Thanks to u/BlueFishcakes for the SSB universe.
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Chapter 8 - The Silvern Glow
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- 17th of April 2024,08:45, Haninge District, Sweden -
Adam once again found himself sitting behind a tree just like moments prior, but he dared not peek his head past the tree this time. He was at a bit of a loss to what he should do next, he’d been lucky enough that they thus far hadn’t heard him dashing from tree to tree, as silently as he could mind you.
But from the sounds of things they were still just chatting about around his car, or their own, he couldn’t really tell. Anyway it was clear that they parked near his car and by that, uncomfortably close to Adam holding a highly illegal weapon. And while he had somehow forgotten earlier to take out the magazine, which was a huge security risk on his part and he felt very dumb once he had realized it. That was the only thing he had going for him currently. And since he still had some shots in the gun, if they were to see him and reasonably so try to shoot him. Adam at least had four shoots to defend himself with.
But still he didn’t want a confrontation with three or more 7 plus foot orc amazons in close quarters. So really the only choice Adam had was to try and get far enough into the little forest until he had cleared it and reached the other side which was a small beach, a very rocky beach but still a beach.
From there, he’d be more free to follow the coast until he felt he was far enough away and could enter the forest once again, considerably further away from the marines. With that said he could also just wait a little, they’d only been standing there just talking for a minute or so, in their indecipherable literally alien language, all the while Adam was sweating bullets hoping they wouldn’t see him. Not that it felt like mere minutes to Adam, to him it felt like hours.
One thing suddenly crossed Adams mind, why? Not only why come here right this moment, but more importantly. Why park so close to his car? Starting to think more his brain started setting off alarm bells. There were really only two reasons behind the why he asked himself, one being that they’re hoping the owner of the vehicle is a male they can harass, or they parked so close so they could do a quick search of it, not that they could do a very thorough search so long Adam held the keys but that was irrelevant.
As seconds went by and seconds became minutes, Adam started to believe it was the considerably worse option at play, that they weren’t just that close to his car to peer through it in case of anything illegal being inside. No, most likely they were waiting at his car, until he’d come back and they could harass him.
Realizing that he was still holding a very illegal rifle Adam decided to try and continue with his plan of putting away his rifle somewhere in the woods before they got bored and began looking for him instead of just loitering around his car. Slowly coming up into a crouching position from where he was sitting behind a tree. Adam began slowly walking away from the marines standing around his car and towards the coast. Finishing his slow walk with a thumping heart he finally came to the rocky beach.
Going down a slight hill from the woods his feet finally hit the sand, and he felt that he could finally calm down a little. Not that he had really ventured far from the marines. This patch of forest in particular was fairly thin and was more so a small detour people in the summer would occasionally take to reach some of the less well known beaches on Gålö. However that was fairly irrelevant now as the marines likely had no reason to venture into the forest, since they clearly didn’t even know where he was.
Sure they obviously knew of somebody's presence but beyond that Adam doubted they knew anything more. Continuing on from this beach in particular Adam continued walking along the coast for a couple minutes, luckily a couple calm minutes. He couldn’t even hear the marines' annoyingly loud chatter from earlier, meaning he had to be close to the end of the little coastline.
Deciding that he was now, most likely far enough away for anyone to find it, assuming Adam takes it back home before summer time when thousands normally come to these beaches. He walked up the small hill leading from the beach and up into the small forest once again.
Walking around a little bit, still trying to remain fairly quiet and stealthy, something Special forces training had luckily taught him. Adam found just what he needed, He found a hole large enough beneath a tree to stick his rifle in. Which would no doubt get his rifle dirty, but seeing as he couldn’t really disassemble his rifle and bring it back to the car as of now because of a couple marines he was left with one choice. And that was to leave it hidden, hope no one spots it, which to be fair most likely what would happen but still. Adam disliked having to go with a shit plan, now for a third time. However in his current position a bad plan was better than no plan.
So Adam began putting his pretty shit plan into action. Taking the magazine out Adam put the magazine in question on the ground and quickly, barrel first began stuffing the rifle into the hole beneath the tree. Once he was done with that he squeezed the magazine in there and then followed by that he draped the blanket he still somehow had on his shoulder even after dashing in between trees like a madman.
Standing back up from his kneeling position while he was hiding his rifle, Adam inspected his work. And while it wasn’t perfect you really wouldn’t think about it unless you were actively staring at it. One thing that did make him worry a little though was that the hole was under a tree.
A tree that could fall, however, thinking about it for more than a couple seconds Adam realized that said tree had probably been standing like that for a while and he wasn’t planning on letting it sit there for more than a day or two anyway. Meaning he was once again needlessly paranoid about nothing serious.
Deciding this was good enough Adam now began to think of what his next move should be. He couldn’t really wander back to his car, because frankly they were likely standing there, if not around his own car then around theirs which was no doubt parked very close by.
Leaving him pretty much stuck between the small forest and the beach. And standing by his now hidden rifle wouldn’t be particularly smart, he quickly realized. But since the weather was actually pretty nice even this early in the morning, with the sun shining down with what Adam would guess was about 10+ celsius, which considering the time of year and how early it was, this was actually pretty warm.
So with nothing better to do while waiting for the marines who would no doubt harass him, due to breaking the law or for literally no reason at all. Adam headed back towards the beach. However he didn’t want to be too close to his own crime scene so he headed back to the beach he first came to. Which while a little close to the planet's new found oppressors lingering around his vehicle, was still likely safe from them coming any closer to it.
So without his rifle, Adam now marched down the small hill leading into the forest and began the slow walk along the coast for the second time within only a couple minutes. Staring out at the ocean while walking Adam found a new sense of hope seemingly out of nowhere. Whether it was because the area and particularly the nature was stunning or that this was one of the first times in literal years he had gone out into nature, well this wasn’t really “out in nature” but more so a glorified patch of woods but still. Gålö was rather untouched by, well anything besides a couple villas and some farm animals dotted around the half-island.
In anycase staring out into the ocean and at the other islands in the distance. Adam made a realization, that this is what he was fighting for. And that he hadn’t just begun fighting to fill some empty place in his life and heart. That he was fighting, even if currently it was just him shooting at shil’ nobles. To protect his little home, and by extension the entire planet, from being ruined by the imperium.
The more he began thinking about why, he realized something which was both infuriating and a bit saddening. That if humanity as a collective were to fail in throwing the shil’s out of earth's orbit, in whatever way possible. What he was currently staring at, what he had grown up with. Everything he had near and dear to his heart.
Would be defiled,destroyed or made into a mockery of what it once was. Even just by the shil’s presence somewhere, wherever they plant those ugly buildings down, like they had done in central Salem and Haninge.
It’s like they’re spitting and mocking whatever structure stood there prior to their arrival. And why would they stop at structures? Likely, within a couple generations a considerable part of human history,society and culture would, as mentioned, be defiled, destroyed or twisted into something completely different.
Adam realized they’d likely even make up some story of how humans were stuck in the dark ages or something and that we we’re on the cusp of dying out to smallpox or dysentery before the oh-so heroic imperium came down and saved the entire planet.
Adam began slowing down as he looked forward again and saw his destination. Stopping his thoughts for but a moment as he came to the beach he began walking towards one of the large rocks strewn about on the small beach.
As he sat down on the flattest rock around, he continued staring out into the beautiful ocean before him and the pretty large islands in front of him he could never name despite coming here several times. And he realized another thing, that he really needed to get out more. He had spent just about the entire last year either sitting in his mancave, going to work or alternatively, sitting in his man cave drinking cheap alcohol on occasion.
This also reminded him of his dream, that he still had mind you. Of moving out into the middle of nowhere, somewhere incredibly rural. However with the invasion he didn’t even bother thinking about it for a while, sure he had savings from his time in the military and special forces, enough to actually buy a small house somewhere, especially in one of the cheaper regions like Värmland.
But he didn’t even know if Hemnet was still up because he hadn’t bothered checking, and even if the website was still usable. The imperium would probably somehow be involved in him buying a house. So as much as Adam felt like he needed to get away from civilization, especially away from the imperium he really couldn’t do it for now. However his only older brother, François, had done just that after their arrival. he mainly got away with it because the seller wanted it sold immediately and practically gave it to him for free.
However, Adam knew he still needed a job and with his only professions being in the military and construction/carpentry his options were extremely limited. Since the military was now entirely non-existent and the carpentry industry had almost died off completely. Only a few carpentry businesses survived, in particular ones that quickly specialized in making shil-sized human furniture so nobles could buy some considerably over-priced exotic earth goods.
Luckily for Adam he knew a guy, his friend and for the last year coworker, Dragan, who had begun working at that company only a couple months prior to the invasion. And when Adam had completely gone out of a job and had been forced to crash at his parents place, he had helped Adam get a job at the aforementioned company that nowadays only makes, as mentioned, shil-sized human furniture. That's also why Adam even moved to Jordbro in the first place. Since the company in question was located in the Jordbro industrial zone just behind what used to be the coca-cola factory.
Letting his brain go into yet another rabbit hole as he was sitting on the rock that was getting more and more uncomfortable the longer he sat on it. Adams' brain stopped in its tracks as he heard something he absolutely was not prepared for. Footsteps, heavy footsteps, he heard several of them emanating from the forest that was behind him, which could realistically, only mean one thing.
The marines got bored and assumed their target for sexual harassment was on the otherside of the small patch of forest, which in this case, he unfortunately was. As the footsteps got louder and louder Adams' heart began beating aggressively again. Slowly turning around Adam at first saw nothing.
But then, to his horror, he saw what, or rather who was making the noise. And then he saw them at the beginning of the forest clearing, three marines all staring at him through helmets he didn’t really recognize as normal marine helmets.
Temporarily focused on the fact that he didn’t recognize the helmets, nor the insignia on their breasts. Snapping out of trying to identify their insignias, Adam tried to focus instead on what the fuck to do next, and how to lower his steadily increasing heart rate.
He at once realized the predicament he was in….
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- 17th of April 2024,15:43, Berlin District, Germany -
After the pretty short drive from her new workplace into the city of “Beerlyn” Vistiin was had now parked her also, recently acquired vehicle in front of her supervisor, Theun’s apartment near the center of the city. And Vistiin had never seen a building so tall! It was clearly made of traditional shil’vati thermocast but the building was seven stories tall. That they’d even allowed the apartment complex to be constructed was a mystery. Likely some architect saw how tall human buildings got and wanted to see if she could emulate it, however why the authorities allowed the building to be so tall was beyond her.
Continuing on from inspecting the building and what maniac built it, Vistiin opened the door of her car and stepped out into surprisingly chilly weather. Even though she obviously experienced the same coldness when she was getting into her car in the first place. How humans walked around in just shirts with no secondary layer like a jacket, without being affected was still baffling to her even after the hours of research she did today into humans.
And now she even had to wait in this sad weather! Likely caused by the clouds darkening from her observation. And said clouds were currently hiding Vistiin from the terran sun she immediately missed more than she knew she even could.
However, since she’d called Theun in advance and asked if they could talk in private to discuss some things that were rather pertinent to her current mission, that hopefully meant Theun wouldn't keep her out here in the cold.
