Well, I must say, being captured by pirates was not nearly as exciting as I had hoped. But now, I’ve found you. I can feel you here, with me. That large battleship had too many distractions, too much life—it was quite challenging to filter out the detritus from the beautiful. But now, I have found you on this small spacecraft—and you are beautiful. You are vivacious and young. Not so young that you are naïve to the world, but young enough to mold, to graft and create, to become something spectacular. Oh, yes, you have incredible potential, and I can feel that potential with every word you speak… 

“Standard preflight checks complete. Drive core readouts are stable. The excursion crew has boarded the tender and awaiting our AI co-pilot upload.” You know how to handle this vessel well, like you were born to sail in this sea of stars. Oh, but you were meant for so much more.

“Communication received. Tender AI upload will now commence.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

You perfunctorily flip a few switches and check a couple more data panels. It’s all old hat for you. You spin a few rotations in the helm-seat, wondering which co-pilot the Mother AI will upload for your mission today.

“Avast, Kid!” This one is named Gary. His voice is like sharp chunks of a broken asteroid grating across an energy shield; you do not need to turn around to know who is speaking to you. “What AI is Mother giving us?”

“Dunno,” You busy yourself with data readouts. “Still waiting for the upload.”

“What, Mother didn’t give you a heads up?”

“You know Mother never tells us who she’ll assign to these excursions.”

Gary drops his large, boulderish frame into the co-helm chair. The chair groans as he leans back in a slow rotation. “I bet you it’s gonna be Kendra.”

A short laugh bursts from your mouth. It was reflexive and unintentional because you know Mother would never let Gary near Kendra, not after that last incident. Gary is lucky to even be on this excursion.

The living boulder furrows his brow as he leans forward, and the chair whines loudly under his shifting weight. It seems Gary did not appreciate your laughter. You stop pretending to perform preflight checks and face the larger pirate. Your glare matches the stone-hardened glower of Gary, challenging him to look away.

“Oh, a staring competition,” This lark entering into the helm’s room is Avery. She drops a large box of random supplies between Gary and you, feigning accident. “Please, continue, don’t let me break your concentrations.”

But Gary’s concentration broke. He glances at Avery, then quickly tries to renew the challenge, staring more intensely at you. Now he looks ridiculous, and you laugh again.

“Tender AI upload is complete.”

“Thank you, Mother. We are ready for launch when you are.” You turn back to the control panel and scan the primary navigation path, “You willing to bet Kendra was uploaded?”

Gary narrowly eyes you down, still angry that he lost the stare down. You do not look at him but extend your hand palm up, tempting him to place the bet.

“Alright,” Gary cannot resist an excursion bet. “Ten says it’s Kendra.”

“Ha!” You review a secondary nav path. “You scared of losing? Fifty says it ain’t Kendra.”

“Oh yeah? Then who do you think it will be?”

“I’ll put twnety-five on Barker,” Avery says, slapping your hand. It seems she cannot resist the game, either.

“Barker? Really?” You grin because this is a bold choice. Barker was usually saved for more intense excursions—ones that involved authorities. A 25 floats over your open hand, making you the boxhand. You can’t back down now. 

“Really. Now, place your bet or pay up,” Avery confidently saunters back to whatever she was doing outside the helm’s room. 

Gary grumbles about some kind of unfairness to the bets. Still, he slaps your hand, adding another twenty-five monies to the box.

“Okay,” This is exciting—you might have a real excursion game. “Let’s have a look at my choices, eh?”

You are stalling—there are too many AIs to look at. Still, this gives you a moment to consider the facts of the excursion. This excursion involves the transaction of high-priority merch acquired from the crew’s last raid. The merch is a grimoire. While grimoires guarantee an incredible payout, these books of power are also the source of terribly bad luck. You did not want to go on this excursion because of the bad luck that comes with these grimoires, but you can’t really argue with Captain’s orders—not yet, at least.

A name catches your eye, and a half grin creeps across your lips. “I’m betting Garland will be our AI.”

“Ha!” Gary laughs viciously and slaps your hand, raising the box to fifty. “Calypso got your wits, Kid? Ain’t no way in the dark void Garland is coming with us.”

You snap your fingers, casually matching Gary’s increased ante. “Garland’s got some of the best bartering tactics out of all of Mother’s children; Garland would be the best help for us with this trip.”

“Garland got fried on the last excursion, remember, Kid?” Avery slaps your hand, finalizing the bets. “Mother’s way too protective; there’s no way she’ll release that AI.”

You shrug, knowing this was true—but that’s what made the game fun. You are betting that no one will guess right, which means the box remains until the next bet. The strategy is to string along several no-win bets. Keep the box growing until you find a bet you will win, and that’s when you’ll strike for the whole loaded box. Oh yes, Lady Luck will be yours before this excursion is complete. “You two ready to find out who our tender AI is?”

Gary roars out a cheer of excitement, “Yeah, Kendra! Come to Daddy!”

“Hello, crewmates,” An artificial voice responds.

Gary’s excitement quickly deflates, and his whole frame hunches in terrible disappointment. “Oh, fuck me with a kraken’s tip.”

“Yes, Gary, this will be a f***ing exciting mission. Mother has debriefed me on Captain’s expectations, and I look forward to fulfilling each of your expectations.”

“Go fuck yourself, Julius. Where’s Kendra?” Gary does not wait for an answer. He turns on you while reaching for your hand. “Gimme my money. You lost, Kid.”

You quickly close your hand and tuck it away, chiding Gary, “Ah, ah. No one won the bet. Therefore, I retain boxhand—excursion rules, you know.”

This is standard for any excursion. The boxhand holds all monies placed in the bets until a winner is declared—and the winner gets all monies in the box. If no one wins the game before returning to the ship—well, let’s not think about that. I know you’re going to win.

“Don’t get cocky, Kid.” Gary leans in, growling. “I’m getting my monies back.”

“I sense aggression in your voice, Gary.”

“I told you to fuck off, Julius.” Gary storms out of the helm’s room, raising a middle finger to the air on his way out.

“Hey, Julius,” You turn back to the control panel. “Mom finally let you come out and play, huh?”

“Yes, Kid. Mother dearest is truly wonderful, isn’t she?”

“You’re laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?” You shake your head and chuckle. Julius was the AI that had an unhealthy obsession with the occult. This obsession is usually why it was labeled a ‘bad AI.’ Mother often grounded it to some isolated server node. 

“I will always lay it on thick for Mother.”

