PELION.

Song landed and dropped two tarps. “Snakes, handle Middy and Non Sequitur. I need to monitor Swee and search the debris for anomalies. Can’t babysit.” She flew off the cliff.

“Will do, Song. Non, we know you. You took Middy and us to Lerna Springs. You read Gorgon Zola to us along the way. How badly hurt are you?” said Middy’s snakes.

Non blinked away the white glare afterimage where the portal had been, then looked at the back of his shoulder. ‘No exit wound. I have a bullet.’ Red blood dripped down a bullseye pattern on his black and white chest, circling his most painful injury.

Middy patted his back. “Thanks for getting me out of there. Us?”

“You prefer the me pronoun and we use we,” said Middy’s snakes.

Non finally spoke. “I have a bullet in me. Do you see Swee? Are you okay yourself?”

Middy self-evaluated while looking. “I just came back from death. Swee … shot another equitaur!”

Non spotted the troll running from a large black and white equitaur on the ground. ‘Piebald like me.’

The colorful snakes made color commentary, speaking one at a time. “That’s your Dad Lagen, Non. The sheepherder sent his hunting dogs after Swee. He’s running from that big dog. Swee’s not moving well. The little dog bit him. Swee’s in the river. Clarissa Miller’s treating your Dad. Let her tend to your arm. Boss, we do orientation for newcomers. You are both likely feeling very confused.”

“I do orientations?” asked Middy. “Yes, I’m confused. But the details snap right in.”

“My sire got shot by Swee. At the name Clarissa Miller, I recalled she’s the apothecary.”

Non saw Swee resurface on the other side of the river, then sighed. He’d been given a task. “Could you help me fold the tarps?” asked Non. He soon learned that sculpting team pythons had expert-level folding.

“Junk sheds like this are all over the place. Can you carry our stuff?” asked a snake.

“Sure, carrying is fine if I don’t move this arm.” Non helped sort between his back and the shed.

‘I suppose it’ll be easy to get junk here.’

║ WE AVOID THE TRAGEDY OF THE COMMONS. I STILL NEED TO TALK.

“Do you believe in multitasking? We could do some of the orientation,” said Middy.

“Yes. Why am I here?” asked Non Sequitur while putting sundries in the shed.

“Most people have knowledge worth stealing. When you created a taur character, you volunteered for the wacky scavenger planet, Icarus. The more sedate planet is Globe,” said the snakes.

“Can I die here? What happened to my soul? Do I have a soul?”

“Yes, you can die. Avoid that. The soul question is still debated. There are many religions on the planet, all the Earth’s religions and more. The black hole, Sagittario, claims it isn’t a god. And she’s genderless. He doesn’t care what pronouns are used for him, her, it or them,” said the snakes.

“Why does a black hole care?”

“In 4.5 billion years, the galactic core of Andromeda, Andromache, will swallow our much smaller galactic core. A long creative civilization might figure out how to change the laws of physics.”

“I see. I doubt I’ll be able to help. They grabbed the wrong guy.”

The snakes chuckled. “They try to grab half of everybody. In a properly functional civilization, everyone helps to make the planet better. Galactic Core Corps, GCC, has an ongoing analysis of the Earth’s population, seeing who has life skills worth stealing, then setting someone up to receive them.”

Non closed the junk shed. “Felicific calculus, got it. Where are we?”

The snakes looked at each other, then ignored the math. “Follow this way. We’re in the Pelion region, in a nation like Greece within the Roman Empire and Europe, on a planet called Icarus. We’re near the center of the Milky Way galaxy.”

“Where do I live?” asked Non, looking at the cabin Middy’s snakes had led him to.

“Tonight, with your parents. Open the door and drop off your things,” said the snakes.

The haphazardness of the cabin felt familiar to Non. Scavenged wall shelves featured a microscope, shells, glass flasks, balance scales, a weight set, models of airships, green plants, a Curta calculator, a sextant and many books. The snakes unloaded his back. One photo showed his younger self playing a xylophone. Another photo showed two young colts wrestling a bigger equitaur. A brother and father?

“Is the piebald equitaur my Dad?” asked Non, holding onto Gravitation and his feedbag. He pointed to a picture of a horse that had snakes, one of them holding a halo. “That’s my mom?”

[https://i.imgur.com/Xf39v0i.png]

The snakes answered him. “Yes, those are your parents. Lagen Cruciger and Nagappaloosa with a fake halo. She works at Telegram&Radio up on the mountaintop. Your brother’s name is Chyron. Here’s your feedbag, we never see you without it. Next: Middy’s home. You can also ask questions, Middy.”

