Oh, it’s been getting so hardLiving with the things you do to me
Hate.
The emotion I've been suppressing. Every day, sometimes every moment, I'm trying not to let it boil over. It grasps and tears at the surface of my being. A votile thing that ignites below my stomach and burns at the back of my throat. It scalds my soul and my identity is scorched by its presence. Intense hate and simmering anger are not ‘feminine’ emotions. This is supposed to be the caustic fire of masculinity that I chose to reject.
But still, I hate.
The realization that my hate might be acted upon has broken me. Years of repressing disdain are taking their toll. It’s like a toxic shock to my system, a burning effect channeled through my veins, finally released. It hurts to hold back, and it hurts even more to let it loose.
Hate. Hate. Hate.
I hate that peace is not an option. Violence is the most lucrative business, and it is only for the fortunate and the cruel. Power is consolidated into economies that are built on death and destruction. We may not resist, lest our status quo crumble into uncertainty. Even then, resisting is to consign yourself to death or subjugation. Life is meaningless to the bottom line, and empathy is weakness in the cruel gaze of capital. Our greatest advantages, cooperation and community, are nothing when there is blood to be bartered for the power to harvest more blood. Every drop spilled fills the ocean inside me.
A whole ocean of hate.
I hate that I have to see the failures and atrocities of the world and know that we could be doing something about it. We should be doing something about it. So many societal ills are eminently solvable, but not unless they can fit into the bargains for money or power. Hunger. Disease. Poverty. Homelessness. All signs of a world that has failed to move forward. Technology did not save us, as we had been told, it only imprisoned us further. My culture lied to its children when it promised them that things will get better. Things got worse.
I look at the Earth, as it is now, and I see so much wasted potential. People are wasted on their roles in society. They are wasted in destitution while the wealthy and their revenant processions repeat the same old mantras. They say that without capital, without incentives, without disparity and hierarchies to fight against, we will supposedly nguish. Their lies are so egregious and they so clearly benefit in every way. I hate them.
I hate them so much and I cannot express this feeling.
It is impotent. It is useless. Acting on any facet of it is unacceptable. An inferno that must be bottled up and kept inside. I hold it like a bde that I cannot ever wield. It sits within me, a beautiful and terrible heirloom on the mantle of my heart. Reflexively honed into the sharpest hatred. Ready to cut the world asunder but never to be used. To be seen baring your teeth against the hegemony is to risk being brutally and violently brought to heel.
Inside me, there is a violence, waiting for its day in the light.
and now
now,
I'm scaring Cascade.
They’re so deeply hurt by their past, and while it doesn't affect them too often, it sits within them in an uncomfortable way that I can feel. There were other good reasons for them to be on this mission, but I know the most significant reason was for them to get away. By coming here, Cascade can be away from their society and still contribute to it. They're immortal, so they move towards a more interesting future, and take the opportunity to get away from home for several centuries. Time for them to heal, before they have to live with other corda again.
Somehow, Cas is fond of me. It is strange and I think I feel the same. I don't really know what that means in this situation. It might just be how the link works. Maybe it’s normal to be very close with your neural symbiote.
I guess you'd have to be, right?
Okay.
I think I'm calming down now. They're scared because they care about me. I want to be calm and tell them that I’m alright so we can enjoy dinner and the rest of the week. Then, Saturday night, we go to fucking space, and my life gets even more insane. One step at a time, though.
I reach out to them, Cas, I'm alright now. Sorry for freaking out. Sometimes, Earth is a difficult pce to live.
Cascade has been comforting me with tendrils on my shoulders and one rubbing my head while doing a sort of soothing mental hum. It's a nice feeling. It's okay, Lay. We all have things that upset us. I'm gd you felt like you could open up to me.
I set my head against their mantle and we shift into a more comfortable position on the couch. We spend several minutes rexing together while I regute myself.
After a bit, I start to probe them about the refit, and we wordlessly show each other some of the happenings of our respective weeks so far. I can’t help but ugh when we realize the book is still on the skyhook. They really were gonna bring it back, they swear. And they did!
Dinner is nice, when we finally get to it. The sushi, from a local pce, is fresh and tasty. I get a funny reaction from Cas when I take a generous bite of Wasabi - for the bit. Having deemed alcohol to be no significant risk, I wind down with a beer and consider our pns. They agree that beer is an acquired taste, though, and coast through on my own enjoyment. I'd say “more for me” but that's not actually how it works in this situation.
Our pns for the rest of the week are pretty simple, but, all night, I avoid thinking about Katrina's meddling plot to socialize me. I've come to an unfortunate realization in the st day or so. I think there is no way that I am going to get out of this ‘first contact party’ on Friday.
It's a perfect storm.
