The Bloomfield Express was a state of the art locomotive. The interior was freshly polished and smelled of newly cut metal and sawed wood. With nary a subtle vibration, it rocketed down tracks southward, illuminated by two setting suns.

Though it was rare, at this time of year, it was possible to see two at once of the many that orbited Sphere, even if the window for doing it was only a brief time during the evening. Currently, one was far to the north and the other directly west, both moving in the latter direction.

Terry’s train cabin had a glass skylight, allowing him and his companions to see a couple of twin worlds which were chasing the central sun; ones that were just becoming visible. Their blue and red gaseous forms a beautiful sight to behold. Despite being so far away, these gas giants lit up the night, casting a purple hue across the darkened lands.

That wasn’t the only interesting sight, however. There were other Skyfleet cadets aboard: an even mix of dwarves and humans. According to Bedrock, the dwarven mountain hold of Sleepystone was nestled in the Blooming Mountains, explaining their unusually large presence.

That presence did not extend to their cabin, however. There were four seats in the car, two of the others having been filled by Gnessia and Bedrock. Nobody had claimed the fourth for now, not that it mattered. His two companions were more than making up for the lack of another in conversation.

“...I’m just saying,” Bedrock argued. “It’s the only thing that rectifies observations and the new Teklan method for calculating orbital mass. Sphere must be a lot larger than the ancient kinsmen believed.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Terry said, nodding with vacant eyes. “How did we get from talking about cheese puffs to planetary orbits, again?”

“This is more important!” Bedrock declared.

“Nothing is more important than the proper making of cheese puffs,” Gnessia huffed, currently in her natural (and apparently more comfortable) disorganized form. Her many rocks and shards orbited her center orb like the stars that orbited Sphere. “Nothing. They’re one of the first things I learned how to bake!”

"Honestly, I still can't believe you're not sticking to chemistry," Bedrock sighed, shaking his head and seemingly giving up talking about the previous topic. "Not that chefs aren’t important, but you’re a natural at spatial thinking!”

“Spatial thinking helps with cooking, too!” Gnessia said matter of factly, though with a distinct air of excitement. “And chemistry, for that matter. Do you have any idea how many chemical reactions happen when you bake a loaf of bread!?" She stopped, thinking for a second. "Well, only around four, but still!"

“So uh…” Terry coughed. “It sounds like you know what you want to do already, Gnessia.”

“Oh yeah!” Gnessia said excitedly. “I mean, it wasn’t easy. At first I wanted to - don’t laugh - specialize in geology.”

“She was always good at it, jokes aside,” Bedrock noted.

“Please, I was average at best,” Gnessia said humbly. “I was a lot better with chemistry. Honestly, I was this close to picking it at my career path, but then I had an epiphany…”

Bedrock smirked. “AKA, an explosive cooking class. Long story.”

“And everything changed!” Gnessia said. “I decided I was going to be the first five star levikin chef in Skyfleet! Maybe even the entire Silver Republic! I dedicated pretty much the rest of my comation to it!”

“Comation?” Terry asked.

“Dwarf word for community education,” Gnessia explained cheerfully. “Dwarves don’t really have career teachers like humans do. Instead, every member of the hold is supposed to chip in. Newly cycled levikin are as welcome to benefit as much as any dwarf in most holds!” Her orbiting rocks lowered slightly, as if she had just had a bad thought and was slouching. “With a small bit of pushback, of course.”

Terry raised his eyebrows. Assuming levikin weren’t just quick learners, this explained how she was able to pick up three different skills she was confident enough to choose to do in Skyfleet. She had access to all the combined knowledge of her entire dwarf hold. And given dwarves lived well into their hundreds, there would be a lot of it.

“What about you, Bedrock?” Terry asked.

"Mechanical engineering with specializations in cosignius anti-gravity field generation, combustion engineering, and fluid dynamics and thermal systems," Bedrock said bluntly. "I've dabbled in aeronautics, but haven't specialized in anything there."