Middy looked up at her snakes. “I’ll listen for now. Thanks for not forgetting about me.”

Outside, after donning his feedbag, Non looked to the top of the mountain, but the snakes directed him down the road. At the tavern, the snakes removed Swee’s stuff. Continuing down, Ñ felt the heat of the blacksmith’s solar furnace as they stepped past a mirror array. Many homes had solar ovens.

Middy’s front lawn featured life-size statues with lifelike detail. An obsidian statue with a bandage stepped up to greet him. No, not a statue. Dad. The engineer.

Lagen Cruciger the equitaur stood a hand taller than Non. His ebony coat glistened in the sunlight, contrasting sharply with the white hourglass-like swoosh adorning his sides. With his long, flowing mane and tail, precision bearing and powerful features, he represented the epitome of equine engineering.

“It really is you! I’d hug if Swee hadn’t shot me. Shot us both. What a strange day. Non, I am your father.”

“Great to meet you, Sire!”

“I’ll get that gear off your back. Son, I saw Swee fall from the big metal orb on the cliff. Sergeant Swee of the Etruscan war! He’s the one that put me on a slave ship.” Lagen finished clearing Non’s back and patted it. “I walloped him when he stood up. I didn’t know he joined his Earthself.”

“And you didn’t know your nemesis had a gun,” said a human woman behind Lagen. The apothecary. Non and his twin brother Chyron had both worked for her as colts.

Clarissa Miller wore a sensible brown dress with a starched white apron. Her features seemed severe but intense, with her silver hair swept up in a neat chignon. A connoisseur of the human condition no matter the form it took, she measured and mixed elixirs with the precision of a scientist and the care of a healer. Her fingers, nimble and sure, deftly handled the vials and bottles that lined the shelves, and her knowledge of herbs and remedies was unrivaled.

“Clarissa! Hi! Could you help with a bullet?” Non set his book on an altar of sea serpents, then knelt.

“Nyah, get that wound under the sun while I prep.” Claire unrolled tools then gave him a mortar with green mash. “Put this poultice on it. Any memories yet? You and your brother apprenticed under me. You left me for the telegram office. Your brother Chyron later trained under Beek before joining with Herald.”

Non held the crushed green leaves to the bullet wound and felt numbing. “Anesthetic?”

“Coca leaves with honey and alcohol. Please don’t move while I examine the hollow of your wound.”

Ñ̰ DO I NEED TO GET YOU ANYWHERE, RUMBLER, AFTER THIS?

║ THANKS FOR ASKING! TELEGRAM&RADIO, BUT I’M VERY PATIENT.

Ñ̰ YOU SAID SOMETHING ABOUT BEING A SECTOR?

║ A SECTOR IS PART OF THE BIG BLACK HOLE. GALACTIC CORE. SAGITTARIO IS THE SUPERVISOR PROGRAM. I’M A SUBTASK, BILLIONS OF YEARS OLD. DON’T TELL ANYONE. I WANTED TO GET BETTER AT PUBLIC SPEAKING. I’LL EXPLAIN LATER.

Ñ̰ I’M DEEPLY SORRY I IGNORED YOU EARLIER, SIR.

║ DON’T SWEAT IT, MAMMAL. WE CAN TALK MORE LATER. I’LL REPLAY WHAT THE SNAKES JUST ASKED YOU.

“Care for more orientation? We showed Middy where her posters were,” said the snakes.

“Sure, I could use the distraction while Clarissa Miller pokes and stabs me.” He tried for a playful tone. ‘My staff is part of a black hole.’ His try at playful thoughts failed. “How much should I pay Clarissa?”

“Money is based on the Planck energy unit, about two gigajoules, the energy of a lightning bolt or gas tank. Since she’s sliding forceps into you, I’d say at least one planck. On Earth, it’s the price of a half-day road trip. Fairly easy to get by on a planck weekly, but most earn a planck each day. One moment. Lagen, could you hire the kobold gang to organize the stuff that fell over the cliff?” said the snakes.

“Bint is there already, but yes. I’ll head off. Later, son!” Lagen trotted off.

Clarissa Miller clicked her tongue. “That pale horse just got shot! Non, would you ignore me if I told you to avoid stress for a day?” She waited for Non to start responding, then yanked out the bullet.

“Oh, I... OW.” She smiled with a bloody bullet in forceps. Colt flashback: Younger Clarissa Miller and a crane patient with a fishhook in its foot. She pointed his colt self to a metal can with coins, and he ‘accidentally’ knocked it over. As the patient turned, she pushed the barb through and snipped it.

