After lunch, the Syndicate for Sentient Aid met to debate if and what kind of help to send to Iruedim. Iruedians were excluded from the meeting, and Benham and Alim, deemed biased, were also asked to stay away. Commander Rooks, however, accepted her invitation with grace and aplomb. If she had any bias, she hid it well, from both the SSA and the Iruedians. The meeting would last well into the evening, with a vote the following morning. The Iruedian trio and their helpers split apart, choosing to spend the break in different distractions.

Meladee and Benham strolled around a small, nearby park. At first, Meladee refused to enter, struck by the strangeness of the landscape. Rolling hills rose and fell, far into the distance, reminiscent of storm waves at sea. Paths wound between the hills, and in the valleys and on hilltops, trees grew.

Meladee stared most at one particular type of tree. From root to trunk, they were as she expected – shaped like an Iruedian tree. But, the branches were numerous and orderly. All grew upwards in a perfect umbrella shape, ending in needle thin leaves. Benham couldn’t tell her the name of the tree, so she invented her own temporary moniker: Behemoth Mushrooms. She told Benham the name, and he nodded his agreement.

For a while, each time they passed one of the mushroom trees, Meladee lowered her voice and pretended to be the tree, saying, “Benham, it’s me, Little Shroomy.” Or, something similar. Then, she warned him not to go to close because they were trying to lure him in, and nothing good could come of his approaching one of those trees.

Benham nodded but made a point of trying to wander over anyway.

Meladee always pulled him back.

After their escape from the last Behemoth, they walked through a stand of tall white-trunked trees. A canopy of purple and red leaves shaded their stroll.

“I don’t think they’ll help,” Meladee said, as she shook her head.

“Why? You were pretty optimistic when we left the audience room.” Benham turned to face Meladee but kept pace with her stroll.

She did not look at him but instead looked at the ground ahead of her feet. “I was confident because I didn’t have any time to think about it. They’re probably going to say it’s not worth the trouble. Unless they have ships they want to dispose of, I don’t think they’re going to land anything or anyone on a planet where they could become infected with the flesh of a super being.”

“Look, I don’t understand all the science myself, but I think Alim made a good case to show the monster’s weaknesses.” Benham put his arm around her. “Have a little faith. I think Eva and Camellia made strong arguments in your favor too.”

“Benham, I don’t mean to scare you, but you’ve seen what my magic can do.” Meladee stopped and turned to face him. “Magic cannot stop the monsters – not when they get too big.”

Benham shifted from foot to foot. He frowned. “Why is that?”

“How the hell should I know?” Meladee resumed their walk.

“What do Eva and Camellia say?” Benham asked, following her lead.

“Camellia thinks it’s because pieces can escape when they reach a certain size. Eva just gets this haunted look in her eyes, like any thought of destroying the creature is futile.” Meladee shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Benham replaced his arm around Meladee’s shoulder and sighed. “I think the Syndicate will help.”

“Yeah…” Meladee leaned into him. “...but they think Iruedim is just outside the Finial.”

“Which it’s not – though you’ve never explicitly said how you got here.”

“And, I’m not about to.” Meladee paused as she walked under a Behemoth Mushroom. She missed her chance to impersonate it. Instead, she voiced her worries, “I wonder if the Syndicate thinks Iruedim might have something to offer if they save it.”

“Yeah, that’s probably some of what they’re thinking. The Syndicate has more affiliation with the Finial than I’d previously thought, and if I know the Finial, I’d be wary of taking anything from them.”

Meladee grabbed Benham’s arm and startled the man. “Why? You’ve been antsy since Commander Rooks picked us up.”

Benham looked around the park before he turned his attention back to Meladee. “I don’t want to taint your view of the Finial or the Syndicate.”

“Uh Oh.”

“Yeah.” Benham took a final look around. “Let’s just keep walking and try to be optimistic.”

“Alright, we can walk, but I’m not done being pessimistic. What happens if the Syndicate helps us, and then they say – hey pay us, and they find out that Iruedim has nothing to offer except a bunch of clueless people who oo and ah over shiny buttons?”

Benham smiled. “You don’t do that.”

“I got it out of my system before I met you.”

