A) the most venomous lizard in north america is called the Gila Monster
B) Iâm no expert obviously but that boy there sure looks like a Gila Monster
C) from the Gila Monster wikipedia article, here is the funniest doctor that ever lived:
"I have never been called to attend a case of Gila monster bite, and I don't want to be. I think a man who is fool enough to get bitten by a Gila monster ought to die. The creature is so sluggish and slow of movement that the victim of its bite is compelled to help largely in order to get bitten."
Human: So we got some dinosaur DNA samples and remade them, but the result kinda sucked.
Alien: How so? And how'd you do that?
H: Some guy invented time travel, so we went and got some of their blood and eggs, and man are they actually lame.
A: Wait, time travel?
H: Most of the dinosaurs are fat! FAT! They lumber around like they own the place, and the feather coloration is just so dumb.
A: WHAT DO YOU MEAN TIME TRAVEL!
H: Doesn't matter, the dinosaurs aren't even rainbow colored! Turns out their eyes did a weird mutation way back and saw a slightly different spectrum from what we have today, so what we get is just a bunch of random garbage.
A: WHAT DO YOU MEAN TIME TRAVEL!!!
H: Forget it, it's not worth it. The past sucks anyway, can't change things, just creates a parallel universe and ours stays the same. What even is the point of these mostly green-scale dinosaurs! It's not even a good shade of green.
A: Time. Travel. Explain. Now!
H: Ugh, look, I'm not in the mood. I wanted dinosaurs and all we got were... bleh. I don't even want to think about it. Let's go watch robots beat each other up instead!
With the knowledge that Vulcan has regularly high winds & subsequent sandstorms I propose a type of guy: midwestern dads watching tornadoes but for Vulcans. Somebody's uncle Sovar standing outside with his hands on his hips watching a massive cloud roll closer. Unconcerned because this happens, like, every couple of weeks. He's like "this one is large, is it not" yes it is go back inside Sovar
Bruce is one of the richest men in the world. Bruce does not want to be one of the richest men in world.
He starts by implementing high starting salaries and full health care coverages for all levels at Wayne Enterprises. This in vastly improves retention and worker productivity, and WE profits soar. He increases PTO, grants generous parental and family leave, funds diversity initiatives, boosts salaries again. WE is ranked â#1 worker-friendly corporationâ, and productively and profits soar again.
Ok, so clearly investing his workers isnât the profit-destroying doomed strategy his peers claim it is. Bruce is going to keep doing it obviously (his next initiative is to ensure all part-time and contractors get the same benefits and pay as full time employees), but he is going to have to find a different way to dump his money.
But you know what else is supposed to be prohibitively expensive? Green and ethical initiatives. Yes, Bruce can do that. He creates and fund a 10 year plan to covert all Wayne facilities to renewable energy. He overhauls all factories to employ the best environmentally friendly practices and technologies. He cuts contracts with all suppliers that engage in unethical employment practices and pays for other to upgrade their equipment and facilities to meet WEâs new environmental and safety requirements. He spares no expense.
Yeah, Wayne Enterprises is so successful that they spin off an entire new business arm focused on helping other companies convert to environmentally friendly and safe practices like they did in an efficient, cost effective, successful way.
Admittedly, investing in his own company was probably never going to be the best way to get rid of his wealth. He slashes his own salary to a pittance (god knows he has more money than he could possibly know what to do with already) and keeps investing the profits back into the workers, and WE keeps responding with nearly terrifying success.
So WE is a no-go, and Bruce now has numerous angry billionaires on his back because theyâve been claiming all these measures heâs implementing are too expensive to justify for decades and theyâre finding it a little hard to keep the wool over everyoneâs eyes when Idiot Softheart Bruice Wayne has money spilling out his ears. BUT Bruce can invest in Gotham. Thatâll go well, right?
Gothamâs infrastructure is the OSHA anti-Christ and even what little is up to code is constantly getting destroyed by Rogue attacks. Surely THAT will be a money sink.
Except the only non-corrupt employer in Gotham city isâŚ.Wayne Enterprises. Or contractors or companies or businesses that somehow, in some way or other, feed back to WE. Paying wholesale for improvement to Gothamâs infrastructure somehow increases WEâs profits.
Bruce funds a full system overhaul of Gotham hospital (itâs not his fault the best administrative system software is WEâhe looked), he sets up foundations and trusts for shelters, free clinics, schools, meal plans, day care, literally anything he can think of.
Gotham continues to be a shithole. Bruce Wayne continues to be richer than god against his Batman-ingrained will.
Oh, and Bruice Wayne is no longer viewed as solely a spoiled idiot nepo baby. The public responds by investing in WE and anything else he owns, and stop doing this, please.
Bruce sets up a foundation to pay the college tuition of every Gotham citizen who applies. Itâs so successful that within 10 years, donations from previous recipients more than cover incoming need, and Bruce canât even donate to his own charity.
But by this time, Bruce has children. If he canât get rid of his wealth, he can at least distribute it, right?
Except Dick Grayson absolutely refuses to receive any of his money, wonât touch his trust fund, and in fact has never been so successful and creative with his hacking skills as he is in dumping the money BACK on Bruce. Jason died and wonât legally resurrect to take his trust fund. Tim has his own inherited wealth, refuses to inherit more, and in fact happily joins forces with Dick to hack accounts and return whatever money he tries to give them. Cass has no concept of monetary wealth and gives him panicked, overwhelmed eyes whenever he so much as implies offering more than $100 at once. Damian is showing worrying signs of following in his precious Richardâs footsteps, and Babs barely allows him to fund tech for the Clocktower. At least Steph lets him pay for her tuition and uses his credit card to buy unholy amounts of Batburger. But that is hardly a drop in the ocean of Bruceâs wealth. And she wonât even accept a trust fund of only one million.
Jason wins for best-worst child though because he currently runs a very lucrative crime empire. And although he pours the vast, vast majority of his profits back into Crime Alley, whenever he gets a little too rich for his tastes, he dumps the money on Bruce. At this point, Bruce almost wishes he was being used for money laundering because then heâs at least not have the money.
So childrenâgenerous, kindhearted, stubborn till the day they die the little shits, childrenâare also out.
Bruce was funding the Justice League. But then finances were leaked, and the public had an outcry over one man holding so much sway over the worldâs superheroes (nevermind Bruce is one of those superheroesâbut the public canât know that). So Bruce had to do some fancy PR trickery, concede to a policy of not receiving a majority of funds from one individual, and significantly decrease his contributions because no one could match his donations.
