Nila turned towards the voice, it wasn’t one she’d heard often, especially not directed towards her, but its one she recognizes nonetheless. Rye was a difficult crew member to overlook, what with their imposing size, and even more imposing status on the ship. Nila had always seen Quino and Na as holding the top two positions on the ship, but as far as she was concerned Rye was a close third up there with them. A belief which automatically had Nila pulling up her defenses, which wasn’t exactly unwarranted considering the other crew member’s clear suspicions of her partner.
“What, Sparky can’t get them for herself?” She asked, brow raised in their direction. This whole buying supplies for people other than her or Fox was still an odd concept for her. That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to do it though, or complain about it either. Looking down at their list she shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t think I have much of a choice in the matter, so why not. What all else is on that honey-do-list of your’s?”
“Kayta is busy loading up on more of her explosives. She asked me to get them, in return for her getting us all some fruit. You’ll be grateful I’m getting those wire strippers when you have strawberries a week out.” Rye walked into the nearest shop to the docks, shifting through a pile of coiled wires. “Wires for the computer system in the cockpit, a chair to replace the one Jinx broke.”
Rye looked back down at their list, comparing the wire designator they were holding to the one listed, before picking it up and paying the vendor. “Other small things. What’s on yours?” Rye didn’t doubt it was stuff for Fox or for her, but it was likely still needed things to keep them content and out of the rest of the crew’s hair.
Fox’s chair jolted, which is what really alerted them to someone’s presence more than anything else. Even the voice… well, upon finding its source, it was obvious that it registered as one they could get away with ignoring most of the time. They weren’t exactly happy to see Rye, but at the same time, with everything else going on in their head, they couldn’t find it in them to be upset about their presence either. The fact of the matter was that they provided Fox with a welcome distraction from the situation at hand, namely that haunted planet slowly encroaching on their comfort zone. Still, despite the oddly welcome company, they couldn’t help but resent what Rye had to say anyway.
“Don’t worry about me Rock & Rye, I’ll be fine…” they said dismissively, turning away from the window to wave a hand at the very concept. “Frankly, you need me for this one… I happen to have a… fitting background I guess you could say.” They shrugged, not wanting to say much more on that particular subject if they could help it. Given the opportunity, they couldn’t help but tease Rye a little, if only because it was so goddamn easy to do. “Why, not feeling up to a little grunt work this time around? Don’t get all noodle-armed on my account, darling. I know my good looks are devastating but…” Odd, they hadn’t been looking to get punched earlier… something must have changed on that front in the last half a minute.
Fox, of course, dodged around the question. Dipped and ducked any sort of statement that would truly reveal what they were thinking about Ersa and the job at hand. Instead they made their characteristic teasing jabs, dismissals, and lewd remarks. But it would have to be enough, to know Fox could at least put up their normal front.
“Shut up Fox,” Rye said, giving them a small push upside the head with the back of their knuckles. “My arms have never been noodle-like in my entire life. Your looks wouldn’t change that.” They turned, walking to the corridor. “Just keep your head screwed on tight and do your job. I’ll do my grunt work if you carry your part. Be ready for us to set off soon, got it?” Rye left, shaking their head. They could only hope this would go off without a hitch.
It was lucky that Rye decided to break the heavy silence that had settled between them because otherwise, Quino would’ve happily spent the rest of the way to the CGB station without making a sound. He had a terrible headache, a too obvious, too visible hickey high up on the side of his neck and the guilt of Imogen’s death still making his chest feel tight and heavy.
But the show must go on, and so did their missions, which is why he ended up in a too small pod with Rye; a prime mission partner, probably not a big fan of Quino’s last couple of decisions. At least bounty hunting couldn’t go that bad. “Something easy. I heard of a smuggler that needs to be arrested. Honestly, I just wanted to get off the fucking ship,” he shrugged, finally relaxing enough to stretch his legs and move a bit, turning to face Rye now that the ice was broken.
“How are you doing? I know we haven’t talked much the last few days and with everything that happened…. You alright?”
Quino was up and moving around, stretching like a horse put in a too small pen. It made Rye restless, like they wanted to make Quino stop and sit down, to be still. All too soon, Quino did still, but Rye wished that he had kept moving rather than turning all that restless energy on them. Rye studied the glimmer of the station approaching for a long moment, pondering their answer.
“In all honesty? No. I’m not doing alright. Probably won’t be for a while. I-” Rye stopped, then finally looked over at their Captain. They changed tack. “Are you?”
He looked like he had woken up on the floor of a bar on the lowest levels of Hemera, paler than normal and a tell tale bruise on his neck. Rye’s eyes lingered on it, wondering where—no who— it came from. No other words were spoken by them, but there was still a question asked. Who gave that to Quino?
location: erebus pod #4
when: half hour away from CGB station in Sirius System
who: @quino-thecaptain
Even though they had lost a member of the crew, life went on for the rest of them. Another system, another set of missions. Rye almost relished it, having a distraction from the tangled mess of emotions swirling around in their chest. Something else to concentrate on... it would be good. That’s what Rye was telling themselves when they loaded up on the pod for the trip to the space station.