As Vistiin stood and cursed the terran weather under her breath, she could see Theun arrived personally, which was a shock since nobles rarely if ever did something like open a door to even other nobles, much less a commoner like Vistiin herself. Walking towards the door eager to get out of the cold Vistiin was greeted by her sponsor. Who was as she remembered from when she first met her, kind of short, very classy and fairly lacking in morals. Not that Vistiin was a model shil either, especially concerning her frequent lack of morals, but still Vistiin liked to think she was a slightly better person than Theun.
As Vistiin and Theun made it to the door leading into the modern apartment complex at the same time, Theun opened the door. “Nice to meet you again Vistiin!” Theun said politely while extending her fist. Vistiin reciprocated the gesture and responded. “Yes hello Mrs Syras, I don't mean to forgo my manners especially in front of a noble such as yourself, but can we move inside? it's awfully cold out here.”
“Don’t worry about that around me Vistiin, also you can call by my first name, we’ll be seeing each other a lot until you’re done after all” Theun responded while backing away from the door to let Vistiin in. “Ah ok good to know, just a bit surprising is all” “Most nobles I've worked with prior, especially ones from big houses as yourself tend to be… not so friendly” Vistiin said back as she entered the apartment building. Even just the lobby of this place screamed old money and nobility. The building even had its own concierge, with a cute little human guy standing behind the desk.
Quickly peeling her eyes off the blonde man before he noticed, Vistiin and Theun began walking to the elevators on the other side of the lobby. She had just yesterday learnt what an “elevator” was, so Vistiin was at least partially prepared for the tight metal box humans use to get up and down floors. And the elevators in hers and presumably Theuns apartment building were considerably larger as well to account for the shil tendency to hate small spaces, so how humans could stand going in these on a daily basis was beyond her.
As they got to the door and Theun clicked on a button quickly opening the duo stepped inside and Theun spoke. “I get it, we nobles aren’t the most welcoming, but beyond that was it that you wanted to talk about?” “Already done or something? This early into your work?, I know your efficient but still”
“No no nothing like that, it's just a couple things I want to go over and what not” “Shouldn’t take to much of your time” With Vistiin’s response out Theun simply grunted in acknowledgement and the rest of the way up to Theuns apartment was in a slightly uncomfortable silence.
As the elevator came to a stop and the door opened once again, freeing Vistiin from that tight metal cube. Vistiin was surprised to only see a small hallway with only a single door at the end.
“Do you own the entire floor or something?” Vistiin said as she looked over at Theun who was taking a card out of her jacket, presumably to open her apartment.
“Of course I do!” “This apartment is small enough, if I were to live in one of the normal suites my friends and relatives would never let me live that down” she said as she opened the door.
Theun quickly walked in after she opened the door and Vistiin quickly followed. “And I'm fairly certain this is just about luxurious and expensive enough to have them not make a comment about it.”
“Well you sure a noble when those are your primary concerns…” Vistiin said with a chuckle. As both of them discarded their outside clothes and wandered into the very spacious living room Vistiin realized two things, first how incredibly far up they were and secondly how big this place was for an apartment. “This place is massive Theun, this must have cost a fortune!” Vistiin said as she was looking about the place.
“Well it's probably the cheapest bit of real estate i've ever bought, but that doesn’t say much” “Earth isn’t really expensive.. Yet anyway, from the people i've talked to they predict the prices can increase by as much as 50,000% in a year when they finally open earth up just based on interest from the rest of the imperium.”
“Hm… makes sense I guess, although I presume that doesn’t account for when humans will be compatible with us, you can probably triple that then” Vistiin said as she sat down on the large couch that could easily fit fifteen shil’s. Which in her mind was a little excessive but nobles only buy the best and biggest of anything she mused.
“I know you said it shouldn’t take long but, want a drink?” Theun said, interrupting Vistiins thought process. “Wasn’t planning on drinking but sure” To Vistiins response Theun went to the kitchen and didn’t spend long there quickly coming back with two very fancy looking drinks Vistiin couldn’t identify, not that Vistiin really cared so long it wouldn’t make her puke.
“So you don’t have any employees?” “Sorry for prying on your life but i'm just used to guards and what not flanking the noble im working with” Vistiin said as she accepted the drink Theun had just brought.
“No I do have lots of employees obviously, the Syras house probably has thousands in total, however this apartment doesn’t really have the space so it's hard to have them running around all the time here and so for now I have them on call until I buy an actual house in the area.”
“Ah ok… but beyond that let's get to the reason i'm here shall we?” Vistiin said while taking a sip of her drink, which clearly had red grain in it. “Of course Vistiin, now what is already of such importance?”
“Well, there's a couple things, but one thing at a time.” “From my research it will be nigh impossible to get a male who would be willing to participate within the next couple of years.”
Vistiin started while looking at the drink in her hand.
“But I have a solution, one that would require you pulling some strings” She continued while looking at Theun instead of her drink.
“I mean, I'm here to make sure you succeed and that the empresses money hasn’t been wasted, so I'll listen” Theun responded before she also began sipping on her drink. “Great because the only way I think we could reliably get a male would be if we convinced captured insurgents, however before you say anything obviously they won’t agree to it” “Immediately anyway…” Vistiin continued.
“Hmm, you’re sure that's the only way? Not that I'm particularly opposed, it just sounds like it could get complicated, insurgents probably don't make great fathers either at that.” Theun asked. “Great question, how we fix our problem here is that we give them an offer of either, becoming participants in our project where we will then pair them with a shil woman, how we source women for this project is another question albeit one that should be easier to solve.” With a pause to sip on her drink, Vistiin continued “Anyway or they get the choice of just facing their fate serving prison time on some mining world over side of the known universe”
“And while humans, especially insurgents may hate the imperium for now” “If one of them gets the choice of lifelong manual labour on a planet full of roaches or, they just have to be part of this little project, I believe they’ll wisen up real fast, and the ones that don’t would probably make horrible fathers anyway” “Natural selection if you will” Vistiin finished off as she began drinking her liquor again while letting Theun take Vistiins little plan for getting males into the project.
After a couple seconds of thinking Theun responded. “While it may be a bit of a hassle to pull said strings without anyone else really knowing what's going on, sounds doable.” “Could work to rehabilitate some insurgents as well actually”
“So now that we’ve got that out of the way, the other concern I have is that due to my contract for this job being limited in time to two years.” “That I have to, for us to see results before that date, get positive results of a pregnancy between a human shil coupling before like five earth months?
“Mind you it's not impossible we see a pregnancy very early on but the time it takes for results to show is still a slight paranoia of mine” Vistiin continued now instead looking at her almost empty glass of some alcohol mix she couldn’t really identify.
“Look, don’t worry Vistiin, your contract is pretty flexible” Theun said, staring out at the city through one of the tall windows. “This entire project is extremely special and you’re one of few candidates with the perfect mixture of low morals, and the right skillset so if you’re almost complete by the two year point we can negotiate the contract”
“Well that's a relief then, I knew you were a reasonable woman” Vistiin responded to Theun, now with a big concern of her shoulders.
“Well Theun, I know you’re a busy woman and it was kind enough of you to make space to talk with me pretty out of the blue so I won’t take any of your time, I've already been here for like thirty minutes so.”
“Don’t worry, I'm pretty invested in that this goes right so anything I can help you with to make it happen I'll do.” Theun said as the both of them were starting to stand up. “Also Vistiin, if you need to talk about anything relating to the project, you call or text me and we talk in person here where what we say can’t be recorded” “I really don’t want to risk anything leaking out okay?”
“Understood that from the beginning Ma’am hence why I even asked to talk.” Vistiin responded with a slight chuckle as she started to move towards the entrance to Theuns apartment. “Well it's good to know you’re as intelligent as I was led to believe” Theun said as Vistiin started to put on her outdoor clothing.
“Well it was a good talk, but i'm starving so I better go, see you later Theun” Vistiin said as she waved goodbye to Theun who responded “And i'm rather busy today, still I’ll see you later” Theun said back just before the automatic door closed.
Now with a plan to get males for the project and a weight lifted off her tired shoulders, Vistiin could relax more a little. However, now she was actually really hungry after doing nothing but research for the past nine hours so Vistiin began walking back to her car so she could have the rest of the day off….
[Next]

Have a job opportunity in NYC that would 3x my current salary. It would require 2-3 days in the office with potentially a week with four (although more rare). I'm currently outside the west Chester area and my plan was to drive to Trenton Transit Center (55 min) and then hop on the Amtrak (53 min). Office is close to Moynihan. Am I crazy for considering this? I would treat my time on the train as work time to get my day started. The company seems flexible on which days they are and I think flexibility will get better as I'm there for longer. Happy to hear any thoughts. Thank you!

Do note this article is purely a critique on mindfulness and not on meditation as a whole. I'll write something about the other kind of meditation at the end.
What I've noticed, the positives:

1. Much less narcissistic : I know this could be an inner attitudinal battle that you have to watch over when you practice mindfulness, to avoid being more narcissistic, even still I have seen even mindfulness gurus being a self-centered narcs . This is not something to laugh at, more narcissism = less friends and less thinking of yourself as a regular person who may or may not be capable of intense fame.
2. Much less feminine (I'm a man) : Mainly I sound more feminine when I do mindfulness.
3. What is nirvana : AFIK No one in the entire cosmos has achieved nirvana or liberation from suffering, yet you keep hearing about it from teachers yet they themselves haven't achieved it, one day hoping you achieve it but you don't. Suffering even happens in some parts because you practice mindfulness.

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Now the negatives :

1. You feel less self control : Whatever self control I do have now, might be because of the mindfulness practice. Also for those who also like to quit mindfulness and still not being controlled by your addictions, I have heard a neuroscientist talk about quitting addictions by repeatedly trying to quit them, eventually you succeed in quitting
2. Feel less cleansed : Had this incredible cleansed feeling after mindfulness, like your body has reset itself. I think this can be replicated by doing something like Sudarshan Kriya or Eiriu Eolas or the Wim Hof Method. Please don't quote me on this, because I still can't find a lot of credible peope / institutions saying these are totally alright and healthy to do. Anyway, I still did do Wim Hof for 5-6 years, I might be stupider because of it.
3. Calm and confidence

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What you can do instead, two things:

1. I've realized my neurosis is caused by a combination of the habits I do, so I've realized if I can learn something from monks, it is their ascetic nature, they don't just do meditation they also abtain from habits they used to indulge in. It is the least bit of spiritual practice I truly should incoporate into my life. I feel like Captain America embarking into a great adventure in my life because I feel like this truly is the solution to life.
2. Non Directive meditation : I don't even know what this type of meditation is sometimes, and don't know if other people know it or are hallucinating into positive results, either way there is science on brain waves when you practice non directive meditation, so it might be infact real. And this is without the negative aspects of mindfulness meditation that I've mentioned.