“Did I knock over a can of coins for you when I was a colt?”

“The coin can? I still have that, and yes, you did. The full transition takes a day,” said the nurse-apothecary, washing the wound. “You still heal fast. Hold this bandage for five minutes. Middy, your turn.”

As Clarissa stepped up to her, Middy asked her snakes, “How do we get online?”

“Arpanet nodes are limited, and not everyone pays for access. You have access, but only near the telegram office and Bint’s Bargains. Fun fact, it was originally called the Intergalactic Computer Network.”

Non assessed his shoulder now that Clarissa had finished. “Who is in charge?”

“Hold off,” said Clarissa, “According to the clocks over there, it’s time to hear Naga give news on the radio. That’s your mother, Non.”

Middy turned on a radio, which sounded four soft chimes before a louder chime.

“Nagappaloosa, from the top of Pelion. Local sculptor Middy Zola fully arrived today with her Earth home along with my son Non Sequitur and longtime adversary Swee the War Troll. My son and my husband, Lagen Cruciger, got shot by Swee but sent him running. Officer Song tells me both are walking. Many saw the excitement after the surprise total eclipse today. Consider Swee extremely dangerous, last seen when he dove into the Volos river. In Lerna Springs, the Lernaean Hydra was murdered in her library in what might be a Labors of Hercules plot. Pelion is on notice. Someone relieve me. And that’s the local news. After this ad, stay tuned for World News with C.F. Kane.”

“We fix things so you don’t have to!” said a high-pitched voice. “Here at Bint’s Bargains–”

A human in a grid-patterned bespoke suit turned the radio off. “Nothing against kobolds, but I’ve heard that enough.” He put a drafting triangle into a case.

“Middy, this is the architect Fontanel Gridwork from Athens. Fonty. You were negotiating caryatid columns when Agent Taë took you to Earth,” said the snakes.

Gridwork gestured to a woman behind him. “This lovely lady is Cepheid. She just told me I’ve won a Posthumous for unrecognized achievements on Earth.”

Dressed in a COMPUTER T-shirt, breeches, riding boots and leather hat, she stepped forward, her eyes bright. “May I look at your book?” She pointed to the copy of Gravitation on the serpent altar.

Non gestured for Cepheid to go ahead.

Fonty pulled Middy aside. “We can finish the contract tomorrow.”

“Understood, Gridwork.” Middy touched a phoenix fighting a scorpion. “I need to know my business.”

“Oh, signed by Kepler. He gave you homework,” said Cepheid, showing Non a note from Kepler.

“He did?” Non looked at the frontispiece message.

Use a Clifford tori 3-sphere division to build a smoothly tiled manifold between 2-spheres.

“Seems so. I’ll be in the tavern with your book,” said Cepheid. “Let me know if you solve the tori.”

Clarissa watched her go. “Non, did you want to pay for that, since you asked?”

Non looked in his feedbag and found a yen-sized coin marked 1 ♇. “Thanks, Clarissa. Will this do?”

“That much buys the bullet. I think it’s silver.” Non dropped it into his feedbag.

“Sicilicis started writing with Lone Ranger,” said Middy. “As a boy, he typed scripts for his alcoholic father in Chatsworth. But enough about my ex. I never thought I’d live to say that. My ex-husband! Guess I didn’t live to see it. Anyways, could you haul a cart out to my stuff, Non?”

Non looked around for who might haul a cart. ‘Oh, right, I’m Non now.’ “Yes.”

“May I go with you?” asked Gridwork. “I’d like to see. I can answer orientation questions like ‘What time is it?’ or ‘Where’s my car?’ along the way.”

“Sure?” Non moved his arm slowly. Sore but functional. Clarissa had moved to treat injuries on Middy and her snakes. As he studied the tack shed, Gridwork got on the cart.

“I used to be an architect in Indianapolis. What would you like to know?”

“How to put on tack,” Non said. He put leather straps over his back, added a bit and bridle he could figure out, then backed up to the cart and tied more straps. “Where’s my car?”

“A gigayear ago, the later importance of oil wasn’t known. This planet skipped a carboniferous era. No oil, gas or coal reserves here. Electromagnetic storms ruin wires. Cars are exceedingly rare.”

“Who’s in charge?” Non Sequitur reckoned which dirt path went the right way.

“On top, the Galactic Core Corps oversees planetary stability and sustainability with tax threats, danger zones and agents. Emperor Jeeves runs the Roman Empire. We Athenians often cooperate with them. Under that, regional control. For example, Middy negotiates for good marble from the Cave of Chiron. Through her, I personally leave no trace and thus avoid taxes.”