I'm proven right at lunch break the next day. Thursday morning and afternoon are fairly uneventful while we get a few groceries and ride the bus in. Cas's presence doesn't really affect these things, outside of providing me amusement. Their wonder at humans and our society is kind of invigorating, in a way. They can’t see a lot themself, being stuffed in a backpack, but they enjoy my perspective nonetheless. It’s nice to see it all during the day, they cim, I haven’t actually seen many humans since arriving.
The first half of the workday goes pretty well. I show Cascade the ins and outs of forklift controls, and they experience the mind numbing monotony of human employment. Repacking snacks gets boring very quickly, though they find the warehouse and its equipment interesting enough. We at least get to connect and converse in the meantime, mostly about Tolkien. I’m feeling better than I have in a while, honestly, and I end up engaging in the banter amongst my coworkers more than usual. A couple of folks even comment on it, but I attribute it to my upcoming leave. I’m excited to get out of town for a while, I say, and then have to hold back giggles at Cas’s comment. Not just out of town, out of this world.
At the lunch table it's just Tree and I again, if you don’t count the secret alien addition. Tree knows exactly what she wants today, and jumps right into it once we both sit down with our food. “So. Lay.” She smiles, and I can't help but think of it as devious. As if she knows the impossible predicament, “You’re not leaving till Sunday morning, right?”
I've reached a point of acceptance, honestly, “Yeah, that’s right. Just getting my stuff ready on Saturday, otherwise.”
Tree asks, earnestly, “Why don’t you come to that first contact party with me, then? I’ll even get your cover, and buy drinks, as a going-away treat!”
Cas is ecstatic. They immediately see through my subterfuge, but ignore it. Lay, that sounds awesome! We should go- I want to see what human gatherings are like.
I can’t help but ugh. Tree gives me a confused look while I hold my forehead in my hand, elbow propped on the table. She even tries to console me, confused and accommodating, “What? Are you alright? You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to, Lay.”
My backpack buddy is less confused. Cascade knows I don’t want to deny them the experience, and I do actually want to try going out more. Also, getting a sense for how a bunch of random humans are doing is a useful, if anecdotal, point of data.
Still chuckling, I give Tree the reply she wants, “No, Tree, it’s not that. I gotta figure out all the details, but I’ll come out.”
The gleeful noise she makes is loud enough to silence the rest of the lunchroom and draw some stares.
---
Another day’s worth of preparations done, and we’re ready to make our announcement. This time, we’ve put some more effort into marketing. Every single Earth communications system we can access and exploit gets the message. Telescopes, streaming ptforms, every radio broadcast we can hijack. A push notification, for most, promptly expining where the broadcast is easily avaible. It goes live an hour ter.
It’s 9:00 PM on Thursday night in New York. Showtime.
“Hello, humans of Earth. We are Joiner, envoy for the Corda. We have traveled from another gaxy to meet you. Earth is the first intelligent life we have found in a millennium of searching, and we come in peace. We hope to unite the only intelligent civilizations we know of, as allies or better.
Unfortunately, we see there is little peace to be found upon your pnet. Your greatest nations inflict cruelty and injustice on a global scale. You commit atrocities against each other with regurity, and it is considered the cost of doing business.
For your sake, we are asking you to stop. Recognize the suffering of your fellows and help them. It pains us to see your people, our only known neighbors in the universe, suffer so greatly at each other's hands.
We want you to stop your worldwide militarization. Stop creating more weapons that make your world a more dangerous pce. Stop providing them to others to commit atrocities. We are hesitant to nd on a world in such peril and such conflict.
There will be consequences - if you do not begin to heed our words within the next 48 hours, we will intervene directly. We hate to see you hurt each other like this, and we want to help.
Please.
We will be in touch.
Thank you.”
---
“...that was threatening, guys,” Ed says, breaking the silence.
“Yeah, what the fuck?” Matt asks, “Do they want us to have no weapons so they can invade or something?”
We’re sitting in the break room, having finished cleaning up the warehouse for the day. When the notifications came through, Lay’s superiors decided to close up, and anyone who felt like staying could do so to see the broadcast. About half of the staff did, including us.
Tree speaks up, “Hey, I mean, they said they were coming in peace! I don’t know if they meant it to sound like… that. You’d think they’d be more fuckin specific!”
Lay’s propping up her head with her arms, elbows on the table. She’s trying to seem like she’s not that interested. I can feel her worrying, though.
Another guy, Justin, says, “The aliens are worried. I was right.”
It gives the whole table pause, and Lay recognizes the point. She silently shows me the context from the other day. Kind of freaked me out when he said it, actually.
Then, she says, “I think you’re right, Justin. There’s a lot going wrong on Earth. They said they’d been looking for a millennium.” She shifts her tone, sarcastically adding, “Imagine the disappointment.”
