Miles dreamed of a single planet, a single star, an alliance, bright and harmonious. A people who lived eternally, each one possessing the wisdom of a sage, the strength of a waterfall, the endurance of a mountain, and the authority of a king.

Over the minutes, that dream faded.

There was warmth in his stomach now, a slow rotation. Light returned to his vision, the diffuse pink of closed eyes.

The events of earlier came back to him as he came back to consciousness.

Brisk, the gun firing, the consul falling. He remembered that his superior had bypassed whatever process the Ialis Corporation had for checking dungeon finds, effectively making a run on the customs desk, and that he’d attacked an official in the process.

He remembered trying to help.

Did I even help?

He opened his eyes and found himself not in a cell, or an oubliette, or cast deep into the dungeon to be disposed of by the dangers there, but lying on a padded green couch in one of the open-air structures of the entrance complex.

There was no sign of Trin or Torg, but his bag and robe were there, folded and placed on a low table made from the black wood of the local trees.

Miles didn’t recognize the specific structure he was in from his earlier walk through the compound. It seemed like he was on the second floor, with treetops visible through the open spaces that stretched between support pillars. Like the other structures he'd seen, the ceiling was very high, giving the place a sepulchral feel.

It seemed darker outside than when he’d passed out. The air that drifted through the space was cool with faint traces of mist. A light breeze gusted occasionally, bringing the smell of damp earth and plant life.

Miles sat up on the couch. He felt at least as strong as he had when leaving the dungeon. If he recovered from over-exertion at a reliable rate, then that might mean it had only been an hour or so since the attack on the consul. The lower light seemed to say different, but he didn’t know how the day-night cycle on Ialis worked either.

He checked the pockets of his cargo pants, finding his comm, index, and even the crystal he’d recovered from the dead grenadier in their places.

“Hello?” he called out.

It was weird that he’d been left alone.

Taking his comm from his pocket, Miles stood up and began walking toward the edge of the room, where the floor disappeared and gave way to the stunted forest.

Looking out through the open edges of the building, he could place where he was. The landing pads that the Kipper had touched down on were a little way off, and he judged that he was on the opposite side from the structure where they’d met Consul Thunis.

There was no sign of the Kipper, unsurprisingly.

There were still ships docked there, each on its own black landing pad, but fewer than before, and none of them were the familiar sleek Alfaen craft. It had gone and it had left him behind.

Not that Miles had any desire to travel with Brisk or Captain Rhu-Orlen after what he’d seen. Even if he could handle the casual indifference with which Brisk had treated his dead teammates, knowing about Brisk’s attack on the Ialis official, that the crew might as well be pirates, had completely soured him against them.

I just wish it’d lasted long enough for me to get paid.

He checked his comm. He had the fifty seln that Thunis had given him for helping extract the injured scout, and sixteen seln left over from his personal savings, and that was it.

Besides his balance, there were no messages.

Where is Trin? Where’s Torg? What happened to the scout? What’s going to happen to me?

He used his comm to send a message to Trin.

> Miles > Trin

>

> Where are you? What’s happening? Are you and Torg okay? What happened to the scout?

> Trin > Miles

>

> You are alive! Well done. You made yourself knock out again. Very good healer, always unconscious.

> Miles > Trin

>

> What is happening?

> Trin > Miles

>

> Worm lord took you away. Says for questions. Me and Torg also questions.

There was a dry rustling sound from one end of the room, and Miles saw a section of floor slide away, giving way to a ramp. A moment later, a head appeared, the tip of one of the Gilthaen’s wormlike bodies.

It emerged slowly, sliding up the ramp, accompanied by one of the sharp, fast drones that had appeared during Brisk’s unprompted attack. It hovered behind the Gilthaen menacingly, but not making any aggressive moves.

This Gilthaen was not Consul Thunis. Their skin was a different shade of gray, they had six eyes — a vertical row of four with one to the left and right, like a narrow plus sign — and they were dressed differently, a thin black robe instead of the buttoned coat, with a cloak of shimmering red fabric that rose up into a wide collar around their 'head'.

They slid up onto the second floor and stretched upwards, standing easily thirteen or fourteen feet tall. It looked perilous, when so little of their long body was in contact with the ground, but then, maybe some species thought that about humans.

Miles walked slowly away from the edge of the room, toward the new Gilthaen. He tried not to feel awed by the sapient’s height and presence, and he might have succeeded, if it weren’t also for the cool penetrating eyes that gazed down at him, clear, intelligent, somehow regal.

“I am Consul-general They-who-read-deeply. You may call me Consul-general Runir. Will you speak to me in peace?”

Miles hadn’t been sure what he was going to say, but the question threw him off completely. Maybe they thought he was in on the attack.

