Writer of Fantasy. Wielder of Red Pens.

Category: Uncategorized (Page 2 of 3)

Grow Stripes

“C’mon, wizard.” June didn’t know what expression was on her face, but it made Peter snicker. “I’ve got breakfast on the way.”

She looked down at her fuzzy purple robe and frowned in protest. “It’s a bathrobe.” She wiggled her feet inside fuzzy sheepskin slippers, a gift from his parents last year, and sneezed again. Her sinuses were on fire. “Ow. It was cheap. Professors make peanuts, you know that.”

He leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Yes. And all you need is a pointy hat to go with your robe when you cosplay.”

A kettle whistled from June’s kitchen. “What’s that noise?” She shuffled past him and turned the corner into her kitchen. “When did I get a teapot?”

Peter leaned around her and turned off the burner. “When you got sick, and I’m either immune or doomed to it in a few days.” A mug and teabag were already on the counter next to a small jar of honey and a spoon.

She dug out a tissue from her bathrobe pocket and tried not to think about how much she sounded like a dying goose. “I told you, you should go before you get sick.”

He spooned honey into the mug. “And I told you, I’m taking care of you.” He gave her a sideways grin, emerald eyes shining. “Of course, I expect reciprocity.”

She huffed, threw out her tissue, and headed back for the living room. The grow light for her yucca plant was already on, bright light shining onto the worn cushions of her secondhand loveseat. It was hideously ugly, mustard yellow with purple flowers, but comfortable and spacious. She curled up, dragging a blanket over her weary and aching limbs. If she didn’t think hard about it, it almost seemed like sitting in sunlight.

Almost, because it was also next to the drafty window and New Hampshire had over a foot of snow. Clinking silverware and plates sounded from the kitchen as June leaned back to close the blinds. She stretched out an arm for the manual control rod and froze at the sight outside her window.

Peter found her a few minutes later, standing outside and shivering, coaxing a tiny kitten with bright yellow eyes to come closer. “Do we have any tuna?”

He sighed and stepped behind the bush the kitten was hiding behind, snagging it with one hand while its wide eyes and shaking body were fixed on June. “Please go inside. I will check on the tuna.”

She sneezed and went, pulling off wet slippers and tucking her feet into the heavy fleece blanket. A tray next to the loveseat held tea and breakfast. “Oh, pancakes. Thank you.”

Peter stomped the snow off, cat offering frightened mewls between his hands. The fur was barely visible, the kitten was so small. “Well now, that wouldn’t be a bad name for her. Him? Can’t tell. I think it’s a him.”

“What, Pancake?” June took a bite and tried to look innocent. It made her face hurt. “Mmm. Blueberry. That assumes he wants to stay.”

He glared at her and plopped the kitten onto her lap. “I would have gotten him for you.” Peter stalked into the kitchen, his shoulders stiff under his blue sweater.

The kitchen’s closet door squeaked as it opened. June tried not to feel guilty about eating a hot breakfast while his cooled on the battered foldable table she used for both eating and work. Clanking and a few thumps sounded from the other side of the wall as he searched her pantry.

“Found a can of tuna and a can of chicken. And some odd canned sausage thing no one should eat because it’s not real food.” June opened her mouth to protest and he held up a hand. “I’m tossing it in the bin. Just because you can’t cook doesn’t mean you should eat like this.”

She looked down at the kitten in her lap, one hand covering its wet fur. “Tuna or chicken?” It wasn’t like she expected an answer, but the kitten let out a soft blrrp at the word chicken and stretched out a paw. Needlelike claws flexed out and returned as Pancake rolled his head upside down and blinked yellow eyes several times.

“Interesting.” Peter went back into the kitchen. She heard the manual can opener puncture and rattle its way around the tin. “I wouldn’t have guessed the chicken.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed he’d get this comfortable with us this fast.” Paw met finger, and tiny pads closed around the tip in a stronger grip than she’d anticipated. She freed her finger and stroked the soft, damp fur, following the M marking on his forehead behind his ears and down his neck. “Gorgeous stripes you’ve got, little guy. You’ve got that tiger look going on, don’t you, all black and grey?”

June broke off into a coughing fit. Pancake squirmed off her lap and onto the more solid loveseat arm. She groped for the tea with one hand, hoping she didn’t knock the tray over.

Peter headed back toward her squashy seat, dish of canned chicken in one hand and a plastic cutting board in the other. He set the cutting board down, Pancake sniffing and dancing around his other hand like a miniature Godzilla on hind legs.

He straightened and pressed the back of his hand against her head. At his feet, Pancake pounced on the dish of chicken before burying his whiskers in the food.

“Poor guy,” June said. She yawned and sank back into the cushion. Her earlier burst of energy was fading fast. “I couldn’t let him sit out there alone. He was sitting on the ledge watching me.”

His forehead creased. “You’re really warm. I’m going to tuck you in here. I bet Pancake will curl up with you when he’s done eating. You want a book?”

She nodded her head, feeling like it had swollen to the size of a watermelon. “I know I’ll fall asleep in a few minutes, but I feel better when a book is nearby.” She smiled up at him from half-shut eyes. “And you. But I still think you should stay away from me before I get you sick.”

Peter was halfway across the room, heading for her bookshelf. “Oh, it’s too late for me in a number of ways.”

A noise penetrated her dreams. “June!” She turned her head, burying her face in a pillow. Her legs wouldn’t move for some reason. Must be tangled in the blanket. “June!”

She opened bleary eyes a fraction and squinted until she found Peter across the room. His hands were held about six inches away from his keyboard, his eyes bulging. “I thought you wanted me to get some sleep.”

“Don’t move,” he said in a strangled whisper. His fingers flexed. A metal cage dropped around the loveseat with a resounding crash. The neighbors she hadn’t yet met from next door would be sure to leave a cranky note at the mailboxes again.

June’s eyes snapped open and she struggled to sit up against the heavy fur blanket. Was she dating some kind of weirdo? “Hey, whoa, this just got weird. Really weird.”

“Stop moving!” Peter bit off the harsh words. “I’m serious – don’t move.”

June kept shoving at the blanket. “Yeah, maybe that would have flown before you put me in a cage.” She could feel panic rising in her chest, heartbeat racing and breathing hard. As if she hadn’t been feeling drained enough already. The adrenaline crash would drain her even more after she made it out of the cage.

Her hand slipped off wool and onto soft fur. She felt the fur flex under her hand. A heavy, curved something touched her hand with a pinprick. June looked at her legs and swallowed a scream. Pancake let out an enormous, two hundred pound yawn that screeched into a roar at the end.

“June, you can get through the bars. The tiger can’t.” His urgent words calmed her thrashing.

“Good kitty. Nice kitty. Holy crap on a cracker, what do we feed the giant kitty?” June wasn’t sure when the last time she’d blinked was, but her eyes were burning as she stared. She tugged on her leg and wondered when Pancake would set her free. “Maybe if we get a shoelace or something to dangle in front of him?”

Peter was on his feet, phone in hand. “I’m about to call animal control. You want me to go get a shoelace?”

“No…” She hesitated. “We can’t put a cryptid in the pound. It wouldn’t be right. We’ll have to find him another home. There must be another way.”

“Sure, as long as you don’t get mauled in the process.” He lowered his phone, but didn’t put it away. “You’re sure?”

“Well, he’s ready to go for another nap, isn’t he?” June reached out and scratched behind his ears. A rumbling purr vibrated the entire apartment like a freight train. Pancake rolled onto his back and kicked his back leg. “Ah, definitely male.”

“I’m glad you have your priorities straight.” He put the phone in his back pocket and reached out a hand through the bars. “If you wouldn’t mind trying to get out from under the giant cat?”

She reached out a tentative hand toward the grow lamp. The bright yellow lamp hadn’t improved the yucca plant any. “You don’t think…?”

***

This week, AC Young challenged me with “The wizard found himself trapped in the tigers’ cage,” and I clearly missed both the pronoun and apostrophe placement. Perhaps Peter will have to have his own adventure soon at a zoo?

My prompt went to Cedar Sanderson: “I’m telling you, that elf is stalking me!”

In Which I Talk Funny and Say “Um” a Lot

Podcast! Check it out here. Thanks to Joshua Bass of FinalxLegends Podcasts for the opportunity.

Also, here’s how to properly pronounce tsukumogami, because I got nervous and butchered it even after a lot of practice.

And if you’re so inclined, check out Paladin’s Sword and NEW short story Glitter.

Professor June Porter is worried. Her daughter Medina has shown no signs of magic, leaving her defenseless and isolated among magicians. Unless, of course, everyone’s about to discover just how special Medina is.

Black Sands

June wandered the path in quiet contemplation. Helen had excused herself and headed for the chapel a few minutes earlier, claiming the need for a few moments not focused on memorials. June had pretended not to notice the shine in her eyes and let the older woman move ahead without asking questions. Her brisk footsteps faded away as June studied the foliage and greenery surrounding the park.

Peter was several statues behind her, happily debating minor details of battles past with his father. The last bit she’d overheard didn’t make much sense for the National Museum of the Marine Corps, as much as sea strategy had been critical for the Peloponnesian War. She glanced behind her and bit back a smile. George was waving his arms with wild enthusiasm, with Peter as his mirror a few feet away.

She turned back and blinked in surprise. It was a lovely late spring day, with the scent of flowers and grass in the air under the trees, but most of the museum visitors were inside. Few took the paths of the memorial park, with its statues and peaceful walking paths. The elderly gentleman must have come from the chapel Helen had just entered.

Piercing blue eyes met her gaze as June approached the memorial. She gave the man a brief nod. His hair was still regulation short under his veteran’s baseball hat, and his green button-down and khakis had been ironed. A slight potbelly showed his only concession to age. The man remained straight-backed and walked unaided.

She turned her eyes to the statue. A Marine in a World War II era uniform held to his shoulder, one leg propped up on a rock. The dedication was for

“We were wishing for those rocks,” the man said. He gestured to the statue with one hand. “The sand was near impossible to move through. You sank in and struggled to move. Knee deep, it was in places. Funny that it had tunnels under it.”