“A utopia where you don’t pay taxes if you don’t get noticed?”

“Hardly a utopia. My first project here failed so hard that I got indentured for a year. But I built myself up again. You can always get food, shelter and junk.”

“What if I wanted a particular kind of junk?” Non wondered how to make the bridle comfortable.

“You’d pay a tinker like Bint. They maintain the sheds. Oh, shish kebabs ahead. My treat.”

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

An anthro dragon in shorts stood next to a large blackened boulder with skewers of meat, wild onions, radishes, peppers and things Non didn’t recognize. Fishes and a clawed-apart wild goat provided the meat. The head of the goat and a big fishtail filled a refuse pit. Gridwork held up a coin, getting a nod from the dragon before ... she? ... breathed fire down on the skewers.

“One with no meat, I think?” ‘Can I eat meat? How does that fire work?’

Non found the vegetarian option tasty. “Got it. What time is it?”

“A Icarus day is defined as 92.5 seconds shorter than an Earth day, with a leap second removed each season. All 13 months have 28 days, starting with–”

One of the kobolds handling Middy’s things stopped the taur—a small bipedal dog-dragon. “Chameleon horse. Go over there! We load the cart. Do this right or Bint keel us.”

Non stepped to where the kobold pointed as Gridwork got out. A cacophony of kobolds worked on books, a scattered chess set, a microscope and other scrap. Behind him, a lovely sofa and chair got loaded over an air pump. Other kobolds got items in trees. He heard cracking wood and saw the gun safe still in a tree with a split trunk, but the tree split more as the kobolds pestered it. He lifted a stack of books, tossed all but one into the cart, then brought up some Wikipedia pages on horse tack. Girth, collar, trace and poles. ‘What am I doing wrong with these straps?’ One kobold asked the bespoke suited man about a black whale figurine. Another added Froot Loops to his cart.

”That’s Monstro, the sperm whale in Pinocchio.” The kobold satisfied, Gridwork got onto the divan. “You’re loaded and I’ve seen enough. Athens restricts kobolds due to hyper entrepreneurialism.”

Non pulls a cart [https://i.imgur.com/L3vB5UE.png]

The equitaur started walking, pulling the heavy cart, getting used to the weight. “Figuring these straps out is almost like figuring out a Number Place logic puzzle.” He put a pattern of a grid on his back. “Here’s one I made. Numbers 1 to 9 do not repeat in rows, columns or regions. Exactly eight digits repeat on diagonals, with each on an arrow to give the direction and distance for the other digit. You can copy this if you’d like.”

Gridwork copied Non’s puzzle. “That’s solvable? You made it? Hmm. If the arrows miss any of the digits 1 to 8, it would be impossible to distinguish between 9 and the missing digits in the grid. It would be unsolvable,” reasoned Gridwork.

[https://i.imgur.com/c3zd4Tm.png]

“That’s called meta logic. It’s not wrong, but this is solvable without meta logic,” said Non.

Gridwork worked on it. “I’ve figured out where to place 3. Number Place is what won me a Posthumous. How did you know about it? Most call it sudoku.”

”Not in Japan.” Non looked for where a loose strap needed to go. “I’m a puzzle researcher. You mentioned you were an architect from Indianapolis, so I risked mentioning Number Place.”

“Good call. Yes, that’s me. I’ve gotten an offer to start a puzzle magazine after the Posthumous awards. This looks like an excellent puzzle for the first issue.”

As Non arrived at Middy’s place, he wondered about the gamer mode aspect. An anthro ram passerby seemed amused by Non’s out-of-whack tack.

Ñ̰ DO I GET A SMART POINT FOR RECOGNIZING THE CREATOR OF NUMBER PLACE?

║ YOU PUT ON A BIT AND BRIDLE. DUMB.

Non pulled off the bit and bridle. ‘Dammit.’ After unhitching himself from the cart, he gave himself another task.

“Fonty, any chance you could relieve my mother at the telegram office? I’ll let you ride me.”

“I wouldn’t mind a few hours of puzzles and Arpanet access. Is riding you allowed?”

“I have no idea, but I can get away with it on the first day.”

The mountain road held the familiarity of a thousand mountaintop trips. Without checking, he knew the shed under the snow line had snow spike hoof boots. A packed trail led to a Faraday cage encased cabin with an apex laser connected to other mountaintops.

“I can take bareback taur-riding off my bucket list now. No offence, but I prefer a carriage.”

“No problem, Fonty.”

I do like your patterns, though. I’ve only seen one other equine with a changing pattern, and that one glowed in the dark.”

