“Mafa is an anatomical term which can be used to refer to a species’ rectal cavity. We may also use this as a-“

Illian couldn’t stand to listen to his lesson any further. “She called me an asshole …” he said under cover of darkness.

Showtime.

Illian clung to his sliding door, slowed it manually to avoid the whisking thrum shut. He hoisted his shirt collar to peek at his undershirt. Good. He didn’t forget his slate. It was transmitting jammer software as countermeasure for this allusive midget; as long as the oval light remained orange, he wasn’t compromised and could hear exactly what they had to say. What anyone had to say.

There was a white fixture auspiciously knocked out of place near his dorm. When the hall cleared, Illian gave the loose plate a pull to fully unlatch its bolts. Behind the wall was a lattice frame not quite in line with the other; he’d be sure to give maintenance his sorry later, but now. Now was time for war. He crawled through then lined the plate back into hold.

These corridors housed conduit veins and clutter not quite cleansed from the tech palette. Old grease lines stained cords wrapped around rivets. Illian felt like a cell worming through to retard the Rayvine’s disease, and he picked up pace accordingly. At this rate, the Rayvine would need hundreds of cells in order to cure the plague of politics. Something rounded the way; no footsteps but—he heard some kind of pulsing putt? Illian checked his slate for the anomaly and their orange tether. The putting matched the orange. Whatever it was, it was also the culprit. They stopped and turned off-course.

Illian whispered like spatting, “No-no-no!” as he rounded a hatch. The anomaly had never deviated before—why now? The boy took a breath and checked his slate-

“Well, I’ll be …” A pearl glow: no more programs were running on standby. Compromised. In comatose, his slate was now as useful as a stone tablet, and at least those scribed miracles. Illain’s steps galloped; his boots could strike matches. Suddenly, the boy heard how ‘Garellion’s glory held no equal!’ turn to gurgling Kale.

Wait. Kale. Small and stealthy, huh. They’re close.

That was when the outside chatter seemed to turn, began to ensnare and triangulate. Illian scouted through a small grate; no sign of feet—but that sound, the howl of a hovercraft. His faced up. Just as he thought; a small hovercraft. And it housed a three-eyed Kale geared head to toe in haptic gear. No doubt, it was the anomaly. Illian entered manual override for the grate, hushed his efforts to remain unseen.

It parted away from its many LCD screens, suspicious when Illian threw an ill-advised arm and caught the fringe of its pod and yanked. “Whatsit’ the matter, Earth kid?!” it jeered.

The nerve- “Shut it down!”

The Kale thrusted in protest, knocked Illian back and began to retreat. “In the dreams!” it said curiously.

Illian grunted and immediately gave chase. The Kale rounded a corner, riding the wall in a spiral. Illian jumped and attempted to rodeo their craft. Unfortunately, the circumference of these halls forced him to fuddle and trip up back to ground level. Yet, the boy kept on. Some stray Havyrn diplomats cluttered the upcoming corridor descending into a stair well, some wingspan splayed. He called, “Clear out!” But their scowls defied the Messenger, so he pressed through in an ill-advised manner, too; their wings pushed aside like loaded springs. He edged at the elbow with a jump far too close a call down a walkway.

Finally, he made it to an intersection overlooking the outermost tubule crossings of this massive station.

Too little, too late.

There was no sign of the little rat among his alien peers. He gritted a firm “dammit” under strained breath. Unamused, Illian began sifting through the riffraff with eyes only for the cafeteria doming beyond the many deck windows.

The Kale saboteur zeroed in to the cafeteria. Seeing this, he let off his boosters.

Two stands remained open: Kurk’s Space Tour and Kuiper Cuisine. In both, their chefs stayed ignorant near their grills, their particle tumblers, their detoklai. Zlav, after doing away with a spoiled Pavi cadaver could still catch the Kale’s stench and it only got worse with each rendezvous. His ember stare openly charred, sizing his countertop on two massive hands.

The Kale smiled his wry gums, daring to shoot a fang at Zlav, daring him to tell anybody. Zlav’s molten core steamed and he cut away to his kitchen.