The air left her lungs as June dragged in a breath. She turned, gaze glued to his hat. Iwo Jima, it read. Not just any veteran, but one of the remaining few. One of the survivors of the struggle for freedom, symbolically captured by the famous flag raising. An icon recognizable across any proper student of propaganda.

“I don’t know how I missed your hat,” June said. She shook her head. “I really don’t. I’m a professor of the military uses of propaganda. Thank you. It’s an honor to meet you.”

The man snorted and reached out a hand. His grasp was firm and dry, covered in calluses. “Jack. I didn’t do much. Back then, we were all in it, weren’t we?”

She nodded, her mouth dry. This was an increasingly rare moment, and she wasn’t sure what to ask. “Are you willing to talk about it?”

Jack looked up at the statue. “That was me, once. All gung-ho and ready to take on the world. And then came never-ending battle. I tell you, I grew up damn quick.”

June bit her lip and nodded. He seemed about to say more, if only she didn’t break the silence.

Jack reached up a hand to touch the statue. “I made it home to my Millie, though. That’s more than some could say.”

“I’m glad you did,” she said in a low voice. He gave a gruff jerk of his chin in acknowledgement and gave the statue a last pat.

“June?” She turned at the sound of Peter’s voice. A smile lit her face at the sight of his emerald eyes and hair tousled by the breeze. George trailed behind, still grumbling and gesturing as he walked.

“Peter, let me introduce you to –“ She turned and stared. Her feet kept her moving in a circle, her head craning as if Jack was hiding behind the memorial. “Where did he go?”

“June, who were you talking to?”

***

The National Museum of the Marine Corps is worth a visit if you’re ever in the area, although it’s currently closed. The building itself is designed to emulate the raising flag of Iwo Jima. Semper Fidelis Memorial Park is also real, as is the BAR on the Beach memorial, dedicated to the 5th Marine Division.

***

This week’s Odd Prompts came from Kat Ross in photo form, who asked who the veteran was, and what he was saying. Mine went to AC Young, who did a smashing job with a security dragon and lost pork belly.

Orb X57

Char perched in the window of the stone ruin, ready to leap to the battered floor at the first crumble of unstable mortar. It felt reasonable under her rubber-soled boots, and she settled into her current guard position, hidden behind an ivy curtain that covered half the open window.

Well, behind something that looked like ivy to her eyes, at least. Orb X57 reminded her of Society, her home planet. Training let her automatically categorize the most evident differences – ground covering a silvered grey rather than green, the dominant harvest plant color maroon rather than the vivid orange she remembered.

She shifted in her perch and adjusted her grip on her weapon, scanning the dull grey horizon and treeline. It wouldn’t do to get careless, thinking she was home. Not with most of her squad downstairs sleeping.

And not that home brought fond memories. Char rolled her shoulders to ease the tension creeping into her neck. Society was long behind her, and this wasn’t her planet. Orb X57 was the planet they were checking for colony viability. So far, it seemed promising.

At the sound of a bootfall, she relaxed further. Two solid months of training let her identify the sound as her squadmate John without turning. He was slowly patrolling the tower’s south side, marking a crescent between east and west with his tread. Sam was at the bottom of the surprisingly well-kept ruin’s stairs, guarding the only entrance and their only exit, carefully camouflaged with local foliage. Char was overwatch for Sam until they traded positions. Without the shuttle, they’d be stuck on this planet until Command could afford to send someone to get them. It was worth the tradeoff to protect their only escape route.

“Nothing to report, boss,” John said in a low baritone. It would carry less than a whisper. “No signs of current habitation.”

She nodded. “Mist starting at the edge of the forest, there. Keep sharp.” Orb X57 so far had been damp, chill ground mixing with warm northern breeze. Perfect fog conditions.

Char studied the forest. The dark green trees with pointed tops looked like they’d keep their coloring throughout the coming winter. Her briefing packet identified this as a planet with a long, warm growing season and a light winter. Command thought this could be one of the original lost colonies, sent millenia before to increase humanity’s presence throughout the galaxy.

The histories called Old Earth’s plan to seed likely planets self-sufficiency. Char called limited scientific surveys and no supply chain both stupid and doomed to failure.

“Contact.” Her fingers had moved automatically to depress the comm button before she’d consciously realized what her eyes had seen. “Contact, moving fast. Northern forest.”

“I see it.” Sam’s voice was smooth and calm in her ear. “Estimate about five minutes away at current speed.”

Two clicks on the comm meant the group below was up and readying for action.

She trained her binoculars on the blurred, moving figure, careful not to flash the lenses in the dim morning light. A horse and rider emerged into her view. The pair stumbled out of the northern forest, staggering away from the mist’s grasping fingers.

Char blinked. What flight of fancy was this nonsense? And yet – she could have sworn the horse reacted to the fog, jumping away.

She increased the magnification and focused on the chestnut. It had magnificent lines, but yes, blood streaked both croup and hock where the mist had reached for the creature. The rider was slumped over the saddle, face hidden. “Probable confirmation of lost colony and continued habitation. Horse and rider. Both injured or exhausted, no visible weapons.”

Char kept the binoculars up and trained on the mist. She heard John’s footsteps behind her on the stone floor. “Nothing from the other directions.”

“Take the risk. Prepare for action to the north.” Char felt her jaw harden against her indecision and wondered if being in charge always meant making it up as she went along. “Something weird here.”

His laugh rumbled low behind her. “New planet always has something weird. Gris reports everyone downstairs is up and prepped for action. We’ll be fine.” He took a position next to hers, on the other side of the window, weapon at the ready.

John’s reassurance helped her first command jitters, if not her decisionmaking. Binocs moved smoothly in her hand to the slowing horse and rider.

Just in time to see the mist lunge for the horse, to watch the chestnut mare scream, her head up and eyes wild. The rider came to life, sliding off the horse to collapse into a pile of leather rags on the ground, silver-grey grasses covered in the first dropped vermillion leaves of autumn. The figure crawled for a few frantic moments, dodging frenzied hooves before lurching to two feet and beginning a faltering run.

The mist withdrew a few feet, air pink with aerated blood, momentarily satiated. The horse collapsed to the ground, squeals evident even from a distance, unable to rise.

Char dropped the binoculars around her neck. “Evac! Evac now. Everyone to the shuttle.”

She made frantic hand motions at her second in command. “Now!”

John stared at her unblinking for a brief moment before he bolted down the stairs. His baritone bellowed down the tower staircase. “Evac now, evac now, grab your gear and go!”

She looked one frantic time at the deepening pink mist, now enveloping the horse up to her withers. Char turned and ran down the stairs, grabbing her pack as she slid across the tower’s polished second floor. The others were already ahead of her, running in a diamond formation.

Sam waited for her at the entrance. “Took you long enough,” she grunted. The two women bolted after the others, all traces of stealth abandoned.

The shuttle’s engines started with a roar. Char risked a glance over her shoulder at the figure now chasing after them. The androgynous figure put on another spurt of speed, mist looming large and sanguine behind it.

Sha’eka,” Char spat, and ran faster. She could barely breathe by the time she reached the shuttle. John reached out a hand and yanked her on board by her pack.

“You’re the last.” The airlock doors were open, its single crew cycle unused until returning to the ship. He bodily shoved her past the second door and leaned back to close the main door.

Char coughed, wheezing. “No, I’m not.”

“Boss, you’ve got to be kidding.” John gave her another split-second stare of disbelief. “Right. Closing inner airlock door only.”

“There’s room enough in there.”

“On your head be it.” He shook his head. “Pilot, takeoff in twenty seconds, regardless of how crazy the boss is.”

Twenty seconds later, the outer door was secured, but she was out of time to strap in. She slid to the floor and braced against the thrust. Her weapon would be secure enough in her lap for now, with her arms looped through the emergency straps on the inner airlock door. She gripped the stock and with her free hand, Char double-tapped the comms button to reach her superior officers.

“Command, Squad Leader Charlotte Merikh, emergency squad evacuation of Orb X57, all crew on board. Shuttle is inbound for Aquilon. We have likely confirmation as a lost colony.”

“Squad Leader, Command, explain.”

“Command, the planet has horses.” No one had found their like originating anywhere across the universe outside of Old Earth, but most early colonies had carried embryos and the short-term means to birth a diverse herd.

“Copy. Continue debrief.”

She closed her eyes in relief and pressed the back of her head against the cool metal of the shuttle. The voice didn’t sound unhappy about the early evac. “Command, planet appears to have hostile carnivorous intent. We are unable to proceed without additional protection. A mist…ate the horse.”

“Copy. Anticipate hard decon upon arrival.”

Char winced. No one sane liked hard decontamination. She ignored the thumps and unintelligible but increasingly high-pitched gibberish coming through the window just above her head. “Command, complicating factor in the airlock…”

***

Catching up after a few extremely hectic weeks! Week 39‘s Odd Prompt came from Cedar Sanderson: “The fog was an unnatural cotton-candy pink as the sun rose. As the light hit it, it glowed, but there was a moving shadow in the heart of it. What emerged…” My prompt went back to Cedar; “Don’t wake up the computer. It’ll bite.”

Shorty

Hesitation and numbness are the predominant sentiments I remember from when she passed. Oh, not that those are emotions, exactly. But when grief overwhelms, and becomes too great, every decision is hesitation, every feeling vaguely numb.

When the matriarch of a family dies, there are so many decisions, so many feelings. Never mind that most of the decisions had been made a decade before. Each step is part of the process, laid out before us. We proceed as expected because it is simply what one does during these times.

Family rarely seen and unlikely to congregate again once dispersed, this final concluding time, held together by the stories of 102 years.

Someone always had just one more tale. Even Shorty herself. She didn’t us she’d been an inadvertent rumrunner during Prohibition until well after she’d passed a hundred. The beer in her hand might have helped the story escape.

Even laughter only leaves one exhausted, carrying on because that’s what you do after someone leaves. Our rock, our center, had left us behind.

