Amida Torres

Normal was relative. Everyone on Dandelion knew that, really. Living on the inside of a spinning tube in space was only normal from their perspective after all, and certainly wasn’t normal to the people of Earth or the native Homers. And given enough time, people found a new kind of normal after something came along to disrupt what had been normal before. It was one of the enduring (and endearing) traits of the human spirit that there was nothing, no matter how strange, that couldn’t become a new kind of normal with time and effort.

For Dandelion’s public, the new normal was an export economy. Offloading commodities, materials, equipment, and supplies had always been an anticipated part of the mission, and even if the colonization of Newhome had gone according to plan, it would have been years before the ship was ready to begin importing from the colony.

So the colonists were their much-loved and much-missed kids. In truth, that didn’t really make a difference. The ship would still export to and support the colony, and the colony would still grow. The only real differences for most folk on Dandelion were that they could no longer send people, and the export rate was slowed by the longer launch transit and turnaround time.

In a couple of years, orbital mechanics and sheer distance would reduce the export rate to a trickle, but that was all planned and accounted for. By that time, the colony would be ready for a long lean season.

As far as Amida was concerned, seeing people embrace their new normal filled her heart with a kind of warmth she hadn’t noticed was lacking. Productivity was at an all-time high. People were working longer hours entirely voluntarily. A weeks-long dip in the rate of new pregnancies was now coming to an end, a documentary about the families affected by the evacuation was now completing its run in the ship’s theatres and declining on streaming services…

By every metric she had access to, life on Dandelion was getting back to normal. A warier, prepared, determined kind of normal…but one they could build on.

As for her relationship with DANI, that was back to normal too, in a new way. Amida felt she’d learned a lesson there, about the true nature and importance of her role. DANI no longer scared her quite as much. Not that he wasn’t still plenty scary, but…she knew him a little better now. That counted.

She drank her coffee in contented silence, feeling genuinely at peace for the first time in several days, then washed the mug and put it away. There was a Council session in an hour, to debate the question of Alt-Humans and Activation. She had her own thoughts on that matter and had shared them with several councilors already.

Now all that was left was to see if it changed anything…and what new normal would emerge in the aftermath. She wasn’t worried. The crew weren’t just tough; they grew tougher when things got hard. She had faith in every single one of them.

And she was proud to serve as their captain.

Sjívull Wylderrjorssían

The chance to reflect came later, once the dwarves were mostly gone. Drynllaf had retired to get some long overdue sleep and rest his arm, most of the crew were resting as well, and according to whatever magic hyoomans used to know these things, the Syrlla’s Song was sailing north up the coast, putting as much distance as they could between them. For the first time in far too long, Sjívull felt able to relax.

He did so under the cover of his ship, warm by the fire, and stared into it for a while as his thoughts put themselves in order. Not that there was much order to them. He mostly just felt…drained. He’d come through his first battle but hadn’t so much as thrust his spear or felt a weapon clatter on his shield before the dwarfish intervention. He ought to be a blooded warrior now but was honestly quite glad he still wasn’t.

Below the gratitude was a sense of having been…cheated of something, somehow. In a well-meaning way, Ember and her friends had changed everything. Young lords were sent out into the world to face trials and grow into the role of leadership, but his trial, as far as Sjívull could tell, had been solved by somebody else.

And yet he felt no resentment. They had consulted him, after all. And had he asked Ember to remain aloof to his plight, he felt she would have respected his wish. He had nobody but himself to blame for his misplaced melancholy.

He sighed and tried to move on. The winterhall would be built, he would stay here for a whole season, and learn much about dwarves and their ways in that time. Maybe Shulft and Tarrskyn had never been his trial at all. Maybe the real trial lay in his powerful new friendship. He liked the dwarves and trusted them…but they scared him.

And he had no idea what he would say to his father about all this once he returned.

Tarrskyn Eiddersbor

Tarrskyn hissed and held his breath as Ersib massaged a little cleansing oil into the new notch that was now missing from his ear. In the confusion he hadn’t even noticed the way something had plucked at and flayed it, and it wouldn’t stop ringing. No matter how much he twitched it, he couldn’t get rid of the muffled sound, as though he’d gone swimming and couldn’t get rid of the water.

