she leans a little lower, her palms pressing flat against my chest. “Because you don’t have to be like this.” she says quietly, those vivant red irises locked onto me. “Because part of you doesn’t want to be like this. I can see it. You know you have power; you know what you can do with it. You act like someone that thinks they should be punished for what they’ve done; that you have to live quietly, in penance for whatever it is you think you did wrong in your past. But I know there’s a warrior buried somewhere down there. I saw it when we were on Hale’ohe, when Drill pissed you off. There’s a part of you that still wants to fight, that will fight if someone gives it a reason to.”

I don’t say anything. Because she’s right; I know I have power, and I know what I can do with it. And the only reason I don’t use it… “I saw what power did to the person I loved. I saw what it turned her into. She became something we promised each other, and our friends, that we would never become.” Once more, I reach up, this time touching my thumb to her lips. “And when it was all said and done, I promised myself again that I would never become that thing. That I would never follow her down that path. That I would be better than that. Better than what she became. That I would be what she should’ve been, what she lost sight of.”

“And what’s that?”

“A good person.”

She sighs through her nose, her fingers roving in little circles beneath my shirt. “I want to see you at your full potential, Feroce. I want you to leave me breathless with excitement. I just want to see what you really are, underneath all of the layers.”

I smile a bit at that, running my thumb along her bottom lip. “One day. It may take a while, but I’m sure you’ll eventually get yourself into enough trouble that I’ll have to pull out all the stops.”

She pouts at that, leaning her weight on her hands and on my chest, bouncing a little. “I’m impatient! I don’t want to have to wait months to see that side of you.”

I shrug. “Tough luck.”

That earns a scowl from her, and then noticing I’ve still got my thumb on her lip, she tilts her head down a little and clomps her mouth around it.

“Hey!” I exclaim. “What are you doing?”

She grins, keeping my thumb locked between her teeth. Though she can’t talk, her wristmarks glow to life, and I can hear her voice in my head. You should know better than to put your fingers near a girl’s mouth.

I roll my eyes. “Oh haha, very funny.”

I’d lean down and kiss you, but my spine can’t bend like that. I’m flexible, but not that flexible. Even as the words are running through my mind, she’s winding her tongue around my thumb, and I very quickly find myself heating up. It’s not embarrassment, but I’m definitely feeling flustered. Getting hot and bothered, are we? I can feel your chest warming up.

“Alright, now you’re just messing with me.” I grunt, starting to sit up.

Oh no you don’t. Her hands push on my chest, keeping me down as she grins past my thumb. You want to get up, you have to earn it.

I stare at her, then chuckle, shaking my head a little. “So you want me to earn it, then?” I say, twisting my hand so I can hook my thumb behind her lower teeth and tug her down a little. “C’mere—”

The sound of the door sliding open has both of us looking to the side as Tarocco steps in. All three of us freeze, Kiwi and myself like criminals caught in the act, and Tarocco like a deer in the headlights.

After a long moment of awkward silence, Tarocco looks at Kiwi and says “Seriously?”

Kiwi doesn’t relinquish my thumb. Instead she just glares at Tarocco, taking her hands out of my shirt and giving Tarocco two middle fingers.

“I’d tell you two to go get a room, but I’m pretty sure all the quarters on the Accatria are claimed.” Tarocco grumbles as she walks over to her bed and starts grabbing a couple of things. “If you wanted to spend some time with your blue bloodsucker, that’s fine. Just give me a heads-up, okay? Last thing I want to do is walk in on you two doing the tickle tango.”

“Oh no, we weren’t doing anything like that—” I say quickly, heat rising to my face.

Kiwi clamps a hand over my mouth and uses the other one to make shooing motions at Tarocco, seeming intent on keeping her hold on my thumb. Tarocco strides back to the door, pausing at the threshold to size us up, then looks at me. “Careful. Her other handlers have told me she’s a biter.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that, but Kiwi growls at Tarocco, who just grins and slowly slinks through the door. “She’s ticklish, though. Right around the ribs and on the soles of her feet.” And with that, she skips out, the door sliding shut behind her. In the ensuing silence, I look back up at Kiwi, then at her midsection.