Exhaustion carries you through the whole process. The only time it lifted was when we’d walked into the funeral home, a group of mourners, and heard her voice. A mistake, I’d hoped, and knew it was futile even as I yearned.

When you’re old, you see, the Library of Congress takes an interest in your stories, and records them. I still can’t bring myself to listen, refused to pay attention to her digitized words. My copy remains unopened on my computer’s desktop. The thought of hearing her voice again causes a permanent hesitation.

And now I find myself standing in front of her secretary, the antique-style reddish wood shining under yellowed light. Inside I know I’ll find her spidery handwriting, legible and perfect, the product of Catholic schools and her own experience as a teacher.

My hand is on the handle, and still I pause.

***

Shorty was my grandmother, who passed several years ago just shy of 102. She lived all of five minutes down the road, and remains one of my favorite people. Wherever she is, I fully expect she is ballroom dancing.

The Library of Congress program is called StoryCorps. My mother did play the recording at the funeral home, and forgot to warn anyone. My brother and I both heard the recording, decided grandma was a zombie, and freaked out.

I still can’t bring myself to listen to her stories. They’re waiting for me, when I’m ready.

Thank you, Becky Jones, for letting me share a small bit of her with you for this week’s Odd Prompt. “She stood in front of her grandmother’s secretary (the furniture piece, not the person) and took a deep breath. There was no knowing what the old lady had stashed in there. Reaching out her hand she grasped the handle and pulled…”

My prompt of “Failure is a powerful motivator to learn. But sometimes…” went to Cedar Sanderson, who wrapped up the perambulating hatrack this week in a fantastic climax. I can’t wait to see it published!

Float

Some long days at work are longer than others. I’d been late, then slipped on a puddle of coffee someone else was too rude to clean up and bruised my tailbone. The boss had been on a tear, and I’d been unlucky enough to not get the group text to hide before he came storming in ready to scream at the first victim he found.

Which meant I’d also gotten stuck with fixing someone else’s mess, of course. I got to be the one to stay late while the guilty party skipped merrily out the door, gleeful she’d “forgotten” to include me on the air raid – I mean boss – warning message. And finding out my car had been keyed in the parking lot was the perfect end to a perfect day.

Yeah, my sarcasm meter overfloweth.

All I wanted to do was faceplant into the couch, maybe with a glass of wine injected by IV so I didn’t have to pick up my head from the pillow. Maybe rent a movie. Pizza and actually watching the movie would be optional.

I really wished I’d never given my mother a key. But I’m fairly certain if I hadn’t, she’d have shown up anyway, hanging out on the front porch until the neighbors called the cops.

The whine started as soon as I opened the front door. Ears like a bat, that one. Thought I’m not sure she usually bothered to see if I was around when she started. Or stopped. She could have been going for hours for all I knew.

It’s all blah, blah, job’s terrible, they don’t treat you right, you work too hard. I know, Ma, believe me. You don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive, but don’t go near those evil cookies. Ma, I’m ordering pizza just to spite you now. Did you meet a nice boy yet? When will the family meet him? Let me set you up with a complete stranger. Maaaa. Stop. Please, I’m begging you.

Sooner I dealt with it, sooner it’d be over. I dropped my keys and trudged through the living room and into the kitchen. The nasal snarl came from outside, though the screen door. I bet the neighbors loved the background screech whenever she showed up.

I know she had something to do with the neighbors planting a screen of fast-growing trees in addition to the existing fence. They told me. Both of them. After carefully checking that she wasn’t hiding around the corner.

The kitchen held temptation, even if it was bland and boring, with fake wood veneer everywhere you tried not to look. I eyed both the unopened bottle of cabernet sauvignon as well as the freezer, where frozen pizza lurked. But through the sunlight shining, though that open screen door, lay my doom. I braced myself and pushed onward.

“I’m home, Ma. Yes, I’m sorry I was late, but I didn’t know you were coming over. And you clearly – helped – uh – um – huh.” I swallowed hard, and blinked a few times to clear the spots out of my eyes.

The yard wasn’t much, just some scrub grass that hadn’t recovered from the last renter’s dog, and barely grew thanks to the neighbors’ trees shadowing it most of the day. Bigger than the proverbial postage stamp, but certainly not a full-size envelope. Flowers died as soon as I touched them, their unwatered skeletons brittle and whitened by the sun.

And amidst it all, the crown jewel that made me rent the place sight unseen from an unscrupulous landlord, and worth cleaning out a ridiculous amount of bugs, dropped leaves, and algae. Blue water, in a perfect circle, the best way to relax that mankind had ever invented.

Some days you just need to float. Although Mom didn’t just rest atop my giant taco pool float when she stopped by. Ever. She reclined, regally, with her oversized Hepburn-style sunglasses, keeping her curls out of the water. Always managing to stay in just the amount of sunlight, even with all the shade in the backyard. Each movement perfectly cut through the water without effort or splashing, a vision graceful and slim even in her early fifties.

The sunglasses were what gave it away. Well, that and the voice.

The scales, on the other hand. Those were new, and several shades of rippling green that blended with both the neighbors’ trees and the water. The claws would have threatened the inflatable, but somehow Ma managed to be perfect there, too. Her tail steered her around the pool, and the teeth were more numerous and pointier than I recalled.

The sunglasses weren’t oversized, either. The part of me that would always be small around my mother didn’t want to see what lurked behind them.

I ducked back into my suddenly attractive kitchen and hoped she wouldn’t notice I wasn’t paying attention to her tirade. Yanking out my phone, I called my little sister. My breath came in fast pants while I listened impatiently to each ring, before finally the brat picked up.

“Hey, Chris? Yeah, good. Hey, um…did you know Mom’s a dragon?”

This week on More Odds Than Ends, Becky Jones challenged me to address the dragon floating in my pool. My prompt about vultures perching on unusually solid clouds went to Anne and Jim.

Eliminating the Future

I perched along the lower branches of the tree I preferred to sleep in, holding onto the limb above while reaching down with my free hand. My eyes skimmed over the forest greenery, following a robin joining a flock of angry, screeching birds attacking a falcon to drive it off.

I could tell by feel and weight that all my weaponry was in place, of course, but it never hurts to check. And let’s be frank, the ritual is calming. Boot knife, there, my fingers grazing over the hilt before moving up to ensure the leather sheath that dangled from around my neck remained in place.

I gave the trunk of the tree a wistful pat, triple checked the location for enemies, and hopped down. Can’t come back too often, but it’s the most comfortable one I’ve found. Sleeping in trees is ridiculous and uncomfortable. It’s also more secure since they haven’t learned to expect us to be there yet.

Yet. The day they do will be a bad day. I’m not sure what the next step is after that.

I miss my shotgun. I miss Drew’s crossbow, too. It’s not like he needs it anymore, but he’d landed on it and there was no coming back from that crunching, snapping noise. It was more terrible than his screaming. I didn’t bother to take a look after they carried him off. Pretty sure they’d left it as a trap, anyway. Bait.

This is what we are reduced to. Traipsing through the woods, searching for berries and edible greens, hoping the snares will bring protein and not the enemy’s sharp eye and subsequent numbers.

I could have been safe, back in Ohio, after they realized the threat and put up the blockades. But my parents had called the day before, and when the line went dead and they didn’t pick up, well. I got in my car and drove to Pennsylvania to find out what was wrong.

Should’ve known, since 911 and the emergency lines didn’t answer, but I thought the number not in service message meant the lines were overwhelmed. Maybe a natural disaster. Western PA – that’s right, pronounced “pee-ay” – doesn’t get a ton of tornadoes, but they’re bad when they hit.

Besides, Mom and Dad were getting up there, and it had been a while. Why not do a spontaneous weekend visit?

Instead I wound up finding a blood trail, the house destroyed, the few neighbors remaining unwilling to open their doors and completely incoherent. I’d tried the cops again, on my cell while heading toward the woods, following dried maroonish-brown stains splashed over the winter-dead grass.

I try not to think about what happened next.

It helps that I don’t remember it clearly. Just blood, and fire, and fur. Ashes in the air, charcoal streaking my face.

I hate that I was that dumb, that oblivious. I hate that I think of this every day. That I was just too late to save them. That I didn’t get out while I could.

It wasn’t always like this. As a kid, I used to think they were cute. Nicknamed them Sam and Charlie, even. The neighbors would try to trap them. Use a golf ball, the guy two houses down said; they think it’s a mushroom. Works every time. But the cages were never big enough to get the adults, only the babies. And we called it humane, because we let them live.

Maybe we should have thought about what we were doing more. Taking away their babies every year for years on end. Eliminating their future.

Nobody saw it coming.

I look back at years of mealy garden tomatoes, thinking about whether we missed their message when every single red-ripened fruit had a single bite in it. Or the hole they dug in the ground, waiting right at the end of the sled run.

Good thing Mom always made us stop sledding when we got too close. No matter how much we tried to hide it, she could see when the tracks got too close from the back window. Though I sometimes wonder if we’d have gotten off more lightly had we let them screech and claw at us a bit then.

Maybe we’d have learned.

I don’t expect to see home again, nor do I expect to make it much longer. They’re whittling us down one by one, and hunger takes care of the rest.

Don’t try to tell me groundhogs don’t get bigger than a rabbit. I know they’re tiny in Ohio, but these ones, geez. Four feet long if not bigger. It was always hard to tell the exact length, because they ran as soon as they heard you.

We thought they were scared of us, you see. Until the day they stopped running.

Lady Death, Continued (1)

Lady Charlotte’s story begins with The Invitation. Although I will probably do a full rewrite of that story to make it a better introduction, the rest poured out below. Presented without edits and open for feedback.

Charlotte had only been running for ten minutes, but her feet already hurt. Her ribcage ached with unaccustomed exertion, straining against corset restrictions on piddly options such as breathing. She wished Yelena hadn’t laced it so tight.

Were those noises behind her shouts? Had she been noticed as missing already?