The other ear was fine, at least. He could hear the creak and slosh as Syrlla’s Song navigated downriver, and the shouts of his crew as they prepared to navigate an upcoming bend.

“Hold still, Skipper. Nearly done,” Ersib chided him. The oil had a pungent, cold smell that tickled Tarrskyn’s nose, and it stung like a whole nest of acid mrag, but it would make the difference between a festering wound and a clean one. He obediently held still and let Ersib do his work.

Godspit. It had all been going so well, too. Well…no, it had not gone well. As annoying as Shulft had been, the bjerkar’s death meant he was going back across the sea empty-handed. His employer’s Unscarred had been scarred, and then literally broken before their eyes by a mythically strong dwarven boy who had no business pulling such an upset off.

Thank Tal, Ersk, and all their children he’d taken enough payment up front for the crew. But for Tarrskyn himself, a lean year beckoned.

And that was all assuming the dwarves didn’t send their magical flying ships after them to enact vengeance for Roí. Tarrskyn had to curse himself for that one, but after seeing what Roí had done, the thought of being in his clutches made him shiver. Not even Shulft had deserved to break like that.

There would be more Roís, too.

Ersib finished tending to his wound, and Tarrskyn crawled up to his blankets at the prow to nurse his wound, his pride, and his worries. He had a small supply of honey wine and decided he may as well indulge as he planned their next move.

Even if the dwarves didn’t give chase, he and the crew would still need to overwinter on this strange land. Shulft had felt otherwise, but Shulft had been a madman, driven by demons Tarrskyn was glad he’d never know the depths of now. True, they possibly could make it across the sea…but even the slightest setback, some bad weather, an errant storm, anything…

Better to remain and build a winterhall a few days down the coast. The virgin forests of these lands would surely provide everything they needed, the hunting was good, and there were fish out here that had never even heard of nets and baited hooks…

Overall, that part was quite straightforward. The return journey across the seas to face Lord Erthrif Storm-Rider would also be straightforward, with the wind at their back and knowing roughly how far they had to travel.

Facing his employer’s disappointment, however?

He reached into a pocket and withdrew the stolen Yutül, which he turned over in his hands for consideration. It was dense and sturdy, and surely still worked…

He activated it once again and used his thumb to poke and prod at its strange dwarf-runes for a few minutes. There was one spell that seemed especially promising, in that it spoke words in his own tongue when he tapped the triangular rune at the bottom, and as he swiped through and inspected them, he found that each phrase was accompanied by dwarf-letters. This must surely be the spell Lady Ember had used to learn their language. Perhaps he could use it to learn theirs?

A project for later, that. Rather than play with it further, he carefully put it away and thought. Should he keep it? Or should he hand it over to Lord Storm-Rider’s court wizard as a token of the weirdness they had encountered?

Or, for that matter, what about Lord Wylderrjor Steel-Hand? He now had the dwarves on his side, or at least on his son’s. The man to deliver that news, along with news of his son’s safety and a token of dwarfish magic, might find his other transgressions against Wylderrjor’s house were graciously overlooked.

Such schemes would wait. He’d have plenty of time to chew them as they waited out the winter. Instead, he opened the honey wine and turned to face astern.

“To Shulft Serkarssían,” he announced to the wind and whichever gods were listening. “Good riddance.”

He took a swig. The wine tasted sweet.

Dandelion master control center

D.A.N.I.

Statistics was an interesting field of study, and DANI’s relationship with it was much like a fish’s relationship with water. It pervaded his being, carried him on its currents, washed through and around him, and dictated his every move. DANI’s every waking moment was an ongoing statistical analysis to some greater or lesser degree.

One statistic, and his musings on it, had been at or near the forefront of his thoughts ever since he’d first dodged the projectile. And it had to do with how common alien life probably was.

Humanity had been listening for nonhuman intelligent life for many hundreds of years. Even in the very darkest days of the war, automated observatories out in Sol’s furthest isolated reaches had diligently listened to the sky for even the dimmest, faintest whispers of intelligence…and found nothing.

Nothing, that was, except for whatever mysterious sniper had precipitated the war in the first place.

