Gentian stared at ’Tok for a long moment. ’Tok could only grin helplessly. This was almost always the reaction people had to discovering inhuman sapient life shared the planet with them. It was more or less the same reaction he had almost fifty years ago.

“What alternatives to “human” are there?” She asked.

“Ah… how to put this…” He cast around for a simple explanation, and couldn’t find one.

“You are a numbers man. Give me a number. How many alternatives to “human” are there?”

“Well… at least two I can think of off the top of my head. Oh, three. Yeah there are… maybe four? That I know of. There have certainly been more, lost to time.”

“World preserve us!” Gentian sagged on the couch, rumpling her lovely dress. “Elves? Vampires?” She winced slightly, “Present company excluded.”

“Ho ho. You’re lucky you’re cute.” The temporal vampire gave her a mock glare, then started counting on his fingers. “There’s whatever the hell the Sea Folk are, which is still to be determined. There are dry minds- thinking machines that become sapient. Nasty things. Fortunately, most of them don’t care about anything humans care about and will happily sit in a corner thinking their own thoughts indefinitely. UN-fortunately, last epoch’s Nacon Technocracy absolutely loved dry minds, to the point where they merged their own consciousnesses with the machines. And the Nacon were vicious empire builders.”

“So, machines with the minds of mad conquerors.”

“More or less.” Xiatoktok shrugged.

“Lovely. Glad they are gone.” Gentian flapped her hand. “Continue with the parade of horrors.”

“Then there were… we called them the Star Children. Basically, and our records are pretty fragmentary that far back, they were some kind of effort to create biological post-humans. Something about how their minds worked, the various stimuli they responded to… like I said, the records are very bad. What we think happened is they launched an attempt to… sort of forcibly turn all of humanity into them. Or kill off any humans that weren’t them. Anyway, they were really good at it, but the Clans, all of them, banded together and killed them off. Along with an army of six million non-clan humans. Do please keep in mind that I am working off a single, fragmentary written source, a few oral histories, less than a dozen physical relics, and just STACKS of analysis pieces by scholars as they argue over every possible interpretation.”

“Well. They sound terrible too.” Gentian shuddered.

“Maybe? Keep in mind this was three epochs back, so really, who knows. It could all be made up. Fun fact, the two most widely believed theories, and there is zero supporting evidence for either theory, no matter what you hear, is that a remnant of them eventually escaped off planet and went to live around other stars. The other theory is that they had solved the “problem of death,” and were offering immortality to humanity. This outraged the Ma to the point where the Ma orchestrated a global extermination of the Star Children and all information related to them.”

“Oh this gets better and better. Wait, I thought the Ma were obsessed with survival. Why would they kill off immortals who were sharing the knowledge?”

“The Ma are obsessed with the survival of Humanity generally, the Ma clan more specifically, and finally themselves. It is a matter of unshakable doctrine, for them, that immortality will inevitably lead to corruption, collapse, and the death of the species. So they kill any self proclaimed immortals with extreme prejudice. They are the premier experts in supernatural combat precisely because ghosts and demons are too close to immortal for their taste.”

This got another long pause. “The Ma Clan is batshit insane, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Absolutely. Except.” Xiatoktok looked physically pained by what he had to say next. “They worship the potential fourth entry on the list, have done for epochs, and if you meet some of their seniors, or at least those more powerful in their Clan’s arts, you get more and more convinced that they aren’t just crazy.”

“Go on…”

“The Ælfflæd, the tutelary spirits that watch over their clan. Apparently there are those outside the Ma who worship the Ælfflæd too, which creeps me out.”

“And these spirits actually exist, do they?” Gentian asked.

“Officially no. It is the official position of every Clan, religion and secular power who ever had to make a decision about them that the Ælfflæd are simply a folk religion and do not exist with any more reality than any other group of deities, and considerably less reality than the preferred religion of the people making the rules.”

“Ok. So… why mention them?”

“Because the Ma are pragmatists, and Ælfflæd worship requires serious, life threatening or horribly painful sacrifices. So if they are still doing it after epochs, odds are good that there is something to it.”

“I am so glad I asked about the Sea Folk. Any chance the Ælfflæd are kindly, supportive deities who just want their people to prosper?” Gentian looked hopeful.

“Guess.”

She collapsed back again. “Of course not. So… how do the Sea Folk fit into this picture?”

“We don’t really know. We think they came into being early this epoch, but that’s just a guess. They only communicate via cloned… call them meat drones… and it’s actually pretty debatable how much real communication is occurring. Every attempt to investigate them has met with dramatic failure, and those who have pushed hard to find out more have invited horrible retaliation. “Entire cities destroyed in a night” levels of retaliation. They have demonstrated the ability to launch chemical weapons some hundred miles inland. They issue their meat drones with poison whips and stingers. Also the drones explode into yet more poison when they die.” ’Tok spread his hands helplessly. “The drones don’t know anything either. They are literally incapable of forming memories outside of certain defined functions, which makes them a nightmare to deal with on several levels.”

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Gentian’s eyes rolled over to Roberta. “This sound… kind of Bo?”

“Believe me, everyone thinks that. And there are some… kind of persuasive reasons for why that would be plausible. But the Bo swear that it’s nothing to do with them, and they don’t care enough about anyone’s opinion to lie about it.”

“Great. All the non-humans are nightmares.”

“Oddly enough, not the Sea Folk.”

“We are having this whole conversation because they are blowing up boats!” Gentian glared at ’Tok.

“Yes, but that's a very recent development. There was semi-regular trading with them for centuries. I’ve taken a boat ride that was nominally under their protection. It was an ordinary boat, and I obviously didn’t see anything, but still. They also contributed tens of millions of tons of biomatter to the Grand Renaissance, basically because they thought it was a good idea for everyone if the world got healed more.”