“Hey, when they started looking we were still in the medieval era,” Ed replies, “we’ve come a long way since then.”
She rebukes, “They’ve probably come a long way too, dude.”
“Who cares about the distance?” Matt interrupts, raising his voice, “they want us to y down arms and die!”
To me, his point is a harsh interpretation. Lay agrees, “Matt, if they wanted to attack us, why would they go through the entire ordeal of staging an over-the-top first contact. They're not going to go to all that trouble and then just vaporize the white house Independence Day style. If they wanted to, it would probably be better to just do it like the movie.”
“Okay, L, but what if they're not Independence Day level aliens? What do you think ‘direct intervention' means?”
“Ha!” She chuckles, “they said they'd been looking for life for a millennium - a thousand years, right? They'd probably have the technology to just nuke us from orbit at least. I think if that was their pn, they would have just done it already.”
“I do hope you're right, but I seriously doubt it. Who says ‘we come in peace, y down your arms’ without some big ulterior motive?”
“No,” Justin speaks up again, “no! They said what their motive is, Matt. They don't like that we spend a ton of time killing each other. Like they said - why come down to earth with all the wars we still have?”
Ed seems convinced while Matt shrugs. Lay gnces at her phone, a little chagrined at another 15 minutes before her bus comes. Thankfully, Tree comes to our rescue. Seemingly bored with the conversation, she starts to stand up, “time will tell, you guys. I'm gonna go home. Lay, you want a ride?”
Relieved to have a good off ramp, she nods and gets up. We figured staying to wait for the bus would be fine - I'd been secretly recording the other couple of conversations in the lunchroom to see how people are reacting. We don’t need to stay longer, though. The general consensus seemed to be ‘worried but excited’, or maybe ‘excited but worried’.
Happy enough to move on early, Lay chats with Tree about their coworkers on our way out of the warehouse. She remembers a problem as we cross the parking lot. Oh shit, it's kind of weird to just wear a backpack in the passenger's seat.
Informed by some of her own sense, I realize most humans would take a backpack off and maybe set it on the floor. That could give our game away. I could unlink and leave you a bit disoriented during the ride? I'll be fine if you sit on me, too.
We don't think of a better solution before we get to the vehicle. Lay acquiesces, I'm pretty sure Tree will notice if we unlink. I'm just going to have to sit on you and pretend this is normal.
The girls get into the car, with Lay trying not to completely crush me. She buckles up and sits as casually as she can. There's some common cause for Corda to slip into strange pces on host animals, so I'm fine, if a bit squished.
Tree gives her a look, “You need the backpack that bad, huh?”
Lay smiles nervously, “It’s an emotional support backpack!”
I tell her, I’m here for you, and she coughs, failing to hide a ugh.
The shorter woman ughs along as she starts the vehicle, “Whatever, you weirdo. You need a ride to the club tomorrow, too?”
Cas, don’t fuck with me while I’m talking!
“Uh, yeah, probably. I'll let you know if I don't.”
The rest of the ride, they chat about pns for the upcoming night out. I try to make Lay ugh a few more times, but she doesn’t crack.
Back at the apartment, we have some quick leftovers. Not the greatest meal, but it doesn't always have to be. We’re pnning to do coordination testing tonight. First, Lay digs around in her closet, cursing her disorganization. Eventually she pulls out a couple of items and, after a brief inspection, puts them in the wash, saying, Gotta have my outfit ready and clean.
The first test we do is to see how well she can use my tentacles. I suggested that she try to draw something with my senses and limbs, so we’re sitting backwards at her desk. Later, she is going to have me try pying a game, but now, she's trying to get used to my adaptive optics.
“This is just strange,” she wonders aloud, gingerly lifting a pencil with a tendril, “could you always adjust your visible wavelengths like this?”
I help her a little, adjusting my eyes closer to a human's, Not this way. We could always adjust, but I have modifications to let me see more at once.
She tries to find an appropriate way to hold the utensil. So Corda are born colorblind or something?
Not exactly, I try flexing and moving around her fingers in the meantime, we can sort of adjust our vision to match our camoufge.
That’s a bit distracting. She tries drawing a few lines, seemingly displeased with the results. A few minutes ter, she's drawn a crude hooded figure with tentacles instead of a face. The lines are a bit unsteady and Lay seems dissatisfied with the results. Not exactly adapted to writing, are you?
Well, no, not really. What is that supposed to be, anyway?
Lay shrugs, I don’t know, I kind of thought it’d look cool. I ponder it for a minute while she tries to sketch a few other small things. She eventually draws a side profile of the same figure, reaching down with both hand and tendril towards a reflective pool of liquid. I think I’m getting the hang of it.
It’s pretty good compared to the first sketch, and half as well done as the portrait she was drawing over the weekend. It looks like it! Do you want to keep trying?