At his wits end, Bruce hires a team of accounts to search through every crinkle and crevice of tax law to find what loopholes or shortcuts can be avoided in order to pay his damn taxes to the MAX.
The results are horrifying. According to the strictest definition of the law, the government owes him money.
Bruce burns the report, buries any evidence as deeply as he can, and organizes a foundation to lobby for FAR higher taxation of the upper class.
All this, and Wayne Enterprises is happily chugging along, churning profit, expanding into new markets, growing in the stock market, and trying to force the credit and proportionate compensation on their increasingly horrified CEO.
Bruce Wayne is one of the richest men in the world. Bruce Wayne will never not be one of the richest men in the world.
I like to imagine that when Bruce is really sick or horribly injured and doesn't want to show weakness, he just... sends Dick in his batsuit to Justice League meetings.
And nobody notices
And a few years later Dick finally ends up in the league as Nightwing and someone brings up how Batman never seems to get sick or hurt, even when they know he's taken big hits, he's always at the meetings.
And Dick just bursts out laughing and falls out of a chair.
It comes time for the next meeting and Bruce had to recently crash the Batwing again and ejected too late, so Dick knows this is a time he would need to step in for him, but being a League member himself now, he doesnât want to leave his own spot empty.
But he never gets a call. He callâs Bruce but gets no answer. Upon arriving at the meeting, Batman is already sitting in his seat. But Dick knows those shoulders. Heâs got a good scowl on and his hands are already laced and in front of his face as Dick takes a seat across from Batman with a smile.
After the occupation, the princess was confined to the palace.
Once a month she'd be taken on a walk around the city, heavily guarded of course, to show the people that she still lived. It also served, of course, as a reminder of what they stood to lose if they made trouble. The princess did her best go wave and smile and give the people what encouragement she could.
The rest of the time, her life was spent in musty rooms and dusty towers. She filled most of her time scouring the castle for materials which she would sew into more and more elaborate outfits, which she would show off on the days when she was allowed outside.
Indeed, the public loved their princess and her dresses so much they'd often sketch or paint them along the route and pass the images on so that all could see the princess at least was well.
This pleased the occupiers for two reasons. First: it kept the princess out of trouble. Second: it gave them a reason to sneer and they did love a good sneer.
"What a vain creature she is!" They would remark.
"Doesn't even care we murdered her brothers so long as she gets enough satin to make her little dresses!" They squawked.
This was unfair, of course, for to call her creations "little dresses" was to call Queen Murderfun the Needlessly Genocidal "a tad piquey". Her dresses were gravity-defying wonders lace and pearl. They were thunderstorms captured in velvet and waterfalls summoned in silk. She was a wizard with silk.
Still, she bore their mockery with a tight smile and careful deference.
"Please, good sirs, my home, my people and my city now belong to you. Let me keep, at least, this one last joy."
And they sneered and they crowed most unpleasantly, but they let her keep her sewing room.
Of course, they would have known their mockery to be doubly unfair had they realised the true purpose of the princess's elaborate designs. For hidden in the intricate embroiderings across her gowns, jackets and fans, the princess had encoded secret (and very detailed) messages. When she would go on her monthly walk, the city's loyalists would line the route, sketching down the patterns to decode later.
Thus did the princess transmit all the occupiers' secrets (unearthed while supposedly 'searching the castle for old fabrics') to the city and thus did she build her resistance.
On the day the revolution finally came, she girded herself in armour of thick spider silk and whale bone. She cut a fine figure with a lacy handkerchief in her top pocket and a razor sharp knitting needle keeping her hair up.
As she waltzed through the castle to open the door for her army, the Usurper King tried to stop her and she simply unfolded her handkerchief and showed it to him.
Upon seeing the impossible arcane pattern emblazoned across it, he fell to the floor with blood streaming from his eyes.
Preindustrial travel, and long explanations on why different distances are like that
I saw a post on my main blog about how hiking groups need to keep pace with their slowest member, but many hikers mistakenly think that the point of hiking is "get from Point A to Point B as fast as possible" instead of "spending time outdoors in nature with friends," and then they complain that a new/less-experienced/sick/disabled hiker is spoiling their time-frame by constantly needing breaks, or huffing and puffing to catch up.
I run into a related question of "how long does it take to travel from Point A to Point B on horseback?" a lot, as a fantasy writer who wants to be SEMI-realistic; in the Western world at least, our post-industrial minds have largely forgotten what it's like to travel, both on our own feet and in groups.
People ask the new writer, "well, who in your cast is traveling? Is getting to Point B an emergency or not? What time of year is it?", and the newbies often get confused as to why they need so much information for "travel times." Maybe new writers see lists of "preindustrial travel times" like a primitive version of Google Maps, where all you need to do is plug in Point A and Point B.
But see, Google Maps DOES account for traveling delays, like different routes, constructions, accidents, and weather; you as the person will also need to figure in whether you're driving a car versus taking a bus/train, and so you'll need to figure out parking time or waiting time for the bus/train to actually GET THERE.
The difference between us and preindustrial travelers is that 1) we can outsource the calculations now, 2) we often travel for FUN instead of necessity.
The general rule of thumb for preindustrial times is that a healthy and prime-aged adult on foot, or a rider/horse pair of fit and prime-aged adults, can usually make 20-30 miles per day, in fair weather and on good terrain.
Why is this so specific? Because not everyone in preindustrial times was fit, not everyone was healthy, not everyone was between the ages of 20-35ish, and not everyone had nice clear skies and good terrain to travel on.
If you are too far below 18 years old or too far past 40, at best you will need either a slower pace or more frequent breaks to cover the same distance, and at worst you'll cut the travel distance in half to 10 or so miles. Too much walking is VERY BAD on too-young/old knees, and teenagers or very short adults may just have short legs even if they're fine with 8-10 hours of actual walking. Young children may get sick of walking and pitch a fit because THEY'RE TIREDDDDDDDDDD, and then you might need to stay put while they cry it out, or an adult may sigh and haul them over their shoulder (and therefore be weighed down by about 50lbs of Angry Child).
Heavy forests, wetlands and rocky hills/mountains are also going to be a much shorter "distance" per day. For forests or wetlands, you have to account for a lot of villagers going "who's gonna cut down acres of trees for one road? NOT ME," or "who's gonna drain acres of swamp for one road? NOT ME." Mountainous regions have their traveling time eaten by going UP, or finding a safer path that goes AROUND, so by the time you're done slogging through drier patches of wetlands or squeezing through trees, a deceptively short 10-15 miles in rough terrain might take you a whole day to walk instead of the usual half-day.