Now the navigational system showed them about thirty minutes from the station, and Rye’s tongue was caught in their throat. The entire ride here had been spent in silence, tense and heavy and Rye wasn’t sure where to start. But they had to start somewhere.
“What type of job are we looking for? Easy or big money?”
:// self para | you could have done so much more if you only had time —
tw: blood, death, bullet wounds, dissociation
It happened so quick. One moment, Fox and Imogen were gliding through the con, Rye’s worries about Fox forgotten as they watched them lead. Rye was distracted, thinking about about how fucking cold it was on Ersa, and wondering how such an environment could be inhabited by people regardless. Distracted by studying the ease with which Fox talked about shipment schedules and how Imogen had shoved her hands deep inside her pockets to fight the cold. They were distracted and that’s when the entire mission went six ways to hell.
Maybe it was the credentials, maybe it was their body language, maybe someone recognizing Fox, maybe a slip-up on Imogen’s part. Whoever’s fault it was, the bullets didn’t care. Imogen turn to them, slow in the sudden frenzy.
“We’ve got to get off this damn rock.”
The hailstorm of bullets picked up again. They rung out loud in the hanger, shattering stone overhangs, colliding with the metal grating, ricocheting off the hulls of other ships around them. They were all running, a full out sprint for the pod. Rye wasn’t exactly sure where Fox and Imogen were, just that their loud twin breaths were thundering in their ears. And then suddenly, they weren’t.
It was a blur after that, only quick moments standing in crystalline stillness. The lightest weight they had carried in years. Imogen’s small quaking body in their arms. The bright hard pain of a bullet carving a path through their upper shoulder. Fox’s directions, spoken so fast they almost couldn’t understand the words through the cotton in their ears. The endless feeling of Imogen’s lifeblood, sliding out around their fingers as Fox piloted to meet the Erebus, as they waited for the doctor.
Time slowed down to a crawl, seconds feeling like hours, hours feeling like years, as the doctor was fetched. When they finally came in, Rye almost let loose a hysterical laugh. They knew this man, this doctor. Doctor. Hardly one at that. Dante Kinnear. The name rose up out of the murk of years ago.
They remembered the quivering fear in their heart in the past when Dante pulled out his scalpels. And now Rye saw him again, first time in years, press-ganged into saving Imogen. They almost wanted to tell Quino to find someone else, anyone else. To keep Dante’s cold hands away from Imogen. Imogen who felt so warm under their hands, like she was burning up.
But Dante was already there, rolling up his sleeves, laying out his tools. A flurry of movement all around Imogen’s choked whimpers and Rye’s even softer encouragements. And then Quino was there, pulling them away, grabbing their wrists. Dante was looming over Imogen, looking so tiny and scared on the dusty table. Quino was pushing them away, blocking them out of the room.
Rye felt like they could tear straight through Quino’s body, like everything around them was fucking paper, none of it seemed real. Rage burned through them, helpless hopeless rage, anger like they never had felt since their parents died. It flooded their system, with nowhere to pour out. An overfilled glass, that just kept being filled.
“Don’t you fuck her up Dante. Don’t you kill her Dante. I swear I will rip your fucking spine out with my hands, Kinnear, do you hear me? Fix her!”
They didn’t even know who was screaming until Quino was telling them to stop. Even with that outburst of energy, the rage bubbled up again, threatening to spill over. The Captain’s hands pressed at their wrists, their sides, their stomach. At first, Rye thought that he was trying to hold them back from going back into the med bay, they struggled against Quino’s questing hands. Then Quino’s hand brushed across their shoulder and the burn of the bullet’s bite rushed back into their mind.
“—shit, you were hit. Rye, you’re bleeding.” Quino’s words made Rye stop tugging away from his hands, but the rage still burned in their bones. “Get Katya to look at this Rye, you need—. Sit the fuck down.”
The last words were hissed, Quino shoving at Rye’s chest to make them stumble back. Rye’s hands curled into fists, ready to unleash them on anything between them and Imogen. And then they saw Quino, saw the fear, no, the panic in him. How his eyes darted about, the tension in his shoulders. Rye could feel the panic in the hallway now, like a lumbering bull, ready to charge.
They stood there, squared off, both of their chests rising and falling before Rye yielded. They slumped back against the wall, drawing in a deep breath. All the rage flowed out of them, all at once, leaving behind a yawning hollowness. It was dizzying, or perhaps that was some minor blood loss affecting them. They sat down as Quino had so forcefully demanded, right across from the med bay doors.
“Go and get her. Tell Katya to come here. I-I’m not leaving h-this spot.” Rye looked up, noticing Quino’s barely there shake in his hands. They looked away, focusing on the door. “I’m not leaving.”
Quino left without another word, and it seemed forever, sitting there in the empty hallway. Katya came, sewing them up with fingers that fumbled for the first time since they had met her. Others too. Standing silently near them, or speaking kind words that fell on deaf ears. Everything drifted, ghosts passing in their peripherals, noises too soft or too loud. They stared at the metal doors until their eyes burned, and then they wept. They were alone for that.
Quino came back eventually, squatting down next to them, a muffled shoulder squeeze rocking them sideways. A plate clattered on the floor near them.
“Hey. Rye. Get some sleep. Maybe eat something. It’s there, if you want it.” A sigh next to his ear, close but oh so far away. “She’ll make it. She’ll be fine.”