In truth, Meladee had only spent an hour caressing Halfmoon’s buttons. She hit the wrong one, set off an alarm, and Eva had appeared, with fire in her eyes.

“Meladee, Iruedim might be distant, but I’m sure it has something to offer.” Benham gave Meladee a squeeze around the shoulders.

A large fountain caught her attention, and Meladee stared. She wondered what Iruedim could give a galaxy full of advanced technology and science. Meladee watched the fountain. Streams of water seemed to hop across lily pads, up and down, and side to side. She wondered how it was done, probably an illusion, but it looked like magic.

Finally, Meladee answered, “Iruedim doesn’t have a lot to offer. We don’t have technology. We barely have spaceships, and I’m starting to worry that once more people know about it, we might have to worry about an invasion.” Meladee frowned, and her shoulders slumped. “Before I knew about the damn monster, I was worried about an invasion. What if that happens?”

“First of all, Iruedim does have something to offer. It has weapons, people, tourism, maybe a natural resource. Oh, and magic.” Benham leaned close as he ticked that commodity off on his fingers. “Second of all, planets without space-age technology are protected by laws. No one can just come to your planet and take it over. A warship like Commander Rooks’ would come to your aid, probably a whole lot of warships.”

Benham drew a breath to continue.

Meladee interrupted, “See now there’s the problem. Someone has to enforce those laws and Iruedim is pretty far off.” Meladee glanced at a bench, surrounded by snaking vines. Hundreds of toothy flower heads bloomed from the vines. She gestured at the flowers. “Who the hell thinks that’s a good plant to pair with a bench?”

“They’re snaptraps. They eat bugs,” Benham said with a smile. “Are you tired?” He gestured to the bench.

Meladee glared at the little snaptraps, but she eased herself down.

“Meladee, how did you get here? Where exactly is Iruedim?”

“It’s sort of on the edge of your galaxy.”

“Is it part of Girandola?”

“Nope,” Meladee said. “I can say that with confidence.”

“Is Iruedim just outside our galaxy?”

“You’re getting closer.”

Benham put his arm loosely along the back of the bench. Snaptraps toothed his sleeve, but he ignored them. “Is Iruedim way outside our galaxy?” He laughed. “Meladee, just tell me. I’m not going to tell anyone. I’d never tell the Finial. You already know I won’t.”

“Don’t know why you hate the Finial, but maybe, you’ll tell me later.” Meladee checked the surrounding area for other people. She saw only a small family a long way down the path. She leaned close to Benham and almost whispered, “We got here...through a wormhole. The entrance is always near Iruedim, but the exit location changes every few centuries. Camellia could tell you the specifics. That’s where all our people came from – through the wormhole from loads of different galaxies.”

“Different galaxies? Different from this one?” Benham pointed at the ground as if it was the very fabric of Girandola.

“Hell yeah.”

“Camellia’s speech makes so much more sense now.” Benham touched his temple. “I don’t know...Here I was thinking Iruedim was on the outskirts of the Finial, on the other side of our galaxy.”

“No, no.” Meladee shook her head. “And, keep your voice down. The location of the wormhole is a secret.”

Benham’s head snapped to view Meladee. “Did I guess the location?”

“No.”

Benham leaned his head back and stared into the sky. Snaptraps captured locks of his wavy hair, but he didn’t notice. “I’d like to see something like that. An extragalactic planet. A wormhole. That’s what Iruedim has to offer.”

“You’ll be dead before it shifts again. How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

“How long do you live?” Meladee asked, realizing she didn’t have all the information.

“You can expect to get between one-hundred and one-hundred-twenty years out of me. Already used about thirty.” Benham cocked his head. “I’ve got some good mileage left though.”

“I’m thirty. I’ll be dead when the wormhole shifts too.”

“How long do you expect to live?” Benham asked. He pulled his hair free of the Snaptraps, and when he noticed some Snaptraps chewing on Meladee’s hair, he gently tugged the lock free.

“One-hundred and fifty years, but almost no one makes it to old age. It’s all the dragons and monsters and fantastical dangers. If you travel to Groaza, it’s the vampires, werewolves, and ghosties that’ll get you,” Meladee warned. “But, I’ve survived an ancient monster, so I might stand a chance.”