Terry blinked. "Oh."

"How to say 'I'm a nerd' in thirty words or more," Gnessia said cheekily.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bedrock grunted. “He asked, he got an answer.”

“Juuuust don’t ask my brother to go into any more detail,” Gnessia chuckled. “You saw how enthusiastic he got talking about astronomy, and that isn’t even his field! Though speaking of that, what are you planning on doing, Terry?”

“Me?” Terry said. “I uh… well…”

“Haven’t decided yet?” Bedrock said. seeing through him as if he were made of glass. “Not a big deal. What did ya’ focus on in school?”

Terry knew Bedrock was trying to be nice, though diverting the subject in this way didn’t really help him much. He glanced away from Bedrock sheepishly before saying: “Well… I’m pretty good at piano.”

“Piano?” Gnessia said, transforming into her ‘human’ shape and cocking her rocky head. “What’s a piano?”

“Isn’t that that human machine with the row of black and white buttons?“ Bedrock asked. “I think Tekla had one of those.”

Terry raised his eyebrows. He had heard the name Tekla before, and not just from Bedrock. If he remembered correctly, he was a famous inventor. Did Bedrock know him somehow? Even more curiously, did the dwarves and levikin have no concept of a musical instrument like a piano? To be honest, he didn’t know. He really had a lot to learn about dwarven culture still, it seemed.

“Oh!” Gnessia beamed. “What do the buttons do?”

“Well,” Terry coughed. “You press them and they create sounds in specific tones.”

“How?” Gnessia asked. “Via some type of magic?”

“Uh uh, not doing this again,” Bedrock said dismissively. “There’s no such thing as ‘magic’.”

Terry almost sighed in relief at the change of topic, though Bedrock’s comment piqued his curiosity. He glanced at Gnessia with a puzzled expression. “But…”

"She isn't made o' magic," Bedrock said dismissively.

"Oh really?” Gnessia said, for the first time actually seeming a little offended. “That’s not what my people believe.”

“Only reason ya’ believe that is cus ya’ can’t remember how you were made,” Bedrock said stubbornly.

“Who knows if we could say that even without the cycling?” Gnessia said.

“Cycling?” Terry asked. This was the second time he had heard the word in this conversation.

“Levikin memories automatically reset every eighty to one hundred years,” Gnessia explained. “Some sort of failsafe to keep us from becoming unstable. I just got done cycling around eighteen years ago. Bedrock’s family were kind enough to take me in after I did!”

“Brains can only hold so much information,” Bedrock explained. “Artificial rock brains included. And if you lived forever like levikin, if you let them just overflow, you’d be losing random information. Yer’ life’s story would be Swassian cheese.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“I see,” Terry said slowly, feeling a little uncomfortable at this sudden revelation. “Sorry, but… isn’t this kind of personal?”

“Na, it’s pretty common knowledge,” Gnessia said nonchalantly.

"Yo, no it isn't! I never heard that!"

The group was stunned. A new voice had joined them: male, excited and full of legitimate awe. This wouldn't have been so strange if the voice had come from the cabin door, but that wasn't the case.

The voice had come from the opposite side. Specifically, one of the corners of it… near the ceiling.

Nervously, the group looked up towards the spot. It was slightly hidden in shadow, but they still should have noticed the figure there a long time ago. It was holding itself up via the two perpendicular coat hangers, propping its feet against their respective walls for support.

"Uhhh…" was all Terry could say to it.

The figure laughed at the response, more playful than menacingly, which didn’t exactly put Terry’s mind at ease. Then, it plopped down to the floor, in-between the group, revealing itself.

And what this creature was was even more surprising than its entrance.

Mass communications were still developing in the Silver Republic, especially in Terry's small town, so common knowledge on one end of it could often take years to become common knowledge on the other. However, they must have been lacking more than Terry had thought, because he was sure he would have learned in school about the tabaxi - a race of walking, talking cat people - being more than just legend. The notion of their existence was so scoffed at by backwoods folks that their name even became synonymous with ‘bullshit’.