Rye wasn’t sure who he was reassuring, himself or them. Quino left again, the lights above their head went out, the food untouched. The rumble and creaking of the ship was a mournful chorus, but it lulled them to sleep.
When Rye awoke, it was to a hand brushing the side of their head. Rye instinctively reached out, gripping the owner’s arm in a punishing grasp.
“Hey, hey. Just me.”
Quino. Rye’s eyes darted to the doors, still closed. They looked up at the Captain, who sat down, arms crossed on top of his raised knees and head cradled. Quino’s eyes peeked out of this protective cocoon, looking at Rye with a sharp glint. Already, Rye’s mind was refusing, denying what Quino was about to say.
“No, no-”
“Rye, it’s done. Kinnear can’t do anything more, he’s worked through the night, done everything he can. It’s time to say your goodbyes.”
The lights seemed too loud, buzzing in their ears like the insects did on hot nights on Demeter. It should be raining, Rye thought. Even if it was impossible, it should be raining, out here in the vastness of space. It rained, first time in three years on Demeter, the night their parents died. Imogen might find it comforting, someone from Earth once told them that the sound of rain on their roof was the most comforting thing in the world to them. Maybe—. Quino touched their arm, simply resting his fingers on their forearm.
“Go say goodbye.”
Between one blink and the next, Quino was gone, and somehow, Rye was on their feet. The doors opened at their approach, with a shush, like a tombstone being rolled across the mouth of a grave, and Rye stepped into the med bay.
Imogen was still on the same table they laid her down on. The rest of the med bay was in darkness, Kinnear in the corner, doing something. Rye stopped, eyes only on Im’s still form. The weak and labored rise and fall of her chest. Kinnear slipped around them, leaving the med bay, not even looking at them.
When the door closed, Rye took those final few steps. There was a low stool next to Im, caught on the trailing sheet draped across her mangled body. Rye eyed the drip running into her arm, hoping that was enough, that she didn’t feel any of this pain. Rye sat, hand seeking out Im’s with as much gentleness as they could summon in their rough hands. Hers felt so small and soft in comparison, just starting to wear down on the pads of her fingers. Too young.
The contact woke her, a bitten off grunt escaping her chapped lips. They remembered her biting them in pain on the pod. Rye wished they had more time, that those lips would heal and still twist into that smirk, into that laugh, to be alive for many more years until well after Rye themselves was ashes.
“Rye Bread...” It was a struggle to hear her, but Rye hushed her trying to smile at the nickname. They failed. She continued on. “Rye, I thought I should ask you. I wanted to ask you... I wanted to ask you. I-”
“What, Im?”
“Do you think I’ll get into heaven?”
Rye’s scant air in their lungs left, in a soundless cry.
“My mother got into heaven I think. Catholic. I never-I don’t think I will Rye, I don’t think I will.”
Blood dripped from the table, nothing like the pounding rain Imogen should be hearing now. It stained the sheet at Rye’s feet, pooled next to their elbow. Rye gathered some on their fingertip. It wasn’t ash and blood, nothing like the ink in their own skin but it would have to do.
“Im, you’ll get into heaven,” their words were choked, finger drawing an endless knot on the back of her hand. “Your mother’s or mine. You are so good Im, even if you don’t feel it.”
“Rye.” It was little more than a whisper. “Rye, I’m scared.”
“It’s alright Im, you won’t have to be scared anymore.”
The silence descended again, Im’s eyes drifting shut, opening again to focus hazily on them. The blood dripped. Im spoke again.
“Rye, are you still there?” Rye’s hand tightened on hers in answer. “I can’t die out here.”
Rye was at a loss, there was no way they would even begin to get close to Im’s home planet, she was fading right before them. There was nothing they could do.
“Can you pray for me? Do you know prayers?”
Rye was silent, throat too tight to respond, and tried to recall the Holy Chant. It had been decades, they couldn’t remember how it began... Then Im’s voice whispered out something that made Rye stop trying to remember.
“Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come...” Her voice was weak, hardly more than a faint noise at times, but Rye recognized it as a Catholic prayer. “...Amen.”
And then it started again, and Rye stumbled on their own words, the cadence of them. The first names spilled out in a rush, but as they both continued, Rye’s voice found it’s stride, the names coming back to them. Soon enough, the prayers drifted off, and Rye stopped as well. Now, Im’s breathing was even more labored, ragged and whistling.
"I love you. You know I love you." Rye kissed the back of her hand at that, the barest brush of their lips. Her voice stumbled. “You stupid... bread.”
“Yeah, I was stupid, wasn’t I Im?” Her hand tightened, a weak press of her fingers. “You can let go now, my sweet one. Please, you can let go Im.”
He saw tears, making tracks through the dust on her cheeks, running into her hair. He stood up, wiped them, running his fingers up and down her cheek in gentle strokes.
“Your mother is waiting for you.”
It was slow, and somehow sudden. One moment, she was drawing in rough breaths, and then—silence. Her eyes stared at the ceiling, perhaps seeing rain falling down on the iron roof, her mother bending down to kiss her and to bring her to heaven. Rye leaned over, kissing her forehead. They closed her eyes, never letting go of her hand, before sinking back down onto the stool.