Seemingly having a thought, she replies, No, I think we’ll have plenty of time on the trip. I gotta remember to bring a few ballpoints, actually. Also, I have to ask - we’ll probably get offered weed and alcohol tomorrow night, do you want me to try and take it easy, or maybe turn down the weed?
It’s a fair question. I do recall having a bit of an “indirect high” the night we met. I guess I’m not against it. The weed affects me for sure.
She hesitates a bit, then asks, We could do a trial run tonight. Test how it affects us.
It’s probably a good idea. Probably. Yeah, sure. Let’s smoke.
---
The generic arm fades in, abruptly waking us. I sp my phone with one of Cas’s tendrils. We’re both dehydrated from smoking st night, and I’ve got a headache. I definitely didn’t drink enough water. Fuck.
While I sit up, Cas rubs their mantle. Okay, that wasn’t that bad, but we should have drank more water.
Chuckling, I grab my water bottle only to find it frustratingly cking in contents. I hope you’re ready for the hangover we’ll have tomorrow.
Ugh, vastness take me. I’m less excited about the party now.
Despite the dehydration, we have a rexing enough morning getting ready for the day ahead. I’d agreed with Tree to just go straight to the club from work, so I packed up my outfit in a goth-y chibi character backpack that I got on a whim st year. I agreed to let Cascade modify it a little, so we could use it as a cndestine fashion statement at the club. I’m still a little sad to see the cut in it, and I wish I had a sewing machine to put a seam on the hole. Oh well, my sewing skills are pretty rusty anyway.
The bus trip to work is fairly cosy. It’s a bit more overcast, and the climate in the bus isn’t too bad. There’s less people than usual, and I figure a number of pces might have just called the day off, given the news. Not happening at my stupid warehouse job, though.
I ask Cas, Are you gd this is your st time coming in with me?
Half asleep, they reply, I hate to say it, but yes. Not a fan of your societal habits on this front.
Late st night, high and pying a rom hack of Super Mario World, we had a conversation about human working conditions. I gave my opinion that many jobs, including mine, exist because it is cheaper to hire people to do the dirty work than to efficiently solve the problem. Dumb time wasting positions exist everywhere, at least in American society, and there are a lot of jobs that exist rgely so someone can have them. Of course, I also expined that we’re expected to work as much as we can.
Cas found my expnation of the Protestant ethic to be frustrating. So a bunch of you decided that work itself is a virtue? That's not very forward thinking. We rgely agree on this front. Many people’s value systems hold the idea of ‘virtuous bor’ in high esteem. Another personal point of resentment, because they don’t have a good idea of working in moderation.
Given st night's progress on coordination, I let Cascade take over a few times at work on the forklift. It’s not exactly a hard vehicle to drive, but the certification exists for a reason. Mistakes could be disastrous, though I’m not really worried since I’m able to take back control at any moment. I try to stay focused just in case.
Lunch is quiet. A fair number of people called off for the day, and we’re running slow for it. Tree found herself busy with extra tasks and took her lunch at a slightly different time, with only a little overp, so I’m eating my cup noodles in retive peace.
Feeling antagonistic, I ask, You know, if you’re worried about the hangover we could still call off tonight. Tree will understand if I say I’m just not feeling well.
Cas makes me kick myself in response, Lay you know I’m not going to be dissuaded by a hangover. I think you should work on fixing your under-socialization, too.
They’re right and I kind of hate it. For the st few years, I’ve been terminally lonely. It’s rgely been my own choice to stay home and waste away. A habit that started with dysphoria and ended with a sad lonely girl who just goes to work and goes home.
The day goes by quickly, and before I know it I’m in the office bathroom, changing my outfit and doing my makeup. I don't do anything too fancy for my face - just the basic eyes, lips, foundation. My eyeliner wings are a bit messy because I don't wear makeup as often as I'd like, but the forest green lipstick came out nice and clean.
The outfit is a silky green peplum top with bck detail tucked into a green tartan pleated skirt, over bck leggings with bck canvas shoes. On a hunch I figured there'd be a “green alien” theme at the club, so I’m having some fun with color coordinating. I put some safety pins on the backpack so it doesn't move too unnaturally when I dance.
Stepping out of the bathroom, Tree gives me a wolf whistle. “Girl, you look good! Very nice.”
I can't help smiling and blushing as she steps past me into the restroom to change. I set the less fashionable of my two backpacks down and sit while I wait for her to come back out. Cas tells me, That girl seems to like you very much.
My blush intensifies as I try to reject the notion. Tree is just friendly and flirty, Cas. I realize, far too te, that they didn't mean anything romantic. Corda don't even have romance in the same way, so it's pure projection on my part.
I get a strong feeling of doubt from them for several seconds, and we silently move on from the subject.