Hello, I work for a testing facility as a team lead where I have to manage people/assign work to people, do report and assist/ answer question whenever they ask(this will be important). Currently I am the only deaf/HoH in the department I work at and most of the people there knows about it(i say most as I am not sure if the people involve knows it or choose to ignore it). A running joke with my boss is that they will always try to get my attention, sometimes from the other side of a room, and fails to do so as it hard to hear them but than question "how can you hear them when you can't hear me" when someone else who is louder is able to get my attention. Another thing my boss tend to do and I'm not sure if it "as a friend" or if they are trying to get a reaction out of me but they mention complaints some of my peers bring to their attention weither they are true or not, with some of these peers been around for 2 or 3 years. The complaint that i mainly want to mention and is the reason for writing this is "team lead is not responding when needed as if they are trying to avoid us". I been told this complaints quite a bit which i will admit have frustrated me to the point of getting a bit angry as from my perspective nobody trying to get my attention and I'm in the same room as everyone else is, and i have had someone who came up to me to accused me of ignoring them but once they saw my hearing aids they wind up being quiet and went back to their station. I'm not sure what to do about this as it feels like my coworker is trying to undermine me, complain for the sake of complaining, and that my own boss is trying to get a reaction from me. I would like advice on this situation as i am not sure what the remedy for this as it have been effecting me mentally and i tried to look up peripheral that would make it easier to communicate but can't find anything that would work.
Tl;DR the only HoH in the department, HoH person feels targeted by multiple people and not sure what to do.

PODCAST: https://ayearofwarandpeace.podbean.com/e/ep1513-hail-and-farewell-george-moore-ave-chapter-73/
PROMPTS: I wonder what is going on in Moore's head... Oh wait no I don't
Today's Reading, via Project Gutenberg:
And Edward is a beginner, and he isn't progressing, I said, and may remain a beginner. For he came into the world a sketch, une ébauche by a great master, and was left unfinished, whether by design or accident it is impossible to say. A delightful study he is! And in the embowered villa I sat, looking into his mind, interested in its unmapped spaces (Australia used to interest me in much the same manner when I was a child) until the young girl came upstairs to tell me it was time to go to the theatre. One knows a single word—Spielhaus. My eyes went to the clock, the hands pointed to four, and from four to five is the hottest hour of a summer's day. By four the sun, blazing forth from a cloudless sky, has sucked all the cool of the night away, and heated unendurably every brick and tile and stone it can strike with a ray. Even in the shady villa under the lindens one could not think of the tall gables in the town, the fierce sun beating on them, or of the cobble-stones in the streets, without congratulating oneself that Edward's inclinations had been resisted. Those low-ceilinged rooms above the kitchen would stifle on such a day, and I was able to look back on my courage with admiration. It had given me a splendid view of a corn-field with reapers working in it, the sun shining on their backs—that one straightening himself to wipe the sweat from his brow with a ragged sleeve.
And while walking through the corn-field I remembered a letter to Bülow in which the Master says: One thing is certain—I am not a musician, meaning thereby that music was only part of his message. He tells in these words that his art enjoined separation from the drone of daily life, and that is why he chose Bayreuth, a small Bavarian town difficult to get at, but not impossible to reach. It had a train service even in Wagner's time, and there was a sufficient number of dirty inns and lodgings in the town to house the pilgrims. Humanity was an open book to the Master, and the hardships he was inflicting on his pilgrims he knew to be for their good, for it would induce in them the disposition of mind suitable for the reception of the sacramental Ring. And while building his theatre on the brow of the hill in the shade of the pines, there can be no doubt that he foresaw the added charm it would be to the pilgrim to leave the town and plod through the glare up the long street past the railway-station into the avenue of chestnut trees. He foresaw them, pausing in their ascent, leaning upon their staves; and the restaurant which he allowed to be built next his theatre is a tribute to his perfect understanding of men, for however beautiful his music might be he knew that none could listen to it for five hours upon an empty belly. He liked, I am sure, the little green-painted restaurant higher up the hill in the orchard close, and must have gone there himself and sat under the trees, drinking Rhenish wine mixed with cool water from stone jars. The Master, who thought of everything, must have foreseen the great charm it would be to walk through the pine-wood, seeing beyond the red bark of the trees the purple ranges of hills that enclose the great plain, slope after slope rising at evening, and no one too far distant for the eye to follow the noble shapes and all the delicate sinuosities travelling down the skyline. Every shape and every outline is visible between the acts of The Valkyrie, Siegfried, and the Götterdämmerung. The village standing in the middle of the plain is often lighted by a last ray. Between the acts an extraordinary harmony gathers; art and Nature abandon their accustomed strife, and with ears filled with calm, exalted melodies, our eyes follow the beautiful landscape in which Bayreuth stands.
There are off-days at Bayreuth when there are no performances, and these are pleasant days of rest, that give us time to think of what we have heard, and what we are going to hear, and time to stroll about the town admiring its German life. The town is more interesting than Rothenburg—to me at least—for it is less archaic. One cannot imagine oneself living in the fifteenth century, whereas one can imagine oneself living at the end of the eighteenth or the beginning of the nineteenth. Bayreuth is very yesteryear, suranné as the French say. A foreign word is a veiled face. The veil is often slight, but there is a veil always, wherefore we like foreign words—a weakness. The great gables which show themselves against the blue skies at Bayreuth mean more to me than the red-tiled roofs with the dormer windows in Rothenburg, for I can imagine myself born in Bayreuth, or growing up in it, and living there, seeing the Margrave and his court. It would be pleasant to live under the protection of a Margrave. One asks the name of the last, and wonders what he was like in his Schloss, a melancholy building full of tall official portraits and heavy German furniture, surrounded by gardens full of trees in which there is artificial water and swans. The year I am writing of the swans were followed by a brood of cygnets, and we used to watch these, not Edward and I, but myself and the daughter of a great painter, one who has inherited some of the intensity of her father's early pictures—a woman loving music dearly, and travelling with her husband in search of it.
It was pleasant to leave The Tale of a Town and visit her, and to walk about under the sunlit trees, or through the town, or to visit with her the old Court Theatre, perhaps picking up Edward on the way there and taking him along with us.
He will always go to see a building, and though we had both visited the Court Theatre many times before, it was pleasant to see it again, and she and he and I together admired its pillared front and its quaint interior, German rococo, clumsy, quaint, heavy, but representative of the German mind. And together we admired the gilded cupids, the garlands of flowers and the little boxes on either side of the stage, in which the Margrave's trumpeters used to appear to announce his arrival—a theatre not intended for the populace, but for the Court, containing only fifty or sixty stalls, beautifully designed and comfortable withal. The gilded balconies reminded us of drawing-rooms; we spoke of the courtly air of the theatre, now forbidden to the mime for many a day. A beautiful little theatre, we said—a theatre designed for the performance of Mozart or Gluck's operas, and I think Edward would have given up some performances of Parsifal to hear Gluck or Mozart in this out-of-date theatre.
In the afternoon my friends suggested to us that we should accompany them to a village some six or seven miles distant, and we went there in a carriage drawn by two long-tailed Bavarian horses, that drew us slowly but surely out of Bayreuth along smooth white roads, every one lined with apple trees and loaded with fruit. It was a wonder to us how these trees were not despoiled by thieves, so easy would it be to carry away the fruit by night. In England, in Ireland, or in Scotland a great deal of fruit would certainly have been robbed, and we asked ourselves if the Bavarian peasants are more naturally honest than the English, or if it were mere custom that prevented the waggonner from gathering as many apples as he pleased. The lady's husband, who is a politician, suggested that these wayside trees belonged to the community, and he is no doubt right; and we accepted his explanation that the honesty of the Bavarian is to be found in the fact that everybody shared in the fruit and, this being so, it was nobody's interest to strip the trees.
Behold the trees, and the long undivided plain stretching away to the foot of the hills, without wall or hedge, and we asking ourselves how do the peasants distinguish between the different farms, somebody telling how one of his farmers had called another to admire a fence he had put up between their lands. I'd like the fence, aye, twice as well, if thee 'ad not taken in some six or seven inches of my land. In our appreciation of the German landscape there is to be reckoned our disappointment at seeing nowhere beautiful English trees—ash, elm, beech, and oak—only the pine, and we, being tree-lovers, think the pine a tedious tree, if it can be called a tree; it isn't in our apprehension of one, only being intended by Nature for what the French call bois charpentier. No man would care to sit under a pine (and a woman still less), needles underfoot and needles overhead. To us English folk the beauty of a wood is as much in the underwoods as in the tall trees, and the pine allows no underwood. In a pine wood one meets few birds. A goshawk, startled from the branches, flees quickly down the long aisles. The pine is cultivated in Germany; the unfortunate pine, ugly by nature, is made still more ugly by cultivation. Pines cover the lower hills, forming black stains in the landscape and disfiguring their purple.
The long-tailed Bavarian horses walked up some steep ascent, trotted down a hill, at the bottom of which a pretty brook purls through an orchard, and the village was reached at last, built under the foot of a steep black hill, on which stand the ruins of a castle. There are paths through the woods, and one becomes conscious of the ceaseless change in human life as one follows the paths to the gateway of the robber-baron who lived there three centuries ago, defying Gustavus Adolphus, the Lion of the North, until his castle was battered with cannon. It was fortunate for Adolphus that he had cannon to batter it with, for without cannon he would not have captured it.
We came upon a ravine, and on each hillside a wooden platform had been built; the orchestra playing in the pit between, no doubt, as in the theatre at Bayreuth. We strolled up and down the steep paths, wondering if players were heard from hillside to hillside, inclining to the belief that human voices would not carry so far, and to put the natural acoustics of the wood to the test, some went to the other hillside and spoke to us. But what play had been acted in this wood? Somebody suggested a miracle play, and leaping at the suggestion, I spoke of the miracle plays in Oberammergau.
Some pious people of your sect, Edward, I said, taking his arm, who would set Asiatic Gods against native divinities.
My aphorism was not at first understood, and I explained it—how Bavaria comprises two spectacles: the Asiatic Gods in the South on the Tyrolean frontier, while the original Rhine Gods display themselves in the North at Bayreuth—Wotan, Loki, Donner, Froh, and the Goddesses Frika, Erda, and Freia. My remark had some success, and we walked on, wondering how it was that this division of the deities had not been remarked before. All were interested except Edward, who said he did not care to listen to blasphemy.
But, my dear Edward, it cannot be blasphemy to tell the truth, and surely the Gods that Oberammergau exhibits are Asiatic. And there can be no doubt that the Gods that Bayreuth exhibits are German and Scandinavian; and I pressed Edward to explain to me how a mere statement of fact, the truth of which could not be contested, could be called blasphemous, falsehood being implicit in every blasphemy. To escape from this quandary Edward began to argue that the Rhenish Gods had come from Asia, too, by way of Scandinavia, finding solace, apparently, in the belief in the Asiatic origin of all Gods. We laughed at this novel defence of divinity.
