Terry saw a few zilglings himself the next day when he went to grab lunch at the small cafe by town hall. The government zeppelin was still there, now parked over it, though he had a feeling they were starting to wrap things up. The local census workers were turning in their IDs and equipment next door at the coffee shop, and were getting small, rectangular checks in return. Those checks must have been large, too, as the census workers were smiling wide on receiving them.

There were still a number of official government workers around, and not just with the census. It wasn’t surprising, though, as it was now well-known the zeppelin wasn’t just here for gathering population data. This included the same dwarf lady who had trained the local census workers.

She was now in a full Skyfleet uniform and had some sort of radio pack strapped to her shoulders. Surrounding her were four zilglings. Just like his mother had said, they were wearing ‘cute’ little Skyfleet uniforms; red in color and specifically crafted to fit their six-legged, bug-like forms.

Some liked to call them ‘giant ants’. However, the workers resembled stink bugs more than anything with their diamond-shaped bodies, only with taller, arched backs. Of course, nobody would be rude enough to say that out loud. Plus, they weren’t known to stink at all. In fact, the air surrounding their passing smelled quite pleasant: very earthy.

Terry had hoped to hear the song his mother had heard them singing, but unfortunately, right now, they were being fairly quiet save for a few chitters. The only thing he could hear was the sound of a radio playing a tune familiar to him. It was a bluegrass number, meaning it had copious amounts of banjos and fiddles accompanying the lyrics. It had originally been sung by a couple of cartoon characters called the ‘Condiment Kids’ that appeared before picture shows, but now it was on the airwaves, too.

“I’m a bird and I can fly!

Often tell the ground goodbye,

But always keep it in my eye,

Cus what I need ain’t in the sky.”

After paying for his lunch, Terry continued to watch the zilglings in amusement as he sat down at one of the circular tables in front of the cafe. The four zilglings followed their dwarf handler about, collecting various electronic trinkets from crates near the town hall and stuffing them in the packs attached to their sides using their surprisingly dexterous frontal limbs.

He wasn’t the only one watching them, either. Coming over to him were his two favorite teachers at school: Mr. Garth and Mrs. Gwen Holliger. Granted, there were really only about five teachers in total, so it might not have meant much, but Terry had always gotten the impression they were giving it all to educate the hundred or so kids in Garthwood.

This was apparently tradition for Mr. Holliger’s family, too. As far as he knew, they came from a long line of teachers stretching back to the town’s founding. The town, ‘Garthwood’, was actually named after Mr. Holliger’s great, great grandfather, as was the teacher himself.

“Even without a queen nearby, they’re still practically one mind, aren’t they?” Mr. Holliger said, glancing at the zilglings as he sat down across from Terry. “Notice their synchronized movements? Completely lock-step.”

Terry raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t noticed it, but even the bugs’ leg movements were practically the same.

Mrs. Holliger laughed slightly, sitting down next to him before turning towards Terry. “Sorry, hun. Don’t mind the lecture. You’re still our student, graduated or not.” She smiled brightly at him. ”Really though, we just wanted to see if the news was true.”

“It’s no problem, Mrs. H,” Terry said, using the nickname he still wasn’t sure his teacher liked or not. “Though what news?”

“You’re joining Skyfleet, of course,” Mr. Holliger said, giving him a sarcastic smirk. “Oh come on. You didn’t think this was a big deal?”

“Unless you’re just being humble,” Mrs. Holliger joked.

Terry raised an eyebrow. “Benny got into Skyfleet, too, you know.”

“So?” Mr. Holliger said. “We’re just as proud of him. I know, I know, Homecoming and all, but we talked with him the other day and we think he’s really shaping up!”

“It… it wasn’t just Homecoming,” Terry muttered.

“We just think it’s great you two are trying to go out there and help people,” Mrs. Holliger said sweetly, either not hearing or ignoring the comment. “Look at all Skyfleet’s done for the town in just their short visit? Rewiring the main power lines, repairing the southern bridge, paving that airstrip, building the new gymnasium at the school… the list goes on and on. And you’ll be going out there and doing it for dozens, if not hundreds of other towns just like ours.”