An awkward few minutes ter, Tree pops back out looking gorgeous. She’s wearing a silvery button up blouse with short jean shorts, her legs covered with starfield patterned tights and sharp bck boots. Her makeup is cssic but done well.
I push myself to say what’s on my mind, “Oh, wow, Tree. You look great!”
She gives me a very genuine smile back, “Thank you, Lay.”
As she leads us back out to the parking lot, I can’t help but reiterate to myself that there’s no way Tree is into me. She’s not in my league, and I’m nowhere near what she deserves.
Lay, are you being mean to yourself again?
No! My backpack buddy has started noticing when I'm self deprecating, somehow. Cascade doesn't like it, something about bad thoughts being infectious.
A bit of small talk ter, and we're in Tree’s car. Taking a moment to really appreciate the absurdity of my backpack situation, she chuckles. “You've got more than one now.”
I give her a dumb smile, “I just need a lot of emotional support.”
She ughs pretty hard at that. I think I can feel Cas mentally groaning. Mission accomplished?
Father Fred’s is a local dive bar and music venue that hosts all sorts of odd little events. It’s jammed in at the edge of town, on the threshold of a few busy residential blocks. From outside, it’s a retively nondescript building with high windows, grey pster walls, and stairs down to a single unassuming door under a canopy. Inside, they've got a sound system setup for the bands and DJs that py here regurly. It's not a particurly big pce, but it does the job. Tables, pool tables, a bar, and a dance floor, all ready for whatever thing happens to be going on during any given night.
It's been a few years, but I've actually had some friends py shows here. While it’s a little seedy, it’s basically the closest thing my little city has to a real club. People are dressed up to varying levels, and there’s a couple of blowup aliens and UFO decorations put up for the event, as well as an edm dj pying music. Lights from the dancefloor bleed across the one big room that makes up the pce. They're mostly washed out when they reach the bar, which has its own lighting.
Drinks are on Tree tonight, thankfully. She has a vodka tonic, I have an old fashioned. Cas wanted to try some cocktails, despite my warnings that we'll get sloshed faster. Oh well, I'm not compining. We're on the highway to party city, and we'll get there even faster with the edible that she slipped me on the drive over.
Speaking of Cas, they're absolutely fascinated with the environment. There's a bit of dark mesh on the cutesy backpack that they can see through, and they're very excited to be here. They're a bit overwhelmed by all the people and noise, but I am as well.
Tree and I grab a small table and chill with our drinks while trying to have a conversation through the noise. “It’s nice to see people out here trying to enjoy themselves,” Tree says, “I was worried people would be freaking out.”
“Hey, we all gotta enjoy ourselves somehow, right?” I take a sip, thinking, “Also, it’s not like this has really affected anyone’s daily life. At least not yet.”
“Not yet, huh.” Tree looks around the room, “I mean, we’re partying about it!”
“Yeah, but you know what I mean. Nothing’s really changed from this.”“Sure, but what about those consequences?”
Before I finish assembling a response, we’re interrupted by a visitor. A slight, dark-skinned woman dashes up to our table, cd in a very cute, very revealing bck dress with fishnets and ptform combat boots. Her makeup is incredible.
“Kat!” she squeals, hugging Tree, “you made it!”
The girl, introduced as Betty, is a ‘club friend’ of Tree’s. They mostly hang out here, at random dance shows. I’m introduced as a friend from work, and Betty stays around long enough to down an energy drink, then participates in some small talk before going out to the dancefloor. A few minutes ter, having finished our drinks, Tree convinces me to go out and dance, too. I’m nervous, and I try to tell her I’m not a good dancer. The arguments don’t really nd for either of us, let alone Cas, who is thoroughly convinced I should try it.
I try to dance like it’s the end of the world.
---
As much as Lay still feels a bit off, she’s doing a lot better tonight. She can at least immerse herself in the music, enjoying the sound and moving to the rhythms. Dancing is incredible, actually, it’s like using the body as an instrument of self expression in an environment that's as much social as it is, somehow, private. I think I might be loquacious from the alcohol.
It’s really fun!
It’s honestly a big relief to see her feeling so much better, even if it does feel like she's being a bit nihilistic. When I got back, she was in flux between terror and rage, and I couldn't help but empathize with the reaction. I felt simirly when Arbiter and I disconnected. Scared of an uncertain future that feels impossibly unsafe, and angry at the circumstances and people that caused this to happen. For Lay, though, it’s like a background noise she’s been trying to drown out all the time.
I want her to have some quiet, and, somehow, a pounding dancefloor is close enough.
In confidence, Joiner expined our short term pn for her as an ‘asset’, which is a pretty impersonal way to look at it. She’s isoted, even though Tree seems to be a pretty good friend, maybe more. Something happened with her family, but she rarely thinks about it, and I’m hesitant to ask. Our species’ social structures aren’t exactly the same, but I’ve come to understand the function of family pretty quickly by way of human media. Corda tend to function in less atomised units.