The Kale culled his haptic gear into some sort of collector device which compartmentalized it into many particulate strands. His hovercraft pod opened from the back and he stepped his frail feet down to stretch its vertebrae.

“He followed you, didn’t he?” Quella said, not wasting a step from the cafeteria’s eye.

“Matter of time, sure. You said he’d be sooner,” as the Kale fed code to a rigid gadget. “Good to keep a pocket proxy.” In the same breath, his pod then sprouted some loose tassels which calcified into a quadrupedal set of hooves. “Now, about our dealing? G3 expect great—great! reward.”

The Madame kept silent, looking to Shaintro emerging from Kurk’s Space Tour. His features lined with worry, much as hers did, too. They shared a nod exchange, met each other halfway and embraced.

“Mu’cishua” said Shaintro.

Illian was snooping behind Corova’s Busk Palm above them. He mouthed Maioran along with Quella when she answered. “I love you, too,” as if he couldn’t believe it.

Of all the lies, Shaintro had never been in love in any of them. And that somehow was the biggest blow these past few weeks. This flash of Shaintro he knew, he thought he knew had never known love. Maybe he hid such things to appear immortal. Or maybe he secretly hated Illian’s guts. Time to find out which.

The boy moved on, ducking behind bramble planters to flank. The only party more vigilant then he was the Kale, whose three eyes were instantly shielded by a triangular visor, pieced together like wishing upon a star. “His here. Prox picked up human blip,” it said. “Neutral scrambler bolts: on!” A cadence whirred from the pod walker; its legs bent as a prowling cheetah might in the company of gazelles.

With command, Shaintro turned to their accomplice: “Sol must not be harmed, you understand that.”

“Go now!—happy hunt to you.” Its forceless slap sent the walker pod to leap.

“What’s that sound?” Illian peaked from the pot.

The very wind erupted, then stilled as the walker pod stormed by. Breathless, Illian stood still. He clung to a grothwood sapling display: probably the best thing to come out of Chalice II in a long while.

The Kale then spoke to an empty room: “Illian Jones!”

And he knows my name, great!

Much as he wanted to, Illian didn’t answer. No need. He noticed the perfect getaway: an escalator block awaiting a few yards away. A digital thrum then speared from his right and landed between him and his exit; that mechanical nightmare was back!

“I can call it off whenever you want to, Earth boy! You’re far out of your lead.”

“For the love of”—Illian broke his whisper—"it’s ‘league!’” The pod engaged, fired a barrage of bolts from quad flak cannons. Illian rolled; he broke for the escalator and hugged the middle divider on the way down. Finally, a second to breathe!

Madame Quella said, “Easy! You’re going to hurt him!”

The Kale spat a chuckle: “Just some rogue, right? What’re you going to do—tsk, “as another rotary blast fired down the escalator’s path. “I’m telling, they’re harmless!”

“How harmless?!”

“The ptumotoly gland’s a strong waste container for electromagnetic currents. These bolts render his anatomical processes as of two weeks ago completely unremembered, but the body itself will be good as new!—haha.”

“And they have those, yes?”

“…

“… Who doesn’t?”

“Fuck!” Illian shouted like holding a tune. He tumbled over the nearest eatery counter and took cover. The walker smashed through the red benches, famished.

Shaintro was done idling by. “Jujori, shut it down, now!” he shouted.

“Why?-“

“You’re going to smash that place to pieces getting to Sol! We don’t want to cause an investigation.” Jujori, the Kale suddenly turned from Illian to appraise Shaintro.

Jujori’s face soured: “You’re lying!”

And Shaintro made good on that lie, then reaching to de-crown Jujori’s visor. The Kale deflected, both arms fending Shaintro’s effort.

A hail of gunfire scorched across the dome struts. It barely missed the boy which was bow-tied for him at point-blank range. “Care for Earth boy, bet! You have a responsibility, you—traitor!”

Shaintro gripped tighter. He said, “My mission was to procure a-“

Jujori chomped on Shaintro’s wrist, mushing any logic to anguished shouts. He broke free.