Before speaking, he remembered how Brisk had addressed Thunis. If the Hurc had been taking pains to be polite, then Miles assumed that it was the right way to address the Ialis officials.

“Consul-general, I will,” Miles said.

The Consul-general’s head swayed slightly. “Please do not stand on protocol. This is an informal conversation.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Runir slid further toward the center of the room, turning to face Miles at the end of the movement. The angular drone flew some distance and took up a position at the edge of the room, hovering out over the open space just beyond the walls.

“Did you participate in the attack on Consul Thunis?”

Just coming straight out with it, huh?

“No,” Miles said, putting as much truth as he could into the word.

He felt the urge to say more, to elaborate, to add context, but he resisted. He didn’t want to end up pleading, and he didn’t want to give the sapient more than they asked for.

“For how long did you know that your leader was planning to attack Consul Thunis?”

“I didn’t know,” Miles said. “Not until after Brisk shot them.”

“Did you guess or suspect?”

“No.”

“What insight do you have into the motivation of the attack?”

Here it is.

Miles all but knew what Brisk had done. There was some process where the Ialis authorities inspected loot recovered from the dungeon. Brisk said they had the right of first refusal on finds, and Miles didn’t exactly see why that would need such drastic action, but the Hurc had clearly taken something from the planet that he didn’t want to be inspected.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Something else came to Miles, then. Thunis had mentioned that the box had a scanning mask or something. Finding a signal mask generator had been Brisk’s job on Delatariel Station. They must have been planning this at least that far back. They’d expected whatever was really in the white container would be there with their slaughtered team, and knew they’d need a way to get it past the Ialis authorities.

“Brisk, the leader of our group, found something in the dungeon — in the artifact. I don’t think he wanted Consul Thunis to inspect it properly.”

“That is our assessment as well,” Runir offered. “What did the case contain?”

“I don’t know.”

Runir stared at him for a long few seconds, all six eyes boring into his two.

“Your answer is incomplete. Please elaborate.”

Incomplete?

Miles realized that it was slightly incomplete, not that he’d left anything important out.

“It had some random items. Brisk said they were personal effects, but I think they were just there to justify him having the case. I don’t know what was in there besides those.” Before Runir could ask another question, Miles blurted, “Is Consul Thunis alright?”

Runir seemed to relax, and Miles decided that Runir knowing that he’d missed something out of his answer had been a surprisingly incisive observation. Did the Gilthaen already know the answers to these questions and was just testing him? Did they have some kind of lie detector tech? Maybe they were just good at reading people.

“Consul They-who-share-ground is well, though in the near future, they will be known as They-who-warily-tread.”

“Okay. Good. Thanks.”

“Why did you place your hands upon Consul They-who-share-ground?”

Miles looked down at his hands. He still had some red skin from the blistering heat of the Gilthaen’s body.

“I was trying to heal them," he said. "I was our group’s healer, and I thought I could help.”

“Gilthaens are immortal. Nothing short of physical annihilation can end our existence. Did you know this?”

“I… no.”

So Miles hadn’t actually needed to heal Thunis at all. Maybe Brisk hadn’t even been trying to kill them. Maybe a gutshot was just a distraction to a Gilthaen. Miles had panicked and exhausted himself to unconsciousness, flailing around in his ignorance.

“Your actions were of help,” Runir said.

Miles looked up at the Consul-general’s face.

”They were unnecessary for Consul They-who-share-ground’s survival, but they were a comfort to them during a concerning moment. You eased their pain. You made them feel not-alone. They have expressed their gratitude to me.”

Miles felt something inside him unclench, and he fully breathed for the first time since he’d woken up. Maybe he wasn’t in trouble after all.

“I find you blameless in this assault. You are not associated with the actions of your leader.”

Miles let out a sigh. “Thank you.”

Consul-general Runir’s head swayed slightly. “No bylaw of Ialis commanded you to assist Consul They-who-share-ground. There is no standing reward payable for this kind of assistance.”

“I know,” Miles said. “Well, I didn’t think there was. But they were hurt right in front of me, by my own crew.”

Runir was silent for a minute, long enough that Miles started to get uncomfortable. The Consul-general turned to look out through the open walls of the structure, at one of the distant buildings. Miles got the feeling Runir was speaking to someone, though he didn’t see them using a comm or any tech.

Thinking about it, Miles didn’t see how Gilthaens could speak at all. They had no visible mouth, or anything like that. When they spoke, the sound seemed to come from the part of their body that would be a throat on a humanoid.

Eventually, Runir turned back to him.

“Your assistance will be rewarded.”

“Oh,” Miles said. “Thanks?”

Were they going to give him another fifty seln? That had been the bounty for helping other dungeon visitors out.