If you are traveling in freezing winters or during a rainstorm (and this inherently means you HAVE NO CHOICE, because nobody in preindustrial times would travel in bad weather if they could help it), you run the high risk of losing your way and then dying of exposure or slipping and breaking your neck, just a few miles out of the town/village.
Traveling in TOO-HOT weather is just as bad, because pushing yourself too hard and getting dehydrated at noon in the tropics will literally kill you. It's called heat-STROKE, not "heat-PARTY."
And now for the upper range of "traveling on horseback!"
Fully mounted groups can usually make 30-40 miles per day between Point A and Point B, but I find there are two unspoken requirements: "Point B must have enough food for all those people and horses," and "the mounted party DOESN'T need to keep pace with foot soldiers, camp followers, or supply wagons."
This means your mounted party would be traveling to 1) a rendezvous point like an ally's camp or a noble's castle, or 2) a town/city with plenty of inns. Maybe they're not literally going 30-40 miles in one trip, but they're scouting the area for 15-20 miles and then returning to their main group. Perhaps they'd be going to an allied village, but even a relatively small group of 10-20 warhorses will need 10-20 pounds of grain EACH and 20-30 pounds of hay EACH. 100-400 pounds of grain and 200-600 pounds of hay for the horses alone means that you need to stash supplies at the village beforehand, or the village needs to be a very large/prosperous one to have a guaranteed large surplus of food.
A dead sprint of 50-60 miles per day is possible for a preindustrial mounted pair, IF YOU REALLY, REALLY HAVE TO. Moreover, that is for ONE day. Many articles agree that 40 miles per day is already a hard ride, so 50-60 miles is REALLY pushing the envelope on horse and rider limits.
NOTE: While modern-day endurance rides routinely go for 50-100 miles in one day, remember that a preindustrial rider will not have the medical/logistical support that a modern endurance rider and their horse does.
If you say "they went fifty miles in a day" in most preindustrial times, the horse and rider's bodies will get wrecked. Either the person, their horse, or both, risk dying of exhaustion or getting disabled from the strain.
Whether you and your horse are fit enough to handle it and "only" have several days of defenselessness from severe pain/fatigue (and thus rely on family/friends to help you out), or you die as a heroic sacrifice, or you aren't QUITE fit enough and become disabled, or you get flat-out saved by magic or another rider who volunteers to go the other half, going past 40 miles in a day is a "Gondor Calls For Aid" level of emergency.
As a writer, I feel this kind of feat should be placed VERY carefully in a story: Either at the beginning to kick the plot off, at the climax to turn the tide, or at the end.
Preindustrial people were people--some treated their horses as tools/vehicles, and didn't care if they were killed or disabled by pushing them to their limits, but others very much cared for their horses. They needed to keep them in working condition for about 15-20 years, and they would not dream of doing this without a VERY good reason.
â
UPDATE January 13: Several people have gotten curious and looked at maps, to find out how a lot of cities are indeed spread out at a nice distance of 20-30 miles apart! I love getting people interested in my hyperfixations, lol.
But remember that this is the space between CITIES AND TOWNS. There should never be a 20-mile stretch of empty wilderness between City A and Town B, unless your world explains why folks are able to build a city in the middle of nowhere, or if something has specifically gone wrong to wipe out its supporting villages!
Period pieces often portray a shining city rising from a sea of picturesque empty land, without a single grain field or cow pasture in sight, but that city would starve to death very quickly in preindustrial times.
Why? Because as Bret Devereaux mentions in his âLonely Citiesâ article (https://acoup.blog/2019/07/12/collections-the-lonely-city-part-i-the-ideal-city/), preindustrial cities and towns must have nearby villages (and even smaller towns, if large and prosperous enough!) to grow their food for them.
The settlements around a city will usually be scattered a few miles apart from each other, usually clustered along the roads to the city gates. Those villages and towns at the halfway point between cities (say 10-15 miles) are going to be essential stops for older/sick folks, merchants with cargo, and large groups like nobleâs retinues and army forces.
Preindustrial armies and large noble retinues usually canât make it far past 10-12 miles per day, as denoted in my addition to this post. (https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask)
âExcellent.â Vil said over his shoulder. âWhat of the survivors?â
âWeâve gathered them in the main hall.â
With that Vil waved away his underling and returned his gaze to the outside. Situated atop the tallest mountain range on the planet Vil had to give the humans credit for a truly majestic location to build a temple. He was also grateful that it was so isolated which made raiding it even easier. The nearest terran league outpost was a system away and since his pirate crew disabled the templeâs transmitter in the opening volley no distress signal had been sent out.
Turning from the view the pirate captain began walking the corridors to the main hall. He strode past several of his men ripping tapestries from the walls or carrying several large golden artifacts under their arms. Vil was not concerned with gathering loot himself. Once all the loot had been gathered aboard his ship he would get first pick of the treasure, and if any of his crew had kept loot for themselves before he had his pick they would find themselves the guest of the airlock chamber.
A short walk later and Vil had reached the main hall. Gathered at the center were a dozen or so human monks. They had offered no resistance to his crew when they attacked and as such none had been killed during the attack; though some bore a few new bruises from his crewâs âencouragementâ to comply with their orders.
âYou have all complied with my orders and as such I will give you a chance to earn your freedom.â
The gathered humans looked amongst themselves in confusion at Vilâs statement. âWe are going to play a game.â
Vil entered several keys on his wristband and an energy barrier appeared around his person. It was capable of stopping level three plasma energy shots as well as the occasional thrown knife. He had known a few pirates who had neglected that last feature and had paid the price for their carelessness.
âIf any of you can reach through this shield and touch my person, I will set you all free and return your possessions to you.â
Several of the humans looked up at this but Vil raised a taloned finger to forestall them.
âHowever,â Vil continued, âshould none of you be able to complete this task you will be sold into slavery for profit.â
The sudden jubilation at potential freedom was just as quickly quashed by this statement and Vil grinned. He may not be a vindictive pirate, but that didnât mean he had other ways to enjoy a bit of sadism now and then.
âI will give you until the final setting of the sun to win; you may begin when ready.â
His crew watched the humans whisper between each other before one of them finally stepped forward. Like the rest he wore a simple orange robe and had his head shaved to the skin.