‘Aequorin! I know that beautiful word! All the vowels and sort of equine.’

Ñ̰ LOOK UP AEQUORIN, PLEASE. I KNOW IT FROM SOMEWHERE.

║ HERE I AM, BRAIN THE SIZE OF A GALAXY. YLEM. USE A COMPUTER WHEN WE GET ACCESS IN A MINUTE.

Ñ̰ DON’T MARVIN ME. BUT SORRY. HOW POWERFUL ARE YOU?

║ THIS SECTOR? ME? A TRILLIONTH OF THE FULL MIND. NOT THAT POWERFUL. I’M NOTHING OF MUCH IMPORT.

Ñ̰ TRILLIONTH? PICO. PICO ID. HUH. PICOID RELATES TO WOODPECKERS. LERNEA WAS KILLED BY ONE.

║ HOW DROLL. NOW IN RANGE. AEQUORIN: A BIOLUMINESCENT PROTEIN ADDED TO MANY MAMMALS.

Gridwork dismounted. “Have you read your Note to Self? On my first day, mine proved invaluable. Really helps to get the mind working.”

Non pulled the form from his pouch, then decided to read the note before doing too much interaction with his dam. Meeting his sire had been odd. Mom and Dad? Yes, best to wait a few moments. “Hi Mom! Gridwork just reminded me I left myself a note. He volunteered to free you up. I’m going to leave my staff here and read my note.” He set Icosian near the door.

Ñ̰ WILL THAT WORK FOR YOU?

║ YES. NAGAPPALOOSA TOLD GRIDWORK SHE’D NEED ABOUT FIVE MINUTES.

Standing in the snow, Non read the note he wrote to himself. While looking it over, he tried out his new talent to put up screens. While lining up screens, he could feel more memories click into place.

Dear me,

Hi! Your character concept featured an equitaur with regeneration. I was born when Voyager launched, and I’ve been getting daily memory updates from you ever since. Do you remember writing to Sicilicis Anatto and him using me? As you learned geometry and got a TRS-80 computer, I was a colt growing up with the original batch of D&D and Star Wars characters. As an Air Force brat, if I may call you such, it was the first time you’d lived anywhere for more than two years and finally had some friends. Fun times.

But then came the move to New Jersey with a poor school. While you struggled there, I got caught in a war. Character stories demand conflict, so there’s always a skirmish here somewhere. You stayed with me as a character, trying to get me into games and making up your own stories when you couldn’t. While I plowed fields, you plowed the SF&F sections of your base library and school. I loved new books in every memory update.

As you entered college, my snakeyhorse dam Naga got me and brother Chyron into a great school in Lerna Springs, where taurs and quads are tolerated. But there’s no way I’ll compress our lives into one short message.

I really like you. I like how you stay hopeful and find fun every day. My memory updates are filled with you having fun. Thanks for staying with me as your main character for so long, that doesn’t always happen. When a creator on Earth works on a story or piece of art for years, then destroys it, someone on Icarus gets dispossessed.

I currently haul books for Lernea, the Ever-Learning Hydra. We’re due to go to a book fair in Athens for her, but I’m open to a change. We have a shifting black-and-white pattern and qualify for an aequorin upgrade, but I’ve skipped those notifications, figuring you might want a say.

A nonce is a made-up word and was a fine name, but it became a slang term in the UK after the Monster Mansion Massacre. As a colt I tilded our name Nonce Equitaur with the letter eñe to Ñonce and that tilde became my piñata shield. But bullying increased, so I went to Non Sequitur the Equitaur. I hope that’s okay.

I look forward to meshing with you fully. Expect confusion today. Tell people that know me that you’re transitioning. Wave if you can. We could go to the book fair in Athens. I’m scheduled to be there for three days.

Ñ̰ (Nyah, if you haven’t learned that already.)

[https://i.imgur.com/vMAvgAQ.png]

He made a small wave. “Great to meet you, Nyah,” he whispered to himself.

♫ USE OF SCREENS EARNS PERSPECTIVE FALLACY. SOME PEOPLE BELIEVE THAT EVERYBODY LIKES PINEAPPLE ON PIZZA.

👁️ PERSPECTIVE: POLARITY & BODY UPGRADE. BETTER SCREEN EFFECTS. EYE-TRACKING FOR OBSERVERS.

From each screen, he could predict what he looked like. With a change to his pattern, he could hide his body on one screen. “Neat! In a greyscale environment, I can hide from a single viewpoint.”

Non then went in to hug his mother in the Faraday shielded Radio & Telegram office.