It is like China tea, I answered, only grown in Asia. Somebody else spoke of Havana cigars, and very soon all the life died out of the argument. We were but vaguely interested in it, for none amongst us, perhaps not even the youngest, was entirely free from the thought inspired by the empty platforms. We were all thinking how every generation is but a pageant, that all is but pageant here below. Part of our excursion was already behind us, and in later years how little of it would be remembered! Such philosophies are soon exhausted, and we sympathised with a lady who was anxious about her daughter and husband. They were walking in the woods, and she feared they might be overtaken by the coming darkness. But we assured her there would be light for many hours still, and whistled the motives of The Ring....
We returned through the hilly country, with the wide, sloping evening above us, and apple-trees lining the roads, all the apples now reddened and ready for gathering. We admired the purple crests illuminated by the sunset, as millions of men and women had done before us, and as millions of men and women shall do after us. Voices dropped and faces grew pensive. We asked if we should ever meet at Bayreuth again, and our thoughts turned towards the great Master lying in his grave, whose dreams had given us such sweet realities.
Too soon over, somebody said. In a few days Bayreuth would be deserted like the platforms we found in the wood. The long distance we had come was mentioned, and somebody asked if the pleasure we had received were worth the journey. The answer made to this—and it was a woman who made it—was that the journey would be more real in six months' time than it was today, and picking up the thought, I answered quickly:
So you think that we must live not so much for the moment as for the sake of the memory of it?
Somebody answered that memory was, perhaps, half of life and this was denied.
He who cannot enjoy things as they go by is but a poor companion.
A poor lover, I interjected. And soon after found myself arguing that the great gift Nature has bestowed upon woman is the power of enjoying things as they go by—a great gift truly it is, and sufficient compensation for lack of interest in religion and morals. It may be that that is why women have not written a great book, or painted a great picture. Or invented a religion, some one added.
Women are not idealists, Edward said, speaking out of his remembrance of his play The Heather Field.
In the evening we were all going to the house that Wagner had lived in, and in which he had written the last act of Siegfried, the Götterdämmerung, and Parsifal. Every one who goes to Bayreuth is asked there if he leaves a card upon Madame Wagner. Such, at least, used to be the custom. One presented an invitation card at the door and walked about the music-room and into Wagner's library. Edward was much moved to see the Master's books and his writing-table. Things interest him more than human beings, whereas Wagner's books and writing-table merely depressed me, and refusing to follow Edward to the grave, I sought for a friend who might introduce me to Madame Wagner.
A tall, thin woman, nearer sixty than seventy, very vital, with a high nose like her father's, came forward to meet me, full of cordiality, full of conversation and pleasant greeting. Liszt lives again in her, I said, the same inveigling manner; she casts her spells like her father, and—Well, there is no way of telling my impression except to tell the thought that passed through my mind: it was, But how is all this to end? Am I going to run away with her? And when we arrive somewhere, what am I to do with her? A woman nearly seventy years! And I thought what an extraordinary fascination she must have been when she heard Tristan for the first time, and felt she could no longer live with Bülow.
It is always pleasant, she said, to welcome to Bayreuth strangers who come to hear our art.
The arrogance of the expression amused me; but after all, music is the art of Germany just as poetry is the art of England; and feeling in the next five minutes that I must either take her hand or interrupt the conversation, I chose the latter course, and asked her to introduce me to her son. She hastened to comply with my wish, and put herself to some trouble to find him. He was found at last, and I was introduced to him.
My impression of Madame Wagner is compressed in the Am I going to run away with her? And the same words, with a change of preposition and pronoun, will describe the impression that Siegfried Wagner produced upon me. The son is the father in everything except his genius—the same large head, the same brow, the same chin and jaw. A sort of deserted shrine! I cried to myself and gasped for words.
Van Roy was singing at the time, and I succeeded at last in asking Siegfried Wagner who had composed the song.
I do not know, but it should be by Grandpapa Liszt.
I bowed, thanked him, and moved away, glad to escape from his repelling blankness. Shyness it may have been, or perhaps boredom. If we had met at Venice or in London—anywhere except in that crowd, we might have become friends. So I was glad to meet him on the bench in front of the theatre, and to find him slightly more forthcoming than he had shown himself to me in his mother's house. We spoke about his opera, and about Ellis, who had translated his libretto, and for a moment it looked as if we were going to know each other, to become acquainted, for in answer to my question whether he thought it was of advantage that the musician should write his own libretto, he answered that he thought it was, for while writing the libretto the musician sang his first ideas of the music.
Meeting me again on the same seat at the same hour, he asked me why I was not in the theatre, and it only occurred to me to tell the mere truth, that I came to Bayreuth to hear The Ring and not Parsifal. Perhaps if you knew the score of Parsifal.
I can never know a score, for I'm not a musician, but I've heard it many times, and it makes no personal appeal as do the other works.
The explanation was received in silence, and I thought how I might have better explained my position if I had said that, though I recognised Milton to be a great poet, he wrote in vain so far as I was concerned. But Siegfried's manner checks the words upon one's lips, and the people began to come out of the theatre soon after.
We parted, and all the way to the café where Edward and I went to have supper I turned Siegfried over in my mind and understood him to be a man of talent, for he is the son of a man of genius. One must be a man of talent to conduct The Ring as I had heard him conduct it, bearing the last scene of The Valkyrie along with him like a banner. A man of talent, the son of a man of genius, without sufficient vitality to be very much interested in anything; his life a sort of diffused sadness like a blank summer day when the clouds are low; and he must be conscious, too, that there is no place on earth where he can lay his head and call it his own.
If the physical resemblance were not so marked, I said to myself as we entered the café.
That little café! What enchanting hours Edward and I have spent in it between half past ten and in the morning, amid beer and cigars and endless discussions as to the values of certain scenes and acts, of singers and conductors! The year that I am now referring to, Parsifal was conducted in turn by Fischer, Mottl, and Seidl, Wagner's favourite pupil and disciple. He sat in the far end of the café by himself, and I often wondered why his society was not more sought after. Although he was an old man, and in declining health, it was a pleasure for me to sit with him and engage him in conversation, telling him that under his direction the first act of Parsifal played ten minutes quicker than it did under Mottl, and that Mottl was five minutes quicker than Fischer.
So much as that?
Yes, I took the time. And how much better I like your conducting of The Flower Maidens! Mottl gets a crescendo in the middle.
Whereas there is no necessity. It goes as well without, doesn't it?
A thin, spare man, quiet, speaking but little—a kindly man, as the reader has already guessed from the few phrases exchanged between him and me, and an unassuming man, apparently taking a pleasure even in such appreciations as Edward's and mine; a man between sixty and seventy, at the time I am speaking of, and as I write this line I can see his small, refined features and his iron-grey hair, which once must have been black. My thoughts pause, and I like to indulge myself in the regret that I did not walk home with him in the evenings to his lodgings. He might have asked me to come to see him in the morning, and over the piano, perhaps, would have told me many things regarding his relations with Wagner and his understanding of the music, and things about himself, for Seidl lived among great men, and was easily inveigled in the confessional.
He died a year or two later, and the café is no longer as attractive as it was when all the actors came down from the theatre to eat their supper there. Klafsky was my first Brünnhilde; when she died Gulbranson took her place, and the moment she came into the cafe all eyes went towards her, and I may say all hearts, for very soon a beautiful smile would light up a round, rosy, very ordinary face, suffusing it, transforming a plain woman into one to whom one's heart goes instinctively, convinced that all that is necessary to be happy is to be with her.

69.420% Tuition Increase for 2023/2024
March 23, 2023
Dear cash cows of the RIT community:
Thank you for your continued financial efforts in making RIT a world-class university. We are strategically planning and looking forward to spending your money in the next academic year. The SHED (Student Hall for Exploration and Development) is on track to open this fall and we are thrilled about what this state-of-the art facility will bring to RIT and our students. The SHED will bring the best of technology, the arts, and design to the heart of our campus, all for the low cost of everything you own.
Additionally, we are hard at work on the following initiatives: § An expanded Saunders College of Business is scheduled to open in 2024, doubling its footprint, tripling its price. Saunders will also launch a Ph.D. program this fall becoming RIT’s 12th doctoral program and the 4th degree that pays enough for you to pay off your linevitable loans.
§ Plans are underway to build a 750-seat music performance theater to support our talented scholars with a passion for the performing arts. The first phase will be an iconic building with more than 42,069 square feet of space, with anticipated completion in $7,000,000.
§ Continued upgrades for our athletics complex, including a new stadium for our soccer and lacrosse teams that features new seating, concessions, and a press box. 5% off of ticket prices for students! (Does not include 10% convenience fee for students)
After thoughtful consideration of inflationary pressures facing the global economy, RIT, and higher education, the Board of Trustees recently approved the 2023-2024 published tuition rates. This includes a 69.420% increase in the undergraduate and graduate tuition rates.. These figures apply to the majority of RIT’s students enrolled in colleges other than the National Technical Institute for the Deaf (NTID). Deaf and hard-of-hearing students have unique tuition rates, reflecting the federal support for NTID’s mission. We'd raise if it we could, we're just not legally allowed to.
RIT leadership and the Board of Trustees understand the significant investment that education is for students and families. We are deeply committed to keeping your education affordable. This upcoming academic year, we will provide more than $340 in student financial aid, an increase of 100% percent from the previous year, leading to a nearly 50% discount off gross tuition (sticker price) for many tens of our students. In addition, federal and state aid is also available, like at every school. RIT’s cost of attendance continues to be below the mean of our private benchmark peer schools and is ranked No. 48 in Best Value Schools by U.S. News and World Report, which means you can't get mad at us because we're punching you the least hard.
In addition, we are introducing a new Performing Arts Lottery System to help with costs. To promote the expansions to the program, students who can pretend these cost increases aren't crushing weights on their mind every day have a chance to compete for a 1 Credit/Hour cost waiver! (Only one available, due to price limitations)
RIT continues to be recognized by many leading college rankings and guides (e.g., Wall Street Journal, Money Magazine) for value, affordability, and return on investment for career earnings over a lifetime. We know that means practically nothing to you, but we decided to get ahead of the curve this time. If you have complaints we'll just point at those articles. We are investing in our people, programs, places, and partners to create a unique student experience powered by creativity, innovation, and every cent we can squeeze out of you. On behalf of the Trustees and administration, I want to thank our students, faculty, and staff for making RIT a profitable university. RIT is embracing and designing a very bright, wealthy future.
On another note, Gruel will now be served free of charge at Gracie's for those who need it. (Convenience fee still applies)
Sincerely,
Leanne K. Hill
Associate Vice President of Money and Making More Of It

​
My Dad died nearly two years ago, and we just buried him today.
Dad was a writer, though you've probably never heard of him. He was known in small circles, celebrated by the community where he lived, but his books will likely never grace the shelves of Barnes and Noble. I say that like it's a fact, but that may not be the case anymore. Dad, like one of those old painters from the 1800s, became infinitely more famous in his death than he ever did in life. People who wouldn't return his calls and wouldn't even think of publishing his work now come to see him from miles away. This probably seems strange, given I just told you he's dead, so let me start at the beginning.
Dad died as he lived, at his keyboard.