The pn is to offer myself and Joiner as accessories to those needs she's missing, as well as providing some security. Her job isn’t actively perilous, but it does have hazards. We’re effectively going to hire her as a human consultant to our scouting operation. She doesn’t know it yet, but the amount Joiner is transferring is a good order of magnitude more than her current rent. Enough to st her a year, if not more.
Here on the dancefloor, Lay keeps thinking about dancing with Tree, but she won’t just ask or do it. It’d probably be crossing a line to take over and make her, sadly. I don't want to push her too much, given how much we've already upended her life. It's difficult for me to understand. Corda usually work out uncertain feelings via link, and that's not really an option for humans.
Also, romance is a weird concept for me. The idea of pairing for life with a partner isn’t that uncommon for corda, but human romance is more fraught than that. They idealize and agonize over it in ways that we don’t. I think it might be due to our reproductive differences. Corda y and fertilize eggs, and we don’t really have phenotypes like humans. We’re ‘asexual’, I think that’s the word. Sexual reproduction isn’t a foreign concept, but we don’t really need a partner in that way.
After a vigorous round of dancing, the two girls eventually agree to step outside to cool off. It's getting warm in the increasingly crowded basement, and the cool air is a welcome relief to Lay - and myself, by proxy. A few other people are out here, either for the same reason or to smoke.
It's been enjoyable just to watch people and listen in on conversations. I can enjoy the night secondhand.
Lay and Tree are compining about their boss, Owen. Something about being a ‘small business tyrant’, whatever that means. I kind of know, actually, but there’s a whole contextual thing that makes it a bit hard to comprehend in full. He’s a jerk.
It’s a nice night, though, and I'm gd we came out.
---
Back inside, with another drink in me, I'm dancing and having fun. The DJ switched over, and the new one is really dropping some fire. It's to my taste, at least, with some early 10s cssics interspersed with all sorts of good tracks from the years that followed. Right now, a Knife Party track is bsting, and a quick look around shows I'm not the only one enjoying it.
I look up at the stage, where the turntables are set up, trying to remember the new DJ's name. ‘Kay toss’, I think someone said?
Oh.
On stage, running the decks, is my ex from high school, Caitlin. She's had more time to perfect her fashion sense, but she's still drawing an elegant line between old school emo and modern raver. Her hair, dyed bright red, softly bounces as she half dances, concentrating on the set she's pying. She’s clearly having as good a time as anyone on the floor. It's like she's barely changed, just matured, and she looks fabulous. Ugh.
Of course I like the music she's pying, too. We used to listen to this sort of stuff together. Cssic dubstep and hardcore edm. It was something we bonded over, and here she is, DJing like she had always said she wanted.
Lay? Cas notices that I've both stopped dancing for the moment and that I'm unsettled by the realization. Tree catches my eye and looks concerned for a moment before I fsh her a smile and start up again.
Oh well, right? Cait might not even recognize me anymore. Sorry I realized I know the DJ. It's probably fine as long as I don't have to talk to her.
Cas perks up at the prospect, Oh? You know the red woman pying the music?
Yeah, um… we used to date.
While Cascade tries to contempte the implications of that, I try to enjoy the music and atmosphere. Zone out to the beat and all. It works for a bit.
A couple songs ter, Tree signals that she's using the bathroom, and I stay on the floor. Shortly, the music slows, and briefly quiets to a familiar, atmospheric sound. I hardly have time to think about it before three low bass stabs come in, and a pitched-up voice comes through the speakers.
“We were young, and outta control.”
Oh no.
Having fully stopped dancing, I look up at the stage, where Cait is standing at the deck. She has her eyes closed, and she looks serene for a moment, as the intro to our old favorite pys.
Fuck.
What's wrong? Cas asks as I tear up and start to panic. I can't be here. I don't want to make a scene of myself. I look around for a way out, frantic, and my gaze meets Cait's. We stare as I watch her face cycle emotions. First concerned interest, then a moment of recognition. She starts giving worried looks between me and the turntable in front of her, unsure what to do. I flee through the crowd, back outside the bar, and hurry around the corner into an empty alley, colpsing against the wall.
Fuck!
Lay I’m here, wh-
Cascade is trying to coax something out of me, but I’m gone. I’m back in high school, trying to impress a girl, and be someone I’m not. Looking at my own reflection every day and seeing nothing, feeling like I’m not even there. The light in my eyes is absent, and despite my best attempts to let Cait fill the hole in me, I’m an empty shell of a person. Unable to be properly intimate. Something unknowable tells me that I’m shameful and terrible and ugly.