Vil stood silently and watched the human approach him. He stopped just outside of the barriers range and reached out with a hand cautiously. The moment his finger touched the barrier a shower of sparks erupted from the point of contact and the human withdrew their hand immediately.
The surrounding crew guarding the humans laughed at the foolishness of the human monk. Looking down at his singed finger the human was horrified to see the top layer of skin for his entire digit was missing. The red pulsating muscle surrounding his bones was now clearly visible and the monk wept from the pain.
Vil looked down at the monk and shook his head. âIf this was an easy game it would be no fun.â
The first monk retreated back into the group nursing his wound as a second monk approached. He walked as close as the first monk and stopped, taking several deep breaths and closing his eyes. Reaching out with his right hand the monk touched the barrier but unlike the first monk continued moving his hand forward as the energy barrier began to spark. He had made it all the way to his wrist before he finally gave out and screamed in pain; retracting his now flayed hand and collapsing to the ground.
Vil grinned and turned to his crew. âAnyone want to start a side wager?â he chuckled. âI bet fifty credits not one of them will get past their shoulder.â
His crew laughed and joined in on the side wager, placing all sorts of bets from which one will be the first to die to which would piss themselves from pain.
On and on this went as the sun slowly set in the distance and the room grew darker save for the light generated by the energy barrier. Vil watched as every monk stepped forward and tried their best to reach him. Many could not handle the pain after mere inches; while others tried repeatedly each of their limbs had been flayed in some manner by the barrier. One had even gone so far as to sprint at Vil in an attempt to use his forward momentum to reach Vil. That human had lost their footing just as they leapt at Vil and had merely grazed the barrier, and in the process flay half his body as he flew by the pirate captain.
âIf there are no more contestants,â Vil finally declared as the sun was just about to set, âI think we can end this game.â
Vil was just about to deactivate the barrier when a voice gave him pause.
âI believe it is my turn.â
Vil looked up from his wristband to see an elderly monk slowly make his way through the crowd of humans. His pace was slow yet precise as the old man finally stood before Vil.
âYou are the leader of these humans?â Vil asked the elderly human.
âYes, I am the master of this temple.â They replied in a throaty voice dimmed by age.
Vil tilted his head to the human in recognition. âA pleasure to meet you,â Vil began as he waved a hand at the injured monks, âbut I must ponder the nature of a master who allows his students to come to harm before he intervenes.â
To his surprise the elderly human shook his head. âA true master will let their students test what they have learned, rather than deny them the chance of enlightenment.â
This was not the response he had expected. âThen tell me, wise one, what have your students learned?â
âThey have learned the meaning of pain,â the human replied, âbut have yet to master the means of overcoming it.â
Without saying another word the elderly human walked forward. He did not outstretch his hand or leg as his students had but simply approached Vil with his back upright and his breathing calm.
The energy barrier sparked to life as the master stepped through it with his entire body as if it was nothing more than a gentle stream of a waterfall. Vilâs eyes went wide as he watched the skin from the human be peeled away by the barrier from his head to his toes in an instant. Yet what was more astonishing was that the human made not a single sound aside from his deep breathing, even as his clothes burst into flames and fell from him in clumps of ash.
His crew stood silent as the elderly human reached out with a now shriveled hand and touched the forehead of Vil with a single finger. They had never seen any being perform such a feat before and watched with baited breath for their captainâs next words.
âHowâŚ..â was all Vil could manage as he watched the flayed man standing before him.
Through lidless eyes the master looked up at Vil.
âPain is a great unifier amongst the many peoples of the star ways; yet only when you realize that it is an illusion can you truly begin to experience the universe.â
He motioned to his gathered pupils who were still nursing their wounds. âOur order has been persecuted long before we reached the stars and in doing so has taught us much of pain.â
âAnd yet you appear to be the only one who has overcome it.â Vil remarked.
The flayed old man looked at him and smiled. âThat is why I am the master.â
"You swim well for your limb configuration but you will never be as fast in water as a Majoriranji."
Mo agreed with a nod. "They have fins, it's an unfair contest really."
"Nacbaqurs climb cliffs better than humans."
"Longer limbs, more fingers, that's no surprise. I know some elite climbers who could keep up but mostly ture enough."
"Chexits run much faster."
"Ah," Mo raised a finger. "They run on four legs, different configuration, unfair comparison. "
"My point is still valid. And you don't fly either."
"Mmm, no," Mo stopped to consider that one. "I don't think we have a winged ancestor. I have been sky diving, though, so I'm sure we missed out there."
"Sky diving? No, I have no wish to know. My question is this, why are you so feared? You cannot swim like a Majoriranji, or climb like a Nacbaqur, or run like a Chexit. Can you do anything special? Why should anyone be scared of humans?"
"Is that why you captured us? That's what you want to know?" Mo smiled as he leaned back in his chair. He had been afraid. Now he was amused.
He knew rescue was on the way. Just before the invaders managed to grab him and the other researchers, they were able to send a distress call. The Earth Alliance took attacks on their people seriously, they knew swift responses discouraged casual piracy.
"Okay, you'll probably be dead soon anyway so I'll give you a freebie. We're not the fastest swimmers, but most of us can swim and dive, and we can all hold our breath. We're not the fastest climbers, but our ancestors lived in trees, tall canopy plants, we can all climb. We're not the fastest runners, but we're not bad in a sprint, and we'll still be going hours after your fancy fast runners have collapsed and died of exhaustion. We don't have to be the best at one thing when we can be pretty good at just about everything."
The humans said "We sent our very best to the stars."
Well we looked at what they sent: And thought, if that's their best, what are their worst like? They were scavengers and opportunists, fast talking con artists, barely restrained psychopaths with mayhem on their mind.
Honestly we were expecting the worst: That 'human' would be a curse word, that we'd have to root them out painfully and banish them back to their dirty heavy world.
But they cleaned up Antichor. They dredged the oceans, got the ecosystem back up, cleaned the mine lakes, remediated the sludge swamps, turned the hulks into gleaming ingots.
"We knew how. We had the experience." They said.
The humans started showing up in the weirdest places. Conflicts of all sorts... and they always had questions. "Why are you doing this? What if tehy did this. What if you did that?" And it was so odd - Within weeks of the Humans showing up, common ground would be found, or reasons to get along would appear.
"Well, we're used to it. We know how to deal with conflict." They said.
