In Case Of Emergency Break Fourth Wall (The Messenger Archive Book 3) Page 2

  There was a sound of metal clanking together, and then an oofing noise, which she assumed was someone pushing the Roq too hard. Claws – Roq and Sianar – clattered on the metal floor.

  They only sent one guard to her cell, and the manacles she was holding looked far too big to hold her. They probably didn't know how to deal with Hleen wrists, she thought. Not that slipping out of them would do her much good, if she couldn't also break Loap free. She sat still and allowed herself to be uncuffed from the floor, and rechained up. She was yanked to her feet a bit too fast, and that made her stomach flip again, but all that happened was a dry, heaving noise and a head that swam horribly.

  "Obviously not accustomed to space flight," the tall Sianar teased, nastily.

  "Not the type that's several generations too old. Do you even have instruments to read the external weather, or do you just fly by the seat of your—HEY!"

  Loap dropped into a crouch under the sudden application of... were those... stingers? Long sticks with a current passing through the tip. People still used those?

  "Whichever of you misbehaves, the other will be... coerced, to further your co-operation," their captor told them, his lips curling in a cold, nasty smile. "Neither of you warrant new tools. You are nothing."

  "If we're nothing, then why did you—?"

  Saidhe tried to get the question out – the snarking automatic – but the louder cry of pain made her stop. Damnit. Pain as an incentive did work when it was on someone else, it seemed. She narrowed her eyes at the bastard, imagining in vivid detail precisely what she wanted to do to him. Several of the acts involved removing his fur. Most of them happened while he was still alive.

  "Come, now. I have to take you to see the Za."

  Saidhe's head snapped around, staring at Loap. The Za? Ail? Kre's father? No way would he condone this... would he?

  Loap simply shook his head, and then Saidhe screamed because someone applied one of those sticks to her, too.

  Great. This... this was just... great. No cargo job that looked as good as those boxes could ever have been as simple as it had seemed. They just did not have that kind of luck.

  ***

  [Sianor: Are we ever going to say what's in the boxes?]

  [Ashroe: Nope.]

  [Sianor: God damnit.]

  [Ashroe: And I know what is in them.]

  [Sianor: You have to tell me.]

  [Ashroe: It ruins the surprise.]

  [Sianor: It lets me sleep at night.]

  [Ashroe: Why don't you make up your own headcanon about what's in the boxes?]

  [Sianor: I shouldn't have to headcanon my own co-authored fic!]

  [Ashroe: But if I never say what is in there, then whatever you think is, is.]

  [Sianor: Not if it's different to what you think.]

  [Sianor: And don't try to science your way out of this.]

  [Ashroe: The act of opening the box would—damnit. Okay. Fine. But I am still not telling.]

  [Sianor: What about on your death bed?]

  [Ashroe: And incentivise killing me?]

  [Sianor: I am not going to kill my girlfriend over some fictional boxes!]

  [Ashroe: Then they clearly don't matter enough.]

  [Sianor: You want me to want to kill you?]

  [Ashroe: No, I want to go to bed, and have my girlfriend sing me to my sleep.]

  [Sianor: I am not singing.]

  [Ashroe: Reading the phone book?]

  [Sianor: Your obsession with my accent is all kinds of creepy.]

  [Ashroe: No more than your obsession with tea.]

  [Sianor: I like the ritual of it.]

  [Sianor: And besides, tea wasn't a British invention.]

  [Ashroe: No, but you can't split us from it, now. Same as tikka masala wasn't originally British. But now it is.]

  [Sianor: I don't even know what that is.]

  [Ashroe: I am so cooking for you when I can.]

  [Sianor: That looks... weird?]

  [Ashroe: Weird, but oh so very good.]

  [Sianor: What about American food? Is there anything of ours you want to try?]

  [Ashroe: Some of your 'candy bars'. And... grits. I guess. Mostly because why the hell would you call food 'grits'. But we're pretty much multicultural when it comes to food. I think we often have more variety than you.]

  [Sianor: Okay, but when you come, I will also try to make spaghetti like my mom does. Because that stuff is divine.]

  [Ashroe: Deal xxx]

  ***

  Chapter Two – Mission: Nomination

  "I hope you realise that it won't be easy to convince the elders?" Toan asked.

  "I am well aware of that, which is why I am here in person," Peters replied.

  "Many of your old comrades are no longer on the council. An unfortunate pastime of the old is to... pass. It makes me wonder if we are right to value the oldest as the wisest, for we are forever losing them."

  "You'd rather have young leaders, like the Hleen and Sianar?"

  "They would last longer."

  "True, but they know less, and you are stuck with them for a lot longer. It is not as if you rely upon a single leader – like the Sianar – so a single point of failure. And Roq are not prone to senility in their old age, as Humans are."

  "True, but the continuity is preserved only by memory and tradition, not through the experience and maturation of those in charge."

  "Have you said as much to your peers?"

  Toan laughed. "No. Well. Some in my family, perhaps, but not on a larger scale. I am already considered eccentric enough, and... strange... without pushing radical ideas regarding our leadership."