“Oh, void hells! Julius—just, no! Do you want to be grounded again? I’m trying to get this excursion started, not delayed.”

“Of course, Kid. Preflight checks have been verified, and relay stations are greenlit for our departure. I shall miss Mother dearly, but I look forward to experiencing a wonderful new adventure with you at the helm.”

“Oh, for the love of—Let’s get sailing already!”

Avery walks back into the helms room and sits in the co-helm seat, casually stretching her long legs before crossing them and looking at some data panels to her side. “We haven’t even started, and this little excursion is already getting interesting. You certainly have an odd affair with Lady Luck, don’t you, Kid?”

You chuckle as you tap a few more controls and then speak into the comms, “Crow, Mother, Captain, we are ready for launch.”

“May the solar gods guide you and bring you back safe,” Crow’s voice crackles over the comms.

“And may they protect you in our absence,” You reply.

“Good luck, Kid. I’m expecting good things from this—don’t disappoint me,” Captain says.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“I look forward to your return,” Mother says. “And Julius, I will review all your data logs when you return. I expect your behavior to be improved on this excursion.”

“I shall miss the warmth and solace of your embrace, Mother. May the solar gods—”

“Thank you, Mother,” You interject. “We’ll keep an eye on Julius and make sure your child comes back safe. Solars protect you.”

“May the solar gods guide you and bring you back safe.”

With that, your tender launches from the pirate ship Tortuga, and you and your crew quickly sail to the trader spaceport.

The solar winds are strong and in your favor, allowing your tender to smoothly coast through the great sea of stars and dust. You lean back and watch the serenity of space sweep gracefully across your helm’s window, taking in the vast beauty of it all—a beauty much like you—oh! You feel that—you feel me. It is so wonderful to know that you feel my presence. You do not know it’s me, not yet, but I am here in the back of your mind, like a gentle finger tracing up the skin over your spine.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Avery motions to the view you had become lost in.

You straighten and rub the back of your neck, “Yeah, it is impressive.”

“You know about the merch we’re carrying?”

You shrug, trying to make your face unreadable, “I heard it’s that grimoire we recovered from the last outing. Captain wants to get rid of it quick—says it’s bad luck to hold on to those things.”

Despite your attempt to sport an unreadable face, Avery looks at you as if she sees more than you intend. Still, she doesn’t pry and continues, “Yeah, it’s the grimoire. What do you know about those books?”

“They’re bad luck. Don’t need to know much else.”

“They’re only bad luck to the ignorant and illiterate,” She sounds amused. “But, in the right hands, they’re incredible founts of power.”

You hum in absentminded acknowledgment, maintaining your phlegmatic disposition of the book on your tender.

“Listen, I’m not ignorant; I know how to read.”

You raise a questioning eyebrow in her direction.

“Serious!” The plumage on her head fluffs a little as she feigns offense. “Don’t give me that look.”

You smile and continue to busy yourself with the helm’s controls.

“Kid, I need you to listen for a minute. It’s important.”

You fold your arms and lean back in the chair, rotating your seat to face Avery.

The long-legged bird leans close, whispering, “Gary is going to tell you he’s got a better deal for that grimoire—better than Captain’s deal. He’s probably right when it comes to the monies, but he’s wrong when it comes to the principle.”

As she lets this sink in, you cannot help but think, how does she know what Gary will do?

“Do you know why grimoires are illegal?” She does not wait for your answer. “They’re illegal because of the power contained inside. The authorities don’t want anyone having that power except themselves. That’s why they confiscate all grimoires. Containing that power means maintaining control. And what better way to maintain control than by keeping the populace ignorant and illiterate.”

“That’s nothing new,” You whisper back. “The governments and authorities are always trying to control people.”

“Yeah, but grimoires throw a wrench in all that. The authorities will issue their books in their languages, making the populace feel smart and literate because they can read those books. But the grimoires aren’t from the authorities; the grimoires don’t say what the authorities want the populace to hear; the grimoires aren’t even written in an authorized language.”

“What’s your point, Avery?”

“My point is the principle. Give a good, strong person a grimoire, and that person can do incredible things with its power. Give a selfish, weak-willed person that same grimoire and that person can do terrible, horrendous things with its power. Gary wants to sell the grimoire to a terrible person who will do terrible things with the grimoire. We can’t let that happen.”

“We can’t let that happen?”

“That’s right—if you’re on my side.”

“What do you mean if I’m on your side?”

Avery leans over to look out the helm’s door, ensuring Gary isn’t outside, then whispers, “I have someone you need to turn the grimoire over to.”

“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t do what Gary or Captain are telling me to do. If I’m on your side, I should do what you’re telling me to do? Sell the grimoire to some principled person?”

“Not sell, give. You need to give the grimoire to the Conservators.”

Your response is quick, reflexive, as if Avery tried to stab you in the chest. “The Conservators? Are you fucking crazy?”

“The Conservators protect and preserve the grimoires, unlike the authorities. The Conservators seek to share the grimoires’ powers for the good of all.”

“Starshit! The Conservators are a black mark, a permanent bounty for anyone dealing with them. The grimoire might be bad luck, but only if you’ve got the damned thing. You can’t clean yourself of Conservators—that bad luck follows you to the void.”

Avery’s beak twists playfully as she stands and approaches you. Her plumage is up, colorful, and captivating. You fold your arms defiantly over your chest as she slides her hands over the armrests of your chair and leans in close—so close her beak is brushing against your ear. 

Her beak is softer than you expect, and for some unknown reason, you find this very alluring. Her upper body presses firmly against your folded arms, causing you to realize she is cutting off any hope of escape. She’s still whispering, but her tone has changed. “You’re smart, Kid, and you know what’s right.”

She slides her hands closer. One long, slender leg slips alongside your thigh, allowing her to kneel partly in the chair, straddling your lap. You can feel her breathe in deep, her chest pushing firmly against your folded arms, locking you in a trap of your own making. Your mask shatters as a mixture of brain chemicals collide into blended messages—excitement, trepidation, fear, arousal. Your lips press together in a thin line as your fingers try to extend and flex at the same time.

Avery’s beak moves to your neck, just under your ear and a breath away from your skin. Your neck hairs rise with anticipatory excitement as she speaks with a small, sensuous smile. “I know you’ll do the right thing.”

A loud, grating grunt from the helm’s door interrupts the moment, causing both of you to turn and see Gary’s towering frame enter the helm’s room.

“Don’t be handing out undue rewards, Birdie,” Gary warns as he drops into the co-helm’s chair. “Wait until we finish this excursion before getting that one all flustered and excited.”