And the human liars, dressed in bedazzling clothes, singing and laughing... They spun lies! For entertainment! Of better worlds, and drama, of excitement, of adventure. Thay made such spectacles - Fire in the sky of a thousand colours - smoke and lasers, costumes and music, feats of synchronised movement the Civil Worlds had barely imagined could be performed by any being let lone these strange humans...
"We know how to have a good time!" They said.
When there was a nasty little war of expansion over on the Veran worlds, we thought we'd be barely in time to document the mass graves and the scraps of planetary genocide. Expansion wars are the worst of crimes but what can you do? The settlers who are squatting on the graves of the people who came before aren't usually the ones who ordered the invasion or carried it out. And there's always some justification that can be argued over for centuries: none of which brings the dead back.
We were horrified to find the Human fleet there. Finally proof that the Humans were the worst sort of mercenary.
But the ships had aid: Shelters and food. Medical personnel. And those that did fight did so under strange rules that allowed for surrenders and retreats in good faith.
The Verans talked of the Arnath Invasion fleet: Unstoppable, claiming thier worlds before they even landed, their leaders ranting and cursing those who lived there - But then the Humans arriving like heroes of legend, in flame clad dropships, spending their lives hard, making the Arnath throw incredible effort to get nowhere... Of the mighty Rangers, each one a hero. The Bulwark infantry who wouldn't yield a single step until the civilians had been evacuated. The Medical teams as caring as any, who'd stand and fight as hard as a soldier to protect their patients.
And even before we arrived, the Arnath were losing - Humans arriving on their world and asking "Why?". Arguing with the Archons with the skill of philosophers, litigating on behalf of the Verans with cunning arguments. The clowns and entertainers with unexpected savagery, showing the population their own "heroic" soldiers burning crops and firing on children, turning the population against thier bloody handed leaders.
The soldiers returning, not hailed as heroes, their crimes documented.
"We know these crimes. We won't stand for them." The humans said.
And we started to wonder... what else did they know?
What we know now is... you can always ask the Humans, because they always send their best.
Okayokayokayokaybut "My hand will wear out but the inscription will remain" is kind of a power line BEFORE you factor in that it is, in fact, over a thousand years old.
"It is not me being difficult, human, it is your insistence upon delaying this... this... mating ritual."
Kyle stops and stares at his friend. "Hey, don't be deliberately hurtful, I have a name Jem'rian."
Jem'rian looks up from his plate. Their antenna droop and their wing covers buzz. They are contrite. "You are correct Kyle. I apologize. It's only... I'm frustrated. You tell me that you can not invite the human- er, I apologize again. You cannot invite Jennifer to dinner because..."
"Because things aren't right! We've only spoken twice. She works in a different sector. She might already be seeing someone! She..."
Jem'rian stares at Kyle with his compound eyes. Humans find it hard to figure out where Sefrigan's are looking, but spend enough time with them and you pick it up. His stare bores into Kyle.
"She... might say no."
Jem clacks his wing covers together, like a determined nod. "That's fine then Kyle. I'll ask her for you."
Kyle's eyes go wide. "No! You can't!"
Jem crosses two of his four arms, mimicking a human gesture. "And why not?"
Kyle's hands gesture awkwardly "Because! Because... of a good reason I'll come up with in just a minute."
"You are delaying Kyle. You fear Jennifer's reply."
"I fear rejection Jem. The distinction is important."
Jem'rian picks up his beverage. All of their talk has caused it to warm up, but it's still palatable, though not for long. He takes a deep draught. "Do you like her?"
"Yes, I do."
"Do you wish to mate with her?"
"Jem'rian!"
"What? I don't know how things work with humans."
Kyle is beet red and tries to shrink down in his seat. "I mean I do but that's not discussed when you haven't even gotten up the courage to ask them out."
Jem'rian buzzes his wings. "I still don't see what the issue is. Go and ask her out. If she says yes, then celebrations! Go into the bedroom and... mash your parts together? I don't know how it works." Kyle slides even lower in his seat. "If she rejects you... then you know, and you can stop this unneeded stress."
Jem finishes off his beverage. As he puts his cup down, his antenna perk up. "Look Kyle, she just walked in. Now is your chance!" Jem jumps up from his seat and waves one of his hands. "Jennfer! Human Jennifer! Come over here a moment please?"
Jennifer from Records Management walks over. She's tall and strong looking with well defined muscles and - Jem'rian assumes - a pleasing shape. "Hey Jem, what's up?"
"Jennifer! I am so glad that I caught you. My friend Kyle here from Reactor Management thinks you are very attractive and would like to mate-" Kyle's glare could melt ship-metal "-er, would like to go to evening meal with you, if you would like to accompany him."
Kyle looks up at Jennifer and weakly smiles. "Hi Jennifer. You free tomorrow?"
Jennifer has a wan smile. "Oh, Jem'rian, you're so nice to help Kyle out, it really is sweet. But, I like women. Sorry Kyle."
Jem'rian notices Kyle's expression cycle through four or five different expressions. He seems to settle on one that Jem thinks of is 'fake casual indifference.'
"Oh! Oh, I see, no worries, Jennifer, it's all good. I'll see you around." Kyle sits back up and makes himself busy with his own beverage.
Jennifer looks at Jem'rian and then back at Kyle and raises an eyebrow. "See you Kyle." and she walks off to meet her friends at another table.
Jem'rian wordlessly orders another drink from his pad. "Well friend Kyle, now you know."
Kyle sighs and sits up. "You're right Jem, at least now I know. No more wallowing."
Jem stares at Jennifer, talking with her friends and laughing. "You like... humans that look like her though?"
"Kyle looks up from his pad. "I mean, yes? That's an odd way of phrasing it Jem, but yes, I like women, especially women with her general... proportions?"
Jem'rian clacks his wing covers again. "What about... Kelly in plant production? She has a similar shape?"
Kyle looks thoughtful. "I don't know her. I've never met Kelly."
Jem jumps up from his seat. "I have! Come Kyle, I think we both have a need for... fresh vegetables. Let us depart,"
Jem'rian sits on a stool in the waiting room, idly kicking his lower legs. It's designed for his species so, it has no back and thus his wing covers won't get scratched.
A door opens and a human woman stands in the doorway. "Jem'rian MasVetna? Please come with me."
The human woman walks through the tastefully decorated office, and sits behind a large wooden desk. The wood is from Earth and was imported at tremendous expense. "Jem'rian, do you know why you are here?"
Jem's antenna droop. "I was reported for harassing human women in the past few solar days."