Yet that was what was standing in front of him, sporting a proud pointy-fanged grin on his black-spotted face: a living legend. He would really have to try hard not to use ‘tabaxi’ in his vocabulary anymore. At least not in a derogatory way.

"Three hours," the cat person cheered, pumping a clawed fist in the air. "Three hours hiding in plain sight!"

"You were up there the whole time!?" Bedrock said, baffled.

"Sure was!"

"That was amazing!" Gnessia beamed, ‘clapping’ two of her rocks together enthusiastically. "I had no clue!"

“Hahaha, yeah, I’m pretty good, aren’t I?” the creature beamed, looking particularly at Gnessia. “Oh, and by the way, he said ‘I’m a nerd’ in twenty-one words, not thirty. Just thought I’d let you know.”

“Oh, um, thanks!” Gnessia chirped.

“You’re welcome!”

"But…" Terry stuttered. "But why, though?"

“I like counting,” the creature shrugged. “Kind of do it without realizing it at this point. Helps with situational awareness when facing multiple opponents.”

“He means the whole hiding in plain sight thing, genius,” Bedrock grunted.

"Oh, cus practice," the creature smiled. "The more I sneak, the better I sneak. It’s a skill like any other, and to master it, I must practice constantly."

"Why practice on us, though?" Bedrock said in a flabbergasted growl. "Who are you, anyway?"

"My real name is kinda hard to say," the creature explained. "And there’s pheromone and body language stuff to it. Most just call me 'Spot'."

"That's one question answered," Bedrock said impatiently.

"You guys were just the closest Skyfleet people to where I came aboard," Spot explained, before turning to Terry. "Didn't have any clue who that was, huh?"

Terry stared at him, confused for a brief moment before he finally realized what Spot was talking about. That mysterious tap on the shoulder must have come from him.

Terry couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah, you got me."

"Woot!" Spot beamed. "Five points for Spot!"

"Points?" Bedrock asked, seemingly more and more irritated by Spot's random behavior.

"Thing with my order," Spot said. "Don't question our ways."

"Order?" Bedrock picked up, before sighing and slumping in his chair. "Oh, you guys. Order of the Long Shadow. Shoulda known." He looked towards Terry, already anticipating his question. “Our hold is right ‘down the street’ from their temple.”

Terry's eyes widened. Spot wasn’t really wearing anything that would identify him as a monk, but even with his thick fur, his muscular arms and legs spoke for themselves. Could he really be from the same place he and Sunny had seen?

“You’re one of the monks that live on the Blooming Mountains?” Terry asked curiously.

“Mhm,” Spot regarded him with a friendly, though slightly braggish tone. “The fastest, sneakiest boys and girls around.”

“Yet you gave yourself away just because you were interested in levikin physiology,” Bedrock said bluntly.

“Pffft,” Spot scoffed. “Wasn’t a breakdown in discipline. Master Hadrian wouldn’t scold me for learning about the people I gotta protect.”

“Protect?” Gnessia said.

“Yuh huh,” Spot said. “A super special mission! I’m the official Long Shadow attachment to Skyfleet!” He quickly sat down, crossed his legs, and bowed with two hands in prayer. “A great honor. Master Hadrian must be pleased with my progress.”

“I thought you lot were supposed ta’ be information gatherers… and assassins,” Bedrock said, folding his arms. “What would Skyfleet want with that?”

"Assassins!?" Terry asked shakily, trying to hide the agitation in his voice. "I thought they were just, ya know, trying to get in touch with their inner selves or… something."

"They project themselves as that," Bedrock noted. "My hold knows better. Never knew them to play defense."

“Hey, many ways to protect others,” Spot said. “Sometimes ya’ cut down the guy trying to shoot people, sometimes you hop in front of his arrow. My order has a lotta faces, dude. Spies, physical therapists, you name it. Assassining–.”