Terry couldn’t help but blush. Hearing this kind of praise from good people like them was beyond flattering, to say the least. Nonetheless, his elation came with a twang of guilt. Even after talking it over with his parents the other day, he still hadn’t decided just what in the world he was going to actually do in the organization.

“Yeah…” Terry sighed.

Mrs. Holliger cocked an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

Terry took a deep breath. “Just… when I was in school. Did I ever seem particularly good at anything?”

Mrs. Holliger responded immediately. “Of course. You were always good with music–”

“Aside from music,” Terry added.

“Terry, what’s this about?” Mr. Holliger asked concernedly.

“Well…” Terry coughed. “I uh… still don’t know what I’m gonna specialize in when I get to the academy. I’m just worried that if I don’t know in time, it’ll be chosen for me, ya know?”

“Ah, I getcha,” Mr. Holliger nodded. “But Terry, it’s perfectly normal to not know exactly what you want to do at this age.”

“I didn’t even know that I wanted to teach until I was thirty,” Mrs. Holliger noted. “Thought I was going to be a social worker.” She raised a finger. “Might still do it part time.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Ahem,” Mr. Holliger coughed. “Something we still need to discuss.”

“Right, right,” Mrs. Holliger grumbled. “But the point still stands.”

“I mean, I get you,” Terry nodded. “But… I guess I just want a nudge in the right direction.”

Mrs. Holliger smiled sympathetically. “All we can say is that you can be whatever you want to be. I know that sounds like pre-reform capitalist propaganda, but in this case it’s true. You were a good student.”

“Could have been a great student if you had spent a little less time listening to Elephant Men and more time studying,” Mr. Holliger interjected, a smirk on his face.

Mrs. Holliger shot him a look, before turning back to Terry. “Yes, you were a little rough in some subjects, but the point is: the brains are there. And even if they weren’t, everyone has a busy little zilgling worker in them ready to move mountains.”

Terry couldn’t help but smile at that. Their words didn’t really help solve his problem, but coming from them, it did make him feel better. In fact, his worries pretty much faded as he continued to talk with them for a few hours.

They didn’t focus on any subject in particular: just a combination of them teaching him random science and history facts and shooting the poo. No matter the topic, though, he enjoyed spending some time with them outside the classroom. Other than his parents, they were the people who helped make him who he was. And just like with his parents, he hoped he would make them proud.

Unfortunately, the next day, his ponderings and anxiety were back. Even chugging half a bottle of one of his calming potions didn’t seem to help all that much. Thus, he decided to take a different approach: thinking while doing something he was already good at.

He sat down at the baby-grand piano in his living room. When he was younger, he would usually only do this for practice-sake. But now that he was developed enough, he could sit and play freestyle, creating simple themes and combining them without really needing to think about them. It wasn’t exactly meditation, but it did help him think about other topics when he needed to. The fact the piano had recently been tuned definitely helped, its strings vibrating their concise tones across the house.

While he started by just playing random melodies, he eventually fell into playing a song he had written a while back for his school’s talent show: ‘Gospel of Labor’. Compared to some of the more advanced pieces he knew like Blue Rhapsody, it was very, very simple. The chord progression was nothing more than G major, D minor, F major, and C major, which his left hand played.

The melody was meant to be played by a piccolo, violin, cello or other ‘pretty’ sounding instrument. In the talent show, his good friend, Rosa, played it on a small, ornate tin flute. And when she did, it gave it an almost magical quality. Unfortunately, right now he had nothing but his piano, though he managed to make the melody sound whimsical (at least in his mind) by trilling the individual notes between two octaves with his right hand. He couldn’t help but hum along with it, too, adding his voice to the melody.

His mind wandered, and he dove into the song to the point where he could practically imagine Rosa sitting outside his window playing it. It sounded a little different from a tin flute: more akin to wind blowing through a tree at specific pitches. But it was still beautiful.

Then he realized that he wasn’t actually imagining it.

He drew his gaze to the window at the right of the piano, and to his shock, it wasn’t vacant. The bridge-like head of a zilgling was gazing at him through it, its three sets of glowing, white eyes piercing him. Terry immediately stopped playing in shock, though the zilgling continued to ‘sing’ the melody. It was almost like it wanted him to continue. It bobbed its head to the tempo, and when it did, he noticed a series of black, triangular markings on it.