She didn’t know exactly what would happen to a girl in her situation, caught by two men alone and out at night unescorted, but she could guess. The best option would probably be loss of social standing as her entire family experienced the collective shaming, followed by a quick marriage to the hatchet-faced man.

There had been a maid exiled from her household’s manor when she was very young. Charlotte remembered only sobs and screams, a pleading but unintelligible voice. The tutor had whisked the girls away, allowing them to indulge in cakes and shushing questions. All she’d learned was not to ask why.

She ignored the burning in her chest and kept going. The stone path was hard on her feet, cold and wet in flimsy slippers, but hours of walking the land was to her benefit now. The light markers illuminated the drive just enough to keep animal predators away, even if it made her easier to find by humans.

A boxed lantern flickered, larger than the rest, and she halted, unable to see beyond the fire’s glow for several moments. The road dipped into rutted dirt below her, and her stomach jolted at the sight. She lifted her skirts and jumped into the road, turning toward the electric glow on her left.

She spared a single moment for a glimpse back toward her old life, a manor hidden behind a winding stone path, lit only by firelight. Charlotte Merikh straightened her shoulders and kept walking. She couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over her face as she headed toward the Spaceport.

***

Charlotte stared at her feet under the light of the pink moon, wondering how there could be so much pain but not so swollen they overflowed her shoes. Ridiculous, velvet shoes with soles so thin they were nearly nonexistent, and she couldn’t make herself run in them anymore.

She’d had no idea how far electric light could travel. The spaceport had seemed so close.

She turned, and the horse was nearly upon her. Screaming, she tried to get out of the way and tripped backward. Only now, as the hooves came within an inch of her head, did she hear the cart’s bells.

“Whoa!” The man’s voice came from behind the hanging lantern. Charlotte struggled to get up, ready to run again on aching feet. She stared at the too-close hooves. This was a plow horse, broken to wagon, not a prancing carriage horse useless for anything but fancy dress balls.

“You’re not looking for me,” she blurted out, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

The man laughed. “No, but I wish I’d seen you sooner. Wasn’t expecting anyone to be standing in the middle of the road. Clyde there, he doesn’t like nights much. Doesn’t see so well. Took him a second to react. Did you not hear the bells?”

“I do apologize. I didn’t mean to startle your horse. But could I get a ride, sir?” she asked politely. Charlotte bit her lip, wondering if she’d just made a huge mistake.

She could hear the sudden intake of breath from six feet away, even if she couldn’t see past the lantern properly.

A long pause came before the man cleared his throat. “You know what you are asking, taking a ride with a male stranger at night as an unmarried girl. Are you claiming Spaceport sanctuary?”

The words dropped slowly into the night. Charlotte considered them, tilting her head.

“I don’t know what that means exactly, sir, but I was headed to the Spaceport hoping for sanctuary. I cannot go back. I will accept your offer.”

The man let out a shuddering breath. “Offer made and extended, now accepted. Climb aboard. I hear bells in the distance behind us, so we’d best get a move on.”

She scrambled up to the box seat, leaving a careful distance between them.

“My name is Joel. I’m taking some trade goods to the Spaceport. My sister awaits.”

She turned her head to study his profile, now backlit from this angle by the lantern. “Your sister lives there?”

He laughed softly and clucked to his horse. “She’s a spaceship pilot. I bring her fancywork that she can sell on other worlds that machine produce everything.”

Charlotte didn’t understand what he meant, but found his voice soothing. The weight of the evening settled over her, and she found herself yawning.

“Miss?” Joel reached across the box seat and shook her arm briefly before pulling back. “I’m sorry, but you didn’t give me your name.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said with a yawn. “I am called Charlotte. I must have nodded off.”

“We’re getting close.” His voice was tense. “Can you reach the cart behind you? Look for a white square.”

She twisted and squinted into the darkness. “I think so. Yes. I can’t see anything, though.”

“Can you feel fabric? If so, grab the top layer.”

Charlotte felt soft fabric, the bumps of embroidery familiar under her fingertips. She pulled it into her lap.

“Miss Charlotte, you’re going to want to hide that hair.” His voice was tense and grim, no longer soothing.

She straightened and frowned, then unfolded the finely woven fabric with a frown and draped it over her hair. She tucked the trailing ends around her neck. “I only ever even heard of red hair being an issue this afternoon.”

Joel called to the horse again, urging him faster. “Sit tight, Miss Charlotte. We’ll be there in a few minutes. Try not to stare.”

She pulled the makeshift hood down to shadow her eyes, unsure she could hide her expression. Surely the place that managed to create electric light would be full of other wonders. How could she not stare?

As Joel’s cart cleared the forest road, she bit her lip and drew her eyebrows together, confused. The Spaceport had electric lights, certainly. A double fence allowed for uniformed men to check the entrants into the port without allowing them fully inside. The inner fence was solid, though the cream paint was dirty at the bottom from scuffed dirt.

On the solid inner wall, colorful shapes overlapped in several organized rectangles. Charlotte supposed these must be tapestries, though she didn’t know why the outdoors would need wall hangings to stay warm. The aroma of fried dough mixed with an oily, burnt smell she didn’t recognize.

The outer fence was made of sturdy wire woven into a diamond pattern, and had a collection of people such as she’d never seen. A small horde of ragged children, eagerly running toward the horse and cart, offering to hold the horse for a coin. Joel shooed them away with a few curt words, not pausing even as they ran so closely Charlotte feared they’d be run over by the cart’s metal wheels.

Emaciated men sat by the port entrance and held out bowls with skeletal hands, their shoulders slumped in defeat and necks bowed. Charlotte didn’t understand why they didn’t ask for succor at any of the nearby manors, when work was plentiful year-round. Anyone was entitled to ask for a few day’s wages under guesting rights without deciding to stay.

The women were what drew her eyes the most, staring with an open mouth and wide eyes, drawing the scarf tighter around her head and neck with suddenly frantic hands. Women with skirts so short they showed the entire bottom portion of their legs, women without bodices. Women who clung to the wire fence, which must be far stronger than it looked to support their weight. They spoke directly to men, beckoning with inviting hands and flipping loose hair over their shoulders.

“These are the ones Society rejects, Lady Charlotte,” Joel said quietly, as the horse drew the cart closer to the entrance. “The ones who tried to leave and couldn’t.”

She looked at him, glad for a distraction. “Did the Spaceport not let them in?” She swung a foot out, tapped a still-damp slipper against the footboard, and glanced over her shoulder. A lantern shone in the darkness, a glowing dot at least half a mile away. Perhaps she should take her chances with the carriage rapidly approaching.

“The Spaceport is the only way out,” Joel said. “It’s hard to leave what you’ve always known. I’m one of the few to live a little in both worlds, and don’t think I could fully choose either. They turned back because they thought this life was better than the unknown.”

She studied the huddled figures surrounding the fence. The children had mobbed around a ball, while the men were oblivious. The women avoided looking at the cart, focusing all their efforts on the uniformed spaceport men. Charlotte wondered whether they were ashamed to look at a local man, or if Joel wasn’t wealthy enough to attract their interest.

“That won’t be my fate,” Charlotte said. Her voice was determined.

“Good,” Joel said. He slowed Clyde and the cart rolled to a stop inside the gate. “Keep that in mind. You’re going to have a long evening.”

***

“Charlotte Penelope Merikh,” she repeated for what must have been the tenth time. “Daughter of Lucinda and Fedor Merikh.”

She stifled a yawn, and realized she was still wearing her gloves. They felt glued to her hands, and she bit down on the fingertips one by one to start pulling them off.

“Of Merikh Manor, Stirling Province, Kairos Domain?” The blonde man had a pencil-thin mustache that drooped over his mouth when he talked.

“Yes,” she mumbled around a mouthful of fabric. “As I told you repeatedly over what must be more than a candlemark. I claim sanctuary.”

Joel had told her to say those words just before they’d pulled up to the gate and stopped inside for Joel’s cart to be inspected. As soon as he’d told the officer the Lady Charlotte was claiming sanctuary, a swarm of uniformed men had surrounded the wagon and pulled her into a room for questioning. She’d heard shouts behind her as she’d been escorted away.

She thought she’d spotted a woman, even, but hadn’t been sure in all the chaos. Sanctuary wasn’t free, after all, and she would need to find employment that didn’t include being one of the gateside women. Perhaps she could learn to inspect carts.

Behind her, the door opened, and she started at the noise. She jumped again as a woman’s voice spoke firmly from behind her chair. “Peter, lay off. You’re scaring the girl. She’s confirmed her identity.”

“We haven’t done DNA yet.” The man looked up and pushed back his chair, but did not rise.

“She’s clearly a native of this planet. Spaceport has always offered sanctuary to those who choose a different way of life.” Charlotte felt the woman place her hands on the back of her chair. “Let me talk to her and make sure she understands before we proceed, will you?”

Peter leaned back in his chair for a moment, his mustache drooping further. He dropped back to all four legs with a bang and a snort.

Charlotte narrowed her eyes but refused to show anything else on her face. Her society training had been good for a bland expression of politeness. He’d been trying to scare her, she realized now, but she didn’t know why. Did he think she would be like one of the gate women, and give him favors?

He loomed, leaning forward, and Charlotte doubled down on not letting this man see how much he frightened her. The woman cleared her throat. He glared above Charlotte’s head, shoved his way around the table, and banged out the door.

“Well,” the woman said. “At least the petty bureaucrat is out of the way. Don’t worry, his shift change is coming and I’ll make sure someone else handles your paperwork.”

She shook her head, looking down at curls come undone. All Yelena’s work, gone. Charlotte realized she’d likely never see her again, and bit her lip. She was tired, and her brain wanted to wander off on tangents. Then sleep, sleep for days.

“Why did he want to scare me?” She blinked. Charlotte hadn’t intended to say those words.

The woman sighed, walked around the table, and flipped the chair around so the back was facing toward Charlotte. She sat, one leg to each side, and nodded at Charlotte’s wide eyes.