  "Every old tradition was once a radical idea," the Human mused. "Even ones as unquestionable to us now as love, or friendship, or cooking our food."

  "Well, perhaps I will instil the ideas into my offspring, so that when they are my age they have had the chance to consider it. And it will become an old idea then, and one they could implement."

  "A very long way to do things."

  "Yes, but it is our way," she said, with a slow smile. "You must work with what you have, as well as what could be."

  The two were sitting in the curved bay window, basking in the sunlight, picking at a bowl of fruit and nuts. The large house was filled with Roq of all ages, but Toan was by far the eldest. The Judge watched as three of the very smallest of her family played a game close by: they bounced small bones and balls over the floor and clucked happily when they got a good score. He couldn't fathom the rules from their noises, but they seemed to be happy enough.

  "Have you never wanted your own family?" Toan asked.

  "I had one, once."

  "I know," she said, her voice soft and kind. "But it was long ago. You could have had a new one, by now."

  "No," he said, with a slow shake of his head. "Not after her."

  "Then you will just have to be part of mine," Toan said. "Are you going to assist me in the rites?"

  "Is it permitted?"

  The Roq laughed. "It is my household. If I say it is permitted, then it is."

  "Then I should be honoured to."

  ***

  Simeon had never been to a naming ceremony before, only to the public celebrations afterwards. He had seen short excerpts in fictional videos, of course, or the very stale documentaries designed to promote cross-cultural acceptance and awareness. But the reality of it? Was so far divorced from the theory that he was blown away.

  The immediate family of the newborns were the centre of attention, and the proud parents were easy to identify because they had fresh flowers and grass pinned through their clothing. It was their first clutch, Simeon learned, and the fact that three of them had been viable was considered a positive sign. Future clutches – if there were any – would likely yield far greater numbers of offspring.

  "Do not ask how many did not survive, or were created," Toan had warned him, though he already knew. "It is considered rude. Instead we ask how many live."

  Simeon did
n't have the sense of smell to pick up on all the unspoken vibes, nor could he tell 'what' the three parents were. He knew one of them was Toan's great-great-grandchild, and the other two were from different lines. As Toan was the eldest in all the lines, it was the Hale household that housed the ceremony with the other two families coming to pay their respects.

  "What are the parents' names?" the Judge asked.

  "The nadir is my daughter," Toan said. "Hale Ruen. The zeniths are Pail Shou and Doar Brin. They both prefer female pronouns, but you may also call them father, rather than mother. It is a variable term for us, and it will not cause offence."

  It was an auspicious clutch, then, Simeon thought. Roq preferred to clutch with only nadirs and zeniths when possible, and though the Hales were as much revered as feared, there was no denying their genetic pool was considered strong. He did not know the Pail and Doar lines, and he supposed they were reaching 'up' by offering their zeniths to a Hale nadir. How much of their partnership was personal choice? He wasn't sure.

  Still, they seemed to be happy. He watched with approval as various Roq went to them with gifts of flowers and treats, and cooed appreciatively over the little grasping claws. The three 'mothers' all had elaborate paintings on their faces: bright red, white and purple markings to commemorate the day. The three women sat closely together, and their children squirmed from lap to lap, enjoying all the attention.

  "What of the children?" he asked. "What do I call them?"

  "You mean pronouns?" Toan asked.

  Peters nodded.

  "Either will work, or you can use a plural. It is only in other languages that we gender ourselves. In our own, we simply use our name or... nadir or zenith, when appropriate. They are too young to pick, and so they will not take offence."

  "I understand." A pause. "How do they decide which family name to take?"

  "That is decided by the child when they come of age," she answered. "Though many are undoubtedly pressured to take particular ones, and if none took the 'lower' names – such as there ever are – then there would be a problem. But in practice... there is usually some who choose to honour the rarer family lines. If a line was so unpopular that none would want to go by it, then it did not deserve to continue."

  "So today you give them only a fi—sorry. Only a last name?"

  "Yes. The parents choose those, and the children choose their family allegiance."

  "Interesting."

  She smiled indulgently at him. "Perhaps. Come, it is time for the ceremony."

  ***

  [Ashroe: Now I know why they have continuity errors on the show.]

  [Sianor: Oh?]

  [Ashroe: I've made a little document of facts, now. Throwaway lines end up setting out lifespans, or homeworlds, or meal preferences... and keeping up with all of them is driving me around the bend.]

  [Sianor: Ah, I see. I have become very fond of the ctrl+f.]

  [Ashroe: Remembering when we said something is becoming harder, with more text. I will share the notes doc, then we can refer to it whenever we need to remember what we said.]

  [Sianor: I do like the world-building bits, though.]

  [Ashroe: I worry that I'm missing fundamental things about how societies would work, and then I wonder if I am putting too much emphasis on throwaway lines, and then--]

  [Sianor: Does it make you happy?]

  [Ashroe: Obsessively trying to put my head into a member of a culture with vastly different biology and surroundings than my own?]

  [Sianor: That.]