Kiwi notices and returns both of her hands to pressing down on my chest. Don’t you dare.

I grin, lifting my free hand. “Give me my thumb back and nobody gets tickled.”

She growls again, this time at me, but opens her mouth so I can have my thumb back. “You’re lucky Tarocco saved your bacon.”

I wipe my thumb off on my shirt, smirking. “A biter, huh?”

“I like to play rough.” she says, baring her teeth and clicking them at me. “I figured a vampire would understand why it’s fun to bite.”

“Just because I’m a vampire doesn’t mean I take live sacraments. I get almost all of my blood from the bottle. Live donors are a luxury for vamps that have money or significant others that don’t mind it.” I say, tilting my head in her lap as I notice something, and I reach up, carefully taking her face and tilting her jaw open so I can look at her teeth. “…huh. You’ve got a double set of canine teeth. And jeez, they almost look as sharp as mine.”

Kiwi lets her mouth hang open for a moment more, then answers. “Yeah. It’s a vestige of my original form. I wasn’t born human; I’ve had to Mask humans over the years in order to get closer to looking human.”

“Really?” I say, blinking at her. “What do you really look like?”

That question seems to make her uncomfortable, and she looks away. “Kind of like a vashaya’rei.” A short answer. Clearly she doesn’t like talking about it.

“There’s nothing wrong with looking like a vashaya’rei. They’re a hell of a lot more interesting than humans.” I say, lowering my hands. 

She looks back down at me. “You wouldn’t like it. All of my teeth look like this in my original form.” Opening her mouth, she pokes at one of the sets of side-by-side canine teeth on her top row of teeth.

“Yeah, I suppose having a mouthful of those definitely makes it harder to make out.” I admit. “Not a dealbreaker for me, though.”

“I know what you’re trying to do. I’m not going to show you my original form.” she says, closing her mouth again. “I’ve worked hard to look like this, to find Maskbearers with features that I like that can make me look more human. This is the form I prefer to use.”

“Why human, though?” I ask, lacing my hands together over my chest. “The galaxy is full of humans. Wouldn’t you rather be something more interesting?”

She shrugs, looking away again. “I had my reasons.” she says, and by the way she says it, I know I won’t be able to change her mind. After a moment, she looks back down at me and grabs fistfuls of my pink hoodie. “It’s like you and this hoodie. It’s stupid, but you keep wearing it. Why pink? What’s the deal with the catchphrase on the back?”

“You got a problem with pink?”

“Yeah, actually. It doesn’t match my hair.” she says, tugging at my hoodie to pull me up. I sit up, and she lets go of my hoodie so she can plaster her hands on the back of it. “What’s this mean? Get rekt? It sounds punky.”

“Means exactly what it does.” I say as I feel her fingers trace the jagged outline of the letters. “It’s a warning to anyone I end up having to square off with.”

She snorts. “What, that they’re gonna get wrecked if they go up against you?”

“Exactly. That’s why the hoodie is pink. So they see me coming and know to get out of the way.”

“Oh boy, watch out. We’ve got a badass on our hands.” Kiwi says, wrapping her arms about my midsection as she leans her chin on my shoulder. “Y’know, you’re not half-bad, Blueberry. The rest of the galaxy doesn’t know what they’re missing out on.”

I smile aside at her, taking in those vibrant scarlet-orange irises, the faint sprinkling of freckles just under her eyes, her toothy smirk. And I realize I really do like this girl, and I would miss her if we had to go separate ways after reclaiming the Cradle.

“You’re not too bad either.” I say, turning my head and brushing my cheek against hers. “I might even like you.”

“Oh hush, you love me.” she scoffs, tugging me backwards with her arms. “C’mere, you owe me for Valentin’s Day.”

“Wait, what about Tarocco—”

“She won’t be back anytime soon.”

“That’s what you said earlier…”

“If she does, it won’t be the first time she’s caught me snogging one of my handlers. I’ll just shoo her off again. Now lemme see those fangs, Blueberry.”

“My fangs? Oh, you mean— mmmph!”