Lay, please
I snapped at her a few times. Moments of intense anger and jealousy that were held back by how much I treasured my time with her. When I failed to hold back and scared her, the reflection of my anger broke me into pieces. I stopped functioning properly. I couldn’t even cry if I wanted to, for nearly a decade. I lived my school days wracked with guilt for every time I lost control. All of my emotions locked away except the most toxic ones. Some days I felt like a bomb, waiting to explode.
Lay, you’re broadcasting
I didn’t feel real. Like I wasn’t even living my life, just watching it. I-
Cascade interrupts me with a tendril on my shoulder. They shouldn’t, because they might be seen, but they’ve slipped a finger out of the backpack to hold me. To offer comfort and care. Lay. You’re not the person you were, and that wasn’t the defining period of your life. Even if it somehow was, you still have a long life ahead of you to put those days in the past.
Uncrossing my arms, I reach up and hold their finger in my hand. I try to wipe up my tears, but my eye makeup is definitely ruined. I’ll have to redo it if I don’t want people to know I’m a mess. Thanks, Cas, I wasn’t really ready for that. I didn’t know that Cait’s DJing nowadays. I didn’t even know she was in town. I think I’m alright.
Cas is still uncomfortable and worried, Are you sure? I’ve been pushing you, and trying to get you to do things you’ve been avoiding, and we’re doing them for my benefit. I’m worried that I might hurt you, or make you hurt yourself.
They’re missing a part of the picture. Cas, these are things I’ve wanted to try and do for a while. If anything, you're encouraging me to start doing things outside of work again. Hell, without you I probably would have gone a few more months just going through the motions. It's not your fault.
They seem to understand, despite being hesitant to accept it. I double down, I mean it, Cas. I might occasionally snap back into feeling disconnected and dysphoric, but that was going to happen with or without you. I used to live as an empty mask for the person I really am. Sometimes, I get scared and sm the mask back on, even though I know it hurts. It's reflexive, and your presence is more helpful than anything else, okay?
They squeeze my hand, and I squeeze back. Okay.
We sit in the alley for a few more minutes, relishing the physical contact and the moment of peace. Eventually, Tree walks up from the corner on the other end, looking worried. As soon as we notice her, Cascade pulls back into the bag.
Tree calls, “Hey, there you are! You okay? Someone said you ran out into the alley and I walked around the building looking for you.”
I sigh, then give her a weary smile, “Yeah, I just saw my ex and broke down, hah.”
Walking up, Tree leans against the wall on the other side, “Oh no, Lay! Are you alright? Do you wanna go home?”
“No, Tree, it’s fine. It was just unexpected, and she pyed, uh, ‘our’ song, not even realizing I'm here. She saw me run out, though.”
“Wait, the DJ is your ex? The girl, C8os?”
“Yeah, uh, back in high school. Before I transitioned, actually.”
“Oh, shit! How did she recognize you?”
“I don’t look that different, Tree. She knows I transitioned, and there’s not a lot of girls as tall as I am.”
I reach up, and Tree offers a hand, helping me stand up, and pulling me into a hug, “Girl, I’m sorry this shit’s happening. Breakup feelings suck.” She pulls back and looks at me, still worried, “Were you at least having fun?”
I ugh, a little hollow, “Yeah, I was having fun until the moment she put that song on. I pn to have more fun, but, well, be honest, how bad is my makeup?”
“You definitely look like you’ve been crying.”
Laughing for real now, I reply, “Well I’m ready to have more fun, after I fix my makeup so I don’t look like a disaster.”
It’s midday by the time the tiniest bits of our consciousness, crumpled and wrinkled from the night before, start to function. We both feel sore and defted. I managed to avoid interacting with Cait for the rest of the night, through another drink and three more stints on the dance floor. I had plenty of fun, though.
Honestly, I think Cas was just enjoying the ride. They might have been a little overstimuted? I’m still grateful for their company. I chuckle, mumbling to myself that ‘they’re here for me’. My emotional support backpack. I manage to grab and drink some water with my eyes closed. Cas is hardly awake yet, but I have to pee. By the time I’m done, they’re lucid enough for us to give up the idea of going back to bed, and make breakfast instead.
We spend the day getting things ready for the trip. I’ve packed a duffle bag with a couple weeks of clothing and a few essentials. I’m also bringing my backpack with more snacks and things to do, like a ptop and a hard drive full of movies.
It’s gonna be a long flight.
First, though. We have to survive the skyhook. I’m under the impression that it’s not a slow or rexing journey to orbit.
Just like the times Cas has used it, we go up to the roof to board. The pod arrives, now big enough that it could probably fit two humans. It’s not roomy at all, maybe the size of a roller coaster cart. I sit down and buckle up while Cas settles into a nook behind my shoulders. The doors shut quietly.