None of the rage now filled them, just what they imagined an ocean must feel like. Emptiness, endless and stretching to all corners of the horizon. The very air seemed to be sucked out of the room, nothing to prop them up. Rye leaned against the table, unheeding of the mess. They looked at her face, pale and blood dried to her neck, studying.
Memorizing Imogen Quan, the thief and fast talker. Mourning Imogen Quan the sarcastic spitfire that had brightened any room, that gave them a nickname and used it ruthlessly. If any of the crew needed them, they would find them here. They weren’t leaving her alone until space embraced her in it’s dark and infinite arms.
They still had not managed to form an adequate judgement of Rye Clemons. Most of the other members of the crew were easy enough to read and had made their opinions on their own existence know, whether outright or inadvertently through their own observation. But they were not sure what Rye Clemons thoughts. What they did know, though, was that they often caught them staring at them, with an unreadable expression on their face. The data they had stored told them that that was something to be concerned by, given their reputation and their penchant for violence on missions, but Nero had long ago learned there was no reason to fear a human, even one who might wish them harm.
The thing was, though, they weren’t certain that they did wish them harm. It would have been simplest to ask them why they stared so often, if they did not like androids, or perhaps them in particular, but somehow, they had not managed to do so, as if some sort of firewall was preventing the words from forming on their lips. Here was another opportunity, and yet they were certain they would not manage to take it.
“Perhaps I will do so. Many humans find the idea of speaking to something that cannot talk back appealing,” Nero nodded. Standing up to watch them, Nero’s hand fell from the plant they had been touching, more interested in seeing the way they cared for the plants for a moment. “I do like the plants. They are like me; we need humans to survive, but humans need us to survive, as well. They bring comfort…You like the plants, too,” they said, a statement of a fact they had observed, not a question.
Rye felt like there was some point Nero was trying to make, or some hidden question they were posing. They were studying them, Rye knew that much. The android studied everyone, all androids did that—study humans—as far as they knew, for various reasons. But Nero was the first android Rye had met that studied them with questions on their mind, trying to figure out motivation and feelings. It was odd.
“I-” Rye was caught off guard by their statement of them liking plants, they had to wonder if Nero wasn’t talking about something else. “I-Yes, I do. I was born among plants, quite literally. I suppose they are where I feel most comfortable. And yes, they do provide some measure of comfort. Knowing you have to look out for them, in order for them to support you.” Rye looked up and studied Nero more closely. “But you’re not just talking about plants are you?”
They took a deep breath, considering Rye as they let them get through their explanation – at least they weren’t asking Emeritus to do something other than go get coffee. That was an improvement over what they’d expected in being interrupted. But still…
It wasn’t that they minded Rye’s company – if anything, Rye was the most likely of the crew to actually stay quiet and just enjoy their coffee without ulterior motive – but if Quino had told them to tag along, that meant that, whether wittingly or unwittingly, they were there as a surrogate bodyguard, someone to look out for Emeritus and make sure they made it back to the ship in one piece.
But Quino’s overprotective instinct wasn’t Rye’s fault; that wasn’t fair.
“Yeah, alright,” they answered on an exhale. “You don’t have to pose as a guard, you know – you can be my esteemed colleague, fresh off field work on Demeter. No one is going to question the way you look as long as you’ve got the cred.”
Rye knew that Na likely didn’t want anyone at all to tag along with them, but Rye really didn’t know where a good coffee place was. The only establishments selling liquids they had ever set foot inside of on Hemera were bars, and Rye didn’t want to be day drinking this early in the morning. There was a time and a place for that, and now wasn’t that. They gave Na a grateful nod, sliding the beaten up data pad inside their jacket, falling in step with Na as they set off again.
“Esteemed? I think I left behind anything that could be called esteemed at least five years ago, Na. And I don’t know nearly as much as someone who could be called a colleague to you.” They hummed quietly under their breath, content to just be following along for someone else rituals, before commenting again. “And I still look like shit, I doubt anyone will talk to me long enough to ask about my research.” It was said with a wry grin and slight chuckle, before returning to their humming.
Fox couldn’t help but feel like Rye was trying to intimidate them when the first thing they did was sit down and start cleaning their gun. They knew it was a reasonable thing considering the mission ahead of them, but given the known fact that the muscle of the Erebus crew wasn’t exactly their biggest fan, they couldn’t help but feel like it was personal somehow. “Yeah, no one should ask you anything, their security officers are usually pretty stoic… so just keep watch and make sure nothing gets out of hand…” They gestured to the gun Rye was cleaning. “Make sure you keep that thing concealed… there’s one with your uniform that’s standard issue for their usual company.”
Imogen’s entrance luckily spared them from having to react immediately to Rye’s next question, which honestly annoyed them a bit. It was like they didn’t think they were competent enough to handle this job. They resisted the strong urge to roll their eyes, especially when the younger crew member bitched about them not getting along. Sighing slightly, they put on their very best fake smile and cheeriest voice. “Anything for you Genie,” they said, blinking their eyes in an overly saccharine display of innocence. “Me and Rock & Rye were just going over the details again to get everything straight, weren’t we darling?”