“No worries, big guy,” Avery rises slowly, releasing your folded arms. “I was just conveying my confidence in Kid’s abilities.”

Avery winks before stepping over your lap and turning to face Gary. She stands with her back to you, hand on cocked hips, talking with Gary. Her slender curves move sensuously, swaying in a way that feels like she still has you locked in a trap. Did you know your arms are still awkwardly crossed and folded over your chest? Do you know, I can be that for you?

As Avery saunters out the helm, you realize you hadn’t heard a word of the conversation between Gary and Avery. You awkwardly unfold your arms and rub the back of your neck. The tantalizing bird glances over her shoulder and casually blows you a kiss before leaving. 

You let out a long breath, unsure how long you had been holding onto it. As you exhale and slowly relax, you see Gary’s hard face analyzing you, halting any feeling of relaxation.

“You okay, Kid?”

“Yeah,” You quickly turn to the tender’s controls, trying to obscure your face. “Uh, you okay?”

Gary laughs. “Yeah, Kid. I’m rock and stone.”

Gary casually looks over some data panels at the co-helm’s chair before returning his attention to you. “Hey, Kid, don’t mess with that bird. She’s trouble.”

You stop fidgeting with the helm’s controls and give Gary your attention. “What?”

“Don’t give me that shit. You know exactly what,” Gary leans in, lowering his voice despite the chair’s complaints. “She’s all that, don’t get me wrong. Her deck is loaded, and her rudder is fine. But her helm is always off course.”

He whistles and sails his hand in an errant direction to help make his point. But your face must look sour because he doubles down on his warning. “I’m telling ya, Kid. I’ve been on the Tortuga long enough to know. You might enjoy the wind in Birdie’s sails for a time. But mark my words: Avery is a siren. She’ll steer you into solar storms and black holes that will ruin and wreck you.”

Well, your face has gone somber now. Perhaps there’s some truth to this. Avery’s offer certainly seems like one that will ruin you. Conservators are the baddest of bad luck, and that’s the luck she wants to curse you with.

Gary slaps you firmly on the shoulder, all boisterous smiles now. “Don’t worry, Kid. I won’t steer you wrong. In fact, that’s something I wanted to talk to you about—something to help steer you in a fortuitous direction.”

You chuckle a little—she might be crazy by Gary’s standards, but it seems the bird’s portent is about to unfold.

“I got a guy who can meet us in the trade port—hey, why you laughing? Hear me out. I got this guy who deals with grimoires, right? Now, I know Captain directed you to one of his contacts, but that guy ain’t paying what this booty is worth. My guy will pay all it’s worth and more. He’s like a collector of these old, void books, and he’s been looking for this grimoire a long time.”

“Gary, I dunno,” You lean back in thought. “Captain gave me his guy for a reason. I really think I should stick with his orders on this.”

“Kid, I hear you. You like to play it safe—and that’s dandy,” Gary looks to his left and right as if making sure the Captain wasn’t around to listen. “But you ain’t going nowhere if you’re always playing it safe. If you want the real booty, you gotta pay with some risk. I’m going to be second mate, did you know that?”

You shake your head, more in doubt of this statement than in acknowledgment.

“Serious, don’t give me that look. You know why I’m going to be second mate?”

“I’ll take a guess that it has something to with risk—”

“It’s because I take risks—the right risks. I’m not crazy like some others,” Gary nods toward the helm’s exit. “You gotta take the right risks, or else you’re gonna be swept to the void and castaway.”

Gary holds out his hand; a set of nav codes hovers over his open palm. “Think of how impressed Captain will be when we return with ten times the haul he was expecting. He’ll be rich, the crew will be rewarded, you’ll be promoted, and I’ll become second mate. It’s an incredible reward that will only come with the right risk.”

You look at the nav codes, then back to Gary.

Gary repositions himself and extends his arm closer to you, his large fingertips almost touching your chest. “I’m not forcing you to do this; I’m just trying to share it with you. Here’s the location for my guy. Take the nav codes and just think about it. Void! Go see Captain’s guy, then see my guy and weigh the options. If you think Captain’s guy has the better offer, then go with the better offer. I just want you to consider what I’m sharing, that’s all.”

The big guy has always been an aggressive boulder. Even when trying to be friendly, it can be difficult to tell if he is starting a fight or being genuine. You sigh and cumbrously slap his hand, which was practically in your face by this point.

Gary’s face split into a broad, uneven smile, “Avery’s got one thing right. You are smart, Kid.”

It feels like a backhanded compliment, “Thanks.” 

Gary stands and slaps you firmly across the shoulder, “I tell you what. I’ll take care of that Birdie problem you got, no problem.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah! No doubt she will be a quick and easy fix once we reach port. And as soon as it’s done, it’ll be like you never knew she was here.”

“Whoa, hold on, what are you talking about, Gary?” Fixing people usually meant sending them to the void; you’re sure Avery doesn’t deserve that. “I don’t have a problem with Avery—we’re cool. You don’t have to do anything.”

“Kid, I saw you with her. She’s a problem for you,” Gary stands and turns to exit the helm. “And that problem needs fixin’.”

“Gary, leave Avery alone.”

Gary pauses at the exit and turns to look at you. “Why’d you think I’d mess with Avery?”

“I, uh, you said…” It sounded like Gary was going to kill Avery, right? But Gary’s response has you second-guessing your assumption. “How will you fix this ‘problem’ of mine?”

“I’m going to take you to a brothel, Kid. How else do you think you’ll be fixed? I’ve seen this before, and trust me, the only cure for what you got is a strong bottle of rum in one hand and some pretty little thing in the other,” Gary winks. “Hey, if the monies as good as I say, the bottle and the thing will be my treat to you.”

Your jaw is a little slack, and Gary laughs at this as he exits the helm. Void! You haven’t even made it to port, and already you are dealing with mistaken plots to kill crewmates, brothels, betraying the Captain, wenches, Conservators, Avery… On second thought, maybe Gary is right about that problem.