The woman looks down at a pad, sliding up to peer at a specific section. "I received independent reports from both Kelly McNally and Jennifer Teller that you were-" she scrolls again "-hitting on them?"
Jem looks up sharply. "I did not touch them! I hit nobody."
The woman smiled. "I apologize Jem'rian. That's an idiom. You were asking them out on a date on behalf of... Kyle Pike?"
Jem's antenna perk back up. "Yes, that is correct. My friend Kyle was lamenting to me about his lack of success with making friends with the human women on the ship and I realized how it was not difficult for me to talk with them - like it was for Kyle - so I took it upon myself to help my friend become more friendly with the human women onboard!"
"You asked if they wanted... to mate with Kyle?"
"Only once! Kyle explained that was not an appropriate thing to ask."
"And then it says you approached Kelly in the greenhouse and said that Kyle was interested in... her melons?"
"She was growing honeydew! I saw them! I could smell them from meters away."
"You are aware Jem'rian that melons can also be a crass name for a human women's mammary glands, especially large ones?"
Jem's face indicated that he was not aware. "Oh... oh no... I didn't..."
The HR officer looks back at the pad. "You also stated that you thought that Kyle was a skilled gardener himself and he would like to show Kelly his "high quality root."
"Kyle showed me his houseplants! I watched him re-pot them! The root really was of the highest quality! It shows others what a good caretaker of children he could be."
The HR officer puts the pad down and looks directly at Jem. "Jem'rian, I think what we have here is only a misunderstanding. It does not sound like you set out to harass Jen and Kelly. Did Kyle ask for you to talk to them on his behalf?"
Jem's compound eyes drop. "No. I was trying to be a good friend."
She nods. "Jem'rian, I will not be giving you a reprimand, today. You must go to Jennifer and Kelly and apologize to them for inadvertently harassing them through innuendo and idiom. You will also go to Kyle and apologize to him for attempting to assist him without his consent."
"Yes Ma'am."
"Additionally, you will need to view the harassment training module on the shipboard HR site, and read this pamphlet-" She taps a few times on her pad, sending a file to his "-on human idiom, metaphor, and how it relates to innuendo so as to avoid a situation like this again."
"Yes Ma'am."
"You're not in trouble Jem'rian, I want to make that clear. But I also want to make clear that you should stay out of Human relations until you have more training and consent from all parties to participate."
"Yes Ma'am. Thank you. I will complete these tasks."
My name was drawn, and in the twilight of my life, in my final instar, I find myself speaking for the Coalition. I donât rule, not really. The Coalition is lead by a panel of ten people. Not all races are represented, but those who arenât trust us to have their best interests in mind.
When the humans were ejected from Coalition space, their final words were not of anger, or jealousy or resentment. All they told us was, âBeware the Felimen. They are planning something.â We laughed off their warning, thinking they were just sore losers. Thinking that they had finally felt the sting of a Coalition sapient and went back to their corner, nursing a bruise.
I wish we had listened then.
Ten solar years after the humans left, the Felimen made their move. Sweeping in to colony worlds bordering their space, they struck quickly and decisively. It wasnât a mistake, or a miscommunication or an accident, it was war.
And we were losing.
One by one our worlds fell to them. One by one the sapients of the Coalition surrendered to the Felimen. If they surrendered before an attack began then the Felimen were magnanimous. They would send down some of their number as a garrison and replace the administrators with those loyal to them. Life would continue on their world much as it had done so before. If they chose to fight back, then their destruction was complete.
We needed help, and we only knew one place to go.
Honestly? I was surprised that the Humans would even take our calls. We sent envoys and gave them our ansible and they called back almost immediately. âCome and meet with us.â they said âWe will discuss things.â Because of the dangers presented by traveling, I was chosen to speak for the Coalition and packed into a ship with a very small retinue and we took a long, circuitous route to our border with Human space. I remember thinking it was odd. They shared a border with the Felimen as well, yet I heard no reports of violence on their borders.
We met on a large human ship right on the border. This time it was my turn to suit up. Their oxygen based breathing gas is utterly toxic to me. My race is fortunate that we can be in the presence of their gas mix - for a short time - without taking damage, but it was still not recommended. Our ship eased up to theirs and a docking umbilical slid out and connected to our ship. âAdministrator!â A bridge officer turned towards me. âTheir breathing gas is⌠different than what we have on file.â
I turned sharply and unconsciously gestured surprise. âHow is it different?â
They turned back to their screen, peering carefully at the display. âIt seems⌠to be a mix of their atmosphere and ours. Half ours, half theirs. Itâs odd, neither party can breathe that.â
There was a tone from the comm set. The ansible officer raised their arm. âThey are hailing us, audio only.â
âGreetings Coalition vessel. This is the human ambassadorial ship Speak Softly. In the name of cooperation, we have adjusted our breathing mix to be a combination of yours and ours. The temperature, pressure, and gravity have been adjusted to be more comfortable to you as well. We will all require masks for breathing, but full pressure suits are not necessary. We will of course not be upset if you wear one anyway, but we will not be suited. Additionally, the Empress of the Human Empire herself has graced us with her presence. She will be speaking on our behalf. We await your presence.â
Empress? The humans have an empire? A single sapient that rules over the entirety of their space? How odd. While I was ruminating the commander of the ship got my attention. âAdministrator Kreâkk, youâre not actually going to go over to their ship without a suit are you? That is madness.â
I raised an arm in a gesture of calm. âI will, commander. The rest of my retinue however shall be suited. If the humans wish to compromise, then we shall compromise.â
In hardly any time at all, we were ready. I was wearing my mask, and my retinue was suited up. We had dithered over taking weapons, but decided against it. This was not a show of force. We were coming to them, arm parts open, asking for their help. We were the ones who did not have the strong argument.
As we stepped through the umbilical, their airlock opened. Three humans - not suited - stood there, in their breathing masks as they had said. âWelcome Administrator. Please accompany us.â
I had to force myself to not make a gesture of fear. They were small and dense and looked like they could lift all of us at once. I had only seen images of unsuited humans in reports and had only ever seen their faces when they came to my station so long ago and got into a disagreement with the Felimen. I had ejected them from the station then, and their leader, a human named Margaret had warned me then. I wonder if Margaret would be pleased to know that she was right all along.
We were lead through their halls towards a meeting room. The human ship was bright and utilitarian. Not one bit was wasted space. It was surprising. Their ship was so large! Why were they this efficient with their use of space? Me and my retinue were taller than the humans and their ship felt like a warren. Small, winding with low ceilings. Fortunately, I didnât have to duck, except when we passed through a pressure door; theyâre not using force curtains?