Fox loved pushing Rye’s buttons, and felt sure that this would do it. But if they did it under the guise of playing nicely, all they could do was abide the teasing, right? This was going to be fun, they could already feel it. “Now, like I said- there’s a particular company that handles most of the delivery operations for this mine. They’re a private security company out of Hemera that specialize in valuable resource transport. I got a hold of one of their company PDAs a while back, and now it’s hacked to act as a cloning tool. It’s gonna copy down each company’s private information while simultaneously fooling their systems into thinking that the pickup is happening as normal. We could be literally anyone, cause the security industry is on the rise and they’re constantly hiring more crews. As long as we have the right certification stamps, we’re good to go. That involves having the seal of the security company and the appropriate CGB trade certification seals for energy resources. And those are printed right on the ID cards, and repeated on our own PDA screen. The loophole in their careful planning is that transporters carry their own credentials - as long as the tech we have on hand looks and behaves legit, they’ll believe whatever it says.”
Imogen stomping in in a cloud of discontent was a blessing in disguise. Her sharp words towards them were received with no change in their outer demeanor on Rye’s part. Rye watch Fox’s overt display of pleasantness toward Imogen about them, tinged with some teasing, with raised eyebrows. How Fox got away with it, they were never sure. When Imogen turned her stormy face on them, they shrugged and nodded. Sure, they’ll play as nicely as they can. Stale Bread. The names the rest of the crew came up for them were charming and annoying by turns, and this one was annoying for sure. But they’ll play nice.
Fox restarted the answer on the credentials, rambling along long enough for Rye to finish up cleaning their personal gun. With the final piece in place again, Rye slid it under their jacket, into its holster. “The standard issue guns are peashooters, it’s like they’re asking for their shipments to be stolen. But my real firepower is hidden, alright?” The first half was muttered, more grumbling than any real bile. Rye strapped in, and once they were finished they gestured at Fox.
“I actually tuned you out about around the moment you mentioned a cloning tool. I’m not the brains of this operations, remember? Just the muscle. We’re all ready? Now, get us to this god forsaken rock you hate so much so we can get this job over with.” Rye pulled up the scarf they had wrapped around their neck, covering their eyes, the next words mumbled through the cloth over their face. “Wake me up if the pod is burning or we’re on Ersa.”
time | midday, just before the painite heist
location | escape pod 3
{ @ryeclemons & @imogenquan }
Fox was wearing a golden medallion around their neck they hadn’t even set eyes upon in ten years or more, and it jingled on its chain as they set about doing a final check of the cabin of the escape pod they’d be using for their mission that day. They were hoping to get this thing done as quickly & cleanly as possible… and if that meant being the responsible one, for once, then they were willing to do that. As they checked that there were three disguises & a reasonable amount of emergency supplies on board, they ran through in their mind all of the pieces of this plan that needed to harmoniously come together.
The three of them had talked after mission assignments of course, and they’d worked things out enough in advance that everything was already in place, at least in terms of the type of tech & fake credentials they’d need. They’d mocked up identification for each of them, had researched how the mining operations may have changed on Ersa in the last seventeen years (to which the answer was- not much), and had gone over their time-frame of the heist so many times they could recite it in their sleep. The entire plan hinged on ducking in under the noses of both the mining corporation & the freighting company that handled their shipments, posing as the delivery crew, and confusing both parties with a bit of clever, digital sleight of hand. Everything was in place to go off without a hitch. They kept reminding themself of that as they checked to make sure the pod was appropriately fueled and its systems were all running alright.
With a moment to spare, they grasped the little medallion hanging off its extra long chain and studied it closely. The tiny white gems in it shone with a rainbow iridescence that seemed brighter in the darkness of space than they ever had on the surface of Ersa, grey & sad little planet that it was… They aligned to form the Vulpecula constellation, and staring down at it of course made them remember their mother, from whom they had learned all about the stars. They still remember when she had given the charm to them, on their tenth birthday… the chain had been significantly shorter then. Some time after they’d run off from Orphe and their terrible mines, Fox had taken it off and hadn’t bothered putting it back on. From there it had been carried along with them in the pocket of a jacket or in a little drawstring pouch among their belonging until they rediscovered it, fatefully, that morning as they were getting ready.
The sound of someone entering the pod behind them startled them out of their reverie. Fox cleared their throat awkwardly and hastily tucked the medallion away in their shirt where it couldn’t be seen. They didn’t want to explain its significance to someone else, and neither did they want to acknowledge to themself the reasons they decided to wear it today. “Faust uses different companies all the time to handle his shipments so the escape pod should work just fine for this operation, given that its from a cargo ship…” they said hurriedly, before they could ask any questions. “Doesn’t even need an identifying logo on the outside since a lot of them fly stealth to try an’ duck thieves like us… as long as the IDs I made pass, this should be the easiest money you’ve ever made.”
Rye didn’t know what to expect on Ersa, as they felt like they were going into a dangerous situation blind. Not in the aspect of the details of the heist, those were clear and precise, almost foolproof as long as Imogen and Fox knew what they were doing as well. The details were fine, Rye thought, as they walked down the hallway to the pod, fiddling with the laminated badge with connected keypass that was printed for this job. Rye was confident in the plan. No, Rye was worried because of the face of their operation, Fox Moon.