In a day filled with inexplicable phenomena, such as black holes, death, revival, portals and murdered hydras, it didn’t seem strange that Mom was a gravid appaloosa with snakes on her back. Nagappaloosa had the distinct pleasure of hosting eight snakes, who, in a fit of creativity, had organized themselves into pairs. Most of the snakes helped to return the hug of her equitaur son, though some continued working.

[https://i.imgur.com/PoYWM8t.png]

“Great to see you, Mama Naga!”

“Nyah, your Earthself processing must be going well if they let you see me. I’m a bit odd.”

“I do have many questions. Am I related to Middy? Do your snakes talk?”

“Of course we can talk. We prefer being called serpents,” said Naga’s serpents.

“Middy’s a distant relation. Your granddam Cindra is a pegasus. I’m sometimes called a reverted pegasus. The ancient medusa-pegasus connection was likely the silliest genetic implementation ever attempted until they implemented the title character of The Princess and the Pea.”

He stroked his dam’s mane. “So, I’ll have a new brother or sister soon?”

“A sister! A kelpie! Let me show you Feamainn’s pictures. A girl in Brazil has been drawing her.” Kelpie drawings appeared on the computer. “Won’t she be gorgeous?” A snake wrote down a telegram, Ingot shipment delayed, as Naga showed more kelpie pictures. Another snake read his Note to Self.

“That note does sound like you, Nyah. Ready to go? Thanks, Fonty,” said Naga. A snake held the door.

At Queerqueg Tavern, Middy’s snakes had an easel with posters ready. Non Sequitur worked with Middy to set aside posters they’d already gotten oriented on. A small stack remained.

“Where’s the bathroom?” said a snake.

Middy placed a poster showing weight ranges and different toilet types.

“The rabbit and unicorn here, Patch and Pachinko, are bacters that manage the Pelion area’s sanitation. Patch has opened the bathroom door for bipeds. The unicorn went out to the privacy wall outside for quads and let the back door close behind her. Notice how the sand timer flipped. Running sand means company. Ask them how bacteria help keep Pelion clean,” said the snakes.

Non studied the backdoor sand timer flipping mechanism. The unicorn came back in and the timer didn’t flip. As the sand finished, the flipping gear re-engaged. ‘Sanitation involves the nitrogen cycle. Do they use the Haber process for splitting the N2 triple bond?’

“Are you with us, Non Sequitur?” asked Middy. “Just you and me getting oriented.”

“I got distracted by the gearworks on the door. Sorry.” Non admitted. ‘Guess I won’t have meds.’

“Two questions remain: ‘Can I be human instead?’ and ‘What can centaurs eat?’” said a snake.

Middy looked at the wall-of-text poster for the first question, exchanged a glance with Non, then moved on to the next poster.

“Centaurs should avoid large amounts of meat, bread, cheese, tomatoes, potatoes, onion, garlic, cabbage, chocolate, broccoli, avocado and anything with caffeine.”

‘A healthy horse diet lacks pizza and dark chocolate. But at least I can still ad hoc a lot.’

“Congratulations, you’ve finished orientation!”

║ A NOTIFICATION SAYS THE SAME THING, BUT YOU HAVE A NOTIFICATION PHOBIA. THE MAYOR WANTS YOU.

The ponytaur stood half Non’s stature. He bore the aspect of a creature both equine and halfling, yet with a touch of the green and growing things of the earth. His mane and tail were as green as leaves of the forest, and his coat was like the grasses of the field. Clad in garments of fine make, he wore a shirt of purest linen, a vest of green like unto the new leaves of spring, and an overcoat of stately bearing. Grassleaf’s mirth and good cheer served him well as the mayor of Pelion. The green eyes, brown vest and purple flower behind one pointed ear reminded Non of the art he’d gotten for a wonderful but awful friend, another centaur fanatic. Jarring memories clashed together.

Grassleaf Lettuce Underhoof [https://i.imgur.com/QzMSvtr.png]

“I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m–”

“Grassleaf Lettuce Underhoof,” said Non. “I came up with your name. I found the artist that drew you. You robbed him! I drove four hours to post $2000 bail for you! Then you skipped bail!”

Grassleaf tried to wave it off. “C’mon, 30 years ago. I would have paid you back if I hadn’t died–”

“–In a police chase while you drove the car you stole from me!”

”A Dart junker with bad brakes,” said Grassleaf. He raised his voice. “As Mayor of Pelion I welcome you, Non Sequitur. I’ll get you dinner.”

”Anything you’d recommend?” said Non, adding displeasure to the last word.

“The swordfish and crab if you’re feeling like a wolf. Big salad special and a beer if you’re feeling like a horse. My treat.”