Benham nodded. “Sure, I’ll be dead when the wormhole shifts, but I don’t have to wait that long. Iruedim’s already gathered a ton of people from different galaxies. I can just go to Iruedim now and see exactly what I’m after. I can go and try to figure out how magic works. Or, maybe I could see people with superhumanoid abilities. I used to love that kind of thing growing up. Or...” Benham gave Meladee a sly sidelong glance. “...I could try out all kinds of primitive activities, like flying an airship or sailing.”

Meladee punched his arm. “I’m not sure I want Iruedim to become a touristy planet. Maybe we can export creature flesh. We’ve got that in abundance.”

“You probably could...the creatures would make quite the weapon. Those would be some dark times. For that reason alone, the Syndicate will probably help you. They’ll want to know how to kill it in case it spreads.”

“Sounds like we should have threatened them.” Meladee sighed. “If no one can help, I’m going to have to immigrate. Think I could get by flying a ship around this place?”

“If you immigrate, I’ll teach you how to do my job. I think you’d like it.”

Camellia and Alim wandered the halls of a large museum. Throngs of people crowded the lower levels, and Camellia nearly walked into a column trying to keep track of all the people as well as the artifacts on display. Alim tried to lead her upstairs to the less crowded exhibits, but Camellia objected and walked the lower galleries first.

She wanted to study the artifacts in detail, but she had no authority in this museum. So, she settled for a comprehensive history of Girandola.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

She moved faster than even school children on a class trip, but while the children moved erratically between displays, she followed a system and skipped nothing.

She lingered at one display of fertility figures from different cultures, seeing a glimpse of how each species reproduced. Most figures showed mammalian reproduction, but several cradled eggs. One lone figure seemed to carry around a sack attached to her by a fleshy cord.

Camellia wanted to linger at more displays, but she kept moving, determined to complete her self-appointed mission. She would obtain a sweeping history of Girandola, even though so many planets contributed to it.

“How are you liking it so far?” Alim asked.

Camellia gave a short nod. “Just fine. There’s a lot here.”

“There is, and you’re going through it like a machine.” Alim rubbed the back of his neck and laughed, a nervous sound. “I wonder if the Finial would condone what I’m doing – showing someone from outside our territory the Finial’s entire history.”

Camellia saw no reason for the Finial to object. What could she learn in a few hours? Still, she’d seen some samples of the Finial’s rules. Camellia veered close to Alim. “What does the Finial condone?”

The roar of children masked what Alim said next.

He leaned closer to ensure Camellia would hear, and repeated, “I’ll be honest. The Finial outlines a very narrow way to live.”

Camellia stepped aside and let several children take her place before a mummified head, plated in gold. She and Alim walked to the next display.

Camellia slowed her pace. “How narrow?”

Alim turned his covered eyes to Camellia. His mouth betrayed surprise. “They control how many children we have, where and when we can travel – to some degree at least, ownership of homes and spacecraft are heavily regulated. All I know is any time I or someone else has tried to...to just live, there’s a way we’re supposed to do it. I couldn’t travel to my first choice for university.”

“Why was that?” Camellia narrowed her eyes.

“Because the planet is not ideal for my people’s health. They don’t want Hellirs to live or travel there because we can come away with health problems and become a strain on medical resources.” Alim kept his voice low, but he spoke with passion. His hands moved with his words as if he sought to grasp something.

Camellia knit her brow. “What kind of health problems?”

Alim pointed to his chest. “Respiratory mostly. Heart problems as well. Sometimes neurological issues.” Alim pointed to his head. “In rare cases, our skin and eyes.”

“Alim, that sounds like a place you should avoid,” Camellia said. She felt caught in the middle, torn between understanding the Finial and distrusting it.

“If the problems were guaranteed, I would agree with you, but we can take precautions to prevent them, and even without prevention, they only occur in about twenty percent of residents. Occurred, I should say, because no Hellirs live there now.” Alim huffed. “And, it’s not just Hellirs. Every species has a place they can’t go, usually several. Geleans can’t live in places that are too dry. Species with heavy fur coats are disallowed from worlds with certain temperature profiles…”

Again, Camellia stepped aside as some kids ran by. The children passed, and she watched them go. She wondered what restrictions they would experience. She couldn’t help but feel some restrictions set by the Finial had meaning. Some places Camellia couldn’t go, like deserts at midday. She accepted that. The Finial, however, seemed to do a bit more.