Fox was distracted, since the mission briefing, and never answered why. They danced around the true reasons, and Rye was concerned by that. Any good crew had some level of honesty with each other, especially with past events that would impact the current heist. Being two-faced to the people who trusted you to have their backs was a good way to get shot in the criminal world. However, Rye didn’t pick up any indications that Fox was going to betray them (this time, who knows when they and Nila would decide enough was enough and burn the rest of the crew?) but Rye had to wonder if Fox wasn’t going to break at a crucial moment.
Walking into the pod, Rye noticed the quick movement of Fox shoving something on a small gold chain back into their shirt. Just another secret, like why Fox seemed to know so much about Faust personally. Rye wasn’t sure of the history there, and all they could hope was that it wouldn’t come back and bit them in the ass. They sat down in one of the pod’s seats, pulling out their extra handgun they were bringing along for this trip, removing the clip and chambered round, settling in to clean the gun again. The click of the bullets being removed where loud in the silence after Fox’s hurried words. “And I’ll keep my mouth shut, right? Stand there and be intimidating. Cover your backs.” In case anything went wrong. They pulled out a cloth laying the pieces down on the seat next to them. “You made sure that these IDs are connected to the right background, right?”
Fuck, shit, dammit, ugh! Jinx whirled around to face the other person. “Jesus christ you’re like a ghost! How can somebody so large be so quiet? That’s just rude to the rest of us mortals.” It was likely Jinx’s concentration that made her not hear them rather than any sneakiness on their part, but either way the sudden voice had made her jump in fright. Her mind raced trying to decide if lying would be the best move with Rye, or if just telling the truth would be better. She settled on a safe medium: avoiding the question. “Aren’t we all really just lost on the road of life, trying to find are way in the dark? So perhaps in that sense I am lost. Are you?”
A useless non-answer like that would not get her far and Rye was being gentle sounding which made it much more difficult for her to lie. How dare they be nice! Mentally she pouted, before sheepishly fessing up, “I was just going to play a prank on the captain?” It came out as more of a question but she quickly buckled down, “He would have thought it was funny I promise! It’s harmless, I don’t want to kill him because that would just be really rude, you know?”
“Maybe I am a ghost. Might have died five years ago and never quite left. How did you know?” They gave a quiet chuckle, leaning against the wall. “I felt plenty loud.” They looked at the small thief with the same patented look they had used on their younger siblings until Jinx caved. With each uttered word, Rye’s eyebrows rose higher. The side-stepping Jinx displayed was a masterclass in trying to distract from the question.
But then she arrived at the truth, and Rye had to sigh mentally. It was childish, yet mixed with a criminal sensibility. Not kill him because it would be rude. Goddesses above. It was strange seeing such a cavalier dismissal of murder coming from a face like hers. “What was the prank Jinx.” It wasn’t stated as a question, more like a demand. “Quino doesn’t like people disrespecting him, you should know this by now.”
Imogen looked up at them, giving her best impersonation of Rye’s serious expression. She couldn’t keep it up for long, though. “Oh, what’s he gonna do? Kick me off the ship?” She said it with a laugh. “Anyway, I’m already being practically punished with this stupid job.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, lots of wealth, but everybody else gets fun jobs, and we get Ersa. Nobody wants to go to Ersa.” Patting down the pockets of her bag, she shook her head. “No, I have everything I need for a trip to a cold dead rock calling itself a colony, do you?”
At Imogen’s expression, Rye’s scowl deepened. They knew playing the ‘tough emotionless bastard’ wasn’t doing them any favors with the younger crew member, but it was its own kind of fun to see Imogen’s teasing. At least someone was having fun. “Why do you think the Captain is punishing you?” Rye cocked their head, dropping their scowl. “Besides, if Quino is punishing you, then he’s punishing me too.”
Rye gave a quick shrug, they couldn’t argue with this job not being fun. “I haven’t been to Ersa in a couple of years, it would be interesting to see if anything—or nothing—has changed.” Rye took a step forward, intent on a store nearby. “I need a better coat if it’s gonna be as cold as everyone says.” Coming from Demeter with its mild weather, they weren’t use to ice or cold. They looked back Imogen. “Stay or go, whichever you want.”
When Demeter was settled, it was the new home of a wide range of people and cultures, and their religions they brought with them. The early history of Demeter is hazy to its current inhabitants, as the first farmers planted their fields nearly 300 to 400 years ago, yet hardly any records of that time remain on Demeter. Over time, the cultures and knowledge of their original home planet faded or were mixed together, and this included their religions.
In the new melting pot of Demeter—where relying on your neighbor and making connections were the difference between life and death—religion became a unifying force, rather than a dividing one. The winds and dust of the unsettled wastes obscured and buried the past, and out of them, the remnants of the early years emerged. This included the crates that held the seeds that started the crops, most of them scoured by the sands. The only words apparent were BASF, and hardly any knew what they meant, yet they were significant as they were what started Demeter.