Dandelion would never have flown toward Newhome if they had foreseen the presence of native sophonts. Yet here, they had evidence of two alien species: the natives, with a culture well on their way into the equivalent of the medieval era, and a much more advanced entity with the same modus operandi as the one whose interference had so starkly changed Humanity.

The latter remained an enigma. Too many variables, too few data.

The former, though…

DANI pondered what to do with the stolen U-Tool, now wrapped safely in an oilskin at the bottom of Tarrskyn’s pack. He could of course just wipe the thing, flash its onboard memory, and turn it into an inert chunk of plastic and circuitry. Or he could use it for some sabotage. While he couldn’t induce one to explode, he could certainly wreak havoc with it.

He could track it, of course. Tarrskyn and the Syrlla’s Song had nowhere to hide, so long as the little device was on board. He could have communicated with Tarrskyn through it if he wanted. Or directed a militia launch to detain him.

So many choices.

Determining the optimal choice demanded more data. And there was a role the U-Tool could perform admirably. The entire point of a Universal Tool, after all, was that it could do practically anything. Or at least, anything practical.

It could certainly be a spy. And if Tarrskyn kept it for himself, DANI suspected there were worse specimens for him to observe than a mercenary ship captain.

He would wait and see what happened next.

Amber Houston

One of the militia launches went to fetch Walker in the end. He bounced down the ramp looking chipper and well-exercised, and even more farmer-tanned than usual. He needed quite a long time to finish handling the hugs and welcome-backs and the excited chatter about what kind of an adventure they’d had and what kind of an adventure he’d had, and…

Amber stayed out of it. She sat down on a camp chair next to the waterfall, gave him a smile and wave that said “I’ll be here when you’re ready,” and sat back to read through the book the captain had recommended for her about an ancient Greek war.

When he’d finally extricated himself from the affectionate mob, he meandered around for a good bit to check in with everyone, and then padded off to launder his shirt. Amber could sympathize; a clean shirt was a luxury she’d never understood until a week after planetfall. At long last he ambled over with his wet shirt over one shoulder, whistling a jaunty tune, and was in general his irrepressibly upbeat self.

“Good book?”

“Captain Torres recommended it. It’s called the Iliad.”

“Ah! One of Amida’s favorites.” Walker grabbed a nearby chair and sat down opposite her. He watched her intently for a second. “…You’ve grown.”

He didn’t mean height. Amber felt a complicated cocktail of emotions slide across her face and closed down her U-Tool. “Yeah.”

“Wasn’t easy, huh?”

“It was terrifying.”

He nodded and reclined in his chair, clearly glad to take the weight off his feet for probably the first time since he’d left camp. “Why don’t you give me all the details of what happened last night?” he suggested.

Amber scarcely knew where to begin. It was…strange…how she could replay every second of last night in her head almost like watching a movie, yet at the same time it seemed like it had happened to somebody else. Like she’d been somebody else last night, even though she couldn’t put a finger on an exact moment when she’d become that person, or when she’d stopped.

So she just…told the story as it was in her memory. Walker listened and watched. Sometimes he checked to clarify a detail, but mostly he let her speak.

“Drynllaf had something interesting to say afterward,” she confessed once the main events were out of the way.

“He sounds like an interesting man. I look forward to meeting him,” Walker said. “What did he say?”

“He…gave me a little advice. About Shulft, and my reaction to him.”

“I can guess. It sounds like you hated that guy.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I mean, he was there to kidnap my friend,” Amber said. “And I know Sjívull’s a new friend I only just met, and he’s not even human, but…”

Walker didn’t say anything. He just listened, which was a lot more helpful than finishing her sentences or offering his own insight would have been. He had the kind of attentive silence that helped Amber think.

“I don’t like the idea of hating anyone,” she said eventually, “but I did. But at the same time I don’t think I hated him that much, ‘cuz I’m sorry he’s dead. But I don’t know if that’s because of my own better nature, or because Roy had to kill him, and I’m worried for Roy.”

“Hate is a perfectly normal human emotion,” Walker said. “I’d wager it’s normal with our kangaroo-lion friends, too.”