Just as Illain approached the crazed walker, it realigned. Illian—out of options—splayed his arms out, took a deep breath in utmost faith and closed his eyes. “Gaia, guide me.” And so she did.

Jujori paused, harmonized with his pod’s actions. “What? Is he—giving up?”

Illian recalled Her kiss. All sound parted for Gaia’s tune. He took one step forward, then another upon Her pastures. “Nah, this was a whole thing. Shooting now!” The neutralizers heated for one more go.

But when he went to fire, the Kale’s visor was swiped from him, initiating another struggle. Still, the boy continued to walk in grace, far from this reality. He could sense warmth smooth over his eyelids. It was Earth’s sun. He opened his eyes.

The wild dragonflies sang together, passed Illian to say hello. Trees had submitted to the amber of fall, but the grass was less sure, less passive than the cottonwoods which swayed near this creek bed. The air, misty and cooled from a dusky sky, blew against his blooming hairline as a wave through plains. In that briskness, he missed the simple pleasures of life, the life which he had.

Oh, how he missed it.

Then a creature stumbled onto Illian’s path. Looked to be a lost panther cub. Illian bent down and slowly cradled it with gentle hands.

And thus, the pod was now at Illian’s control.

There was trepidation among the eateries. Guns were drawn to their bead while a breathless, orchestrated Illian now piloting a gods’ vengeance. His stare glazed over, far removed from this place. The seat of the pod barely fit him, but comfort was a willing sacrifice much as the trees made to fall. Shaintro and Quella looked to one another, then turned to Sol.

“Absolutely vivid,” Quella muttered, every telling muscle of her body flaring up. Her voice then arose in a familiar toil: “Illian!”

“Illian!” Shaintro pushed aside Jujori trying to reactivate the pod. “We’ve lied to you, and we’re sorry!” The guns heated. Quella stepped forward, then Shaintro, then Quella again.

Quella overtook her lover, gripping onto his coat for protection. “We will tell you everything, just please”—she felt the heat emit, only a few seconds left—“O Gaia, hear us plead to your vessel!” Her voice imbued with absolution. “He is right to challenge, he is right to doubt, but is of no right to kill!—for I have seen him condemned. Do as you will, but take this: you will be Your own doom!”

She shut her bulbs, prayed to Cupias to bargain. Then the guns ceased.

Quella nodded with what Illian assumed to be a tear trickling from her eye. Finally, he returned.

We only had what was best for you in mind, Illian-“

Illian waved Quella aside, stooped down on a bench while collecting himself. “From the top, Madame. What the hell were you trying to do?”

She sighed. “There’s been a declaration internally … The rest of the council has not seen what we’ve seen in you.”

“So, fire me.”

“It’s not that easy, Illian. They’ve vowed no confidence not just on you, but humans.”

“So, fire me-“

“They’ve called upon The Powers to destroy you!” adamant in not being mocked again. She fumed, “It’s—fine to be angry. But you were their first target.

“We decided that you would be better off focusing on prospect while you fulfilled your bond with Gaia.” She motioned towards Jujori, “And the Kale Incursion was going to—fend off the first wave until we felt you were ready." The Madame couldn’t help but smile when she nudged Illian’s shoulder to face her. “But as you’ve exemplified here, we were wrong to deny you the truth. Illian—you! are ready to defend Earth!” Illian turned away.

Madame Quella slowly deflated, letting go of her grasp to give the boy space. He found an escape, fixating on shadowed floors. Something in their stains called out from the Court’s idols. He always likened shadows to something as defiant as himself. He sensed the click-clacks and slop-stomps of many feet on their way for breakfast, so he stood up.

He couldn’t find the right words. Best not to say anything at all-

“By the way,” Quella chimed in. “We’ve acquired a shuttle back to Boros, in case you needed it, Sol.” Illian’s face chilled. He swung around, expecting a lashing. “Your old job is willing to take you back, too.” She dared smile an investigative smile. “I guess secrets are a universal thing.”

Yeah

I guess so.