The letters became the name of the new religion that had sprung up out of the older ones—Basef. The old religions were still practiced, but in far fewer numbers. Basef spread, farmstead to farmstead, jumping from area to area until it was the new major religion of Demeter around 200 years ago. As the religion grew and evolved, practices became more normalized, although each region had slight variations. Now, most don’t remember a time that Basef didn’t exist, and know at least one person close to them who are an adherent.
The large Demeter diaspora also are practicers of Basef, if a modified version of it. They usually act as independent worshippers, and often wish to return to Demeter to practice Basef in their homeland. As far as Basef believers are concerned, anyone not following Basef, either as non-religious or as a follower to another religion, are considered to be following an equal but separate path.
Practices
While exact practice varies from region to region, the most basic tenets of Basef are the same. Basef is a polytheistic religion that is mostly focused on the relationships of people with each other and the land they live on. Basef has a majority feminine pantheon, and has multiple location specific deities. Temples are found in most major cities of Demeter, and sometimes scattered around the countryside. Shrines are more widespread, often the location of worship in the countryside, and each adherent’s farmstead contains their family’s personal shrine.
Basef has an all woman clergy who act as helpers to the poor, soothsayers, military leaders, and maintain their local temples and shrines. These priestesses are referred to by adherents as Mother, such as Mother Sharifa (one of the first priestess), and are raised from birth to take over their biological or adopted mother’s position. They are encouraged to marry, have children and lead a normal life outside of their religious leadership. The signifier of their position is that they have shaved heads, to set them apart from their non clergy feminine relations, and wear scarlet clothes.
Mothers lead worship in Temples and at Shrines. Worship includes a joyous public sacrifices and then feast, with each adherent family giving a portion of the sacrifices. The most common sacrifices are a basketful of wheat or similar field crop, which is burned, an animal (such as a goats, chickens or rabbits) that is slaughtered and cooked for the feast, or food that is used in the feast.
Holidays are numerous, and are sometimes location specific as they might celebrate local deities, locally known Mothers, or events. However, the widespread holidays celebrate great Mothers, the solstices, the equinoxes, the harvest, the major deities, and minor deities. They are larger versions of the common worship, and those who participate try to give their best sacrifices such as cattle or more expensive crops. They also include other ceremonies such as coming of age, marriages or ordinations.
Beliefs
Basef is a religion made through the blending of many of the old religions. Some beliefs can be directly traced back to their parent religion, while others are unique to Demeter, arising from the landscape and culture of the planet.
Basef adherents can be known through their tattoos and symbolism. The holy color is scarlet, yet laypeople are not allowed to wear scarlet clothes except when offering sacrifices on altars in Shrines when a Mother is not present to give the sacrifice. The holy symbols are a sheaf of wheat and an endless knot. Both are commonly found as tattoos on adherents, with the former being used in marriage ceremonies, while the later is given in coming of age ceremonies.
In Basef beliefs, there is an afterlife, or the Great Pasture, a green and fertile land were work is not needed. It is an eternal party, and reunites those were separated by death. This afterlife is presided over by the pantheon, and cannot be reached by those who are alive. All are allowed to reach it, as long as they have passed through the coming of age ceremonies and are properly buried. Children who have not yet gone through their coming of age ceremony are considered to have their soul in the Great Pasture, so if they die, their souls already exist in the afterlife.
The supernatural plays a major role in Basef beliefs, as mischievous spirits, monsters and nature spirits exist and sometimes have a more direct impact on lives than any deity in the pantheon. There is also both good and evil witchcraft, often done by the female relations of Mothers. Mothers are also believed to be conduits to the pantheon. They often see signs based in nature, or practice divination in the entrails of sacrificed creatures. Basef mythology and beliefs are passed down through oral tradition, both through Mothers and among families.
Within that oral tradition, the most important myth is the creation of Demeter. Through this tradition, it was the All-Mother who birthed the planet, from procreation with the Dark God. Their previous issue were the pantheon, yet the Dark God didn’t want more children. The Dark God became angry that he had become betrayed, that Demeter existed, cutting off the All-Mother’s right hand. She in turn slew the Dark God, scattering his remains in the sky to give the night form. From the bones of her right hand, the All-Mother made the first children born on Demeter, implanting them in new people from Earth.
Within Basef, they have their virtues and sins, which should remain in balance, preferably with virtues outweighing sins. The virtues include responsibility, selflessness, humility and thoughtfulness; while the sins include indifference, cowardice, apathy, and despair. While sinning does not impact the possibility of going to the Great Pasture in death or bring about punishment from the pantheon, it is believed that it increases the chance of monsters or non beneficial spirits targeting them.
Rituals
There are multiple rituals that Basef have—including birth, marriage, conversions, ordinations, coming of age, and death. All require having a Mother present, except death in cases of accidental or sudden deaths. The one ritual that doesn’t require a Mother present is chanting. The Holy Chants are considered a form of worship, a verbal prayer. They are numerous, one each for every deity in the pantheon, and the most popular one is repeating the various epithets of the deities. Especially when set to music, it is considered an art form by outsiders.
Birth is the first ritual, with a Mother sacrificing an animal and christening the newborn in its blood, and painting the doorways of the farmstead in its blood. A piece of the animal (such as a foot, horn, or feather) is kept and worn on a chain by the child until their coming of age ceremony. The child is given their birth name, something that could be considered a nickname, on the fifth day after their birth which is the name the child will be called by until their coming of age ceremony as well. This is to protect the child from spirits. The birth ritual is an effort to keep the body of the child in the farmstead and the mortal world, instead of going back to the Great Pasture.