Camellia sighed. “So, the Finial controls how you reproduce, where you live and travel, and any big purchases you make?”

Camellia frowned. Her government was nothing like the Finial. Groaza gave her freedoms. The Finial was more like her father’s house. Camellia knew what it was like to live where she had no freedom of thought. At least, the Finial could give its reasons for its limits. Viorel had none.

“Alim…I can see why you don’t like it, but on the other hand, there are reasons for the Finial’s rules. I’m not sure what to think, but I lean towards disliking your government,” Camellia said.

“You and many people,” Alim agreed. “I haven’t even gotten into the issues of privacy. I think I have a right to do certain things in my own space, but the Finial collects so much data on all of us. By the time I die, they’ll probably know my favorite foods and how many times I’ve eaten each one.”

So, the Finial was in the same business as her father after all.

In a soft voice, Camellia said, “I could not abide by that.”

Her serious tone and thousand-yard stare caused Alim to pause. Above his glasses, his brow knit. He bent his head to speak, but Camellia had had enough. She watched a throng of school children in a tall doorway.

“What’s over there?” Camellia walked forward, bypassing some smaller displays. When she entered the next room, her eyes widened.

The massive space had vaulted ceilings hundreds of feet above their heads. Glass cases lined the walls, full of historical displays. The biggest draw, however, was a huge tower. From the very core of the room, it rose, nearly touching the ceiling.

Camellia abandoned her systematic study and followed the stream of school children. She gazed at the tower and paid only passing attention to the motion of her feet. At a large plaque, Camellia paused to find the name of whatever culture built the structure:

The Amunt-Sortir are nomads, traveling through the second spiral arm of Girandola. Their settlements have been found on five planets, and every settlement is precisely 85 years old. Xenoarchaeologists believe that the Amunt-Sortir arrive at a planet, build one large settlement over the course of 85 years, only to dismantle that settlement and travel to a new location. The reason for these nomadic journeys are unknown, but they likely occur to this day. Xenoarchaeologists are searching for the ship, currently believed to be a primitive hibernation vessel, used to ferry the Amunt-Sortir between planets. Although every settlement has been leveled with an unknown weapon, this building survived the destruction. Xenoarchaeologists brought it here for study and for others to experience the architecture of the Amunt-Sortir.

“I have so many questions,” Camellia said. “What have you heard about this culture?”

Alim shrugged. “This is the first time I’ve heard of the Amunt-Sortir. I’m really curious why they would build a giant settlement and then tear it down.”

Camellia pointed to the plaque. “To be more precise, the settlements are leveled with an unknown weapon. Let’s spend some time in this room.”

“Sure.” Alim craned his neck to see the top of the tower.

While they read, the school children had their fun with the tower, careening through and past it. Now, there was a break between visitors. Camellia and Alim walked inside the tower, alone.

Built of brown stone, the tower showed no adornment or paint inside or out. Just endless, irregular stones, piled and mortared to create rooms and passages. The tower’s interior offered little space to move.

Alim, who was a man of average height, had to watch his head and turn his shoulders through select doorways. Camellia walked the passages, without ducking or turning. Though, the tight space allowed her little clearance.

Through a labyrinth of doors and halls, Camellia wove. She followed a rope, outlining a course for museum visitors. It took them along a winding passage and through two small circular rooms. Large cubbies lined the walls, big enough for Camellia to crawl inside. She didn’t.

They followed the rope, and it led them to a large, circular room. Camellia checked a sign and discovered that they stood at the tower’s center. The center room possessed a high ceiling, with large cubbies near the floor and small cubbies above.

Camellia spent some time in the room, silent and observant, thinking about who or what would fit in those cubbies, and how they would reach them. Alim looked around and waited. When Camellia resumed the path, he followed.