“Yes, that was deliberate. You’ve got a long way to go if you want this to work. I don’t have tea for you, but I can answer questions.” She was perhaps ten years older than Charlotte, dressed in dark pants with pockets, with short, dark red curls that ended at her jawline.

Charlotte nodded, and straightened. “Who are you? Why are you here? What exactly does claiming sanctuary mean?”

“Oh, little dove, you claimed sanctuary without even knowing what it meant? No wonder my brother sent me here.”

Charlotte’s head snapped up at the familiar endearment. “You’re from here? Wait – you’re Joel’s sister?”

The woman smiled, her lips quirking up only on one side. “What did he tell you?”

She frowned. “That you were a spaceship pilot. He was bringing you fancywork, scarves and the like. I didn’t understand everything he said.”

The redheaded woman studied her. “I am Kallina. And yes, Joel is my brother. Yes, I am from this planet. A spaceship is the vehicle – carriage – that travels between planets.”

“I know what a spaceship is,” Charlotte hurried to interject. “It’s what brought us here to colonize.”

“It’s very loud, very crowded, and boring and exhilarating at the same time.” Kallina’s eyes looked through Charlotte for a few moments, and a real smile showed in the crinkles around her hazel eyes.

She came back to the room and looked directly into Charlotte’s green eyes. “A pilot is the person who, um, drives the spaceship carriage. I make sure nothing goes wrong. I follow the path. I transport goods, and sometimes people.”

“Are there roads in space?” Charlotte asked, curious.

Kallina laughed. “Not as such.” She leaned her head on a hand, tilting it. “I think I see why you wanted out of this place.”

“I did ask why you were helping me.” Charlotte wasn’t sure what was happening, but she felt her stomach clench in anticipation. It might have been hope fluttering as well.

Kallina closed her eyes. “Because once, I was very like you. Eager to learn, full of questions no one would answer. Never understanding why everything I did or said was inappropriate. Always getting into trouble, always watched because my hair happened to be the wrong shade. Always longing for something more.”

She opened her eyes and looked directly at Charlotte again. “Does that sound familiar?”

Charlotte released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, and tossed her gloves on the table. “You left.”

“Aye,” Kallina said. “I left. It was hard. Sometimes dangerous. Nearly always confusing. It’s like learning another language, but without anyone teaching you the basics. You can’t trust what you see, or what you do, because no matter what it is, it means different things to different people.”

Charlotte looked away. “Why are you telling me this?”

The older woman leaned forward. “Every original colony planet automatically belongs to the Consortium. That’s the group of countries that funded the first colonization. It’s basically an interplanetary citizenship.”

She chewed on her lip. It was starting to hurt, but it kept her awake and thinking. “So I’m a citizen.”

“Only if you want it.” Kallina slumped over her chair back and put her chin on her hands. “You decide you don’t, you lose access to the port without an escort.”

“My family won’t take me back.” The words were soft but firm in the small room.

The older woman shut her eyes again. “No, they won’t. And then life gets much harder. Maybe you probably become one of the gateside women, which you’re smart enough to have already figured out you don’t want. And you’re classy enough and determined enough to know you don’t want that to happen to you.”

“What does citizenship mean?” Charlotte crossed her arms, pulling Joel’s scarf tighter around her shoulders. “I don’t really have any skills to earn a living.”

“It means a passport off this planet, access to education, and the freedom to choose your own path.” Kallina stretched, a languid action juxtaposed against her earlier efficient movements. “Both my crew decided to settle down recently. With each other, blast it, so I lost them both at once.”

“You’re saying you have room for me?” Her breath caught at the idea of leaving Society, but her body deflated as hope faded. “As I said earlier, I don’t have any skills that would be useful on a spaceship.”

“I have room for you, and I’ll train you on what you need to know. Room, board, and wages. I’ll help you sell your outfit so you have some – ah – pin money. If you can do needlework and still want to, I’ll sell your fancywork and you can have most of the profits.” Kallina’s eyes pinned Charlotte’s. “Does that sound fair?”

“More than fair,” she said. “Only, I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

Kallina smiled, her eyes tinged with sadness. “If you keep waiting to be ready, you never will be.”

***

The older woman turned back into her efficient self as soon as she opened the door and began yelling for the bureaucrat to return. The odious idiot had vanished, and Charlotte watched an affable man jogging lightly down the hall, laughing when he saw Kallina.

“Should have known it was you making such a fuss.” Charlotte was relieved to see his light brown mustache was less foppish. Already this man seemed more reasonable.

He settled into the chair with only a raised eyebrow at Kallina’s possessive stance behind Charlotte’s chair.

“She’s exhausted, Allen. And I know you remember how confused and sheltered I was when I got here.”

He gestured at the paperwork the other man had left on the desk. “I’m not questioning your right to be here. I’m wondering why Peter didn’t even mark identity confirmation. He’s got nerve, that one.”

The next two hours were a blur. Charlotte found herself dragging a pen through innumerous forms and answering questions at Allen’s direction. He seemed unreasonably happy about filling out papers, which her family’s steward had always detested. Allen held up a box and a flash blinded her briefly. While still blinking the dots away, she found herself presented with a plastic chit.

“It’s still warm,” she murmured. The chit was octagonal, pale blue with black letters. A gold square had squiggles and a button on it.

Kallina laughed. “Slide that cover back over the gold section and press the button underneath. The flash you saw painted your portrait in an instant.”

A holographic picture of Charlotte blinked into evidence above the plastic. “Oh! Is that me?” Her eyes widened in wonder for a few seconds. Then she looked closer, and scowled at the image. “I look terrible.”

Allen and Kallina both burst out laughing.

“Welcome to the world of bureaucracy,” Allen said. “No one ever likes their image.”

Charlotte only yawned, and Kallina gave a contrite twist of her face.

“Do you need anything else, Allen? I want her in a bunk yesterday.”

“Just the oath to activate her status.” The room grew silent.

Allen cleared his throat. “Are you awake enough to pay attention?”

She nodded, trying to straighten into posture her mother would be proud to see.

“The oath doesn’t automatically make you give up your family, or even your planet. You could live here at the spaceport as a merchant if you wanted. This oath basically says you’ll follow the law and be a good citizen. You’ll be quizzed on how to be a good citizen when you reach the age of majority.”

Green eyes met hazel as Charlotte sought Kallina, immobile in her corner within the sterile room. “But I’m sixteen now.”

“Consortium says it’s eighteen. Fourteen to go off planet with a sponsor vouching for you until you reach your majority. I’m the sponsor.” She brought her leg up and propped a boot against the wall.

“It’s a big deal. Kallina takes all responsibility for your actions as your sponsor.” Allen’s eyes were concerned.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Charlotte said. “I’m sure I’ll make mistakes.”

Allen lifted a uniformed shoulder. “Fewer if you know someone else will pay the price along with you, we’ve found.”

Kallina cleared her throat from the corner. “I wouldn’t offer if I thought you were an intentional troublemaker.”

Charlotte drew her brows together in a frown. “What else am I committing myself to with this oath?”

“You only need to swear the oath to get access to space, because the Consortium provides the access. You might like another planet on Kallina’s route better and decide to settle there. If you stay landside, you probably won’t need to ever swear another oath.”

“That seems acceptable.”

Allen nodded, his chin propped over folded hands. “It’ll be all right. We do this all the time, Charlotte.”

She blinked. It was the first time any outsider had ever referred to her without her title. “I’m no longer Lady Charlotte.”

Allen drummed his fingers on the table. “I hadn’t thought to cover that part. No, there’s no official nobility in the Consortium.”

Kallina crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “There’s rank and status, but it’s mostly earned in space. Every planet is different. Tends to be structured similarly to where the home core population came from.”

“I’m just not used to it,” Charlotte said. “That’s all. I still want to do this.”

“Good,” Kallina said, and dropped her boot down to plant both feet on the scuffed tile floor. “I got the impression you hated being Lady Charlotte anyway.”

Exhaustion swept over her, and sputtered out as laughter that didn’t stop until she hiccupped. “I need a new name.”

“Let’s try out some nicknames before you make it official,” Kallina said dryly. “And get this oath over with, eh?”

Allen held up a restraining hand. “Charlotte, in two years, if you pass your test, you gain full citizenship and rights like voting. But it also binds you to something greater. If the Consortium of Planets ever comes into conflict with Society, you’re saying that you will side with the Consortium. Do you understand?” His voice lacked its previous joviality.

“Is that likely?”

“No,” Kallina said. “Society as a planet wants nothing to do with technology, and it’s unwelcoming to outsiders. It’s not profitable for most trade. They only let the spaceport stay open because it’s required by interplanetary law. And also they don’t have the technology to force them out.”

Allen pointed a finger. “Shush, you. They trade more than the elders here are willing to admit to their populations. But no, Charlotte, Kallina is right. It’s not likely.”

“So one oath now gets me off Society and into space.”

“Under guardianship, yes.” Allen shifted his weight. “If you were of majority age, you’d study here on the planet until you passed a probationary test or decided to stay. They’re supposed to have sponsors too, usually the ship’s captain.”

“I get a trial run. Then in two years, I pass a test and take another oath, or settle onto another planet.” Charlotte pushed long auburn locks behind her shoulders.

“In two years,” Kallina started. She stared at the ground for a long moment, kicking the toe of one boot against the floor.

She looked back up, and the older woman’s twisted half smile did not reach bleak eyes. “In two years, you will not be the same person. This is a whole new life, a new identity. This gives you time to be sure.”

“Some people never make the final leap,” Allen said into the awkward, empty silence that followed.

Charlotte studied Kallina’s tense posture, propped against the wall with her head bowed. Each muscle was frozen so tightly the older woman did not even appear to breathe.

“I think,” Charlotte said slowly, as Kallina’s head rose with each word. “I will welcome a new identity.”

***

Charlotte opened her eyes the next morning, and immediately winced away from the unfamiliar electric light as it sensed her movement and blinked on. It was impossible to tell whether she had slept through the daylight that had just begun when Kallina had introduced her to the Wyvern.  