The coming of age ritual is done on the nearest major holiday to the child’s birth, when they are 17 years old. The child is given their true name, receive their first tattoo, the endless knot, and give their first sacrifice to the Mother who witnessed their birth, or if that Mother had passed on to the Great Pasture, the Mother who had replaced her. They also burn the piece of animal from their birth ritual. The blood from the sacrificed animal is mixed with the ash of the other sacrifices on the holiday and dust from Demeter to form the ink for the tattoo. After recieving their name and tattoo, they are considered adults and adherents of Basef, and that their soul has left the Great Pasture and properly joined their body.
Marriage is often the next ritual experience most Basef have. Once the those who are becoming married announce they wish to be joined in union, the Mother closest to their farmstead acknowledges that they are permitted to do so. The ceremony happens on the nearest holiday, and are the most joyous and energetic celebration done by Basef, along with being the longest.
It includes a chase of the first sacrificed animal, with all able bodied single adult members of each family chasing after the animal to be sacrificed. The first one to bring the animal to the Mother, sitting at the altar, is believed to be the next to become married. Due to the close quarters contact and wrestling that occurs over the animal, animals used in this portion of the ceremony are not larger than a goat.
After the first sacrifice, the blood is used to anoint the couple, and mixed with the ash of other sacrifices along with dust from Demeter, and used to tattoo the sheaf of wheat. After receiving the tattoos, each person being married is led through a complex process under a canopy made from linen held by each person’s family members.
Each is led around the other by the other’s mother, in the same direction as the sun’s path across the sky, first five rotations, for the five days they had remained unnamed, and then 27 for the number of bones in the All-Mother’s hand. Between these rotations, the most common Holy Chant is said. Once both have completed this, they then proceed tie an endless knot around their joined right hands, which is blessed by the Mother, who then unties it, cuts the scarlet cord in half, and ties the lengths around each participant’s right wrist, which should never be removed.
After the main ceremony, there are rounds of dancing performed with singing and music. Between the dances, the families of those being married exchange gifts. The gifts are often food, household goods, and animals, and always in pairs. Once 27 rounds of dancing and gift giving have happened, half of those gifts from both families are given to the new couple. The marriage concludes with another sacrifice, with the blood mixed with the wine of toasts to the future good health and wealth of the married couple.
The last ritual most Basef have is the death ritual, and happens five days after the death. The most solemn of all the rituals, it involves the cremation of those who have died. They are washed, anointed with oils, and wrapped in a scarlet sheet which is tied tightly around their body. They are arranged with their arms crossed, clasping a sacrificed dove, believed to the the animal to carry the soul to the Great Pasture. The sheet is then embroidered with the name of the deceased, and an endless knot and wheat sheath.
This bundle, along with a few possessions to accompany the deceased into the afterlife in the Great Pasture, are burned on a pyre. The ashes from the pyre, blood of the dove, and dust from Demeter are mixed and used to tattoo the blood relations of the deceased. The tattoos are called grief-marks, and are a short line tattooed at the outside edges of the right eye, usually about a half inch long.
The other ceremonies that happen under the supervision of a Mother on a holiday are conversions and ordinations. A conversion usually happens in two instances: when a recent immigrant to Demeter converts, or an outsider marries a Basef who wishes to keep their religion. In the case of an immigrant, they go through a coming of age ceremony, without the giving of a true name. In the case of an outsider marriage, a Mother does an abridged ceremony. The abridged ceremony includes only the knot tying.
Ordinations happen when a future Mother reaches age 17, and is inducted by their mother on the closest holiday. Their mother shaves their hair, and dresses the new Mother in their scarlet vestments. The new Mother is seated at the altar, and have a dove sacrificed above their head by their mother, with the blood draining directly onto them. After the blood is drained, the new Mother lays facedown and flat on the ground, and are covered with Demeter dust while the Holy Chant is said. Once covered in dust, and the chant is concluded, the new Mother has the endless knot tattooed on their right hand, and the wheat sheaf tattooed on their left hand.
After the tattooing, the new Mother sits next to the altar while other ceremonies are conducted, and does the Holy Chant 27 times. Once they completed it, they are considered a Mother. They are called under-Mother until their Mother dies, which is when they take over, or when they establish a new Temple or Shrine.
Pantheon
Cota, the Goddess of Autumn
Asyn, the God of Medicine and Life
Ghamis, the Goddess of Peace
Okaos, the God of Destruction and Youth
Mihena, the Goddess of Shame
Ruhdite, the Goddess of the Fields
Thana, the Goddess of Horses
Edis, the God of Politics
Wistus, the God of Intoxicants
Nemmis, the Goddess of Names and Death
Muuna, the Goddess of the Hearth
Vaaris, the Goddess of the Sun
Razone, the Goddess of the Moon and Sky
Tuttis, the God of Weather
Cades, the God of Borders and Luck
Banja, the Goddess of Kane*
*Considered an underground Goddess, she is not widely worshipped, except by those who participate in the Kane trade.