They walked to what Camellia determined was the back of the tower. Two staircases led up, but cages bared visitors from entry. Instead, the rope guided them out the back door. Camellia sighed and exited.

“That was something,” Alim said.

“I would bet a sizable portion of my salary that the Amunt-Sortir are insectoids.” Or, tentacled monsters. The tower reminded her of the nests of Lurrien creatures, but she kept that thought to herself.

Alim frowned. “Really?”

“Yes, let’s see if I’m right.” Camellia smiled and led him through the other Amunt-Sortir displays.

A few comb-like jars and skep-shaped cradles later, Alim pronounced Camellia correct.

“You’re so good at your job,” Alim praised. “Really wonderful.” He grinned and leaned close.

Camellia stammered as she struggled to accept the compliment. “Oh...I’m sure...better anthropologists than I…”

Alim came closer. He put his hands on her shoulders and bent his head towards hers.

Camellia put her hand over her heart and took a step back. Her heart beat fast, and she tried to remember all the things she had done to invite his attention, all the things she shouldn’t have done.

“I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?” Alim asked.

“I thought...you might try to kiss me.”

“I was trying to.”

Camellia raised her hand to her cheek. “I’d rather you don’t. I’m grateful to you for all that you’ve done for my planet, but I can’t participate in public displays of affection or short-term relationships.”

“I understand about the public displays of affection. I forgot where we were for a minute.”

A new group of children ran around them, narrowly avoiding the two adults.

Alim frowned. “But, I think we could have more than a short term relationship.”

Camellia shook her head. “I can’t. I have to think about Iruedim.”

Reluctantly, Alim nodded.

Camellia turned to find a new distraction. She wondered why it had to be Alim. Why not Adalhard? Why couldn’t Adalhard tell her she was good at her job and try to kiss her?

Because when you’re with Adalhard, you’re too busy being sad. Camellia listened to the dark part of herself. She knew it was right and had known for a while. What had Adalhard seen that was worth loving? Nothing.

Eva spent the afternoon with Halfmoon. The ship rested in an airy bay among a handful of small Syndicate vessels. Halfmoon was the only ship to possess a wide, semi-circular design. The others ships were sleek, with long bodies and pointed noses. As Eva worked within their ancient specimen, she knocked several repairs off her to do list and found a few new ones.

Evening approached, and Eva wondered when Meladee and Camellia would return.

In search of them, she ventured off Halfmoon, though not into the city. She walked laps around the Syndicate’s floor. The hallway formed a circle, with the important meeting rooms in the center, and the waiting rooms and offices on the outer ring.

Eva traversed the blue halls. Each time she passed the entry room and its bay windows, she marveled at the city outside.

Eva started another lap but stopped at the sound of voices. A dozen conversations mingled in the previously silent halls. The meeting had adjourned. Eva walked into an alcove and waited.

Streams of representatives passed, and Eva caught only snippets of their opinions. Most spoke in their native languages. Tongues for which she had no reference. Eva cast her eyes down, and only a few Syndicate members noticed her. None stopped to speak with her.

The stream of individuals slowed to a trickle, and Eva resumed her walk. She passed the open meeting room, without even a glance inside.

A step fell in beside hers. “I believe you are Evangeline Dyelan.”

Eva stopped and turned to face the speaker. She looked up...and up some more. The speaker was bronze, tall and trim, with a pointed face and angular features. The voice had a tenor’s timber. His silver hair was not the result of age.

A synthetic. An expensive one. A sexbot? Eva wondered.

“You’re synthetic,” she baited him.

“Yes. As are you.”

“You possess a very advanced design, considering what I’ve seen of Girandolan synthetics so far.” Eva crossed her arms.

“That’s true,” he agreed. “I don’t meet many androids like me.”

“I’m not sure we’re that similar.” Eva’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh?” The android’s facial expression communicated a perfect copy of organic surprise.

“The only advanced Girandolan synthetics I’ve seen were in a cruise ship’s pleasure center.” Eva shot him a condescending smile and turned to go. “I don’t think we were designed for the same purpose.”

“I’m certain we were,” the android called. He took a step after her. “Besides, what reason do you have to look down on pleasure androids? Should I be insulted that you mistake me for one?”