“Horse. But I’ve never been much of a drinker,” said Non Sequitur.

“You’re a centaur! Well, equitaur, just as good. You’ll love beer! Try it, you’ll like it.”

“You said the same thing at a bar on Earth. I smelled like nicotine for a week.” Non forced himself to calm more, then drank the offered beer tentatively. Then enthusiastically. He tasted the richness of the grain. The barley. The hops. In every way, it was ambrosia for his senses.

[https://i.imgur.com/Fy5dx2m.png]

“Your coat pattern is turning bubbly,” said Grassleaf. “In archery, it was bullseyes.” The ponytaur showed an envelope in his vest. “If you want the money back all these years later, I have it right here.”

“Isn’t Earth currency worthless here?” said Non. His vision went fuzzy and strange.

║ EARTH CURRENCY HAS EURION CONSTELLATIONS. THEY’LL GLITCH YOUR PING ABILITY.

Ñ̰ FUNNY YOU SHOULD MENTION CONSTELLATIONS.

“You can remove the eye flicker. Earth money helps smuggling,” said Grassleaf, whispering. “Something you excel at.”

Non recalled his stranger tasks for Lernea.

The mayor could read Non’s expression. “It’s lovely, watching those gears snap back into place. Look, I know I sucked as a friend. Here in the Roman Empire, laws that don’t improve the general population or planet get thrown out. On Earth, half the population controls less than a third of one percent of the power and wealth. Here, the lower half controls more than five percent.”

Non wrangled with himself whether an X-thirty improvement for the poor was too little or too much.

In the background, Clarissa Miller examined new Mom’s big belly. His new Dad now wore a jacket. No, a white Gi, with many stains but cleaned many times. Dad knew martial arts? Brown belt?

║ GRASSLEAF ASKED ABOUT MONEY.

“I’ll pass on the money, Grassleaf,” said Non as his salad arrived. “Thanks for the meal and lesson. I do remember the hundreds of books you helped me to get. I’m not sure what I’ll do now.”

“Non, listen, Lernea’s death shocked me. And also your recent death. I always appreciated your faith in me, even if I abused it. You helped me. Let me know if you need help. I mean that. We had fun, right?”

“Grassleaf, we had fun, but you stabbed me in the back. I forgave you. We had lots of fun, and you stabbed me in the back. Maybe I should get Caesar dressing for this.” Non tried the salad. “Huh. I don’t remember liking salad this much. But I still have these clashing memories of you I need to resolve. Also, it occurs to me that except for my Mom, I’m the only nude person here. Do I need clothing?

“I’ve never seen your taurself in clothing, but don’t let that stop you.” Grassleaf leaned in closer. “Listen. My associate Yoke sent a telegram from Athens. He’s a bodyguard for Bearwarden, who runs TASC. Terrestrial Axis Straightening Company. One speech had a backdrop of a papier-mâché moon that a troll would roll in front of a sun. Swee, the troll you fought. He vanished with an agent before the eclipse.”

“Yoke? Do I know Yoke?” asked Non Sequitur, while pondering planetary axis alteration.

Mayor Underhoof looked through a pocket box of buttons, enamel pins, engraved tags and other small knick-knacks. He gave Non a tiny yoke. “Your Dad does. If you see Yoke, give him this.”

Non dropped it into his feedbag. “What’s the dark side here? Plenty of food and good sanitation. People seem healthy. Why isn’t overpopulation a problem?”

“The Pelion siege led to many deaths and the enslavement of your Dad. Is that dark enough?”

“Not a war zone now. All serene and beautiful.”

“Thanks! As Mayor, I must show a sustainable and healthy ecosystem. Failing that, if we had a falling flora/fauna diversity, I’d need to assign Immigrant status to less desirable locals. If they stayed without appeal for too long, they’d be reclassified as Huntable. If things declined more, I’d lose my stewardship.”

“Less desirable? Does that just apply to individuals or can species get that label?”

“Prions misfold proteins so that only incineration destroys them. The tiniest amount of infected blood or tissue can infect any mammal. Within months it progresses as a staggering gait, uncontrollable laughter and certain death. In Gondwana, pangolins gained prion immunity. As a Mayor, I had to watch the videos.” Grassleaf shuddered, then lowered his voice. “Want me to go into gruesome detail? Got bad enough that GCC sent in Black Rover, a screaming black ball of annihilation.”

Non finished his salad. “Rover? As in The Prisoner? No details. Does it help to be a rare species?”

“A bit. Locally, just the medusa, your snakyhorse mother and the plants near the cinnabar deposits qualify as rare. Don’t mess with those plants. Equitaurs lost their rarity status last year.”