If last night had been a dream, it would be both nightmare and wondertale. She recognized few scents or noises, and if she’d not been so exhausted, doubted she’d have slept.

Didn’t the elders warn against making decisions directly after emotional shock? Hadn’t she had a series of surprises yesterday? Finding out her hair made others perceive her as wanton, turning sixteen and becoming eligible for marriage, the attack by the deranged man in the library, running away.

Becoming a probationary citizen in the Consortium, a concept she barely understood. Charlotte still wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea, but the idea of a trial period had reassured her that she could change her mind.

She may not have liked life on Society, or the family’s expectations of her, but she was also familiar with it. She knew what those expectations were, knew who was trustworthy. Was Kallina as much a planetary kinswoman as she claimed? But her brother had given her succor, and the officials here treated the woman well.

She shoved back the tangled sheets that had wrapped around her legs. Enough lazing about. It was time to figure out how to cleanse oneself on a spaceship. Would it be different on the ground than in the air?

The metal floor was chill against her bare feet. She moved to the door she thought was the compact relief area she’d been shown how to use last night and found a closet. Opening the door next to it, she discovered what she’d expected. Charlotte also sniffed a tube of what smelled like cleansing paste for teeth, but was unsure on how to use any of the other facilities. She would have to ask the Kallina.

Her borrowed sleeping shift stopped at midthigh, shorter than anything else she had ever worn before. Her dress from last night was missing, along with her much-abused slippers. Bare legs made her movements awkward, peeking around the door to see if Kallina was in sight before scurrying into the common area. If only she could stay behind convenient furniture, but there was little in this area.

She cleared her throat as she approached the hooded head facing away from her at the kitchen’s eating section. The hooded figure froze at the noise, then set down a steaming cup on the table.

“Kallina, I would like to thank you again for taking me in. I’m afraid I don’t know how to use –“

She let out an undignified squeak as the person turned around and stood. “Butler?”

The bearded man raised a hand in salute, taking her disheveled, sleep-tousled state in with a sweeping glance of deep-set eyes. He lifted his gaze to meet hers with a raised eyebrow. “Lady Death.”

Charlotte was suddenly absurdly conscious of her bare knees, but stood firm, her jaw quavering with attempted resolve. She had taken on a new life, and would not bow to expectations from the last. She straightened her shoulders and crossed her arms, sure the heat across her face had manifested crimson.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

The Hannock’s Butler leaned back against the kitchen table and tossed his hood back. “I only remain the family’s butler if I bring you back, I’m afraid. Sneaking in was difficult, but not impossible.”

“What have you done with Kallina?” She could not abide it if her new friend and protector had been hurt.

He looked shocked. “I am here because I am still protecting you, and you think I would harm another woman? From what I observed, she came to your aid. I waited to enter the ship until she left. I’m sure she will think you changed your mind and went home, where you belong.”

“Bringing me back will not protect me, Butler.” She was certain of that, as certain as she was that Butler must have made it over the double fence while she was still in the stuffy office section.

“Honor demands I bring you back, Lady Death.” He swept a hand over dark, wavy hair longer on top than on bottom, and his jaw squared under the short beard.

“That is not my name,” Charlotte bit out, her fists clenched.

“Oh, but it is.” He pushed off the table and took a step toward her. “When I said you’d be the death of some poor man, I did not mean it literally. Nor did I mean myself. Yet here we are.”

She rolled her eyes, pretending to arrogance she did not have, and stood her ground as he moved forward. “I don’t understand.”

“A Butler loses his position either through honorable retirement at a distinguished age, when he is formally challenged by a trainee, or when he fails in his duties. Only the first is generally survivable.” His mouth thinned against a tanned face.

Charlotte lost her internal battle and took a step back at the anger in his dark eyes. “I didn’t know.”

He stopped and threw up his hands. “I don’t know how you didn’t know. Your manor didn’t train you properly. Put on some proper clothes. We’re leaving. I will take you home and away from – from whatever you think you are doing.”

She put her hands on her hips without thinking, then wrapped her arms around herself again. “No. This is about your honor, not mine.”

“It will be much easier to simply walk out if you are properly garbed and cooperative, Lady Death, but do not think I will hesitate to take you with me in a sack if I must.” His voice was a growl, and a vein at his temple twitched.

She took another step back. Butler wasn’t the helpful protector from last night right now. It wasn’t quite as terrifying as one of Father’s towering rages, but this was not a man she particularly wanted to cross.

“I am not going anywhere.” Charlotte mumbled the words, dragging them out of her mouth one at a time. Fear always made it hard for her to speak.

“He is, though,” Kallina said, from off to the side. She held an odd, bulbous object in her hand, made of dark and shining metal. It was pointed at Butler. “Little dove, did this man hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” Charlotte said, wondering if the strange object in the other woman’s hands was a weapon. She couldn’t see visible bolts or quarrels.

Butler laughed, incredulous, and slapped his chest. “Lady Death here can handle herself. As can you, it seems.” He nodded at Kallina and her object. “I would not harm her, only restore her to her rightful family.”

“I believe that’s different after Charlotte accepted spaceport sanctuary.” Kallina bit out the words.

Butler raised an eyebrow. “That changes things. If you would be so kind, I shall be leaving now. It appears I need to seek new orders.”

“Don’t come back,” Kallina said. She backed up a pace and circled around him, away from the entrance ramp, so she was between Charlotte and the butler. “As you said. Leave. Now.”

The man held up his hands in surrender, but continued to grin. White teeth shone against his dark skin and beard as he backed down the entrance ramp with both women following several feet behind. Butler pulled his hood up and stepped onto the ground. “I do love a good challenge.”

Kallina took one hand off the weapon and hit a white button. The ramp began to close with a hissing sound. A blue button made a zinging, electric sound. “Locked and secured. The green button is to open the ramp. Don’t press the red button unless it’s an emergency.”

“Do we call the constables?” Charlotte asked. “I thought he was you at first. I don’t know how he got in. I’m glad you’re here.”

“You’re babbling. I called the guards when I saw the ramp open. I would never leave the Wyvern unsecured, especially not with you sleeping. Didn’t seem likely you’d gone for a walk.”

Charlotte gave a tentative smile. “I don’t know where my clothes are.”

Kallina pushed a button on the shiny object and put it in one of her many pockets. She picked up a cloth bag from the ground and headed for the kitchen. “I got some supplies for the week, but we’ll need more.”

Scowling, Kallina dumped the butler’s drink into a basin. “Helped himself, he did. Right. I can put all this away in a few minutes. Let’s go get you some clothes before the guards show. They won’t be fast enough to catch him, but guards always show up at the worst time possible.”

Charlotte followed her out of the room and down the hallway toward the living quarters.

Kallina banged open a cupboard and dug around. “These will do for now. Your dress is in the cleaner. We can talk about what to do with it later.”

“Trousers?” Charlotte asked. “Oh. I suppose…I’ve never…”

The older woman gave her usual half-grin. “You’re about to be awash in ‘I’ve never done that befores,’ little dove. Or should I say, Lady Death? You’ll have to tell me about that sometime.”

Charlotte wondered if her legs would still feel naked with limbs visible, even though the pants were so large she would need a belt to keep them up.

“Pull the tabs on the sides to tighten them up. There’s a shirt there, too.” Kallina gave her a gentle push. “Get going. We don’t have much time. And maybe don’t mention the blaster when we tell the guards why he left, all right?”

“Blasher,” Charlotte said under her breath after the door was shut. “Blaster? Blazer?” She shrugged off the sleeping shift and folded it, delaying the moment when she would first put on the unfamiliar clothes.

She’d never thought to wear anything but skirts, even when they annoyed her. She gulped. If her mind was so closed to this, she wasn’t going to handle space very well, now was she? This life she had chosen would be filled with far more terrifying decisions than what she wore.

The tabs weren’t enough to make the pants fit well, but at least she didn’t need a belt. She did have to roll up the long legs, though. The shirt was a tight bodice style that provided support, but was far snugger than she had expected. She looked down. Perhaps she could wear the sleep shift over it. A full two inches of her skin showed a pale streak marred by her bellybutton.

A knock on the door came before she did more than reach for the oversized shift. “Charlotte? The guard would like to talk to you about what happened now.”

Her steps out on bare feet were tentative, her arms crossed across her stomach so the guard could not see. Gratitude washed over her that the pants were not as close-fitting as Kallina’s.

“Oh,” Charlotte said. “You’re a woman.” She didn’t drop her arms, wondering if the shaming would be worse from a woman.

“That I am,” the tiny blonde agreed. “Not the best posting in the galaxy for a woman, but then they also don’t bother giving me gate duty because no one from here would listen. So I’ve an easier job than most. If you count talking to prostitutes every day easier.”

“This is Corporal Bleuvins, Charlotte,” Kallina said. “Treat her just as you would a manor’s Butler or province constable. She’s earned her position just as they have.” She walked over to a cupboard.

“And harder for that,” the petite woman said. “None of those ogres knew how to handle an opponent so much smaller in fighting classes, but that just meant they tried to sit on me instead.”

“I didn’t know women could do this,” Charlotte said, her eyes wide at the idea of fighting alongside men  . She jumped as Kallina draped a jacket over her shoulders.

“It’s not an easy life, but if you’re interested, I can talk to you about it,” Corporal Bleuvins said.

“Would you really?” Charlotte said. “I think I’d like to know more. I like the idea of being able to take care of myself.”

“Sure,” the woman said briskly. “But first, let’s get on with what happened here. Attempted kidnapping is no joke.”

***

Joel stood at the bottom of the ramp and grinned at his sister. “Surprise. Got an escort over from your friend.”

The nicer of the bureaucrats from last night, Allen, waved from the firepit area. “Wanted to see how our Charlotte was doing. Heard there was a fuss. Local bloke tried to kidnap her?”

“And we’ve spent the past hour trying to convince her that’s in fact wrong to force people to go somewhere against their will,” Kallina said in an exasperated tone. She crossed the rest of the way down and gave her brother a quick hug. “This is Corporal Bleuvins, who’s probably given up hope.”