He's been writing the same book for as long as I can remember. It's a massive seven or eight-volume series. In one of my earliest memories, I can remember tottling into his office and looking up at him as he smiled at me, his fingers never leaving the keyboard as he plinked away. Dad wrote other things for magazines or freelance work, but the books were his magnum opus. He would tell anyone who would listen, usually interested friends of mine who were aspiring writers themselves, how the book would be his greatest work once it was done. He had envisioned ten books and all, detailing the hero's journey of his main character as he attempted to find his father's murderer across several continents, meeting people and finding clues along the way. I've heard him talk about that book almost every day since I was old enough to understand what he was talking about, but I couldn't tell you much about it. He never let anybody read it, he was so protective of it, and I don't know if more than a dozen people were aware of its existence. That being said, he was always in his study when he had time, tapping away at the keys and refining his manuscript for the day it would be picked up by an editor.
I was the one who found him, and it will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I was getting ready for college, packing up my things, and moving out, and I came to see if he would help me move some furniture onto the truck. He had been in his office all day, and I thought maybe he was mad at me. I knew he didn't want me to leave, he was sad to see me go, but he had to understand that I had to go to college. I had a full-ride scholarship I'd be a fool not to use, and living on campus would give me access to resources I wouldn't have at home. It seemed like the best choice to move out, and I couldn't believe he couldn't see that.
So when I stuck my head in and asked him, I was surprised when he didn't turn around. That only seemed to cement in my head the idea that he was mad at me. He had his back to the door as he always did, fingers tapping away, and when he didn't say anything, I just stood there and looked at the back of his head for a moment. He had a bald spot forming, the hair receding away from the center, and I thought it a little sad to watch my Dad aging in such an obvious way.
I asked him again, his fingers never slowing, but when he didn't say anything, I went downstairs and managed to manhandle the desk down into the u-haul. I decided I wouldn't bother him if he wanted to act like this. He would fold when it came time for me to leave, apologizing for acting like this, and we would have a hug before I drove off into the sunset.
Around lunchtime, I looked at my now-empty room and realized I was finished packing.
Mom was at work at the post office, and I had planned to swing in and say bye on my way out of town. We had said our goodbyes that morning, with lots of tears and hugs over breakfast, and Dad was the only one I felt I still needed to say goodbye to. So, I went upstairs again, saying I needed to leave and wondering if he'd come to give me a hug?
His fingers just kept tapping away uninterrupted.
"Come on, Dad," I said, stepping inside as he continued to ignore me, "I know you're bummed about this, but it's time for me to get out there and make it on my own. It's not like I'll never be back again. You'll see me on Thanksgiving. That's less than," but when I put my hand on his shoulder, I noticed how cold it was.
Dad had been up here for three days writing, and Mom said she didn't think he'd come to bed at all in that time. This wasn't uncommon for Dad. He would hyper-fixate on a project or revisions and lose days at a time. His office was towards the back of the house on the second floor, so without foot traffic or noise, he could lose himself for days as he worked. He usually came down for food after everyone was asleep, but I couldn't remember hearing him stumbling around lately.
I turned him towards me, his hands moving comically in front of him as he swung away from the desk, and as he came away, he began to scream as if someone were stabbing him.
I stumbled away, taking in his long face and sunken eyes, and found myself running from the room as I grabbed the phone out of my pocket.
Mom said she'd be home immediately, and as I waited downstairs, I could still hear him screaming from his office.
Mom came home in a rush, going up the stairs two at a time, and when the screaming finally stopped, I breathed a sigh of relief.
When she came downstairs, she asked me to come to his office.
"I need to talk to you about something, and I think this should be a family decision."
I came back up to see that Dad was still staring into the screen of his MacBook, tapping away like we weren't even there.
"I don't know how to explain this, but I think your father has died."
Looking at his fingers as they went about their tireless typing, I asked her if she was kidding? Dad was clearly alive. His hands were moving, and I could see words on the screen forming coherent sentences. Were they playing a joke or something? None of what she was saying made any sense.
"I checked his pulse. He has no pulse, no vitals, he's just gone, sweety. But, it appears that he's not quite gone."
She tried to move him, and as she turned him away, I could see his lifeless face as it turned to regard me. His jaw had been hanging slack, his eyes open and staring, and as his hands came away from the keyboard, he started screaming all over again. It was a deep and tortured noise, similar to the one he'd made before, and without even meaning to, I turned him back to the keyboard, where his hands started typing again.
I asked her what was going on, and Mom shrugged as she tried to come up with a reason for all this.
"His book was important to him, you know that. I think, maybe, once he finishes it, he might stop on his own. I can't explain what's happening here, but I don't want him to die with his work unfinished. Your father kept saying it wasn't ready, but I'm going to send the first manuscript to his editor. Maybe once he sees it and someone puts it in print, he'll finally be able to rest, but either way, let's keep this between us, okay? I want your father to pass on without regrets, don't you?"
I nodded, telling her that, of course, I wanted Dad to die at peace.
"Then do him this last favor, and don't tell anyone what you've seen here. Promise?"
I didn't know how to feel about this, but I told her I wouldn't tell anyone, and she thanked me as she hugged me goodbye.
I left in my Uhaul, unsure how to feel about the situation, but I kept the secret.
I didn't come home much for the next year.
I came home for Thanksgiving as promised, but the whole thing felt uncomfortable.
Mom and I sat downstairs eating, her curious about how school was going and me filling her in on my studies. As I ate turnkey and tried to have a normal conversation over stuffing, all I could focus on was the tapping from upstairs. Mom had closed the door to Dad's office, something that I could never remember happening at any time in my life, but despite her best efforts, the tapping was still audible. There was also a smell from the room at the end of the hall, and I was worried about her living in a house with a decomposing body. She said he hadn't decomposed much, but I think she might have been trying to spare my feelings. Worse than the smell, though, was the tapping. It never stopped and sounded too loud to be from whole fingers.
Despite this, Mom was in pretty good spirits. She said Dad's first book was being edited, and his publicist thought it would likely be ready for the shelves next year. He couldn't believe my Dad had been keeping this gem to himself for so long, and I think that was when I realized how few people Dad had shared his books with. She said the initial payment on the book had allowed her to pay some overdue bills, and she would send him the second book sometime next year.
"If I release them slowly, it won't seem so odd when he finishes, and I let them know he's passed."
I asked if his writing had slowed at all, and she said he was still typing night and day.
"He never rests, and I've had to start sleeping in my noise-canceling headphones. The sound takes some getting used to, but I think I can almost put it out of my mind."
I had meant to stay for the week, but I ended up making excuses and leaving the day after Thanksgiving.
The sound of the keys as they clicked away was becoming too much for me to handle.
After that, I made excuses to not come home. I told Mom I had a paper due during Christmas and stayed on campus over the holiday. I took extra classes, so I didn't have to come home on semesters I would have been able to take a break from. I still called her on the phone, but our conversations became shorter and shorter as time went on. The longer I was on the line with her, the more pervasive the clicking became, and it felt like I could hear it over the phone no matter where she was.
My mother's mental state began to deteriorate as well.
She had sent the second book to his publicist, and he had fast-tracked it after the first one had done so well. She deflected any sort of interviews or phone calls for Dad, telling them how shy and anxious he was, but people really seemed to want to pick his brain about the direction of the book, and they were becoming harder and harder to put off. She didn't sound like her usual self, either. It was clear that she wasn't sleeping, and she said the clicking was getting louder and louder the longer it went on.
"I tried to do some soundproofing in his office, but it never seems to help. I can't stand to be in there for very long. Even though he's looking at the screen, I can feel him watching me when I'm in there. I think," Mom took a breath, and I could almost see her looking in the direction of his office as she pitched her voice low, "I think I can hear something moving around at night."
I asked what she meant, afraid that maybe animals had gotten in to try and get at Dad's body, but she said it was just little sounds.
"You remember how he used to leave his office late at night to get food? Sometimes, I feel like I can hear someone coming down the stairs in the wee hours of the morning. While I was listening to it the other night, I realized that I couldn't hear the keyboard anymore, and that scared me even more."
She started crying then, and I think I had already decided to come home that weekend so we could sort this out.
I hadn't come home in a long time and found a very different woman than I had over Thanksgiving the year before.
And why not?
It had to be nerve-wracking knowing you were sharing a house with a corpse.
Mom looked like she had aged twenty years. Her hair, light blond the last time I'd been home, was threaded with gray and looked thinner than ever. Her skin sagged, and her eyes looked bruised from the bags under them. She was thin to the point of emaciation, and I wondered if she had been eating? When she hugged me, I could feel her ribs pressing against me, and I decided then that something had to be done before I lost both my parents.
I told her that we had to end this, I told her that we had to put him to rest, but she feebly resisted.
"He isn't done yet. He's still typing up there. I can't lay him to rest until he finishes."
I asked her how long that would be, but she didn't seem to have the answer.
I told her I was tired and wanted to rest, but after I heard her door close and the sound of her springs grumbling as she went to bed, I got up and went downstairs. I wanted to see what this thing was that was moving around after dark, and I knew just the place to hide. There was a small closet in the living room, a place for wrapping paper and old crafts Mom hadn't gotten around to yet, and after sliding some things around, I made myself comfortable and cracked the door. It took some time, and I wished I had some coffee to keep me from dozing in the small, warm space.
I was just starting to nod off, my phone showing half past three in the morning, when the landing at the top of the stairs creaked.
Something glided down almost soundlessly, its body light, and I pressed my eye to the slit in the door to see what it was. It was dark in the living room, the curtains drawn, but I didn't dare turn on a light. If it knew I was here, it might flee, and then I'd have nothing to report to Mom in the morning. Luckily for me, it jostled right by the closet door, and the creature was impossible to miss. It was thin, almost lacking dimension, creaking as it ambled into the kitchen. I held my breath as it disappeared into the dim space, but the pale head was hard to miss.
When it turned to look at the closet from the kitchen doorway, I feared I had made a noise.
When those empty sockets fixed on the door, I covered my mouth with my hand.
When the creature creaked its way into the kitchen and disappeared from sight, I tripped out of the closet and made my way less than gracefully back up the stairs and into my old room.
If it heard me, it didn't stop at the door to comment.
Only then did I come to the same conclusion that Mom had, realizing what was missing from the silent house.
The tapping had stopped.
We called the police the next day, me threatening to call them myself if mom didn't. I didn't know what the thing I'd seen was doing in the kitchen, but I couldn't very well leave her alone with it. She just nodded and picked up the phone, and I think she was ready to call them. She had lived with Dad's corpse for two years, and even she had to agree that it was time to end it.
The paramedics weren't sure what to make of him, but he was definitely what I had seen the night before as it went into the kitchen. He had mostly rotted, but his bones had moldering flesh still attached in places. His scalp had some hairs clinging to it, the bald spot I had noticed was still visible, but we had taken his hands off the keyboard before they got there.
When we had taken him from the computer, his scream was little more than a wheeze of protest.
He had no vocal cords to scream with, but still, he protested.
The police had questions, but I think my mother managed to convince them that it was harmless. She said that when he died, she had gone a little crazy. She couldn't cope with him being gone, so she had just pretended he was in his office, typing away on his novel. I told them that was what she had told me for months, and I think they believed me. Dad's remains were taken to the funeral home, and it goes without saying that his funeral was a closed-casket affair.