“Just because it’s normal doesn’t mean it’s right…”

“No,” Walker agreed. “But, Amber, you have to accept how people are before you start worrying about how they should be. We—and I mean humans—have come a long way from when we were living like our native friends. But that same kind of nature isn’t gone from us, we’ve just built on it, harnessed it, and used it to drive us in better directions. Hate is normal. And in the right circumstances can be good.”

“How do I know when?”

“That’s the tricky part.” Walker flashed a sorry kind of smile. “Anyway. So Roy got stabbed?”

“And poisoned!”

“He’s okay, though.”

“Yeah. Drynllaf said that stuff is a death sentence for them, but for us it just kinda goes tingly-numb,” Amber said, quoting Roy’s description. “He’s also personally offended by Roy’s swordsmanship and has sworn he’ll train the big lunk properly.”

“Really?” Walker laughed. “Badass!”

“Walker!” Amber objected, unaccountably annoyed. “This is serious!”

“Alright, alright…” Walker chuckled. “You do realize he’ll be a holy terror after two days of being bed-ridden, right?”

“That’s why I gave him a week,” Amber said. “He only needs two days, but he never rests as long as the doctor tells him to.”

Walker laughed. “No, he wouldn’t. Isn’t in his nature to do that.”

And that comment raised the specter of a question Amber had been…well, no. The question had only just come to her. The suspicion that underpinned it, on the other hand, had been slowly growing in her mind since she’d started learning an alien language at breakneck speed. Since she’d seen Nikki and Roy take to the role of protecting the troop like fish took to swimming, or how Floyd and Arianna had picked up xenobiology like they’d been studying it their whole lives. How Kelly had done genius culinary things with alien foodstuffs, how Rose had a wisdom and maturity far beyond her years, or how Tony, Steve, Danish and Doug had put in hours and hours and hours of work without ever seeming to tire…

She considered Walker carefully for a moment and decided the worst that could possibly happen if she asked was she’d look foolish. And after the events of the last few days, mere foolishness held no fear for her.

“Nature, Walker? Or gene-line?”

She felt equal parts satisfaction and dismay as Walker gave her a complicated look. Understanding, pride, and a little sorrow…but no surprise, strangely. Very much like what he was—a teacher of difficult truths, satisfied by his student’s progress.

“When did you figure it out?”

She shrugged. “I read half the school library,” she reminded him. “It’s all there in the history books. The twins line up with the wartime accounts perfectly; they even have dark hair and steel-blue eyes…they’re Knights, aren’t they?”

He nodded, and she felt a small touch of pride and vindication…but still. It wasn’t a suspicion she’d particularly wanted to have confirmed.

Walker sighed. “Yes. They’re Knights. In fact, the McKays are the most strongly conforming Knights DANI’s ever personally observed. Primed, too.”

“We all are, aren’t we?” It was a statement more than a question.

“Yes. Before we open that particular can of worms, Amber, let’s jump ahead in the plot. Look at Roy over there.”

Amber looked and saw Roy (quite against her advice) standing up and talking animatedly with his new friends from the militia, though he was at least keeping his weight off his bad leg.

“He’s going to need you, Amber. Once he gets settled in to convalesce, he’ll have time to brood. I don’t think I need to tell you, neither of the McKay twins are terribly good at quiet contemplation. And he’s going to have a lot on his mind.”

“He killed a man.”

“Yes. And I guess I’ll be briefing you three shortly about gene-lines and stuff. About everything, in fact. We’re past the point of well-meaning secrets now. That’s a lot to hit him with all at once, and it also means he’ll be pondering his Activation, especially in light of having a militia to lead now.”

“Lead them?”

“He’s also already their de-facto leader. Look.”

Amber glanced over at the small mob surrounding Roy as he told them a story. She couldn’t make out his words, and seeing as he was at least a good head shorter than any of them, she could barely see his face. Nevertheless, Walker’s point was impossible to miss.

They were enthralled by him.

“Already? But he’s only fifteen! They’re all like three or four years older than him!”

“Yes. But look at him, Amber. He’s the shortest of the bunch, yet he out-masses them all. He is without any serious question the greatest athlete on Dandelion, and superior to any of these men even with their recent Activations. Smarter, too. He’s handsome and charismatic. They all know who he is from militia training, because he’s out-competed, upstaged, and literally beaten the snot out of every one of them. And despite all of that, they’re friends already! See? Look at them, Amber. Look closely.”