“Assassinating,” Bedrock corrected.

“Stabbin’ bad guys,” Spot said, undeterred. “Is just one of our focuses. Though I’m totally good at that, too! Or, well… I think I’d be.”

“Huh, well that’s good, I guess,” Gnessia said casually. “Nice to have someone assassining someone trying to assassin me.”

“Assassinating!” Bedrock cried. “Assassinate!”

“Yo, chill out,” Spot said, cocking his head slightly. “They’re just words, dude.”

“I did get what he meant,” Terry shrugged, honestly trying to hide his growing anxiety at having a literal assassin in his midst more than anything.

Bedrock looked like he was about to slap him. “Oh for the love of–”

“So uh, Spot,” Terry said, hoping to put his nerves at bay. “Sounds like you’ve never assassined anyone before, right?”

“Well, no,” Spot coughed, almost as if he was ashamed. “Master Hadrian says I’ll get there one day, but for now, he says I’m ‘better at parrying than swinging’.”

Terry sighed in relief. As it turned out, he wasn’t sitting near a killer. Just a… killer in training. With that in mind, he had to wonder how such an organization was being tolerated by the Silver Republic. Was the whole ‘assassin’ thing just to scare people? Perhaps something they did in their past but no longer did? It was certainly possible that Spot wasn’t actually the exception to the rule but the norm, and that he was just playing into the whole ‘assassin’ thing to look cool.

As Terry pondered this, Spot turned his gaze to Gnessia, looking her over in wonder.

“No point in trying to protect you, though,” Spot interrupted, staring at Gnessia with wonder. “You’re made of rock! Who could even touch you?”

Gnessia giggled at that. “I mean, I’m not really someone to quarry with, for sure.”

Terry stared at her blankly, while Spot seemed confused more than anything.

“Rock puns,” Gnessia said nonchalantly. “I love em’.”

The group continued to talk for a while, with Spot mostly taking the lead. Terry was quite surprised that this member of an order of assassins was such a conversationalist. He asked question after question to Terry and company. Curiosity was fitting for a cat person, Terry supposed.

“So do levikin, like, eat rocks for food?”

“Do dwarf holds really have streams of lava going through them?”

“Do human towns really make everyone go to school all the way to seventeen?!”

“Am I asking too many questions?!”

At that, Bedrock opened his mouth to likely say ‘yes’, but Gnessia quickly cut him off. “Nope, you’re fine! Ask away!”

And so the cat monk continued. Though Bedrock was getting increasingly annoyed by the stream of questions, Gnessia had cheerfully answered anything Spot wanted to ask. This included even the slightly… awkward questions about how levikin had babies.

Terry had to admit, he was a little curious about levikin creation himself, so he listened to it.

“Levikin don’t really, um, reproduce,” Gnessia coughed. “We were made by someone or something thousands of years ago. Who that was is still a complete mystery.”

“Ancient dwarves didn’t do it?” Terry asked.

Gnessia shook her head. “No, they just found us while they were digging. Dwarves are masters at record keeping, so if it was them, they would have known. Whoever it actually was hasn’t been around for a long, long time.”

Terry himself was glad Spot was taking up so much attention. With him around, the subject never got back to what it was. Terry wouldn’t be forced to admit that his only serious skill was playing a musical instrument. To do that when he was around a master of the sciences, an immortal rock creature, and a cat person who seemed to be able to disappear into the shadows without any trouble, would be flat-out embarrassing.

Yet even without voicing anything out loud, he still never felt so inadequate. It took a quarter bottle of a calming potion to put his mind at ease. That combined with Bedrock giving a lecture on mineral classifications after Spot had called an Igneous Stone ‘just a rock’ eventually lulled him to sleep.

There was something else, too, that helped. Something he could barely hear over the chugging train: a light tune being sung afar like a gentle breeze through hollow trees.