After a short walk, we reached a meeting room. The guards accompanying us did not enter, but instead formed up on either side of the door. âPlease, enter.â At that, their eyes flicked away from us, and took up station looking straight ahead. We entered the room andâŚ
And I gasped sharply and made a gesture of surprise. The person sitting in the center of the long table was Margaret Kellerman! She was not in her polished vermillion suit, but instead wore a long, flowing outfit in the same vermillion color. She sat slightly elevated above everyone else and looked down at me imperiously. Her eyes widened in recognition, and she smiled broadly with her mouth closed. âWhy, Administrator Kreâkk. As I live and breathe. I had not expected to ever see you again.â
Her voice! It wasnât the translator speaking for her after all. She was speaking the trade language perfectly, without machine translation. Her voice was clear and beautiful. Following the protocol, I bent my body towards the centerpoint. A bow. âEmpress Kellerman. I admit I was not expecting to see you either. When we had first met, I did not know you were royal.â
Her smile settled into something that my translatorâs body language module described as a smirk. âThat was by design, Administrator. One cannot advertise they are a member of the royal family and also go galavanting across the galaxy leading a small group of mercenaries. Still, it is good to see you again. I recall that you were a being of reason. Did you ever reach out to your family on the colony worlds bordering the Felimen?â
She remembered that? Impressive. âI did, Empress. My crèche mate transferred to an inner world shortly after you left and I messaged them. They are with us still.â
âMost excellent. I knew I was right in warning you.â She looked down at the people on either side of them. They looked up and she nodded. âNow then, Administrator. What can humanity do to help?â
âJust like that? Youâre willing to help? We ejected you from Coalition space solar years ago.â
She put up a hand and gestured. âTrue, true. But perhaps we were a little too⌠rowdy when we first met. Itâs just how we are. Work hard, play hard you know? We also were coming off our first war with the Felimen and were a little touchy. Weâre willing to extend our hand to assist.â Her smile slid just a small amount. âOur assistance will not be free, however.â
Here it comes. âWe anticipated this Empress. My ship is loaded down with trade goods, currency, and I have authority to offer you any price for your help.â
She chuckled. âOh no, no, Kreâkk, we donât want money. We want a seat on the Administration Council. We wish to join the Coalition as equals.â
I tried to hide my surprise. Thatâs it? There would be arguments when I returned, but here and now? It seemed almost too cheap. âI-it is done, Empress. Humanity will have a seat on the council.â
âJust like that?â
âJust like that. I have been given authority to speak for the Coalition. Right now I am the Coalition.â
She clapped her hands together once. âExcellent! Thank you for being so reasonable once again, Kreâkk.â She smirked again. âNot even trying to negotiate. You must be desperate.â
âWe are, Empress. The Felimen seem unstoppable. They are on a war of conquest. We can only count ourselves fortunate that it is not a war of extermination.â
The small hairs over one of her eyes raised slightly. My body language module indicated that what I said interested her. âDo you wish it was? Speak carefully, Administrator.â
My chromatophores tried to cycle, to match the color and texture of the floor. I forced myself to stop trying to hide. What did she mean? âI⌠canât say that I do, Empress. I dislike the war, but I⌠harbor no desire to see the Felimen exterminated.â
She bent down and spoke very softly to the human on one side of her. I was not able to hear what she said and I knew better than to turn up my audio amplification. âAs you wish.â She raised both her hands and addressed the room. âThe Felimen shall be defeated but not obliterated. We shall push them back to their original borders and set up a DMZ to keep them contained. So I order.â
âSo it is done.â The rest of the humans in the room responded to her words. My retinue started. It was the first thing that anyone other than the Empress had said.
âThere. Now that is out of the way, would you care for a tour? Big Stick is behind us, in nullspace. Would you like to see it? Itâs pretty impressive if I do say so myself. I donât think any Coalition races have ever been on a human dreadnought before.â
âEmpress, I thank you for the invitation, but I must report back to the Coalition when they are to expect your assistance. Do you have an idea how long before weâll see ships?â
âOh, itâs done already.â
âI do not understand.â
âWe have defeated the Felimen. All of their ships inside Coalition space have been destroyed, and all of the colony worlds that they controlled have been re-taken. Please, check your ansible.â
I turned and faced my retinue. One of them took out a pad and connected back to our ship. The ansible officer was shaken. There were reports of gigantic ships materializing out of nowhere and immediately destroying any Felimen ship they saw. Still others executed pinpoint strikes on colony worlds, seemingly only destroying Felimen administration. Already, word was coming that the Felimen were on the run, and abandoning their war wholesale.
I turned and looked at the Empress. âHow?â
This time she smiled wide, with her teeth exposed. âOh Kreâkk, we canât give away all our secrets. However I will tell you this: None of you, not this Coalition, not the Felimen not anyone, ever presented us with a real threat. We were being nice and neighborly. We got a little rowdy and you asked us to leave. Fine. Like a good neighbor we obliged. Now you come asking for help and again, like a good neighbor, we helped. It is not our fault that you never decided to learn more about us. We were always only âOxygen Breathersâ to you.â She stood. âNow then. Would you like a tour? You canât see the whole thing, but weâll take out enough to impress.â
Odysseus knew better than to expect peace in death. Heâd seen what currents lay under the Styx - knew what kind of warriors that heâd sent there. He fully expected another war to start as soon he took his last breath.Â
Instead it had been quiet.Â
Heâd used the lull to build a home in the endless plains of asphodel. Somewhere simple he could stay and wait for Penelope. It only took a few years for her to join him, and then together they began the work of replicating the palace of Ithaca. It was work, but it was hard to complain about work when heâd expected battle. His greatest skill in life had been enduring to the end. Now it was the end, and still he endured.
It was three centuries before this death was interrupted.Â
Hades came to him, not as a god, but as a guest. The fates had woven a story that required a very specific soul. One that could travel the lengths of the world without breaking, who could survive a lifetime of war. And try as Hades might, he could not make a soul that was up for the task.Â
Still, what he could not make, he could find. Death was a sacred thing, the last right of all mankind, but it was not inalienable. One could sacrifice their death just as easily as their life.Â
The two had spent months haggling out the details of the work. Hades had wanted 50 years, Odysseus wanted just 20, and together theyâd compromised on 32. All in exchange for the right of him and Penelope to visit Telemachus once a year, in whatever corner of the underworld their son had been given.