As we sat on the front row, though, I heard something that would haunt me until I went into the ground myself.
Dad may not have been able to scream, but it seemed his work went on regardless.
As I sat there with Mom, my mother sobbing as she heard the all too familiar sound, we both heard the low tapping as those bony fingers smacked against the lid of the coffin.
I can only assume that they still press against the lid even now, my father's last story worn into the wood of his coffin.

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Just One Drop
CH 77 – The Man in Who these Marvels Can Do
​
It was the day before Shel, and lunch was becoming a more crowded affair.
Since Melondi’s secret had come out, the girls had taken to favoring a mid-sized table that seated twelve – a sensible number. A small affair no more than twenty feet long, the table was well situated, away from the center of the floor and off to one side. That had been useful, as the layout of the cafeteria put the table near the kitchen freezer. There was an awkward chill in that corner of the room which made it unpopular, and without other students about, the table offered relative privacy.
Of course, twelve was ideal, as it conformed to the needs of their class. The girls of the Practical Humanity class had faced more than their share of scrutiny since the term began, and privacy had become a cherished commodity. Whether it was from curious girls wanting to know what the Human was like, to its current, more immediate needs, the isolation of the spot had made the table a welcome retreat.
That said, today it was getting a bit crowded, and with everyone there, an additional three seats had been needed, with girls shoving in from the sides.
Khe’lark’s attachment to Gun’brei… or more accurately, Brei’s attachment to Lark… had started things, of course. There was usually room for one more, certainly if one of the girls was off somewhere else and missing lunch. Since Melondi’s secret had become a shared one, the table had become a place where Mel could, on occasion, talk less circumspectly. While she’d never slipped up otherwise, she could relax and enjoy her friends without being quite so guarded.
Things had been different before, when Brei hadn’t been cleared by Agent Duvari.
Melondi had never resented Brei as an intrusion, but it was a fact of life that she hadn’t noticed before. The ability to talk with her friends, even in the most circumspect way, had replaced her utter secrecy – or worse, the crafted lies about her history. When Brei joined them for lunch, Melondi had to go back into hiding… and Brei’s presence brought with her a visceral feeling of the loss.
When Kzintshki arrived, the twelve and sometimes thirteen turned to thirteen and sometimes fourteen.
The Pesrin girl’s presence was unmistakable. Kzintshkil was… different. It wasn’t only the matter of her being alien – another species entirely, with her own loyalties and agenda. It was more that Kzintshki kept her own counsel, and while Melondi knew how to read people - even people from other races - the Pesrin girl was largely a closed book. It wasn't something she was used to. She was good with reading people, no matter the species. Generally.
…That carrion incident with the Rakiri delegate could have happened to anybody!...
Of course, while it wasn’t always a full table, fourteen was manageable. Today there were fifteen people crowding in for lunch, which was pushing it.
Not that Prindi Ama’dis was unwelcome. The IOTC girl was another friend of Lark’s by way of the campus vblog; thankfully the question of who knew her secret had largely been settled – both by her request, and the actions of her handler, Agent Duvari. Now her friends knew, which was a greater relief than she’d imagined it could be. Professor Warrick knew, and he’d be allowed to tell Professor Pel’avon. He was holding off until they were back from the ‘honeymoon’. It was an odd term for the usual getaway after a wedding, and he’d explained it as something to do with newly wed couples slipping away for a month and drinking a lot of something called mead. Melondi figured she should have a word of quiet thanks to Professor Pel’avon for taking up so much of Professor Warrick’s time… but it would wait until they were back.
Gun’brei had been oddly muted after finding out. While Brei was a baroness’ daughter, Agent Duvari had opted to lay things out to her in private, as ‘she had an abiding interest in the news’. That probably meant several threats behind closed doors, a reading of general order 24, and signing waivers that didn’t mention words like ‘frozen tundra’. They didn’t need to - Duvari tended to make herself clear enough. It was hard to believe the same bubbly music professor could be so frigid as an Agent, but Duvari had no problems with being convincing.
Melondi looked over at Lark and pursed her lips thoughtfully.
…I still need to make things up to her. I don’t know if clearing Brei counts…
That left the IOTC girls, and as she looked up the table at Prindi, it was hard to believe the world she’d crafted here at the Academy had changed so dramatically. As Lark’s friend, Prindi made an easy liaison with the IOTC girls. Even so, it was tight with her here, and if more of them showed up, something would have to give.
She’d planned to tell her friends, someday… After graduation, when she was off on her own, she’d hoped that some of them might still be in reach… and understanding. They’d all be off starting their own lives, working in their House companies, starting careers, or managing the family holdings. Everyone would go their different ways. But her sister Khelandri’s death had changed everything. She could enjoy her friends now, instead of later, wondering if they would still be hers when she revealed herself as a princess.
It was a bright note in a dark situation, and she cherished it for what it was. She had friends. Real friends that had come to know her outside of the Palace, without any agendas… and she had the time – over two more years – before adult life sent them off on their own paths.
…At least, if I live that long…
That was a gloomy thought, and it was hard to hold onto it. She’d only just hung up on a call from Vedeem. Whenever she talked to him, the future didn’t seem so dark. He’d accepted her for who and what she was as a person… and then he’d done it all over again for who and what she was as a Princess.
…Screw Kamaud’re! I want to live!...
“That was Vedeem. He says they’re putting up a sign and closing the restaurant for a week to ‘celebrate the birth of a boy in the family.'Everything’s ready to start the training tomorrow at 9.” She raised her voice over the animated conversations going on. It was lunch, after all, and with all the jockeying of plates and trays and dishes and whatnot, it was a scramble. If any more girls showed up from the IOTC, they’d have to do something… or at least get a round table. No one could reach anything. “Prindi, can you let your cadre know?”
It was bad timing, since the girl just took a bite, but she nodded quickly, chewing frantically.
“Just take it easy…” Mel looked around past the table with an exaggerated glance. “The nod’s all I need, and you’ll like Vedeem… Hands off, though!”
As a young girl, she’d never expected that she’d need to warn anyone away from her boyfriend… when she finally got one, no one would dare. Just now? If all of this felt new to her, it must be like a bucket of icy surf landing on the IOTC girls… and Vedeem was hers!
Prindi finally cleared her throat and nodded again. “Yes, ummm…”
“Melondi,” she offered helpfully. While the IOTC girl had been giving her curious looks now and then, she’d tried her best to hide them. She still looked like she was struggling. “Remember, it’s just Melondi.”
“Yes…” The idea of calling a Princess something informal looked like it was sticking in the girl’s throat, and she took a way out. “I’ll let them know after lunch.”
“Thank you!” Mel called back. It was something Mother had always insisted on and Lady Wicama had taught her well. Good manners were for everyone. It had even seen her through that carrion incident, though she hadn’t even been five at the time…
…Come to think of it, it was Kamaud’re who ‘helped me out’… and was laughing the loudest…
She felt an ugly blush start to rise, but it faded just as quickly. She’d never known her elder sister except as a distant figure, not a part of her life, really. Even without the attempt on her life, It had grown a lot easier in the last few months not to care for Kamaud’re at all.
The table didn’t take much notice. Jax was in an animated conversation with Nestha about business, while the twins were actually giggling about something. Most of the talk had been about class, though Belda was getting a lot of ribbing and good natured pokes from the others. Tonight was the big night, after all. Even Kzintshki was quietly talking to Desi about the weekend. As the outsider, Prindi seemed to be struggling to fit in, though she hid it well.
“I’m glad you could join us, Prindi,” Melondi offered brightly, trying to keep the girl from feeling too isolated. “I know we sort of keep to ourselves; there was a lot of attention after we got into Professor Warrick’s class. It was a little rough after registration, and you wouldn’t believe some of the questions we got after he did the Marriage Fundamentals seminar.”
“That was rough.” Sephir nodded. “I had one girl ask me if he had any boys in his family, and when they’d be coming. That was pretty embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?” Prindi blinked doubtfully as she reoriented on Sephir. At 6’11, it seemed impossible to miss the girl. Sephir was a star of the Academy diving team with muscles like titanium cables, but she was so polite and unassuming that it often came as a surprise when she spoke up in conversation. She’d been a lot happier since her future in her House had been sorted, though, and at the moment she was grinning cheerfully at the bewildered look on Prindi’s face.
Prindi cocked her head uncertainly. “How was it embarrassing?”
“Oh… It's just… his wife and his daughter were killed when the Imperium arrived on Earth.”
Belda winced, but still looked relieved at no longer being the center of attention; at least she’d finally stopped blushing.
“Professor Pel’avon asked us not to talk about it at first,” said Sephir with a nod. Even if she looked like a recruiting poster for the Marines, she was a caregiver at heart, and had always shied away from talking about what Warrick called ‘the landings.' “Professor Warrick… Well, you can tell it still hurts him.”
“Yeah,” Nestha chipped in. “He’s smart… and a lot tougher than you’d expect. You just can't think of him as a male.”
“Human male.” Desi broke off her conversation with Kzintshki. “There’s a whole lot going on with him that even the rest of you don’t see. He and I talk a lot at the museum.”
“Is it true he adopted both of you?” Prindi asked, looking from Desi to Kzintshki and back, Melondi forgotten for the first time. “We all heard things and there were a lot of questions after the wedding… I mean, like the dancers! Where did they even come fr-“
“Yes, it's true! Both of us!” Desi broke in abruptly, interrupting Prindi’s train of thought, and Mel started breathing again. If word got out about the Tide Pool, it would probably need more than a General Order and a very angry Interior Agent to keep quiet. Desi was nodding frantically as she enthusiastically changed the subject. “We don’t talk about the wedding, but it's true! It became official when Professor Pel’avon married him. They’re my mothers and father, now.”
“Wow, that’s…” Prindi’s brows knitted a bit as she struggled with the whole wedding. Sure, the whole school had seen it, but the response had been more of a collective silence from around the table. Prindi took the hint and offered a smile. “So… What do you talk about, then? I mean, if not the wedding? What about this war sim? The rest of the cadre couldn’t believe it! I hope we weren’t whispering too loud. Most of us were glued to our omni-pads, gossiping on our Discuss channel. Everybody wants to know more… I can't wait to go through these files!”
“We don’t talk about the war sim. We have team meetings, but aside from those, we don’t. There’s a lot of extra credit on the line,” Dihsala said firmly, giving her a solid nod. “None of us know what’s on those files, though we had an exchange professor that… well, I don’t think she understood the material.”
“Careful, Dihsala, you’re in danger of being kind,” Pris muttered, though there wasn’t any heat in it.
Dihsala sniffed, but said nothing.
Pris pressed on, waving her fork-full of pickled jawaa like a baton. “She’s right, though. None of us know what's in the files, and we probably shouldn’t. Professor Warrick uses this method of teaching… It’s sort of like discovering the material a bit at a time and figuring it out as we go.”
“That sounds… really odd.” Prindi was canting her head fully now, and Mel could just imagine what the girl was thinking. It had been an adjustment. The IOTC girl looked back at Desi, “Sorry. It just does.”