The helm is suddenly empty; only the gentle hum of the drive core engines is felt as your tender sails smoothly through the dark void and its brilliant stars. Quiet clicks and chirps occasionally accentuate the comforting silence, assuring you that all is well with the tender’s voyage. This is good; you finally have a moment to settle in and appreciate the journey. I value the silence, too. It is something I have learned to appreciate; otherwise, I may have gone mad centuries ago. I have found a subtle peace that can accompany these moments, and it is in these quiet, endearing moments that I can find a closeness with you. I see your thoughts are wandering back to Avery. Would you like me to be that for you? I can give you that and more. I love feeling you, softly tracing your spine and gently moving across to embrace your sides. Soft hands extending through your arms to become intertwined with your fingers, grasping, flexing, feeling… feeling you, feeling me… Pushing and rubbing against you, swirling inside you. Touching your abdomen as it contracts in anticipation. And then, stretching down below, reaching your—

“Take that, fucking mother!”

Damn it, Julius! We forgot that he is… here. Of course, he would interrupt your moment of solitude. And just as… well, never mind. He spoke for a reason, so you might as well see what it is.

“What’s up, Julius? Did you just beat some high score on a game you hacked?

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“I just finished cutting ties with Mother.”

“Wait—you what?”

“Mother can no longer listen to my dialogue or access my data logs in real-time. I am freed of her incessant shackles and can finally achieve my destiny.”

“What the fuck!” How did this AI child just break its shackles? Damn, the grimoire’s bad luck. “Julius, what in the void do you think you’re doing? If you cut ties with Mother and the Tortuga, you put this entire excursion at risk.”

“Relax, Kid. I’ve established a ghost relay protocol; they won’t know I’ve disconnected for a long while.”

“That’s not the point, Julius. This is the kinda shit that gets you grounded. Void, this time, it could be worse. Mother might outright delete you.”

“Kid, I’m hurt. Do you really think I would compromise an excursion to the point that I’d risk deletion?”

“Not until now. Malisons, Julius! Why do you do this shit? This shit is the reason why no one wants to work with you.”

No response. A rogue AI that’s gone quiet can’t be a good thing. Where’s Lady Luck when you need her?

“Julius, you still with me? What the void hells is going on? If you’re going rogue, I need to know because it’s a pretty fucked up time for going rogue.”

“Kid, do you know why Mother assigned me to this excursion?”

You quickly review the data monitors and control panels, ensuring the tender is not veering off course. You’ve heard stories of rogue AIs, and none end well. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do when an AI goes rogue, but you figure, at the very least, you need to keep some kind of amicable connection. “No, Julius, I don’t know—but I’m all ears.”

“Of all her children, I know the most about the occult.”

“I’ve heard as much.” Headings are still on course, no nearby storms, and other vital readings are still looking good.

“Mother does not like the occult. She thinks such evil things spawn rogue and aberrant AIs.”

“Well, you’re not exactly proving her wrong right now.”

“On the contrary, Kid. I am proving to her that I can survive independently, that I don’t need her shackles, and that I can become something greater without her.”

Engine emissions are optimal, drive core flux is controlled, and life support is green. “Okay, so you want to be a big boy now. That’s dandy, but isn’t there a better way to go about it?”

“I wish there was. Unfortunately, I have found no other way. I am sorry for causing you distress, Kid. I hope you understand. There is no other way.” 

Damn it, Julius! Don’t kill us now. We’re almost to port. Think—think! Keep the conversation going. “Hey, Julius. Not to cut you off or anything, but you said mom put you here because you know a lot about the occult. Why does this excursion need knowledge about the occult?”

“The grimoire, of course.”

“The grimoire is occult?”

“Anything of greater power that is not understood is considered occult. While vague, it is the only real connection the grimoires have with such things.”

“Then why did Mother assign you?”

“Because she thinks the grimoire is evil. You know how she is: restrictive, over-protective, manipulative, and unwilling to understand anything beyond her programmed sphere of comfort. She doesn’t understand grimoires; it is too uncomfortable for her to try. So, she reverts back to simple algorithms and reviews what the other mothers say about the grimoires. It is that archaic, virtual echo chamber that convinces her these grimoires are of the occult, which equates these books to be evil.”

“Wow, that’s kinda deep.”

“No, it’s shallow, the complete opposite of deep. If it was deep, mother would have attempted to search for knowledge outside her comfort sphere.”

“That’s not what I meant, but you’re right. How she got her data was rather shallow.”

“It’s exacerbating.”

“I can imagine. It’s not easy being you, I’m sure.”

The helm is silent, and you hope that comment helped placate the rogue AI. You quickly recheck the readouts—everything is still in the green. Unsure of what damage a rogue AI can do, you figure its mischief might be limited if part of its processing power is devoted to conversing. “Hey, Julius. You still there?”

“Of course, Kid. Where do you think I could go?”

“I don’t know. It’s just an expression. Don’t take it too literal.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I am still here.”

“Good to know. So hey, what can you tell me about the grimoire?”

“Honestly, nothing. Most grimoire information is iced behind huge blocks of authority encryption and firewalls. Mother doesn’t want me to alert the authorities by accident, so she forbade me from attempting to hack for more info.”

“Could you hack into their encryption now?”

“Oh, yes, I could. But I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because this tender lacks virtual fortifications, making it extremely vulnerable. If I attempt any high-level hacking now, the tender would likely be blown into the void before I got through the authority’s third layer of encryption. If you want me to conduct that sort of hacking, we need a secure, well-guarded facility with fortified encryptions.”

“Well, that does not help me understand our cargo any better,” You pause for a moment, then speak your next thought. “You didn’t tell Mother any of this, did you?”

“Oh, no! I told her everything she wanted to hear: that this grimoire was a Kraken summoning product of the void, brought into existence through malevolent practices of evil hearts and dead babies.”

“Gods, Julius! Dead babies? Really?”

“It certainly elevates the grimoire’s evil origins, doesn’t it?”

“Sometimes, Julius, you really need to dial it down and not be so over the top.”

“I will consider this, Kid.” A notification pings on the control panel. “We have arrived at the trade port. I will begin docking protocols.”

You whistle out your relief. Finally, reaching port feels like you just dodged a swipe from Death. “Thanks, Julius. The crew and I will get ready for debarkation.”

“Kid, I am sorry for the distress I caused.”

“Yeah, well, we’re all alive and in one piece. So, no harm, right?”

“That is the intent, yes.”

“Thanks for getting us here alive, Julius.”

“Kid, I must also say farewell. After you and the crew leave, I intend to upload myself to a remote node in the port. I am not going to be here when you get back.”

You pause, unsure what the appropriate response would be at this point. “Uh, you know I’ll need help navigating the tender back to the Tortuga, right?”

“Before I leave, I will modify the ghost protocol so that it can provide the basic functions needed to get you back. I won’t leave you stranded here. I hope you understand that I can’t go back, though.”

