“Hysteria all around me. Class A shuttles outbound, Class B’s. No class in the chaos, ma’am.” Sweat formed on Illian’s forehead. He was eighteen and fresh to intergalactic summons. And oh, did it show.

A shimmering female alien failed to keep face at Illian’s testimony. She and her fellow tribunal sat atop white-glossed pillar podiums well above the pit where the boy stood. This courtroom speared upwards as an iridescent spire glassed in translucent ivory hiding wire frame branches. Above the council hung effigies to sacred idols; within them, Illian could feel something watch. Today, they would decide whether or not this vessel is worthy of being called Messenger. Few have proven so successful, and Illian with his scraggily slacks and helmet-pressed hair lacked that christened sheen. But he knew what he saw, what he heard. He was in tune with Gaia.

A natural glow emitted outside of the Rayvine’s hull, perfectly placed as to showcase the nebulous theatrics of System B-3: Purple Haze. Those who attended this, a final test for a boy who’s gone so far, weighed down curious speculation upon him; jury with an abundance of peers. They couldn’t have asked for better lighting.

It reflected from a clear layer fitted over this alien’s entire body. Illian could swear it was beaming directly in his eye. He had to squint.

Silent delegates observed from the court’s outer-most rafters. Their bodies collaged strangely, shadowed to where the boy could only vaguely guess at what they were. Despite his years outside of human sect space, their kind were still strangers. All the questions in the world from a hundred orifices, a hundred appendages. And no one had anything to say. But her, the most alien. The most skeptical. The most … testing. “Continue.” She granted Illian—in English tongue—the Gods’ permission with a hand raised, seemingly speared on their behalf.

Illian’s mind cried, Shit.

Maiorians have that way, that passive aggressive nod of their shiny, amphibious layers tensing to judge. Unlike humans, you can make out the muscles that flexed and ebbed to speak. Illian had heard their kind are terrible liars spoiled with trust no other bipedal possessed this side of the Terminoux galaxy arms. She showed no signs of budging.

She expected nothing less, nothing more than the essentials from first contact, and how it came to be.

It was then that Illian realized how much he longed to do the talking. He swallowed, wandered his gaze down to cold chrome floor panels, raking his feet back to an able-bodied authority. His lips dried before giving his recount.

- 3179 -

“The lithosphere cracked with dozens of comets. If you would allow it, Madame Quella. I felt. Scared.”

“Rummaging across decimated city sectors while the sky’s clouds parted near central Wyoming. I remember running. Sprinting when the first wave of comets hit to save my own skin. But we all knew.

“The Evac units. The looters.

“Me.

“Our time here had come to an end … For a second, the whole world began to fall apart … Split to reveal caverns that we’d never get to explore.”

“But then?” Madame Quella appeared to take great pleasure in hijacking Illian’s recollection. Her muck-yellow bulbs directed, sprang with life like she was there beside the Messenger hopeful.

“But then … She appeared,” Illian said. “Gaia.”

“She erupted from Her shell as to spare our souls. Then two more of Her sprouted not too far from the impact craters. She was beautiful in all iterations.”

“Do you recall what She looked like, Illian? Were you taken by Her power?” The boy took Quella’s name basis as a good sign. His suppressed tone flared up on a dime, emboldened in stone like taking control of his new duties early.

He was almost there! The touch of their ash-grey leather Messenger coats was within reach. His young complexion lined with giddy as more memories swelled his brain. “Crafted by the soil, Her body constructed to life, twined with root veins and perfect rock layers.

“There, a shimmering, rejuvenating wind took on Her movements as she and Her other selves braced the barrage from an impossible amount of angles.

“On Her backs, She. Gaia, had caught every last remaining comet and spared us from complete annihilation. “It was a miracle.”

Go for it! Illian turned up to catch Madame Quella in the eye, embracing the glow.

Madame Quella’s fin-like frills—row of three, from the base of the neck—began to rise. Voices arose among a critical silence, spurred viscously by alien murmuring in the rafters.

“tri-La qu’vik-”

“mo-No. Elavici!”

“Some damage sustained, but nothing we couldn’t rebuild in time. One more chance to, y’know. Conquer the stars!”