“You don’t have to convince me.” Desi nodded sympathetically, wearing an easy smile. “Once you get used to muppets and furbys-”
“Oh! And ALF!” Jax’mi, broke in, laughing.
“And his music, though that’s really good,” offered one of the twins, as the other nodded. “And we get free movies - things that haven't made it here from Earth yet!”
“It’s a lot, but after a while nothing phases you.” Desi grinned infectiously. “Oh! Mel! Do we know if Aku is going to make it to… you know… the event?”
“I’ll have to ask.” Melondi shook herself out of the reverie of listening. “I know the invitation is getting sent. We can find out tomorrow.”
“Oh…Right.” Desi nodded, but looked back at her plate, subdued. No one knew they were going to the Palace tomorrow except Agent Duvari, who was going to escort them, and Desi was still looking pretty shy about the prospect. Still, everybody else had practice at Human Food…
“There was something we’re all kind of curious about, from the sim… I mean, it's not to do with the sim.” Prindi bit her lip, looking around as the table went suddenly quiet. “We all knew about Earth - I mean, he’s Human. Not about his family, but… things. Anyway, some of us were wondering, and now I guess I really am… umm… why doesn’t he hate us like we're some sort of enemy? There are stories, you know?”
“Desi?” One of the twins looked over at her seriously, setting aside whatever they’d been laughing about. Her sister sniffed, a beat behind. “You know him best.”
“Well, obviously he doesn’t. Hate us, I mean. I think he really means it about the Imperium making Humans citizens. Something he said once kind of stuck with me.” Desi grimaced in thought. “He said he didn’t think of the Imperium as his enemy, because the enemy is someone that tells you to hate that which is different from you, because sooner or later that hate comes back to you… and he said the Imperium hasn't done that.”
“We have kind of messed up there,” Jax’mi sighed unhappily. “I mean, all the news I get back from my family on Earth is great! I had the best letter from my Uncle… but my mothers told me stories. Some of the Houses first gifted with business grants on Earth abused them pretty badly. Not a lot, but the ones that did… Well, it wasn’t just one mess. A couple of the Houses got really carried away, and it took a while to sort out.”
“That sounds like a job for the Interior! The Imperium doesn’t tolerate… umm… that is…” Prindi sat a little taller, and her eyes shone with conviction before she stuttered to a halt, blushing as she glanced back to Melondi. “We’re supposed to stop that sort of thing.”
Mel watched as an awkward silence fell around the table, broken only by Kzintshki slicing away bits of her turox with another of her occasional mutters of “Ick”. It wasn't like she could entirely blame them.
The Empire needed the Interior. There were the boisterous and splashy ones, like House Reshay. There were the quietly dutiful ones, like Belda’s House So’sona and the pharmacological company run by Sephir’s House. There were the quietly powerful ones in the background like House Chel’xa… All of them working at what they did best… but sometimes there were incidents. Bad matrons who lost control of their ambitions. The Empire was vast, and when the Houses couldn't police themselves, it was time for the Empress to do it. That's where the Interior came in.
Mother had been working to rein the Interior in, over time… to bring it back to its core mission. She didn’t talk about it very much, but growing up she’d seen it happen. She could still remember the rumblings in court when she named Opimea Potac - an Edixi - to run the Ministry of Justice. People had said things around a six-year-old they didn’t think would be understood - or remembered - even by a six-year-old Princess. As for her cousin Yn’dara and Prince Adam… It had taken time, but Mother had gotten things under control.
…If only she were here now… but she isn't. I have to handle this myself…
That meant she needed the Interior… someday. Right now, she needed these cadets. Glancing down the table, Desi caught her eye and suddenly snorted. “Seriously, Kzintshki!? What is it with ‘ick’ all the time? You were ready to eat my father alive only a month ago. Now you turn your nose up at anything sweet or fatty? When did you turn into a picky eater, for goddess’ sake!”
“You do not understand. Food is plentiful here. That is understood…” The dusky Pesrin set aside her cutlery and eyed Desi coolly. “You have never seen a fat Pesrin.”
“No…” Desi rocked her head to one side, in exasperation. Kzintshki had a way of making statements out of questions. “But I’d never seen a Pesrin at all, until we met you. What's that got to do with it?”
“Shil and its worlds live without scarcity. Pesh does not. You will never will see a fat Pesrin.” Kzintshki replied cooly, blinking at Desi once. Melindi couldn't decide if the Pesrin girl was exasperated or amused without seeing her tail… her asiak. It was hidden under the table, but it seemed like it conveyed a lot of Pesrin body language - or maybe it was just Kzintshki. “Wasting food when it is plentiful is as much of a sin as wasting food when it is scarce.”
“I suppose…” Desi chewed over the idea while the rest of the girls thought it over.
“Besides, I have my figure to consider.”
“Hey, that’s true. I’ve been worried about everything for tonight!” Belda grinned suddenly. “So, are there any cute Pesrin guys around?”
“Perhaps... though I would not impress him if I were slow and fat.”
Mel thought over the reply. The pause was longer than the Pesrin girl usually took to answer, and she wasn't blinking. Sooner or later she’d figure her out. For the moment she watched as Kzintshki picked up her knife and fork, and cut away another bit of turox with particular deliberation. “Ick…”
“So… you girls get free movies, too?” Prindi asked the twins, looking between the pair tentatively, “Stuff that hasn't come out yet? What’s that like?”
“A lot, yes. The Ministry of Relations closed down on a lot of entertainment from Earth. It’s opening back up, but Professor Warrick has a lot of things no one has seen,” offered one of the K’herbhal sisters. Her twin nodded in sync. “Even with things opening up, they’re still screening for, you know…”
“Treason?” Prindi nodded understandingly.
“Porn!” The twins said in unison, giggling. “Not that we mind, though you could ask Belda for all the details. She’s seen Liam with his shirt off!”
“Goddess damn-it!” Belda started turning blue all over again. “It was only almost off! Almost!”
“You know, we could put off movie night until tomorrow. We can bring food back after training in the morning. Take over the room, have a movie marathon and celebrate,” Pris spoke up. “That way Belda can watch, too!”
“Hey, could you?” Belda grinned. “That would be great!”
“Sure… aaaaand that way we get to drag all the juicy details out of you, too!” Pris smiled back serenely. Melondi watched as Belda started blushing again, and muttered as the others laughed. Goddess love her, Bel was such a farmgirl.
“Ummm… what kind of movies?” Prindi asked, brushing her hair back. “Could I come?”
_ _ _
“You know, this is going to sound odd, but I kind of miss driving," Tom said, leaning back in his seat between Miv and Lea.
It was a comfortable way to ride, and the company was the best. Even with an alien landscape speeding by, it was the oddest feeling. Until he’d come to Shil, he’d always been the one doing the driving. Autocabs were quick and efficient, and other than his regular trip out to Human Food, it wasn't like he knew where things were on Shil… but it felt odd.
“You don't have a license.” Miv tousled his hair, looking at him indulgently while Lea curled in tight on the other side. She was happy as a clam they were all together, but she cocked her head, looking at Miv. “It's only a few weeks of study, if you want to get one.”
“Nah. It was just a stray thought. I’m good with being able to pay attention to you two, and it’s nice actually seeing the world go by.” He pulled them both closer, which Miv enjoyed, and made Lea squeak in pleasure. Lea had been a real princess about the lack of attention and she loved sharing with Miv, but with her work out in Creantauri, what could you do? He smiled and leaned in, kissing her lightly on the neck. This weekend would be all about making it up to them both.
Speaking of which, they were just about there…
The drive had given him ample time to cuddle up with Miv and Lea, which had been a lot of fun - but also just the distraction he’d needed. He’d tossed a jacket over the seatback showing the map display, but as the autocab turned into their destination, there was nothing for it…
“Miv, what’s this?” Lea was the first to notice, and she stared out the window as the cab turned in. Jets of brightly lit water began fountaining up on either side of the cab as it made its way up the long drive, the highway quickly out of sight.
Miv’eire pulled his coat off the seat to peer at the map and frowned in consternation as she looked at the display, “This is all wrong.”
“Actually, no, it isn't.” Tom grinned, pulling her back. “We’re exactly where we need to be.”
“But Tom, this isn’t our hotel!” Miv stared at him blankly, “Oh, love, you must have put the directions in wrong.”
“I canceled us there. Ladies, remember when you were going to take me on a holiday for a weekend? The one we missed thanks to my unscheduled trip to the hospital?” He grinned, enjoying their confusion. Lea was still looking out the window as the view turned from ‘impressive’ to ‘luxurious’ and was quickly heading for ‘‘opulent’. “When I was in recovery, I asked Prince Adam for three favors. Pushing through Desi’s adoption was one… looking into Olea was another… and a weekend somewhere nice to make it up to you both was number three.”
Tom drew Miv back into the seat beside him and slipped his arm back around Lea as she pressed to the window, the drive opening out on the broad vista and the hotel beyond. “Ladies, welcome to the Imperial Ocean Reserve.”
_ _ _
Following at a covert distance, and it had still been an easy drive. With an hour or two left to go, Sgt. Jel’ke had done the driving, leaving Captain Ce’lani to do the sensible thing and get some sleep. Honestly, it was kind of a relief. The Captain had been keyed up over Warrick, and after finally getting out of the bunker it was nice not to make small talk.
Thank the goddess the woman was sensible, but even so, she still had it bad…
…At least I haven’t had to make small talk along the… waitaminute…
Jel’ke frowned as the autocab turned in off the highway and pulled slowly on to the median. There was no doubt about it, the cab had diverted off the drive and was heading out of sight into…
…Well, fuck me…
Being a Deathshead Commando meant being down in the blood and the mud, deployed to some of the worst situations known to woman… but, every so often, it also put you in the way of protecting the great and the powerful.
Jel’ke knew Big Money when she saw it.
“Captain? You need to wake up.” Jel’ke pulled to a stop on the shoulder of the road, “I think we have a problem.”
_ _ _
It was early afternoon when Aku closed the file on his omni-pad.
The end of his tour had passed. He’d survived… at least on the outside. It wouldn't do to look anything less than your best, after all.
On the inside was another matter. His mistress, the Cliffsinger Tranja, had torn apart his every performance from the time he stepped on stage until the final note. Nothing was right. Nothing was good enough. While she hadn’t said he was an embarrassment as an initiate, she hadn’t needed to. The words had hung in the air - tangible, if unspoken.
This was his life.
Sitting in the dark of the enclave’s library, he thought about the tour. It had been an abject misery. If not for Kas’lin and Ka’mara, he’d probably have lost his mind under the pressure.
…If only things were different. I could be a regular guy. Maybe I could have met them instead, or someone like them! Started a family and lived a normal life…
His eyes crept back to his omni-pad. As miserable as he was at that moment, he knew he was telling himself a lie. Even if it had all been different, there was still the music. It burned inside, begging to be let out, and he yearned to make it happen. Even though his mistress seemed determined to sink his hopes into the Deeps, there was still the music. It could not be denied.