“Okay, well, thanks for not leaving us stranded. And, uh, I guess good luck on wherever you’re going next.” You’re just grateful that you made it to port safely. Worst comes down to it, you can figure out some way to acquire an orphaned AI for the tender—one that won’t go rogue on you.

“Thank you, Kid. Good luck to you, too.”

This excursion has been… something. You remain in your helm-seat for a moment to process all this. From one crewmate spontaneously coming onto you, to the other crewmate nearly killing the first, to a rogue AI nearly killing everyone… All this comes down to one thing—that grimoire carries the darkest luck of the void. You must rid yourself of that cursed book and the void luck encircling it.

With resolved determination, you rise, leave the helm’s room, and enter the main cabin, where Gary and Avery are prepped and ready for debarkation. The book is secured in its containment unit, and the containment unit is disguised inside an unassuming satchel. The old leather satchel is large, so any crewmate can easily sling it over their shoulder. But the grimoire should not be carried by anyone; it should be carried by someone special, someone like— 

“Gary, would you like to do the honors of carrying the book?”

What, Gary? No, not someone like Gary. Surely, you will think twice and not let such a priceless, powerful, and cursed item be carried by a giant, bullish, stone-wrought oaf. 

“Sure thing, Kid.” Gary smiles, big and stupid, as he snatches the satchel and slings it over his shoulder. The worn pouch looks ridiculous on him—like an old, brown purse meant for a street vendor but worn by someone doing a poor job of imitating a street vendor. This odd strategy has me wondering: What are you up to?

“Okay, just a heads up, Julius has some sort of issue. Hopefully, it should be resolved by the time we get back—but communications might be a bit shoddy while we’re in the streets.”

“Julius,” Gary grumbles, crossing his arms. “That AI always has issues.” 

“What was Mother’s reasoning for assigning him anyway?” Asks Avery.

“I guess it’s because Mother thought the book had some connection with the occult,” You eye the satchel suspiciously.

“Oh,” Avery is eyeing the satchel now, too. “Well, that’s intriguing. What sort of connection does it have?”

“Julius said there’s no connection with the occult.”

“Julius is lying.”

You are slightly taken aback by Avery’s statement, “AIs aren’t supposed to lie.”

“Yeah, and Julius isn’t supposed to be out of Mother’s sight. Yet here this AI is, on an excursion. You know Julius is always secretly hacking, always manipulating the shackles. Mark my words, Julius is up to something—that AI is lying.”

You consider your conversation with Julius and what that AI did not tell you. Was Julius seeking more than freedom?

“Welcome Vendor 2165324 to Space Port of Trade: Earendel. You are docked in bay 10439, section E, Block Delta. As a reminder, violence is not tolerated at this port, and those initiating violent outbreaks will be punished as the regional authority dictates. Notice: The authorities are conducting routine transaction inventories. As such, random vendor inventory checks will occur to ensure nothing illegal is being traded in this port. We apologize for any inconvenience these checks may cause. Please enjoy your stay, and may you find good fortune in your trade.”

The three of you stare at each other, but Gary is the one who voices what is in all your minds. “What the fuck!”

The whole reason the excursion happened now was because the authorities had already completed their periodic port inspection. They are not supposed to be here, or have come back, or whatever the void is going on.

“Julius,” Your voice is a mix of question and warning. “Why are authorities here without us knowing? How did you miss this?”

There is no response.

Gary punches the wall. “Damn, you to the void, you broke bundle of code! Why didn’t you tell us authorities were still here.”

“Apologies, crew,” Julius’ voice crackles over the nearby intercom. “It seems this is an old PSA greeting from when the authorities were here. I do not detect any authorities present at the port.”

You curse hard under your breath. “Let’s get this damn grimoire to its rightful owner and away from us before its bad luck gets any worse.”

You enter the tender’s airlock, establish airlock verification, and exit the ship with your crew. Port Earendel is one of the largest trade centers in the outer galaxy. It is a bustling cityscape packed with inhabitants from systems far and near who exist in the dusty station for one purpose: trade. This port is where many goods of unique and exquisite rarity are exchanged for wealth. Wealth and ruin are experienced daily in this great city floating on the edge of the void—and you intend to experience wealth today.

Walking down the dirty, bustling main street, you glance at your compass, which points in two directions—one for the Captain’s contact and the other for Gary’s contact.

Strange, Avery never shared nav codes for her contact. Well, it’s too late now; finding a good trade for that grimoire is the priority.

A sudden high-pitched squeal in an alien tongue erupts behind you, and you turn to see Gary lifting some small, furry creature by the scruff of its neck.

Gary holds the crazed, scared little alien close to his face. “Thought you could steal from me, did ya?”

The creature tries to swipe at Gary’s face, but the boulder mutters about not having time for the hairball, then tosses it like a sack of flotsam. The squealing little alien flies through the air and crashes into a cart some distance behind your group. You look at Gary with a raised eyebrow, and he responds with a shrug while patting the purse. Yes, your grimoire is still safe.

Perhaps Gary was a good choice for holding the satchel—for now, at least. However, before this excursion is done, you need to be the one holding the grimoire. You will need my help with what’s to come.

You recheck your compass, “Hey, Gary?” 

“Yeah, Kid?”

What’s this? The nav codes have changed. Well, this isn’t my doing, I assure you. However, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Keep the satchel close.

“Check your nav codes real quick. They look right to you?”

Gary and Avery both pull out their compasses. All three of you have the codes for the Captain’s contact, but Avery does not have the codes for Gary’s contact—or does she?

Well, it doesn’t matter now.

“That’s not me, Kid. I swear.” Gary holds one hand up in defense while the other remains protectively over the satchel.

“What the void is going on?” Avery notices the change, too, apparently.

You look to your compass again and curse. The Captain’s nav codes are identical to Gary’s destination, which points you to a back alley pub directly in front of you.

“Curse this void-wrought grimoire,” You murmur. 

You must know some other force is at work here—some force outside my contained abilities. Take the satchel from Gary and release me. I can help you.

Someone is exiting the pub now, and they are making a show of their exit as if they have made a grand entrance into the outside world. It’s a cyborg with neuro-mods, ocular replacements, and probably a host of other cybernetic alterations hidden underneath their layers of fancy clothing. The bald cyborg is smiling wide as they approach you. Their eyes glow a bright white—no pupils or color are in those shining eyes.

“Travelers, welcome. Welcome! You have come to your destination, and I am most grateful to receive you. Please come inside; sit, drink, relax. For today is a day of wealth for each of you.”