Eva glared over her shoulder, but before she could counter, another synthetic rolled into their conversation. From the waist up, the robot possessed humanoid shape. From the waist down, it was a scaffolding on wheels.

“Evangeline,” a digital voice greeted. “I am so honored to meet a synthetic from such a distant planet. I hope you are finding our accommodations satisfactory?”

Eva nodded, but she wore an annoyed expression. She didn’t know this robot and entertaining unknowns was her least favorite activity. She had little patience for it before the fall of Lurren and that would never change. So, she displayed her annoyance for the robot to read.

The half-humanoid seemed to miss the cue, just as she suspected it would. The robot’s limited expression never changed. However, the android’s did. He watched and frowned.

The robot followed Eva’s gaze. “I see you have met Sten. He was invited to the second deliberation. Likely, he will head the aid project to Iruedim.”

Though Eva couldn’t blush, she promptly wore her embarrassment. Sten was not a sexbot but instead an advanced synthetic, who might help her world. She frowned and cast down her shameful but suspicious eyes.

Sten spoke, “Robot Mjek. Don’t let us keep you. I know you have limited down time.”

Mjek agreed, “You are correct. I need to resume my duties. Otherwise, there will be no time for my own entertainments tonight.” Mjek glanced its goodbyes and rolled away.

Eva returned her eyes to Sten and found him staring at her.

“The nuance of your facial expression is truly to be commended. Are you from a line or one of a kind?”

Eva scowled and narrowed her eyes. “Have they decided to render aid to Iruedim?”

Sten’s eyebrows rose. “There is still the matter of the vote, but it seems likely.”

“And, they put you in charge? Are you one of kind or from a line?” Eva asked, with a hint of a smirk.

Sten cocked his head, and Eva noticed that his own facial expressions could be described as nuanced. Though she would not admit it, she found him hard to read.

With what appeared to be good-natured humor, Sten answered her question, “I am one of a kind...to a degree. There are models designed by the same man, similar enough to me. I’ve been told they’re my siblings.”

Eva nodded.

“And, you?” Sten asked. His curious eyes grew wide.

Am I one of a kind? Eva wondered. There are other synthetics with nanite systems, but I’m the only one fully built – almost grown – with my nanite system. And, then there’s the matter of a little soul…

Undecided, Eva ignored the question. She looked Sten up and down. “I hope you don’t disappoint me.”

Sten huffed. He almost laughed. “I have no plans to perform so below your clearly high standards.”

“Hey, Eva,” Meladee called from behind. “I know you don’t eat food, but we’re going to dinner. Want to come?”

“Yes,” Eva answered. Against her intentions, she used a short tone with Meladee.

“What the hell’s bothering you?” Meladee shifted her eyes to Sten.

Camellia, Benham, and Alim joined the group, and they also lifted their eyes to Sten.

“Who is this?” Alim asked.

“Sten. He may be in charge of Iruedian aid.” Eva returned her expression to neutral.

“That’s wonderful.” Benham smiled. “Has to be a good sign if they already picked out someone to lead the project.”

Alim smiled too. “Indeed.”

“Are you a synthetic?” Meladee asked. “‘Cause you sure look like one.”

Sten bowed his head and smiled. “I am synthetic. If the Syndicate agrees to aid Iruedim, there will be a few more synthetics on the project to decrease the chance of casualties.”

“Oh,” Camellia breathed. “We certainly don’t want to get you killed.”

“I’m hungry. We eat now,” Meladee said. “It was nice to meet you. Hope to be seeing more of you, but bye for now.” Meladee waved at Sten, and led the group towards food.

Eva hung back, glaring once more at Sten.

He leaned close and spoke low, “Interesting. You’re more reserved with organic beings. Why do you save your emotional reactions for other synthetics?”

Again, Eva chose not to answer. Conversations like this one had disappeared along with Lurren’s more philosophical synthetics, and Eva found herself unequal to the task.

Before she followed her friends, she paused and retorted, “On Iruedim, we will see just how high of a standard you can reach.”

Eva looked into Sten’s eyes and saw determination, excitement, and maybe a hint of fear. She studied his eyes as long as she could, until she finally walked too far.