The short blonde shrugged and stuck her thumbs in her utility belt. “I might try again tomorrow. We’ll step up patrols in the area, make sure he doesn’t try again.”

Charlotte came down, but stayed on the ramp. “I understand it’s wrong by the laws I now adhere to, but he’s not sworn himself to the same code. It’s a death sentence for him if he doesn’t come back with me.”

“And one for you if he gets you,” Joel said. “I was worried about it getting that far.” He turned to his cart and hefted a pale wooden box to his shoulder.

Kallina came and picked one up as well. “We’ll go to the base bazaar and get lunch after this. Allen, will you join us?”

“Can’t, I’m afraid, duty calls and all that. But perhaps a few moments with Miss Charlotte?”

She blinked at the unfamiliar honorific, but came and sat next to him anyway. Her jacket was far too warm for this sort of sunny day, but she did not remove it. “What is that title you called me?”

“Ah, just means – heh. It means lady, but a young one. Guess you got your title back after all.”

She looked away and propped a slim foot on the metal fire ring. “No, I think not.”

“Are you doing all right?”

“I have much to learn,” Charlotte said. “About everything. How to dress, how to act, how to speak. I wish to do this as quickly as possible.”

“Well, you’re in good hands.” Allen leaned back in his chair. “Have you decided on a nickname to test out yet?”

“I was never permitted one,” she admitted. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Most people start with their base name. Some people call me Al, for instance, but I don’t really like it much. If you don’t like what people call you, don’t respond. They’ll figure it out.”

“Charlotte. So – char? Like charred ashes?” She leaned forward and poked the cold fire with a stick resting there for exactly that purpose.

“Only if you plan to take up arson. There’s also Lotte, or Lottie.”

“If I’d been a boy, I’d have been Charles,” she mused. “Is ‘Charlie’ too unusual?”

“I don’t believe there are rules when it comes to nicknames.” He tipped his uniform hat to her. “Pleased to meet you, Charlie.”

Footsteps and voices became evident in the background as the siblings bickered their way down the ramp.

“Ah, there you are,” Allen said. “I’m afraid I have to get on. Before I go, may I present to you Miss Charlie?”

Joel looked like he’d swallowed a frog. Kallina burst out laughing.

***

Take Me to Your Wilderness

Jim shifted his backpack and wondered if he should have picked the shaded, forest trail instead of the off-grid hike in the Tetons. The bag would be just as heavy, but it might not be glued to his skin and two layers of clothing with sweat.

“Quit whining,” he said to a nearby bird. The black-billed magpie cheeped loudly at him, an angry puff of fat black and white feathers protecting the waist-high pine it sat inside. He laughed, and tipped his boonie hat to the bird for its impudence.

The sun had seemed friendly this morning along the rim, and worth the scramble up the side of the mountain to get to the top. It wasn’t a real trail, and he was just fine with that. Five days into his two week vacation, and he hadn’t seen a person in three. Sheer, solitary bliss, it was.

Jim wished it hadn’t taken two days just to drive here, but oh, was it worth it. Why, right after he’d gotten here, he’d seen a great blue heron stalk and gulp down a fish, He’d wanted wilderness, and he’d gotten it, from the mantled crest feathers to the look in the bird’s eye as she exulted in her success.

He’d be okay with skipping the wolf packs and bears, though. That might be too much adventure for a city lawyer looking to regain his rural roots. He grunted at realizing how soft he’d gotten since he’d gone off to school.

Sun or not, that boulder up ahead looked perfect to sit on and eat lunch. It’d be worth the clamber, if it was doable.

It was, he discovered, just barely. He’d been an idiot and forgotten to take his backpack off, nearly overbalancing. Those were city habits for you, acting like someone was going to walk along and steal it. He’d scraped up his arm and hand pretty good with a desperate grab, but he’d succeeded.

He stood atop his rock and caught his breath. The view was unbelievable. Hills filled with green grass, cornflower blue and yellow wildflowers, and grey speckled stone contrasted against the deep greenish-black of pine and white rock. Jagged mountaintops stretched in multiple directions. A sparkling river wound its way below, near the forest line on the other side, vegetation deepening the shades of green nearest the water. He grinned, still enthralled with the view.

Jim was content. Until he looked down.

A bright yellow measuring tape marred his view. On his rock. Meaning that somebody else had been here before.

A Stanley, at least, so whatever idiot was fool enough to bring a measuring tape into the wilderness had good taste. Until he was dumb enough to litter. Heavy backpack or no, there was no reason for that.

Jim grimaced, and sat down with his legs dangling over the side of the boulder. Carefully, this time. Getting hurt out here would take a helicopter to get out, and that assumed he could get ahold of anyone.

He dug in his bag for his lunch of pre-wrapped salami and hard yellow cheese that he’d been able to keep mostly cold thanks to river water. He had dehydrated food for a hot meal this evening, and had succeeded in campfire biscuits this morning. One of the leftovers didn’t sound bad.

He nudged the Stanley measuring tape with his sausage and frowned. He’d take it with him when he left. It was the right thing to do.

Jim had unwrapped the sausage and taken a bite when he heard the crackle of a radio.

“No,” he mumbled around a mouthful of food. “No. Seriously, please, no. I hate the city, I need this break. No people.”

“That’s all right, mate,” a crackling voice said from closer than he’d expected. Jim turned his head. The Stanley was talking.

“We thought leaving the radios in beautiful places was intuitive to initiate contact. We’d just about given up on this planet. Thought maybe there wasn’t life on it after all.”

He was pretty sure he felt his eyes bulging out. There’s no way there was a hidden camera, all the way out here. But what else could this be, but a prank?

“Anyway, we’re not really people, just like you requested. We’ll be down in a jiffy now that we know there’s life. Just stay right where you are, okay?”

Jim groaned, and wished devoutly for one of those grizzlies he hadn’t wanted earlier.

On Odd Prompts this week, Cedar Sanderson challenged me to explain the yellow Stanley measuring tape atop a boulder three days into the wilderness. My prompt to Kat Ross was to explain the Easter Island moai statues.

Night Sharks

John grunted as he set down his pack. Hours of marching had taken its toll, but the wagons had room only for the most basic and necessary supplies, not soldiers.

He tried not to think of how they would soon also carry the wounded back to the border lines.

Looking around, he studied the area. Yes, the scouts were correct. This would do for a site to build a rough fort, if they could last long enough to create defenses from those too-heavy supplies.

 Strategically located by fresh water, the area would extend to include the calm bay they’d wearily marched past. Barges could be used to resupply and send messages, but only once the company’s protection extended to ensure materiel didn’t reach the enemy instead.

His second in command, Lionel, bobbed a cursory salute as he approached. “Good location,” he said. “Hidden just out of their normal scouting range, but within marching distance once the men get rested up.” Lionel shook his head. “Criminal, really, how shortsighted they are. I’d tear those scouts a new one.”

“Good thing they’re on the other side, then,” John replied.

“Can’t say I mind, but I wonder what we’re missing. This location is too perfect. Why not even an outpost here?”

Leaning down, Lionel pulled up a flowering plant common across the clearing. “Wild garlic and leeks to make tonight’s rations tasty. Plenty of them around, with no disturbances.” He dusted off the bulb. “What lives nearby that scares everyone off collecting valuable seasonings?”

John nodded. “We’ll keep a stiff watch tonight.”

“Aye, Captain Ribeye.”

John considered the landscape a moment more. “Lieutenant Flank.”

“Sir?”

“The commercial sailors’ maps used to say ‘here be monsters’ as warnings.”

Lionel shrugged. “I’ve never heard of a ground equivalent, but I’ll see if we have any civilian maps on hand.”

“I’ll get the abatis work groups started.” The leader frowned at the serene woodland view that was causing him such anxiety. “Camp layout’s standard, no need to get in the way there.”

An uneasy pause lingered before John broke the silence. “Check the maps and get the usual trenches going, then. I’ll join one of the abatis ribwork teams,” he said. “Do the Shanks good to see leaders taking part in keeping them safe, what?” His voice was relentlessly chipper, tension around his eyes betraying his thoughts.

Lionel glanced sideways at his leader. “Game faces on, Sir. The men feel the same unease. Let’s not make it worse with validation.” Their faces mirrored unease before settling into bland masks.

*****

Hours later, John headed for the river with the other officers, eager to wash away sweat from days of marching and building temporary defenses.

The Brisket Corps of Engineers had a well-deserved reputation for exactness in stake placement, but it was worth the work. He was confident the sharpened ribs surrounding the campsite would hold, the abatis bound with tendons and catgut. It was worth the cost in speed to bring the supply wagons with them, and he didn’t have to blunt his sword’s edge trying to cut bone.

John thought about his orders as he splashed in the water. Tomorrow the company would shore up the few weak points and begin permanent construction. When the men were rested, they would begin sending out scouts to study Fort Bacon’s defenses.

The locale had a fearsome reputation, but no one seemed to know why. Few returned from forays this far into the wilderness. Fewer still were willing to talk about their experiences.

Captain John Ribeye wished with forlorn hope that he knew what this peaceful glen’s secrets were.

The next morning, he woke to the smell of sizzling wild garlic and onions along with an improved field breakfast. As he emerged from his tent, Lt Flank handed him a biscuit. “Sergeant Round’s delighted to have the time and space to make what he calls real food, Sir. We reap the bennies. Eggs’ll be right up.”

“And we found the coffee from where it got stuck beneath all the ribs in the wagon,” said a blissful voice to his left. The officer’s face was hidden behind a steaming clay mug.

“Morning, Lieutenant Kabob. Any issues in the night?” John yawned, reaching for his own mug as the officer extended it.

“Negative, Capt’n. Nothing reported. I took the deep night shift.” Kabob lowered his voice. “But everyone’s still uneasy. Best anyone can come up with is it’s too quiet.”

John sat, frowning. “Let’s keep them busy.”

Lt Flank brought over a map, much creased and torn at the edges. John gently touched the yellowed paper. “Surprised I didn’t see this in all the other papers,” he said.