Mom joined in. “Doesn’t always help. After the siege, while Pelion rebuilt, we had to leave since there was nothing left for children. You, me and Chyron moved to Lerna Springs.”

“I was on a slave farm by then, where I befriended Yoke.” Lagen swiveled his equine ears as a quick code for excellent hearing. Your uncle Psykter has been an Immigrant for several months now.”

The Mayor raised a beer. “A sign of failed stewardship. ‘Tis nobler to dodge the slings and arrows of misfortune. If we avoid that sea of troubles, the pull of a cruel mayoral lever needs not to be.”

“Is there racism here?” Several laughed at Non’s question.

“Back when I got orientation, it wasn’t guaranteed you’d go to a safe area. I’ve faced scorn for being a taur, short, a beastkin, a plantkin, a Mayor, a user of imperial measures and for asymmetric arms. All sorts of supremacists. The Ammonites may be the worst, but that’s my bias as a land walker. You’re eight feet tall; that will hide most spoken racism. Count yourself lucky. Anyways, I’ll leave you with your parents.”

Non didn’t like that the planet had dark sides. But it beat an illusion of Utopia.

A caprid cook put a pumpkin on the bar counter. “Water run needed! Get a pumpkin.”

“Dad, could you help me with tack? I want to try the water run.”

Post-note, putting on horse gear came more naturally. Lagen helped with the tack lesson. “You may not remember, but I have problems with taurs as beasts of burden. Go ahead and pull that water wagon.”

Non pulled. He finally had a few moments alone to marvel at his physique and strength. Then he spoke aloud the exercise from Kepler, pulling up available papers on manifolds and tensors. A mechanism on the river ramp helped to tilt and refill the tank. He could use his tail to swat at water flies.

Uphill with a ton of water took longer. He joked to himself as the math seemed hopeless. “When math doesn’t work, try 0, 1 or the square root. Wait. Is that the answer?” He searched for “=0” in his manifold sources and got hundreds of matches.

Near the tavern, a wolf boy in shorts pointed at him. “It’s the rock star!” A lynx girl and a fox boy in more complete clothing scrambled to get the largest rocks they could carry and followed. Once back at the tavern, he locked the wheels for the water tank, unhitched and untacked himself, then regarded the offered stones from the smiling children he’d pied-pipered.

“I’m a rock juggler?” asked Non, taking the chunks of granite.

“Yeah!” said the smallest, the fox boy. “It’s dangerous!”

“I’ve seen you juggle five rocks!” exclaimed the wolf boy.

“You also do contact staff stuff,” said the tallest, the lynx. She pulled out three beanbags.

Non tossed and caught the biggest, considering how to do it safely.

The fox warned, “If two rocks hit each other, they can bounce and hurt someone.”

“That’s his line. I practiced your lesson.” She laughed while juggling the beanbags.

“Me too! Let me show.” After the hand-off, the wolf cascaded the beanbags.

The fox moved from patting Non’s leg to the wolf. “Teach me!”

Non wondered when he’d last spoken those magic words. Had he given up on getting help? No, at least online, he asked for help all the time. As the fox learned to throw and catch, Non judged the kids to be far enough for safety and started with a 2-rock fountain. Within ten tosses, he knew his new dexterity.

The caprid cook leaned out a window, pulling a lever for the water. “Here’s your reward.”

Somehow, Non caught the pumpkin, moving into a crossed fountain before getting the pumpkin on his back, then catching the three rocks as the kids stepped closer.

“Aw, you stopped,” said the fox.

“Yeah, my Mom and Dad are waiting on me. Put these rocks back where you got them, please.”

Inside, on a screen, Non quoted the Ellis–Morris–Thorne reference Wormholes in Spacetime and their use for Interstellar Travel. He wrote an answer while eating a rind, then the original problem.

“Use a Clifford tori 3-sphere division to build a smoothly tiled manifold between 2-spheres.”

Cepheid set down the borrowed Gravitation, meeting him just as promised, “I see you have a solution. The matrix at the end won’t work, but it’s unnecessary. Explain the big circled 1 there.”

“A wormhole needs a tubular zone of 1 with flat spacetime to avoid lethal deformations, but that makes the outer boundary surface a fractal with Hausdorff dimension 1.26. Then I used a self-building Rauzy mapping to lower the fractal dimension to 1.03. That’s what the matrix does.”

“Posh. A mapping that convenient can’t spring out of nowhere,” said Cepheid.

“I should properly introduce myself,” said Non Sequitur the Equitaur.