Terry, however, found he couldn’t move a muscle even if he wanted to. The zilgling’s ‘singing’ was becoming hard to describe. Like it was pouring into his consciousness like a waterfall. The world swirled around him in a vortex, gradually fading to black.

Then, suddenly, he found himself no longer in the living room. The past had leapt into his vision: a trip to five years ago.

He, Benny, and Rosa were at their campsite just out of town. He remembered this moment… his first encounter with a zilgling. What was odd, however, was that he wasn’t seeing it from his point of view. Instead, it was like he was watching the scene from behind the brush in the forest surrounding his younger self and company. He didn’t seem to have any control of his visage, either. It was like watching a movie, almost. Though like the dream he had months ago, somehow he was able to ‘see’ more than just color.

He could see heat itself, the fire at the campsite burning a hot white while his past self emitted a soft glow. There was also the strange mist, which seemed to be hovering around the individuals. There was also a sound. The younger Terry was whistling what would one day become the melody to ‘Gospel of Labor’.

“Yo, dude, go get the hotdog pack,” Benny said to the Terry of the past, interrupting his whistling. His voice was developing its nonchalant tone back then, though it still had an air of joy it no longer had now. “I think it’s hot enough to cook em’ through.”

“Marshmallows for me, please,” Rosa said sweetly.

Terry had almost forgotten she was a vegetarian. He wanted to smile upon seeing her, though his lips would not move.She was slightly older than Benny and Terry, at the time fourteen to their twelve, but she didn’t seem to mind hanging out with the two of them at all. Strangely, the mist that clung to the three of them was much more pronounced around her, making her almost look like some sort of mystic creature wrapped up in it. Her long, snowy-white hair that flowed in the light breeze certainly helped with the image.

“You know marshmallows are made of horse tongue, right?” Benny bullshitted. “It’s how they’re so chewy.”

“Come on, Benny,” Rosa grunted. “You know that’s not true.”

“Oh, let him have his fun,” the younger Terry laughed. “He’s just ‘trolling’, after all.”

“Still not sure what his pranks have to do with such creatures,” Rosa said.

The younger Terry looked confused. “Huh? What do you–”

Suddenly, the younger Terry paused. Something seemed to catch his eye, and older Terry knew exactly what it was: it was whatever vessel he was currently looking through.

“Hey, does anyone else see that?”

Suddenly, Terry felt his body moving on its own. He heard shrieks coming from the campfire and the skittering of six legs below him.

Then, with a flash of light, Terry found himself back in the present. He was breathing heavily; panting even. He looked out the window, and the zilgling looked back at him. It was no longer singing, but chittering softly. It almost sounded apologetic.

“The hell did you just do to me?” Terry demanded.

The zilgling paused, contemplating something, before suddenly moving out of site.

“Hey!” Terry called, dashing over to the window and looking around his front yard for any sign of the creature.

He could no longer see it, but he did hear the tell-tale skittering of its six legs moving off into the distance. Terry almost wanted to dash out the door to chase after it, but his rational side fought against it. Whatever happened, the zilgling didn’t seem to intend it, and he doubted the creature would have answers for him anyway. Plus, he didn’t want to look like a nutcase trying to interrogate one for something he had never heard of.

Instead, Terry rubbed his temples, trying to find an explanation for what just occurred. It looked like he had just seen himself through the eyes of the zilgling he had seen camping all those years ago. A vision of the past through someone, or something else’s eyes.

But that was insane. While zilglings did have a hive-mind and could, from what he knew, share each other’s thoughts and memories, he had never heard of any other beings being able to reach into it. He wasn’t a zilgling and therefore didn’t have their physiology. Didn’t take a skyship scientist to see that much.

So, he did what any rational being in the situation would do: chalk it up to stress. His mind was screwing with him in revenge for drenching it with so much cortisol lately. It was the only thing that made sense.

Even so, Terry was happy he didn’t see any other zilglings the rest of the summer. He had too much on his plate to worry about that, anyway, because rapidly approaching was his trip to Skyfleet Academy.