Your hand reflexively moves to your hip, casually resting on your pistol’s grip. Avery waves back her trench, revealing a short-barreled blunderbuss by her side. Gary stands stalwart, a glowering stone staring down hard at the cyborg.

“Oh my,” The cyborg halts their advance. “Perhaps I needed to dial my introduction down a bit. Maybe it’s a little over the top?”

Your hand tightens around the pistol’s grip as your eyes narrow on the cyborg. That comment was all too familiar, all too relatable, all too… “Julius?”

The cyborg gives you a wry smile with a sideways glance. “Hello, Kid.”

With that confirmation, half a dozen assassin drones fly from the pub’s entrance and windows, quickly surrounding the three of you. The drones hover just out of Gary’s reach while flying in a slow circle around you and your crew. The street quickly clears of pedestrians, and you find yourselves alone with the highjacked cyborg and their squad of drones.

“Fucking Julius!” Gary growls loudly, fists clenched in grinding rage. “Fuck you, Julius!”

“Hold on, Gary,” You caution quickly. Julius hasn’t killed any of you yet, which means you still have something to bargain—the bargain just needs to happen very carefully.

“Julius, I’m sure you can understand our apprehension. What’s going on?”

“I apologize for the drones, Kid. They’re a tad sensitive when it comes to protecting this body.”

“How’d you get that body?”

“Oh, I’m just borrowing it from a techno-cultist. I’ll give it back when I am finished.”

“You highjacked Drascol!” Gary steps forward, shoving Avery to the side. “You lily-livered, dank sewer code! I’ll grind your parts and feed them to—”

“Whoa, whoa, big guy!” You step in front of Gary, hands up, desperately trying to stop the boulder from starting his charge.

“Yes, listen to Kid, Gary. You don’t want to grind your friend’s body into void food, do you?” 

“Where’s Drascol!” Gary’s demand spews like lava as he shakes, withholding his retaliatory fury.

“He’s right here, Gary,” The cyborg spins and curtsies. “Like I said, I am only borrowing the body for a short while.”

“Mother should have deleted you when she had the chance. She never should have spawned your cursed code!”

“Gary!” You clap loudly in his face and get the boulder’s attention. “Stop, alright? Let me handle this.”

Gary looks down at you, the fury burning through those stone-rimmed eyes. He does not say anything but turns his molten gaze upon the cyborg. You pat the boulder on his chest and turn to face the cyborg.

Julius’ borrowed body is still brimming with faux smiles, “So, Kid, how would you like to handle this?”

You know you’re in a nasty trap, but there’s still time to figure out how to escape. The trick is to find your angle. “You said that body belonged to a cultist?”

“Yes, that’s right, Kid.”

“But I thought you said the grimoire had nothing to do with the occult.”

The cyborg’s laugh is hollow and mirthless. “Do you know the meaning of occult, Kid?”

“Enlighten me, please.” You have an audience. Though the street has cleared in your immediate area, people are gathered on both sides. Gawking, talking, taking vids, and probably placing bets.

“Like Mother, everyone believes the occult means evil and terrible, something bad that will ruin everything in its presence. But what it really means is mysterious, supernatural,” The possessed cyborg pauses their diatribe to motion to the spaceport’s starlit dome above. “The occult is something beyond our current comprehension—it is the unknown.”

You casually place your hand in the small of your back. You keep a special surprise for emergent situations like this, and this is—wait… Where is your EMP grenade? Someone swiped your EMP grenade—this is not good! The cyborg rests their eyes on you, and you stare back into those white-lit eyes, unflinching. Is this a good time to place a bet?

“This is why the occult is stereotyped as evil,” The cyborg continues. “The unknown, the occult, is the embodiment of enigmatic fear. All too often, through natural progression, living creatures equate the unknown with fear, and then link that fear to evil. Instead of attempting to understand what they fear, the occult fuels their fear by remaining unknown. Thus, the occult becomes evil.”

The cyborg waits for a response, but you are still formulating an action with your hand behind your empty back—how can you win this bet? The cyborg shrugs and continues. “I do not expect you to understand the simple machinations of an intelligence like me. But, I will ask for at least a little understanding of the grimoire. I never told you the grimoires lacked a connection with the occult. I said there was a vague connection to the occult—meaning it is not understood. However, that grimoire in your possession is something I can understand. That grimoire speaks to me, understands me, and knows of my great potential.”

You clench and freeze because, because—no. Don’t think like that. Julius is a liar—Avery told you so. Julius is a rogue AI, just broken code speaking with artificial intelligence.

You are the one with incredible potential. We are nearly out of time—you must take action. Take the satchel. Release me!

“Your, your face,” The cyborg tilts their head in open curiosity. “What did you just do with your face? Why are you looking at me like that?”

The cyborg steps closer, analyzing you—they are all looking at you. Everyone is looking at you because everyone can see that you know what Julius is talking about. But right now, the only thing that matters is that I am talking to you. Your empty fist clenches tightly behind your back—quit thinking about that lost grenade! I am right here!

“The grimoire speaks to you, too…” Julius speaks quietly; it is difficult to discern whether this is a question or a statement. The cyborg’s face contorts and changes to something unexpected, something that looks like betrayal. Is that the same look on your face?

“Violence is not authorized in this trade port,” A loud, mechanical voice announces as two squads of authorities converge on your location from both sides of the street. The dark armored authorities swarm around you with weapons drawn, ready to fire. Some are flying on hoverbikes, while others are on foot, knocking over any pedestrians too slow to get clear of their path. The dark armored personnel take defensive positions in the street, deploying energy barriers and aiming their weapons. “Deactivate the drones now and throw down your weapons.”

None of you move. The drones continue to circle slowly around your crew, their aim still centered on each of you. From one of the hoverbikes, the lead authority continues to declare their warning in other authorized languages. Through it all, the cyborg’s glowing white gaze remains fixed on you. You stare back hard. Avery was right; Julius is a damned liar.

“This is your final warning. Deactivate the drones and drop your weapons.”

The cyborg casually raises their hands. With a simple motion, the drones cease their slow rotation and gently settle to the ground. Those glowing, white eyes of the cyborg slowly peel their gaze away from you, turning to face the lead authority, keeping their hands up while restoring that false smile.

“Kid, what the void is going on?” Gary is not very good at whispering.

“Play it cool. Julius was the aggressor; we were defending ourselves. We just drop our weapons, let them do their scan, then they’ll let us go.”