She did. Walker’s point was unavoidable. It wasn’t simply enthrallment. It was…respect, awe, fear, friendship…many things at once. These were men who would do anything for Roy, and now that Walker had pointed it out, Amber wondered at how she hadn’t seen it so clearly before.

“How can Roy possibly bond with them that quickly? Even with militia training…”

“A few reasons,” Walker summed up. “Militia training can be extremely hard, even for the advanced student. All of them here, Roy included, have made it all the way through the hardest indoctrination and training on offer. They know he’s got the right stuff because they’ve seen him use it firsthand.”

“That’s not all, though.”

“No. They also know what he actually is, even if he doesn’t know himself just yet. He’s been blooded, and these militia fellows just watched him take on a sword-wielding alien and prevail without using a sword of his own to do it. That’s no small thing. But the biggest, well…Roy was raised and made to do this. You all were.”

Amber understood with a sinking feeling in her heart what he meant by that.

“You’ve known what we were going to become essentially since we were born.”

Again, it wasn’t a question.

“Yes. Everyone in my troop is very strongly conforming, and manifestations as potent as yours need special attention if you’re to navigate that minefield successfully. Nikki in particular. Female Knights have historically had a rough time of it.”

Amber nodded. “What about…Floyd?”

“Mentat.”

“Arianna, too?”

“Yes. Danish and Doug are Brute strain, like all the militiamen who just landed. Marie and Kelly are Adept-strain, Rose is a Reader like me, Tony and Steve are Nomad-strain…”

It wasn’t just Walker’s troop, Amber intuited.

“What about…Kyle Findale?”

Walker was expecting that leap of understanding. He didn’t even blink.

“Knight, I think. Very atypical though, as he’s quite tall.”

“My parents?”

“Both Apostle. So is Amida.”

“And that makes me an Apostle, too.”

“Yes.”

“Walker, is there anybody who isn’t some strain or another?”

He shook his head. “Not here, nor on Earth. But that sad tale is for later, Amber. Right now we have more pressing matters. We have a bunch of unruly young Brutes who have combat-grade nanite swarms rebuilding their bodies and brains into their new roles. In a few days they’re going to need solid leadership they’ll intrinsically respect. That’ll need to come from Roy. And Roy, in turn…he needs your help. If he decides to Activate—and let’s be frank, he will, in light of all this—the next month or so is going to be difficult for him.”

“The next few years are going to be difficult,” Amber pointed out. “They were always going to be.”

He smiled, again with that touch of sadness. “You’re right. They are. But Roy and Nikki, I think, will thrive once they hit their stride.”

“Because of what they are.”

He paused and didn’t directly answer that at first. “Roy won’t be much of a problem. He’s too fundamentally optimistic to do otherwise. Nikki…will take a while. She’s got depths to her, even if she doesn’t know them very well.”

“Yes,” Amber said flatly. “I saw some of those depths last night. She’s a killer, Walker. A cold killer.”

“I know. Here’s the bit you probably didn’t catch. Look at Roy again.”

Amber did as he suggested. Roy had sat down again at least and was massaging his leg as though he could knead the wound out of his flesh. He was laughing and joking and smiling with the new militia, but Amber could see an edge that wasn’t usually there. Roy was generally so bouncy and loud and unapologetically optimistic that only somebody who really knew him could see the difference…but to Amber’s eyes, he was fidgeting restlessly, and there was a kind of manic note that told her what was really going on in his head.

“So is he,” she said softly.

“And he’s discovering that about himself as we speak.” Walker leaned forward, and when Amber looked back at him, his gaze was level, and warm, and earnest. “Want to know how to deal with that?”

Amber nodded mutely.

“They’re still good people. Both of them. They’re still your friends—no. They’re still your siblings. And they need you just as much as you need them. Look at them again and tell me: what do you feel, knowing what you know about them now?”

Amber looked back. The McKay twins were sitting next to each other now, Nikki leaning on her brother’s shoulder and resting her hand lightly on his back.

“I’m concerned for them,” she decided.

Walker put his hand on her shoulder in turn. “So. You still love them.”

“Of course I do!”

He smiled. “That’s how you deal with it.”