It’s dark inside, with a low green light illuminating enough detail for me to see, and I can feel the stabilizing mechanism vibrate, lightly. I feel it start to move upward, accelerating mildly as it slowly rotates backwards. The real start of the ride hits when it has me facing the sky in my seat.
It pushes down harder and harder, and if the interface chip tells me right, it peaks around [5g]. I close my eyes and clench my teeth. The whole time I can hear the air pounding against the pod as it rises. The pressure builds on my ears.
Then, I’m relieved from the pressure. Seconds ter, it starts to get quiet. Over the next few moments I realize I’m weightless, though there’s little space to try it out. I start to feel nauseous, but Cascade does something uncomfortable with the link, and it fades. We shouldn’t do that too often, they tell me.
After what must be more than a minute, I feel the pod slowing down, then eventually coming to a sudden but smooth stop. I hear a soft thud, then the hissing sound of the outside room re-pressurizing. The hatch on the pod quietly slides open to an almost plush looking hangar bay.
With the exception of the doors, which are sealed tight, the whole hangar is covered in soft materials and small, cloth like loops. There are a few lockers, control panels, and hatches on two ends, with a third hatch in front of the pod doors. After a moment unhooking myself from the seat, I find myself floating in the small area in front of the pod.
I’m not nearly coordinated in this environment yet, and Cas takes the lead. Positioning us with their tendrils, occasionally having to take over a hand or foot, we manage to grab the duffle bag and backpack and get to a hatch. Thankfully, it operates automatically, opening to a corridor with maintenance hatches on either side. It’s simirly outfitted to the hangar, and I’m not really worried about bumping my head on anything.
As we traverse the sixty foot stretch, I start to realize just how big this ship is when I see a skyhook spool through a hatch window. It’s at least a hundred feet wide, and when I look to the other side, I see the second one, just as rge. They’re on either end of the corridor, and this appears to be the central access. We pass through quicker than I expected, Cas is fairly adept at navigating the environment.
Through the hatch on the other side, we come into the command and quarters area. The entryway is in a small chamber, just about big enough for me to fit comfortably, with a viewing window on the other side. We’re rotating, and the Earth comes into view as I take in the room.
I try to think of words to describe the view and I can’t help but feel like they’ve all been said. Lights dot the dark side as I watch it slowly rotate.
It’s beautiful.
---
Sunday morning on the east coast.
The Americans are still going ahead with their “aid package” as they love to call it. A freighter is on the way at this moment. It won’t even make it to the Mediterranean.
We called the US president st night. It took time, but we negotiated with his underlings for a proper channel. After politely asking that he hold off on the shipment, he ughed at us, still convinced that we’re activist hackers. We asked that he consider the potential consequences and he asked if we were threatening him personally. The conversation didn’t really go anywhere useful, and he eventually had to go handle some other matter of the state. We apologized to him that it would come to this, though he didn’t seem convinced. The conversation wasn’t broadcast, but we retained a recording, for ter use.
We don’t want to do this. Casualties may be impossible to avoid, and we think they know that. The freighter is overstaffed. They probably want casualties if we can actually deliver, so they can say, ‘Look how awful our enemies are! Look how they kill us!’
The payload begins to drop out of geosynchronous orbit. Several branches do the calcutions over again, double checking all the avaible data. Survey drones have the ship located, and it will only be a couple minutes before it hits. It should inflict unsustainable damage and sink the ship. It shouldn’t ignite the munitions in the freighter, but there’s no guarantee.
Lay and Cascade are on the orbital ferry, which is just starting its route to the scout cruiser. They’re safe, or at least safe enough. Lay has had some discussion with us about the inevitable casualties. We all wish it was not this way. Something has to be done, though.
We’re starting with military targets. Threatening the endless propagation of war on Earth, and slowing down the production and distribution of military goods. If we have to hit manufacturing directly, then we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.
What a fun phrase. A cute expression for dealing with the problem when it comes, rather than worrying about it now, combined with another expression about permanently breaking connections. The result is a rhetorical certainty that the problem will be handled poorly. We certainly hope not, but one may have to burn the old bridge down to build a new one.
Less than a minute now. 60 men on board. There's no escort, but they should be okay after a rescue that will certainly come. They’re not far off the shore yet. We can’t help if some poor soul is in the colteral zone, though. Can’t help if someone is in the wrong pce at the wrong time. We can’t know where every crew member is.
We’ve seen tests for this sort of weaponry. We’ve done the math for its approximate effect. The velocity of the projectile is enough that it hits like lightning. From a distance one would see the destruction well before the sound comes.
The moment of impact passes.
Scanners show us that it's a direct hit. It could take hours before we know the real result, but we know their ship can't possibly stay afloat. Munitions and materiel alike sink into the Atntic.
In the wake, Earth turns its eyes to the heavens.