“State your desire.”

Uhhh.

“Sorry, what do you mean?”

“You may request a boon of the Gilthaen. What would you ask?”

“Sorry, anything?”

“You may ask for anything. It may not be provided. Perhaps, limit yourself to boons within my power to grant.”

Several of the Consul-general’s eyes had narrowed. On a human, it might look like a hostile expression, but Miles got the impression that the Gilthaen was amused.

“It is a simple question. What do you want?”

What do I want?

It wasn’t simple at all.

“I don’t know. To go home?”

“Where is ‘home’?”

Unsiel Station, Miles thought. He had a room there, a few friends there, and they fed him a packet of slime three times a day.

But did he really want that? Unsiel Station was a dead end. A spiral cul-de-sac that he’d been happy to get away from. He was standing on Ialis, a planet, and a vaguely green planet at that. When was the last time he’d seen a sky, or touched soil?

“You are conflicted,” Runir said.

“Yeah,” Miles said. Then, “What’s happening with my friends?”

“The other two members of your crew have been found blameless in the assault. The injured Ankn is stable, though will need care to recover.”

Ankn must have been the name of the scout’s species.

“Thanks,” Miles said.

His thoughts returned to what he wanted.

He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to do.

He thought his job on the ship offered him stability, but that had barely lasted a week. Did he go back, try again, look for another ship with another job, and just as much uncertainty?

There was a temptation to stay here, on Ialis, but he didn’t really know anything about the planet. He didn’t have anywhere to stay, he didn’t know where to get food, he didn’t know how much anything cost, and he didn’t have any money in any case. He didn’t know how to get around. Were there buses? Were there department stores? He didn’t imagine there was a benevolent refugee program handing out food packets.

“Could I stay here?” he asked, testing the water.

“That would be in order,” Runir said.

“I don’t know my way around, and I don’t have any money…”

“Then your boon would be a request for a guide, a payment, and our aid in establishing yourself here, on Ialis.”

“Consul-general, yes it would.”

Miles felt a fluttering in his stomach, a weakness in his limbs.

He'd felt the same way when he'd fled Earth, sneaking out of the compound to where the refugee ships were waiting. He'd felt the same way the night before he joined the crew of the Starlit Kipper. It was a feeling he had whenever he made a huge, life-altering decision.

Runir closed their eyes for a second before opening them again.

"Then it is done."

The Consul-general started to slide away, then paused for a second before turning back. Their head swooped down to scrutinize Miles from inches away.

This close, the feeling of being seen was intense. Was it his imagination, or did static electricity prickle at his skin, in his flesh, pricking the hairs on his arms?

"You are a mage," Runir commented. "A harmonizer, and Quester of the Stars."

Miles hesitated before answering. Technically, he wasn't allowed to be anything but a Harmonizer, and technically he wasn't, but if an incomplete or hedged answer tripped Runir's lie detector before, it definitely would then.

In the end, he simply answered, "Yes."

There was no reaction, no censure or arrest for possessing magic that hadn't been opened up to the newly bowered human race. Instead, Runir just rose back up to their full height.

"This will be accounted for in your payment."

Runir slid toward the ramp and disappeared down it.

Miles spent a few minutes waiting, wondering what was meant to happen next.

Do I follow him, or…

A floating platform arrived at the edge of the floor before he could work up the nerve to leave on his own.

It came with a drone, a floating metal donut with two vertically stacked eyes and a pair of spindly manipulator sticks.

Miles approached the edge, and the drone matched him, floating up to him.

"Heya," the donut said. "I'm They-who-fly-with-abandon. You can call me Bandy."

"Hi Bandy," Miles said, uncertainly. Its name followed the same pattern as the Gilthaens. Was this some kind of Gilthaen, or did they just name their drones in the same way.

Wait, is this drone sapient?

He decided it was better to err on the side of respect.

"So, you wanna guide?" the drone asked. "I know all about Ialis. You wanna see Consular City? No, wait, that's too pricey. You wanna see Dendril City?"

Miles decided he needed to get the question out of the way.

"Are you a Gilthaen?"

The lights of the donut's eyes vanished for a second, a long blink.

"No. I'm a drone."

"Okay. Sorry. You sound so different from them."

"You were just bowered, right?"

"Pretty recently," Miles admitted. "Iteration twenty-seven-thousand two-hundred."

"Spooky. You know what they say about round-number iterations, right?"

"No?"

Bandy didn't illuminate him.

"Well, let's get going." The drone flew over to the floating platform. "I can take you to Dendril City, or Crater City, or a random place in the moss desert if you want."

"Can we go find my friends?"

Bandy said they could, and a few seconds later the platform was jerking into motion, drifting toward the larger part of the entrance complex.