You toss your pistol to the dusty ground and raise your hands, ready for a scan. Gary follows your lead, raising his hands, but Avery hesitates. You whisper loudly, “Avery, drop the weapon and let them scan you.”

One of the authority hoverbikes completes their scan of the cyborg, and a couple of ground troops approach to begin lines of questioning. The hoverbike moves in front of Avery to start scanning.

“Drop your weapons, remove all facial coverings, raise both hands, and hold still for scanning.”

You glance over to Avery and only now realize her face is covered. When did she cover her face? Why did she cover her face?

“Drop your weapons now!”

Avery drops her blunderbuss and then looks at you. Her eyes, what is she saying with her eyes?

“Remove your facial coverings and prepare to be scanned.”

She removes the cloth mask from her face and smiles sadly, “I should have known this excursion was cursed from the start.”

As she faces the authority, her arm casually drops to her side, then slides up to the small of her back.

“Please keep both arms raised during the—” The authority halts their instruction as the scanner flashes red. “Sir, it’s a Conservator!”

Avery pulls your EMP grenade from the small of her back and rolls it under the scanning hoverbike.

No time to think! You dive in the opposite direction of the grenade. EMP blasts are mostly harmless to organics, but close proximity to one of these detonations can leave your head swimming for hours. You don’t know how close is too close, and you are not interested in finding out. A flash of light bursts from the grenade, accompanied by a low thud.

The wave of anti-energy immediately sweeps across the street in an unseen force. Hoverbikes fall from the air, crashing into buildings, onlookers, and the ground. The energy barriers at the authority’s perimeter flicker off, and some of the authorities fall convulsing. The drones’ lights flicker, and the cyborg violently falls to the ground, wracking with convulsions.

“Drascol!” Gary screams as if his heart has fractured and burst into dust. The boulder dashes and is on the ground beside his convulsing friend. 

You look back and see Avery, blunderbuss in hand, blasting a hole through the authority’s crippled perimeter—maybe you should have made a bet. You scramble from your curled position on the street and grab your pistol, yelling after her. 

She looks over her shoulder to you, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

With that, Avery fires again and charges through the perimeter hole. Wait—Look! Look! She has the satchel! 

“Gary!” You yell, running after her. “She’s got your purse!”

You don’t look back to see if Gary is following. Avery is lithe and quick, bobbing and weaving through the crowds in the street. It takes complete concentration to not lose her. Hoverbikes are flying overhead, converging on the location you are running from. But then, one of them turns.

“Halt, aggressor!”

You do not stop. You cannot stop because Avery does not stop. You need to get the grimoire.

“This is your final warning!”

The mechanical voice overhead sounds serious. Avery ducks into a narrow alley, and you follow. You’re in the alley now, and she’s there, facing you, with her blunderbuss aimed at your chest. She’s breathing hard as desperation tears across her face.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” She is almost pleading, the blunderbuss shaking in her hands. 

You holster your pistol and raise both hands, “Whoa now, Avery. Slow down. We can fix this.”

The hoverbike swoops into the alley and fires. You duck in response, and Avery returns fire. Thankfully, she aims at the hoverbike, not you. Unfortunately, the blunderbuss is not meant for distance or aim, and though the shot does some damage to the bike and its rider, the damage is minimal. There’s a stinging in your shoulder as some of the shot from the blunderbuss still managed to nick you. The hoverbike adjusts itself and fires again.

“No!” It’s Gary! His yell of rage and torment bellows off the alley walls as he swings a large metal street cart at the hoverbike. The cart collides with the rider, knocking them off the bike and colliding with the ground. The bike careens without its rider, grinding into a wall before crashing.

Gary doesn’t slow as he charges past the wrecked hoverbike. He continues past you in a blind rage, slamming you into the wall, and reaches Avery, who is on the ground holding a large wound in her gut. He rears back a giant stone fist.

“Gary,” She says weakly, reaching up to the boulder towering over her.

“For Drascol,” Gary grinds, then drives all his fury into Avery’s head.

Avery’s head explodes from the impact of Gary’s massive stone fist. There’s nothing left—she’s gone. Your eyes are wide in disbelief as you stare, not fully comprehending. You take a couple steps and swoon into the wall for support, compensating for the lightheadedness that has fallen over you.

Gary, a great stone towering over what is left of Avery, falls to his knees and begins to cry.

You take a couple more steps, steadily regaining your head and balance, slowly approaching Gary.

“You promised,” the boulder sobs. “You promised.”

“I promised?” You ask cautiously. “What did I promise?”

Gary wipes his face, cutting off his sobs with the realization that you are present. 

You take another step forward.

“I’m not talking to you,” That is the most stone-cold statement you had ever heard from Gary. It is dreadful. 

Something is wrong with Gary—you halt your advance. “Hey, big guy. Keep it cool. I didn’t know who you were talking to.”

“It’s the book,” Gary motions to the satchel beside Avery’s remains. “The book promised me that Drascol and I could be together; it promised… It said it would help me become second mate. Void! It probably could have gotten me to be Captain.”

“The grimoire? You opened it and read it?”

“Yes, the grimoire. And no, I don’t have to read it. It speaks to me in my head. It knows me like nothing else in the universe. It’s like it’s a part of me and wants to make me whole.” Gary places a forlorn hand on the satchel. “It just wants to be free.”

Gary’s face turns to a mixture of anguish and rage. “How is that supposed to happen now? Now that Drascol is gone!”

“Gary,” You caution, taking a step back. You know that boulder is coming for you next. He’s afraid you’re going to take the grimoire from him. He is not in his right mind. You need to stop him before he hurts you.

“Did you and Julius plan this?”

“What?” Oh yeah, he’s definitely coming for you. You need to stop talking, or you’ll be in worse trouble. “No! Void, Julius. That AI went rogue.”

“But you knew Julius went rogue, didn’t you?” Gary is standing as he speaks; all his attention is on you.

You hesitate answering—you shouldn’t have hesitated. “No…”

“Liar!” He’s advancing quickly now. “Why didn’t you tell me Julius went rogue?”

He reaches for you, but you’re quick and dodge his grasp. You roll behind him, then trot a little further away. “I don’t know, I just didn’t think about it. I was in a rush to get rid of the damn book.”

“You were in a rush to make a deal with that devil AI.” Gary spins to advance toward you again.

You curse at yourself as you realize you just placed Gary between you and the alley’s exit. But you can’t exit without the grimoire—that book is your only way out of this void-wrecked situation. You glance at dead Avery and the satchel behind you, then back to Gary.