He’d kept away from the other initiates after returning to the enclave. They were his competition. He couldn’t see them as anything else, now… but inside it felt like a losing battle. Only one of them would inherit their mistress’ position and title, and it didn't seem likely that it would be him.
In desperation, he’d turned to the archives.
Cliffsinging was old. It was respected. Revered. Generations upon generations of Singers had practiced their art, handing down their names. Over time, the art had become codified… the Singers had become living treasures… but the original works survived. Every generation had added something of their own.
He’d delved deep into the stacks, diving through the recordings, searching the early works. There were files and archives and even printed records… He’d torn through all of them, not knowing what he was looking for until he’d found it.
The song was old - ancient, even - and written by one of the Singers whose name had not become selected as the final Twelve of Shil. The music was haunting, and it burned with a vibrancy that he didn't see in the more modern works - the kind of thing so often in demand now. There was almost no music - the singer's voice rang out alone, echoing off the cliffs accompanied only by a single steel arecha… but the song spoke to him.
The language was stilted with age, but as he’d translated it into more modern terms, it felt comfortable… it had the yearning that he felt inside, and which almost seemed Human in its power as he transcribed and updated it for his presentation.
It was traditional. It was very traditional. If he was going to reclaim his Mistress’ approval, this was what he needed.
He’d give his performance tonight, in front of his Mistress and the others. Show them he was good enough. Show her that he was better than the rest.
The music called and he had to answer.
Aku sighed again, wondering what the twins were doing at school right now. It had to be better than here.
_ _ _
“You are being such a bitch!” Kas’lin said hotly, scowling over the table at Dihsala. Ka’mara scowled over at the girl before joining in. “She’s right. There’s no call for this kind of behavior!”
“You two brought it on yourselves!” Dihsala crossed her arms defiantly, while Desi slumped the chair, resting her head on one fist, and steadfastly refused to join in.
“What are you talking about!? You’re twisting our arms… and… AND! you’re sucking up to Jax’mi!” Kas’lin was on her feet now, pointing at Dihsala, and Kas’lin rose in defense. There wasn't much more she could add to that.
“I don’t suck up to anyone!” Dihsala snapped coldly, though Jaxmi sat back, preening. It was the first happy look on the Chel’xa girl's face, as she’d been left desperately trying to keep the Japanese out of some city called Mecca. “You two brought it on yourselves, sucking up to England with that marriage proposal. You didn't want to join in, so this is what you get for coming late!”
“There’s nothing to get.” Kas’lin swept a hand up at the map on the screen. “They’ve completely swept everything out of Africa!”
“Well, that’s what you get for joining late. Anything you want to take, you can take out of France,” Dihsala said with finality. “Isn't that right, Lark?”
Khe’lark was looking at her omni-pad unhappily, saying nothing. Dihsala turned to look at her this time. “Lark?”
“It’s fine… Really…” Lark said unhappily.
“What?” Dihsala started to frown, and Desi sat up taking notice. “What’s ‘fine’?”
“Well, I didn't want to tell you this… but I think the Czechs are going to declare independence and revolt…”
Kas’lin closed her eyes and settled back in her chair.
The casualties for everyone along the French front lines had been catastrophic, the Spanish were useless, and now things were going to the Deeps with Austria…
…The things I do for extra credit…
_ _ _
“Well, I think the points we spent working on the Czechs and the Slovenes are paying off handsomely,” Let’zi said confidently, though the look around the table wasn’t encouraging.
“At least something is.” Pris grimaced, gesturing up at the map. “I hate to say it, but I don’t think France can last much longer.”
“She’s right. Rotating units up from the South kept the Germans out of Paris,” Sephir sighed gloomily. “But morale was shot with the units we rotated back South. We hoped they’d recover, but with Spain and Italy attacking? Unless we catch a break, I think our whole army will mutiny soon.”
“They can’t keep it up. They’ve lost all their colonies, now they have to fight in every direction at once.” Let’zi shook her head and tried sounding confident, though it was dimmed. “They can't do it. No one could!”
“She’s right, and England is mobilized now.” Melondi studied the map carefully, “Japan is all over the Ottomans in the South. Russia is… well… holding their own…”
“I’m doing the best I can…” Nestha huffed, crossing her arms. “Though yeah, the Ottomans are turning around and sending troops back South.”
“That’s right,” Melondi said brightly. “Besides, now we have Belda on our side!”
The girls looked over at Belda… who was staring off into space in a world of her own.
“Look, let’s call it a day. Bel has to go get dressed.” Mel grinned as Belda looked up, utterly lost. “She’s got a big evening.”
_ _ _
“Lieutenant, you aren't going to believe this…”
Lt. Peheli Tala looked over from the control board warily to where Sgt Diani was sitting in the right seat at observation. The bunker pods were all jumbled up with Captain Ton’is and Sgt. Jel’ke out on their trip, leaving Tala to fill in. It was a nice change of pace from running checks in the service corridors and updating the gear in the bunker.
Diani had been running the boards while telling long war stories to Sgt Vaeko, who was busily running the odds on that morning’s ‘wargame’ while monitoring the girls’ strategy sessions.
Words like that out of nowhere were not what she’d wanted to hear.
Diani and Vaeko had been keeping up a constant stream of conversation, both talking and only mostly listening to the other. It was enough to make her miss the quiet of the tunnels, and she’d started to tune out the idle chatter. Diani’s words snapped her back to reality in an instant, her heart pounding.
“Report Sgt!” Tala snapped the words out, but she was already pulling up the campus map on the main board, checking frantically for any sitreps from the ground team. No alarms had gone off yet, but it was probably only seconds away.
…Where's the alarm? Why hasn't anyone punched the alarm!? I’ll have to call Agent Duvari, and…
“It’s Captain Ton’is and Jel’ke.” Diani had a cheesy grin plastered over her wide features. “They need us to make some calls and get em a hotel room… You aren’t gonna believe where.”
Tala could feel her heart thudding in her chest. No alarms had gone off. There was no intrusion along the perimeter…
“A… a what?”
_ _ _
The Imperial Ocean Reserve was everything that Tom could have hoped for. It was old by Shil’vati standards, but that didn't mean tired. It meant historic, and walking into the lobby conjured up images only found in history books. The Reserve was a place where parasols graced the lawns in Summer and moonlight walks on the open beach were the norm. On Earth, it was the sort of place you could envision steamer trunks and top hats.
There were three restaurants along the veranda, and a bar, shops, and sumptuous indoor pool that served guests all year long. The hotel was vast. Not in the sense of catering to all comers, but spacious. It occupied its grounds like a crowning jewel.
As for their room?
It had a luxurious bed he could get lost in, more than capable of sleeping six Shil’vati. While he usually wasn’t big on the details, even he noticed the richly embroidered linens, what seemed like down pillows, the plush towels in the marble bathroom, well-stocked bar, and an in-room omni-pad to call for room service and requests.
That the whole suite lay beneath the ocean, with a glass roof and walls looking out from their bedroom at the surrounding coral reef, didn’t hurt either.
It was quite a place, but as the girls got started with the unpacking, he slipped out. It had always been his habit to poke around, and finding the best place for dinner reservations seemed like a good idea. A few minutes scouting out the restaurants would save time later…
At least, that had been the idea. The verandah surrounding the hotel proper had a lovely view directly off the beach, and as anyone would expect, it drew admiring guests… One of which happened to be Lady Vonde, the Duchess of House Jo’lare.
Tom hadn't seen the woman since Pre-term, when she’d attached herself to him in the tour, insistently tried to get him to ‘come for a visit,' and pinched his ass while showing her daughter around the campus. She’d been noteworthy in managing to do it more discreetly than most, but still…
Just at the moment Lady Vonde was in a shouting match against someone named Duchess Pyanfar, who’d swarmed down on him only a minute before Vonde. Pyanfar had started in on him with her retinue, breathlessly cooing about how charmed she was to meet him and wanting to hear all the details about Human marriages, and of course, she’d seen the captivating video on the news. It was just sooo rustic, positively enthralling, going native like that!
But Vonde spotted him and wasn’t having any of it, loudly insisting that he’d agreed to visit, and did Pyanfar know who she was!? Then her retinue started pushing Vonde’s retinue, while a crowd started to gather around the scene…
Tom was the only non-Shil in the room, and being 6’2 and pink, it wasn't easy to make himself invisible. He still did his best, though it was more a testament to the crowd of angry retainers around Vonde and Pyanfar that he got as far as the door of the bar. He kept his eyes behind him on the crowd as he made a break for it, barging first into a glass followed by a massive pair of breasts…
“Oh! Geeze…” Tom stepped back, “I’m terribly sorry Miss…”
A meaty hand clamped down on his arm painfully, and Tom looked up into the ruddy face of Tirola Reshay, Nestha’s kho-mother.
Disheveled and stinking of alcohol,Tirola wasn't in good shape. She’d emerged from the bar with her own crowd of hangers-on, including a Shil’vati guy hanging on her arm, and while she’d somehow managed to hang on to her glass, the collision had drenched her top in Blue Grail. Her eyes widened as she looked down at him and she growled, “You!!!”
…Alright, she isn’t in a good mood, though the last time I saw her she’d been unconscious in a pool of her own vomit…
Tirola made the mistake of clamping down harder, and Tom cried out in pained surprise. “Hey, get your damn hand off me!”
“Oh, you’re coming with me." Tirola tugged him closer…
Tom’s fingers spread and he jabbed. The strike was clumsy and he was off balance, but as eye-pokes went, it did the job.
Tirola let go of him and bellowed, her hand flying to one eye. The skinny guy thrown off her arm shrieked in bantam fury as he was thrown to the ground.
Then things got a little crazy.
_ _ _
Sgt. Jel’ke knew Big Money. She also knew when Big Money was fobbing her off. Thus far, they’d made it to the lobby and the reservation staff.
The ‘request’ had come down through official channels, but the Manager wasn't happy about it. Despite some ever-so-polite words, it seemed another call eventually came through and did the trick. The Manager accepted their story, and started offering over a room key with only a trace of disdain…
Out in the lobby, there was a scream.
It was followed a minute later by the sight of Tom Warrick pelting up the hall at a dead run and ducking into one of the gift shops, pursued by several mobs of women caught up in fighting each other as much as chasing after him.
“Captain, I-”
It was no use. Ce’lani Ton’is had already charged, and was racing across the lobby in hot pursuit. Glancing down at their meager baggage, she had the presence of mind to snatch the key from the Manager’s hand before she could take it back.
Somewhere up the hall Ce’lani bellowed.
Moments later a thunderous crash rumbled from somewhere up the hall. It was followed by the sound of delicate things breaking, considerably more shouting, and a soft cloud of plaster dust that gently wafted around the corner.
Jel’ke turned to the wide-eyed receptionist behind the counter and gave him a rakish smile. “So, what time is dinner?”

A family member has been arrested in England. The next hearing is in crown court. The family want to hire a criminal solicitor for him. If he initially received legal aid, does that mean he can no longer transfer to a preferred solicitor of his choice? The family want to try get good representation due to concerns that legal aid solicitors might be too stretched / less time to prepare a robust defence.