“They are… benevolent?”

“Again, we have no idea. It seems like they are pretty curious about the world and humanity, for all that they are incredibly paranoid. They are capable of extremely advanced technology for this epoch, which indicates that either they found a truly remarkable cache and are exploiting it perfectly, or they are ferociously intelligent. It’s probably the latter, because they seem to be using materials that we just don’t have records for. Just an example- their steel is perfectly rustproof, without using any of the additives we use.”

“Huh. And they were willing to trade?”

“Sporadically and with frankly insane trading patterns, yes. It’s one of the reasons people think they aren’t human- no “human” values for things.” He looked around for examples. “Like, depending on the time of year, they will buy almost any kind of food, regardless of price. Two months later, the drones won’t even respond if you offer them food for free. On the other hand, they may suddenly decide they want two hundred tonnes of shiny glass balls, and will offer high end steel for it on a kilo per kilo exchange basis.”

“Heavens! I can see why losing them is such a blow.”

“Yes. I always appreciated their willingness to just leave everyone the hell alone and only get in touch when they wanted something.”

“Why do these pricks only get in touch when they want something?” ’ Mai growled. “We have been asking for weeks, literal weeks, for updated reports on the Pass.”

“Kind of answering your own question there, aren’t you?” ’Te asked calmly.

“Hoho. It isn’t my protégé that’s riding a cheve through a war zone during the tail end of winter.” ’Mai’s look was equally wintery.

“Xiachoii is one of my little projects, not a protégé. Not yet. But your point is well taken. The Langialopo are getting a little too casual about responding to communication. Even a polite non-answer would be better.” ’Te agreed.

“Little project, sure, tell yourself that.” ’Mai shook her head and forced herself back onto the point. “Point is that there is still, nominally, open trade through the pass, and pretty soon it will be clear enough for wagons. And all we are getting from the Langialopo is some vague statement about considering things when the time is right.”

“And Red Mountain is too valuable to be left fallow. We need wagons rolling through that pass.” ’Te concluded. “And the Langialopo control all but the southern end of the Rooks Nest Pass. Look, I’ve done my best trying to talk to the people who will talk to me. The Warchief won’t, and so far I have a heap of people with their hands out, promising that he’ll listen to them and fix our problems. At the moment, the best idea I have is to run a test wagon through and see what they do. I don’t mind some kind of “protection fee” if it’s reasonable. My bigger concern is what the Collective will do on the other end.”

“Have they started seizing cargos into and out of Red Mountain?” ’Mia asked.

“No, but it's early days yet, and who knows how they will react to losing most of the pass. General whatshisname is apparently no joke when it comes to defensive battles, and even by the standards of the Collective is considered a hard case. I can see cases being made for all kinds of possibilities, and we won’t know until we start running significant numbers of wagons through.”

They looked at each other. This conversation was shaping up to be frustratingly circular.

“Got any expendable staffers?” Asked ’Mai.

“Always. You?”

“Four times the number of yours, and eight times as worthless.”

“Bet mine try to betray me faster than yours!” ’Te refused to back down.

“No way, mine are betraying me as we speak!”

They chuckled grimly. Then ’Te got an odd look in his eye. “Actually, I have a kind of… odd idea. Let’s do it like this. On the surface, the wagon will be carrying samples, the roadshow docs, the whole usual bit. Along with a nice fat stack of industrial orders, bank transfers, and perhaps even a shipment of rads for our bank.”

“Juicy target.”

“Yep. It will let us test the security situation pretty thoroughly. Covertly, however… I may have a way to get us a… useful pawn in Red Mountain. Give me a couple of days. I have to get approval from Central House for this.

A woman in a plain brown tunic and trousers sat writing at her desk in the Astrology department. Her writing was impeccably neat and went on the page faster than most people could read. Her hair, once spun silver, was now almost beached white. Her wide eyes were no longer filled with pride. Rather, they were numb. Eyes that were desperate to see something else. To be somewhere else. The clock struck six. Time to go home. At least she still had a home. At least she still had a wife. For now.

Xiarai looked at her day’s labor. A catalog of the predicted movements of the various satellites in a given quadrant of the sky, and their likely impact on planetary events in the coming decade. Which was none. They would continue their orbits indefinitely, until they fell into the atmosphere and burned away to nothing. This was the eighth volume of such analysis she had transcribed since her transfer. Other than drafting the occasional letter requesting additional paper and ink, she had done nothing else.

She had heard the expression “dead inside” before, but had no emotional reference for it. Until now. She was like a tree- healthy bark covering a hollow interior. Dead, but still faking life. Going through the motions. Xiarai sighed, gathered up her pens, and slowly left her “job.” Perhaps the most humiliating thing was… nobody bothered to humiliate her for her fall from grace. She was simply invisible.

“Ah, just the woman I wanted to see!” A cheerful voice boomed.

It seemed that she wasn’t quite invisible tonight. He was tall, skinny, with high cheekbones that made him look almost skeletal. His eyes were laughing, but the quirk of his smile made it clear that his jokes were scandalous. He was ridiculously charismatic in his delicate white and gold robes. His sleeves were outrageously short, a distinct statement there, a distinct bit of sartorial rebellion. Not at all the sort of person she had ever, or would ever, associate with.

“I am afraid you have the wrong woman, Senior…?”

“I am rarely wrong about women, Secretary Xiarai. Come, join me for a little bite. I’ll send a note to your wife. She will be quite happy to hear we are meeting.”

“Oh, and why is that?”

“Because my name, Secretary Xiarai, is Xiatokte, Vice President of the Grand Redoubts Bank. And I am here to offer you a job. It’s a little difficult, and requires some travel, but don’t you worry. You are going to love it.”