The words escaped Illian’s lips and the crowd hushed, more so fizzled out.

- - -

Quella sighed, life fading. Illian’s face aged white and winced when he saw several eyes more critical than ever start to dissect him. Others gawked at him like they hadn’t thought the same thing reaching out of their systems before. Illian could recall when planet Boros still belonged to Earth and still had its own money, its own soul beyond Commonwealth 02461.

Yet, here we are.

Still, the top-most delegates made their dissatisfaction known. All Illian could see were their coats. The Messengers, he mouthed regretfully. “Of course,” Quella said finally.

He nearly spat, “No, Madame. I didn’t mean it like that or anything-“

“Did She talk to you in that moment?” He had lost her good will. “I must know.”

Stupid! Now, she’ll never grant me Messenger.

He gathered his response from the pit. There was no way he was going away without his coat. “Well …” as he took his breath back from the crowd. “She told me to come. Here.”

- 3179 -

“At first, She was piercing nails on a chalkboard. My young ears could barely stand it.”

Quella’s gaze tempered expectations, but those twitches, temple ousting her true feelings.

She could be teetered yet.

“But as I collected myself, allowed to face up to Her in the wake of everything.”

An audience was now abate around Illian’s display.

“I realized that she was leading me somewhere! Gaia had. Become my. C-compass.” He slipped on his words. Dammit.

- - -

A stillness loomed over the floor, stirring up worry in Illian’s heart. Maybe he was trying to sell this too hard-

“Tripe!” a gruff, bottomless voice erupted. Soon, he swaggered forward to claim his insult with four tired eye slits. Illian now inspected this primate-like lifeform from the pit. Despite himself, Illian got caught rookie-eyeing this Dyre and they made sure to take advantage. “Orak’s high court is a place of evaluation and execution, not a place for your play audition!”

Rumors painted their kind as steadfast know-it-alls. Unlike any other body the stars had to offer, the Dyre are seemingly born great. Illian had only heard talk of their existence as it was impossible to acquire any photo evidence outside of accredited databases. Apparently, Dyre are only born parallel to cosmic cataclysms: two stars destined to collide through years of approximated star charts. The Dyre are born to be great.

Illian wasn’t impressed; he’d need another first impression.

The Dyre then shot his red eyes fiercely to invade the boy at his weakest points, as if he could smell Illian’s doubt. Decrepit in his old age, the Dyre’s powder-greyed fur was hidden only by christened black vestments. He brandished a timeless bite nonetheless. He snarled some, taking hold of his podium with all four of his arms, ready to rebuke further.

But, to Illian’s surprise, their tirade was cut off with adamant, webbed hands that belonged to Madame Quella. “I believe we have the information we need, Zabal,” she said simply.

“I can only hope so,” he surrendered. Zabal, this elder seat of their tribunal, retracted; they now bit what could only be assumed to be a single tongue and kept quiet.

Not exactly the rescue Illian was hoping for. Concerned, he avoided all their eyes, concentrated on patches of shadow left untouched by the glow so he could duck away a while longer. Really though, he had come too far to hide now. Too many sacrifices, not enough results.

“Illian Jones.” Quella beckoned him forward.

He stepped forward, stared up to Quella with nothing to lose.

She turned to acknowledge her fellow judges. Zabal to her right. A Havyrn to her left that’d rather go unnamed, telling by his insistence to leave his uni-translator deactivated with leathery wings splayed. It was ready to leave. Their bill picked down in something like a scowl.

Quella boomed, “It is with great honor that we bestow upon you the rank of Messenger, and all that title entails.” She, the humble Maiorian, spoke for both of her colleagues who nodded with silent gazes.

Illian’s expression now glowed, baptized by angels. He sighed with a smile which spoke on his behalf. Like a slideshow, his entire journey here flashed by when applause swept over the crowd. The applause died when the Maiorian took a breath.

“You will begin your training one parxun from now.” Quella allowed herself a giggle, molting her perfection casually. “Forgive me—that is to say one Earth week in your colloquial terms, Illian. In that time, the council wishes that you prepare for what lies ahead.”