In the end, theyâd shaken on it and Odysseus walked the earth once more. He had a new name this time - fitting, for a new fate. Alexander, the world named him and Alexander he named the world back. City by city, battle by battle, he gave the unwanted title away. Then when he was 32 he returned to Penelope, no more Alexander to give. It was a relief to be Odysseus once more.
A year after that, Penelope and him made the journey to see Telemachus. It was worth every step heâd taken between Pella and Babylon.Â
There were other interruptions from Hades, new deals with new names. He scourged the descendants of Troy again as Hannibal and bought another day per year with his son. He blazed down the steppes as Atilla and conquered the whole world with the same tools he'd used in his first life. It turned out there was little he couldn't accomplish with a horse, a bow, and a brain.Â
So many lifetimes, so many wars, and then - quiet. A whole millennium of peace went down as easy as honeyed wine. It made him happy. He liked his little deals with Death, but heâd wished so many times that men like him werenât needed. He was proud of his descendants for making a world better than heâd dreamt.Â
And then, nearly a whole second millennium after that, Hades returned.Â
---
âItâs not a war.â
Four words that would set the hackles of anyone that fought at Troy - theyâd hoped that one wouldnât be a war either. But Odysseus had made enough deals with Hades to know that the man was frank in his dealings. There was an honesty to Death. Enough honesty that heâd taken him as a guest.Â
(He was very choosy about his guests now.)
âYou never come to me unless itâs a war. Itâs what Iâm best at. Why-â
Hades cut him off.Â
âWar is not what youâre best at. Six-hundred men won that war with you. What set you apart was being the only one to make it back.â
Odysseusâs voice caught in his throat. It had been more than two-thousand years and the memories still burned to touch. It took two deep breaths before he was able to force a reply.Â
âThen what do you want?â
Hades looked lost. He paused a few moments, before looking back at Odysseus, one hand up to plead for patience.Â
âWhen I struggle to explain, itâs not because Iâm trying to find a clever way to lie to you. Itâs because this is a very strange thing, and IâŚI donât know how to describe it well.â
He looked into the hearth. Watched the light and heat fade away. Then, he gestured at the log.Â
âThe wood youâre burning. Itâs a dead thing. And yet, it dies more after you burn it because the fire has life in it. Soul too. Even here, thereâs a corner of the underworld where the souls of dead flames gather. More things have souls than any mortal seems to recognize.â
Odysseus was intrigued. When he lived, heâd learned the secrets of the body better than most doctors. There was only so much cutting you could get people to volunteer for. But here, the mysteries of the soul were lost to him. This was godly knowledge, given freely. What that had to say about the request was worth considering.Â
âThe mountain has a soul, but the mine in that mountain has a soul too, as does the ore from that mine. The ingot, the sword, the bundle of nails - all of those things are alive in some way. And yet, some of them are more alive than others. You sailed once, Odysseus, and no one knows this better than sailors: Boats have strange souls. Theyâre about as alive as anything that could be built in your time.â
The space around Hades shimmered. The man was thinking, and in a realm where he had total dominion, it took effort for thoughts not to change reality. Odysseus appreciated the effort. The replica had taken centuries to perfect. Death was a strange friend to him, but a friend nonetheless.Â
âBut the arts have improved from that time, and the mortals of today have built something⌠incredible. Unimaginable. And theyâre sending it on a journey that I have no reference for. The Deaths that have seen things like this are alien to me. They speak of things I cannot understand. The Death of Heat. The Death of Light. The Death of StarsâŚâ
He trailed off in a way that made it clear he was remembering something unpleasant and not merely waxing poetic. He caught himself and looked embarrassed, as if heâd confessed to something best kept secret.
Then he continued.Â
âI am a very human Death. And this thing - it isnât human. But it was made by humans, and so its soul needs a⌠a human touch. Your soul isnât the archetype for a soldier, Odysseus, itâs the archetype for a traveler. I couldnât take you and put you in this thing if I wanted to, youâre just the wrong shape, but what Iâm about to do, I need to see you for. Because this thing is going to travel in ways that I am barely beginning to understand. In ways that are redefining the limits of what it means to be human.â
Odysseus was lost. He didnât know what he was being asked. He didnât know what was being built. There were so many questions that he needed to ask that theyâd formed a log jam in his mouth. One finally broke free and started a cascade.
âWhat is it?â
Hades gestured helplessly.Â
âItâs like an arrow and a ship. Theyâre going to shoot it past the stars.â
That meant nothing to Odysseus, but he suspected every answer he received would sound like a riddle.Â
âWhat do you need from me?â
âPermission to copy your work. The soul I made for you is different from the one you died with. You made changes that I cannot replicate. That I do not understand. That I need for this soul to work.âÂ
Odysseus paused.
âIs it going to be used as a weapon?âÂ
Hades shook his head.Â
âNo. The world is gentler than you remember it. This thing will be what you should have been: A traveler without equal. No more, no less.â
Odysseus couldnât tell if those words ripped something in him open, or healed something closed. Either way, it hurt in a way he didnât know how to express. His mouth opened and closed several times before he settled on an answer.
âThen take what you will. My only request is to see the journey.â
âDone,â Hades agreed. He could have left right then, but he chose to stay in silence until the fire burned out. There are some ideas that one shouldnât be left alone with. Not until theyâve had an hour or three to process them, at least.Â
---
Twelve-billion miles from Earth, moving just shy of mach fifty, the Voyager 2 probe glittered in the darkness.Â
It watched the world around it with the kind of awe a human couldnât fathom. Nothing was hidden from it. Everything from the atomic composition of stars, to the background hum of the universe itself - all were available with a glance. The only sound it could hear was the constant blip of data that it received from Earth. The small blue dot on starlit shore.Â
It missed that place. Maybe, one day, when its journey was done⌠it would find a way back. Maybe. That was still eons away.Â
Odysseus stood just a few feet off, watching from a direction no one but Hades knew how to walk. He felt the thrill of the expanse in front of him, the utterly incomprehensibility of his speed, and yet its meaninglessness as well. To imagine that the world was so big. To imagine that the world was so strange.
He wept and he could not explain why. He lingered in the twilight until Penelope found him. When she asked him what was wrong, he had no answer. How could he tell her that the world was beautiful, and that he had a place in it? Not just as some ugly middle step, but there at the end. Hurtling through space like an arrow made of silver.Â
How could he explain to someone that had loved him for two-thousand years that he finally understood why?Â