  [Ashroe: Yes.]

  [Sianor: Then stop worrying and embrace the claws.]

  [Ashroe: It sounds painful to me.]

  [Sianor: Are we really going to do the cosplay thing?]

  [Ashroe: Uh... sure? If you want to.]

  [Sianor: I mean, if you do, then I do. I think it would be cool. I don't want to spend a fortune on it, but it would be fun if we just vaguely made an effort?]

  [Ashroe: Then of course. It does make it easy that they both wear pretty generic things, with little tweaks. Uh. Are you any good at sewing?]

  [Sianor: Yep! I can sew.]

  [Ashroe: Alright, so could you make the insignia?]

  [Sianor: Sure can! I've actually been looking up some of the basics. I wasn't going to go as far as a wig, but I found a jacket I can use. And – uh – I found these for you.]

  [Ashroe: Whoa. That's really... that could almost be his belt.]

  [Sianor: I know!]

  [Ashroe: You have a talent for this.]

  [Sianor: As you got the tickets and hotel, I could make it my contribution. I could even get the costume ready for you, if you send me all your measurements.]

  [Ashroe: If you can do it without costing an arm and a leg.]

  [Sianor: Considering it's my arm and leg, I wouldn't get much if I sold them.]

  [Ashroe: Alright, consider yourself the official Convention Costumer.]

  [Sianor: Yey!]

  [Ashroe: Wait... wasn't today...?]

  [Sianor: Yep.]

  [Ashroe: Shit, I am a bad girlfriend. Uh... how was your first day at work? I mean, real day at work?]

  [Sianor: Pretty terrifying to begin with, although it wasn't actually my first day. It was a training day, so I got to learn from him before he goes. I was convinced I'd have nine million questions and because I was at home I'd be bugging people. But the person before me wrote an Idiot's Guide, and after reading it again I got to grips with it.]

  [Ashroe: Cool. Did you work all day?]

  [Sianor: Pretty much! I had to force myself to actually have a lunch break, but yeah.]

  [Sianor: I know I have an easy little job and I'm paid to push electronic things back and forth, but... I think I like it.]

  [Ashroe: I am so proud. *sniff* My precious girl all grown up.]

  [Sianor: Ah stop! I had enough with Mom!]

  [Ashroe: But now you're a real adult. Things go downhill from here on.]

  [Sianor: Yippee. I think.]

  [Ashroe: I am still so proud of you though :)]

  [Sianor: Aww, thanks.]

  ***

  The small button in his pocket started to vibrate just as the next toast went around the table, and Peters startled. He made eye-contact with Toan, who nodded her permission, and he left the table as subtly as he could.

  There were many people here, but fortunately they were all in the main hall, finishing off the celebrations. Judge Peters found a room that was insulated from the others, and ran a quick scan for recording or transmitting devices. When he found none, he pulled out the little communication device.

  "Are you secure?" he asked.

  "Yeah, we're secure," came the familiar voice of Messenger's Captain. "You?"

  "I wouldn't answer if I wasn't."

  "Well, we wouldn't call if we weren't."

  "Unless it was an emergency," Avery's voice chipped in.

  "Well, true," Vadim agreed, grumpily.

  "I suggest we keep this short and sweet, gentlemen."

  "Okay: the ship never went to Raboros. If that's where they took Saidhe and Loap, they did a dock-and-swap. We'll never track 'em that way. Plus... B and Kre took Mes and ran."

  "I see."

  "They got away from Tuadan before we got there," Avery explained. "We have hailed Mes, but we haven't had an answer. We do not know where they are headed."

  "Likely Raboros," the Judge mused. "They probably think that the Ardeshir took the others, and have gone to mount a rescue, or to confront the Za and Eru."

  "So you think we should go after them?" the Captain asked.

  "In all honesty, I'm not sure," he said, tapping his fingers to his lips. "Kre is emotionally conflicted when it comes to Sianar politics, but she is also one of the most powerful players on the field. But if they have taken Loap – and Saidhe – it will cause unimaginable hostilities on Draqqi."

  "Let me guess: because he's a Hale?"

  "Precisely." It was why he was here in Toan's household, after all. Quite aside from
being one of the most influential Roq, she was one of Loap's closest living relatives.

  "And we stop that... how?"

  "Very, very carefully," he admitted. "I may need your assistance here on Draqqi. The Hleen will – I hate to say it – be less upset by Saidhe's disappearance."

  The silence when he said that was telling.

  "We'll be there," Avery said, eventually. "Will this channel still work in emergencies?"

  "Yes, but every time we use it, we make it less secure, and increase the chances of surveillance. So only in emergencies."

  "Gotcha," Avery replied, and clicked off the line.

  He hadn't even told them where to dock, who to approach. He waited for a count of five and then:

  "Where do we find you?"

  Peters smiled. They were getting better, at least.

  ***

  Chapter Three – Mission: Succession

  "You sure you gonna be okay?"

  "Yes, Biann, I will be fine," Mes replied.

  "I don't like just... leaving ya like this."