“Wasn’t from there, Sir. One of the Shanks had it. Said he an uncle had come this way, years back. Wouldn’t tell him much about it, but got real sad and then drunk when he heard the orders had come to march south. Stuffed this in his hand on the way out the door, bottle still in hand.”

Curiosity piqued, John leaned forward to study the aged paper. “I can’t tell if that’s an ink spill or a bloodstain.”

“Private Chuck said his uncle came back missing a few chunks, so I’d go with bloodstain. Hold it up to the light and it’s easier to see.” Lionel shrugged. “Best we have, I’m afraid.”

“Not an issue,” John said. He leaned back in his chair, squinting in the scattered morning light. “Here lie…night something? Night sharks? Or maybe it’s noise shades. That doesn’t make sense.”

Lt Kabob brought over a plate of the promised eggs and another biscuit. “Better than we’ve been able to tell. We’ll try later when we’re away from the trees more and into stronger light.” He traded the plate for the map. “Looks like some circles, too, or maybe the letter O repeated.”

“Unless it’s a representation,” Lionel added. He pushed his hat back. “Could be a drawing of something. We just don’t know what.”

“Hmm,” John replied, mouth full of biscuit. He swallowed. “Well, that fort won’t attack itself. Let’s get started on improving the defenses and getting things ready for your Sirloin Platoon. The scouts will be itching to go soon enough.”

*****

Days later, Fort Round was slowly turning from a field fortification to a more permanent abode. Assuming the attack went well, John thought grimly. They wouldn’t be here much longer if it didn’t. The scouting missions had already failed several days in a row as injuries in Lt Flank’s Sirloin Platoon racked up.

Private Tip raced up, heading from what they’d decided to call Porterhouse Bay. “Sir! Mail delivery just came in. Orders from High Command.”

The Shank slapped the envelope into suddenly sweaty hands. John gazed at the familiar wax seal. The cow and crossed swords shone against battered paper. He took a deep breath, broke the blue wax, and ripped open the envelope.

Captain Ribeye,

Congratulations on establishing Fort Round. We shall need that fortification if we are to win this war, though we still believe the enemy does not suspect our attack.”

“That’s a relief,” he muttered. John pretended not to notice Lt Flank casually inching closer as he read on.

However, we are highly disappointed to hear of your officer’s lackadaisical efforts to scout the surrounding area. Sirloin Platoon begins to disgrace itself with its inability to conduct reconnaissance, and we shall have none of their nonsense.

John froze his expression, hardly daring to breathe. He’d been clear in his message that the scouts had been injured in the process of attempting the scouting runs. Each had been injured while trying to press through toward Fort Bacon, eleven furlongs to the south.

He’d called them back to because field scouts also served as message runners. The men had taken to greeting the forest, assuming something was watching them as the source of their unease. He wanted to have runners in reserve.

Your overabundance of caution is noted. High Command orders you to press the attack within the week, with or without your scouting runs, or be removed as Captain of Roast Company.

The trees spun around him as he reread the threat.

“Captain?” Lionel sped up his approach.

“I deeply regret to inform you that I must resign my commission,” John said, so softly only the lieutenant could hear him. He straightened, clearing his throat, and looked at the Shanks watching. “Shall we adjourn to the command tent?”

Lt Flank placed a hand briefly on his Captain’s shoulder before heading to gather the other officers.

“Keep your voices low,” Chief Marrow said. “Everyone knows something is going on just from the orders arriving. I’ll take care of Private Tip’s mouth later with some appropriate tenderizing discipline. Now, what’s going on?”

Captain Ribeye didn’t respond for a few moments. “I still don’t understand what’s wrong with this place, but the longer we are here, the less likely we are to make it back home.”

“Then what’s this nonsense about resigning?” demanded Lt Flank.

John sat with a heavy thump. “I’ve been ordered to take Fort Bacon within the week. Without scouting runs to see if we need more supplies, men, weapons, or even what the place looks like. Closest we’ve gotten is finding the rapids prevent a river approach.”

Marrow scratched his head. “Some of the men aren’t sure it exists. Think we’re out here on a boondoggle.”

Snorting, John shook his head. “Excellent. We’re asking men to die for a myth. And they will die, without that reconnaissance. We don’t know what we’re up against. We certainly don’t understand the enemy or why they cut off supply lines and trade.”

Lt Kabob picked up the letter from where it lay on the command table and skimmed it in silence, before thumping it back onto the table. His eyes sparked with anger. “Did you even finish reading this? Someone who knew you wrote this letter. You can’t resign, or you doom us all.”

John furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?”

Joe Kabob thrust the paper toward him. “Did you not finish reading it?”

He skipped down to the middle of the page and gasped.

Understand that Captain Welldone eagerly awaits your commission in the event of your failure or resignation.

We await the joyous news of your success, and look forward to open supply lines once you have taken the enemy’s fortification.

He read the letter aloud slowly. Silence filled the tent.

“You’re right. I stopped reading after the impossible orders. There’s no need for this timeline, or to go charging headlong into danger.”

John shook his head again. “It’s a sneak attack and we’ve stayed hidden. The whole country has sufficient stores in warehouses to last several months before the supply route needs to be reopened, and we could use that time to negotiate a diplomatic solution or develop a new path.”

“You know Captain Welldone from the Sous Vide Academy, don’t you?” Lt Flank asked.

He considered his words carefully before deciding honesty was better than caution in this instance. “His reputation, like his family name, is well-earned. I will not subject you to his whims.”

“Yes,” John said, heart aching as he looked at his men. “Someone certainly knew me.”

Lieutenant Kabob began digging through the papers stacked on the captain’s field desk. “Then we do what we can not to die before we take that fort.” He pulled out the bloodstained borrowed map and a military version. “What do we know from how far the scouts got?”

“We can add in some good supply cache locations. There’s a cave and a hidden area under the biggest blackberry bush you’ve ever seen that would work as medical and resupply waystations,” Lt Flank said.

“We just haven’t gotten to the edge of the forest. Sirloin Platoon said it’s like the land itself fights them from getting through.” Lionel frowned at John’s words.

Chief Marrow leaned over the map. “There. That’s the only path the scouts haven’t tried.”

The men stared at the maps, yellowed and torn against fresh and crisp.

“Anyone else feel herded?” Lieutenant Flank asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” John said. “We either let Roast Company go to a sociopath, or we get going.” He stood up, picking up the letter. “Start gearing up. Prep the wagons for injured transport. The boat stays for emergency evacuation.”

“I’ll be in my tent composing a response to my father. There’s only one man who knows me this well.” As he walked toward the tent entrance, he added, “And figure out what that map says!”

*****

Captain John Ribeye eyed the white, wavy ground and hoped it was the last of a lingering fog. They’d spent two days slogging their way to Fort Bacon, capturing Outposts Chop and Ham along the way.

Lieutenant Kabob’s platoon had done well, but they’d gotten little intel from the captured Porkers manning the outposts. They’d been skinnier than he’d anticipated, uniforms baggy and ill-fitting, and poorly supplied by the state of the garrisons.

“Giggled, Sir,” Joe had reported after fights barely worthy of the name. He’d shaken his head. “Can’t say I understand it. And they said we wouldn’t until we saw it.”

John bit his lip, thinking about the past few days while he studied the rest of the scene.

“Send a runner up the river path to Filet Mignon,” he said in a low voice. Whispers carried far in weather like this. “High Command will want to know about this terrain as soon as possible.”

Lionel gave a sharp glance to the mapmaker crouched among the pines, sketching in quick, steady lines. The Shank nodded in return. Rolling the parchment and tucking it into a hardened leather case, he rose and faded back into thicker cover.

“Sir,” Lt Flank murmured. “Is your father that dead set on winning this senseless war, or is he trying to get you killed?”

John sighed. “Tell me what you see and if it makes any sense. That’s not snow. Not even close.”

“That field looks like mashed potatoes and you know it.” Lionel frowned. “No idea what that lumpy white stuff all over the hill is, but it’s terrible terrain for an attacking force.”

“Which we are.” He could hear the defeat in his voice.

Lt Flank tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Fort Bacon appears to have an actual moat. By the smell, it’s filled with gravy. Which is ridiculous, of course. That’s got to be a lot of stew they have on. Which means a lot of soldiers.”

“What did that map say?” He tapped his hand along his leg, trying to remember.

“Something about night sharks, Capt’n. Didn’t make sense.”

“Huh.” Something teased in the back of his mind, slipping away every time it got close. He squinted, hoping it would help.

Lionel frowned. “The fort’s flags look like actual hot peppers to you? All round but triangular and curling?”

Here be night shades.”John paled and took a step back. “This is a trap.”

“Sir?”

“We’re not fighting the Porkers at all. Remember that guerrilla warfare band we studied at the Sous Vide Academy?”

“What about them?” Lionel’s eyes darted from side to side. He looked both confused and paranoid.

“The Nightshades already own that fort. And we are not the attackers.”

John strode back, Lionel following him.

“Lieutenant Flank. Lieutenant Kabob. Chief Marrow. Gather your men.” His voice rang out in the quiet, firm and decisive at last.

Captain Ribeye could feel his breath quickening. He knew what to do, no matter that his father would call it the coward’s option. He’d take saving his men over an artificial, Pyrrhic victory any day.

“We retreat immediately to Fort Round and the Porterhouse Bay area immediately. Be prepared for Nightshade attack. Go!”

A fork whizzed by his ear and embedded itself in the soft tree trunk.

He could hear the thunk of similar attacks nearby. Screams erupted from camouflaged soldiers hidden under cover of pines, bushes, and lingering fog.

“Fall back! Fall back!” John bellowed.

He looked around desperately. Flaming charcoal briquettes landed nearby, wafting smoke and the smell of searing meat into the air. Captain John Ribeye sucked in a breath and coughed, unable to see his troops ahead of him.

Behind him, the ground heaved, white ripples and peaks surging closer.

“Fall back! The potatoes are attacking!”

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