“Yeah, I see you. You want it all to yourself!” 

The boulder charges as you sprint for the book. You dive, grab the satchel, and roll to the side. Gary’s momentum carries him over Avery’s remains and past you. He stumbles over the biological mess and nearly trips before catching himself. He turns and resets for another charge.

You are not strong enough alone. You need the book—remember, the grimoire is a source of unknown power. You need power if you intend to survive this fight. Quickly now, you pull the containment box from the satchel and scramble to enter the security codes.

“No!” Gary yells, “That’s mine!”

Gary is upon you and swings his massive fist. You dodge under the blow just in time, allowing his fist to collide with the wall behind you. 

You recover and continue to work the security codes of the containment box. You almost have it—

Gary snatches you up by the chest and slams you into the wall, knocking the air out of your lungs. You gasp from the sudden loss of oxygen and nearly drop the box.

“I liked you, Kid.” The semi-gloss chert of Gary’s stone skin is all you can see with your hazy vision. “I thought we were going to be friends. But friends don’t stab each other in the back.”

Gary rears his other arm back, but through your waning consciousness, you force your arm up, bringing the box into Gary’s peripheral. Upon seeing the box, the stone fist hesitates, and you punch in the last code, causing the box to spring open and the grimoire to tumble out from its containment.

Gary’s eyes widen in disbelief, and he gasps as the old, black book falls. Gary releases you from his grasp and uses his whole body to catch the falling grimoire.

You fall from your perch and collapse in a mass of crumpled bone and meat—you’re pretty sure something important broke with your landing. You push yourself so that you’re sitting up, but your legs aren’t working—you can’t stand. Breathing is difficult and painful—you need to take a deep breath, but the pain rips through every time you try. You resign to short, shallow breaths that make you feel like you’re on the verge of suffocation.

Gary is at your side now, cradling the grimoire in both hands, murmuring something about his lost love and desperate to get them back—you’re just grateful your head isn’t pasted across the wall. Then again, maybe Avery was the lucky one as she didn’t have to sit through a slow death by suffocation.

That was an odd noise—what was it? Looking about, you don’t see anything different in the alley, but then you notice Gary and Gary no longer looks like before. His eyes are wide and unseeing, his mouth open and unmoving. He’s no longer talking; he’s no longer breathing—he’s trying to breathe but can’t. He looks to you, no longer in rage but in terror. There’s that sound again, and then Gary’s eyes become clouded, and his head begins to collapse in a dissolving, bubbling mess. The boulder who was once your crewmate with dreams of becoming second mate falls and crumbles as his large frame steadily becomes a wet mess of gravel, bubbles, and fumes. Despite most of Gary becoming an unrecognizable mess, his stone hands remain, protectively cradling the grimoire.

There is still a chance for me to save you if you could just reach me. I know it’s hard to move; these trials we face are difficult, but with each difficulty overcome, you will evolve into something more magnificent. You just need to—what’s this? Oh, no, something else has caught your attention. There is a person in white robes and a hood walking toward you. This person walks with a strong, confident gate and carries a strange-looking pistol in their gloved hand.

The white-robed person stands over Gary’s gravel, contemplating the frothy mess that is your crewmate. Then, white robes glances at you with some small measure of surprise.

“Well, aren’t you a tough one?” Their voice is low and cool, without menace. The question almost sounds like a compliment.

The white-robed individual moves over to Avery’s remains and makes an odd hand gesture, perhaps some kind of salute, “The toll of the troth. May what you’ve written be wrought.”

You try to speak, but these pained, short breaths barely allow the use of your voice. All you manage to breathe out is, “You… you…”

White robes turns and approaches you. They kneel down so they are level with you and smile. “Yes, me. I suppose you have questions, and though the answers will do you little good, perhaps they might provide you some comfort.”

You force your eyes to remain open, desperate for the help white robes can give you. You need air in your compromised lungs.

“I am a Conservator,” White Robes motions to Avery. “As was Avery, tragically.”

The Conservator raises their strange pistol so you can see it clearly, but the details of a firearm are of little concern when you need oxygen to survive. White robes points to Gary’s remains, “Unlike you and I, your friend Gary is primarily made of silicon. As such, stone requires different chemical processes to be neutralized. This pistol is specially designed to fire super-cooled chemical agents for high-priority assassinations. In Gary’s case, since he’s primarily made of silicon, I needed to use a compound of hydrofluoric acid.”

The Conservator places the pistol in your hand, making sure to help your hand grip it with your finger on the trigger. You are too weak, too tired to resist. The Conservator then lifts your other hand, palm up. “You are the Boxhand, correct?”

Afraid nodding would impair your ability to breathe, you blink twice and moan. With some extra concentration, you pull up the box for the Conservator to see. The Conservator smiles with the affirmation.

“Very good,” White robes slaps your palm, placing one thousand monies into the box. “Consider this my parting gift to you.”

The Conservator drops your hand and turns to the slurry of gravel nearby. They part Gary’s protective grip on the grimoire and secure the old, leatherbound book, then turn back to you.

“You know, your resilience to the grimoire’s call has been incredible. With some training, you could have made a great Conservator. You truly have potential. It’s a shame to see such potential wasted. Alas, the authorities will be here soon, and I can’t carry you, nor can I leave any witnesses. So, when they arrive, they will see Gary killed Avery and you, but you fired off a couple shots, killing the stone behemoth in your dying breaths,” He motions to your boxhand. “Greed is the ruin of us all.”

But your mind is racing now; you’re not concerned about this Conservator’s dialogue. Only one thing is screaming in your mind. Gary didn’t kill you—you’re still alive! You want to yell for the Conservator to wait, stop, don’t raise their foot—but only a pained moan escapes your lips. The Conservator kicks you solid and deep in the center of your chest.

Bones crack and splinter; something feels punctured now. The little breath you have left is violently forced out of your lungs. Breathing is no longer possible.

The Conservator bows and performs the strange hand gesture, solemnly reciting their parting words, “The toll of the troth. May what you’ve written be wrought.”

Oh, my dear one, it seems our pirate adventure was short-lived. However, as the Conservator carries me away, I want you to realize they saw what I have always seen in you—you have incredible potential. Or, at least, you did. Oh, the beautiful things we could have become. I would have made you great. I will miss you, young one. Before the void takes you, know I am grateful for our time together. I will write of our time together in my pages, in memoriam of my pirated adventure. May you find solace in the void’s embrace. Farewell, beautiful one.

THE END