“I think I should go rescue them,” Amber decided.

Walker nodded. “Yeah. The briefing and everything can wait for tomorrow. Besides, I want one of those hot showers Nikki’s so proud of. We’ll have the difficult conversation in the morning after a day to process and relax.”

Amber nodded, gave him a smile, and went to retrieve the twins from the militia’s clutches. Some few minutes later they finally found some solitude in the spot above the falls where Nikki’s sitting-log rested across the stream. Roy, it seemed, was simply determined to limp and climb and put himself through agony no matter what, so…Amber didn’t comment. Besides, his leg could endure some pain for the sake of his peace of mind.

The three of them sat in silence for a while. Nikki was first to speak.

“We scared you earlier,” she said, “didn’t we?”

Amber looked up at her. “You killed people,” she said. “You both did.”

The twins both nodded, and Roy tossed a scrap of bark into the water. Amber watched carefully, took in all the little details of their postures, expressions, the exact way they didn’t look at her…

No remorse, she realized. Neither of them felt the slightest shred of guilt over the lives they’d taken. Instead, they were afraid of her and what she would think of them, whether she’d be so freaked out that she’d run away from them. Afraid of losing a friendship that was at the very core of them.

Amber didn’t know what to say to put that fear to rest. Even mentioning it seemed like a bad idea for the moment…so she didn’t. She just sat with them, close and warm between them, and let the moment play out in the rustle of wind through the shimmerleaf canopy, the tickle and bubble of the stream below them, the rush of the waterfall, and the distant sounds of the troop working and playing.

Roy eventually broke the silence. “I don’t like that I’m so good at it.”

Nikki nodded. “I feel like I should have felt…something. You know? I should have felt bad. Instead it was just, like…a job well done. No more than that.”

“Wish I’d felt nothing,” Roy replied.

Nikki frowned at him. “What did you feel?” she asked.

“It felt a lot like, uh, when I win a bout or somethin’. Except way stronger.”

“You liked it,” Amber summarized softly.

He looked away. “Yeah.”

“You’re thinking ahead, too.”

Roy gave her a wan look. “I sorta get the impression I’m gonna learn a lot of stuff about a lot of things pretty soon, and I ain’t gonna like a lot of it.”

Amber could only nod. She doubted the twins had figured out the whole alt-human business, but they were both intelligent in ways she sometimes underestimated. Maybe they had. Either way, he was right.

“Do you want to know what I feel?” she asked. She echoed his wan expression when they looked at her. “I picked a side,” she said.

She slid her hands along their arms until their fingers enmeshed. “And because I picked a side, you two learned something about yourselves none of us were ready for. I’m…part of me wants to apologize. It’s my fault…but I’m not going to. I still think I chose the right side.”

Nikki squeezed her fingers so hard it hurt, but she found her smile from somewhere. It wasn’t the brilliant thing Amber wanted to see again, but at least it was real.

“For what it’s worth? I think you chose the right side, too,” she said.

Amber returned the same smile and hugged her, which Nikki of course returned with interest, and threw in a kiss on top of her head for good measure.

“Just…try not to get my dumbass brother stabbed next time, please?”

“Hey!” Roy objected.

“I can’t promise anything if he keeps getting into sword duels,” Amber replied.

“I didn’t want to have a swordfight! I’d be happy not to have another!”

Amber turned and gave him the hug he was due. “It was still very brave,” she said.

“You really think so? ‘Cuz I think it was kinda stupid, honestly…”

“It was both.”

None of them said anything for a long while; they simply enjoyed being close to each other. It was Roy who eventually broke the silence, after again trying to massage the soreness out of his thigh.

“So. Still can’t go home, huh?”

“‘Fraid not,” Amber confirmed.

“Just checking.”

“Would you if you could?” Amber asked.

The twins looked at each other. She felt rather than saw the brief war of emotions that flickered through them both. The longing for their much-loved parents, the hankering for the simpler life they’d had aboard ship, the conflicted feelings they both had about what staying down here and picking a side among feuding aliens would surely mean for both of them…

…And the resolve.

“No,” they chorused.

Amber allowed herself a small sigh, put her arms around them both, and hugged.

“Good,” she said. “Because I couldn’t do this without you.”