The Dawncaller

The building shook again with the impact of their heavy artillery.  I close my eyes, and try to imagine I'm somewhere else.

"The night's not really darkest before the dawn, you know."

I open one eye to look at Marshall Abrix. She was leaning against the wall, next to a boarded up window.

"Uh huh." I reply, disinterested. Temporal solar dynamics were not on the forefront of my to-give-a-shit list. The building thundered and shook again.

"Ridiculous." She waved a hand. "Sunlight streaming through the upper atmosphere from the star just out of view of the horizon, bouncing down and illuminating everything..." She trails off as we were rocked by another shell.

"Right. How dare the creators of an idiom fail to check the scientific basis for their inspirational saying." I roll my eyes. The lights flicker and go out.

"Literally the least they could do." She mumbled from the darkness.

With the power out, the only light came from a gap in the window barricade. The occasional flash of their artillery firing, followed a few seconds later by a resounding thud and plaster drifting down from the ceiling onto my head. I sigh.

"Go for Abrix." The Marshall opens her comms. "Copy. Situation report follows..." She keeps talking, but I've stopped listening. The building shakes again.

My hand fumbles around in my gear. I pull out a picture. It lights up as I gaze at it, spreading a warm aura around me. It's a photograph of my sister and her husband. I haven't seen them since they made their run for the city. I hope they made it.

I haven't gotten a call, so I don't hope too hard.

But the picture will always be here, so that's something. I tell myself. I wonder if they took a picture of me with them.

I don't think they did.

Hm.

"Now when the sun is completely on the other side of the planet, that's when it's darkest." Marshall Abrix is back to the wall again. I can just see her outline in the glow of my picture. I don't engage. "Especially if there's no moon."

I shrug and let my head rest against the wall behind me. The Marshall and I have been trapped here for hours. We broke from the main group of refugees to the city to try and draw enemy fire away. I think it worked, because we're going to die in an old ass building and not of old age. Oh well.

Communication has been spotty, but I think I heard that the group we were escorting made it. Big damn heroes we are.

I look at the picture again. Sorry Sis.

"Hey Rook." The Marshall calls to me as she pulls a piece of the barricade on the window down. I start to protest, but a thought registers. The building isn't shaking. There hasn't been a shell in almost a full minute. Odd.

There's a two foot hole to look through now, and there's nothing to see. Darkness. No flash of artillery fire in the horizon, no small arms going off. Nothing. Just... darkness.

I put the picture away. I don't want to be the only bright thing on the horizon.

"You'll like this Rook." The Marshall tells me, and points to an invisible spot on the horizon. It's pitch black, but I don't want to ask what I'm looking for. "What time is it?" She asks.

I check my watch.

"Uhh... zero one thirty... ish. Ma'am." I respond, confused.

"Good. Coordinates confirmed." Marshall speaks into her comm again. I don't turn away from the window. What am I looking for?

And then I see it. The blooming red rose on the horizon, billowing up from the artillery position we'd been assailed by all night. A booming, blossoming light bright as the sun rolling down the ridge line, and bathing the whole place in a dazzling yellow. A new dawn.

And then I hear it, the sound of low-atmo jumpjets screaming overhead. The cavalry came. A smile cracks my lips.

Maybe I'll get my sister that picture after all.

"I will concede, Rook..." The Marshall pats me on the shoulder. "That in certain, metaphorical situations..." She waves out the window "That the night can be darkest just before the dawn."

We smile at each other, relieved.

"Sometimes. Now, grab your kit. We've got a long hike still, those jump-jets aren't giving us a lift."

I sling my pack over my shoulder with renewed vigor.

I slip my photo into my breast pocket, and set off into the burning night once more with Marshall Abrix, the Dawncaller.

Tap Tap Tap

"Uhhh... captain? I... Can I... Your help please? Can I get your help here please?" Came the call over the radio. Wehyland's voice, and the intercom listed it as coming from the ventral airlock.

"Roger, I'm on my way." The captain clicked off her radio, and started moving weightlessly through the ship.  Some sections had artificial gravity, but not all. Decisions had to be made on the first long-distance crewed space mission. And gravity isn't always cheap.

It didn't take long for her to make it to the airlock.

"What is it Wehyland?" She asked before she rounded the corner. When she did, she saw his face white as a sheet. Staring out the small viewing port. He turned to look at her, and swallowed.

She tilted her head, and floated over. That's when she heard it. the faint tap. Tap. Tap.

Rhythmic, quiet. She furrowed her brow. Wehyland didn't speak, just floated slowly back, to let her look in the airlock.

She moved up, and stared inside.

There was a spacesuit in the airlock. And someone inside, banging on the thick airlock door with soft, suited fists. Tap. Tap. Tap.

She could see the face in the helmet. It was screaming. Begging to be let in.

She looked to Wehyland. He was terrified. She looked back into the airlock, and felt the cold rush of fear fill her veins.

The man in the spacesuit was crying now, as he pounded on the door.

The man in the spacesuit, was Wehyland.

To Dream

It's fun to dream.

Sometimes I dream that the sunlight that passes through the filtered glass on the ship, that washes over me in the mandated  light-exposure sessions is flowing over me in a beautiful meadow. That I'm laying in the grass in some secluded glen, while the sun passes behind dappling clouds, warming my skin and gracing me with a pure relaxation unlike anything I've ever felt.

But eventually I remember that I've never seen a meadow, or even grass. That my parents never saw a plant, and neither will my children. That in this dark space, between systems, the sol chamber is the closest we will ever come to that dream.

Some days it is enough. Some days it is a great sadness.

Some days I curse my ancestors who inflicted this life on me with their decision, and wish I could go back in time and tell them that any life is better than this sterile wasteland between the stars. No matter what they left behind, it can't be worse than this monotonous existence of artificial nothingness.

Some days I imagine what worlds my children's children's children will walk upon, the first humans to set foot on new worlds outside our home star. I dream what wonders they will see for the first time, and how the sunlight of that distant star will feel on their skin. Something I will never know.

But it is fun to dream.

Tiikeri Station

"Have you ever been to Tiikeri station?" the pilot asked his passenger.

"No, it's my first time." He replied quietly. The entire trip through hyperspace the man had said hardly anything. Didn't even read a book. Just stared out the window at the shifting blue-black fields.

"Ahh, lucky. It's gorgeous there. The nebula spreads out around it, enveloping the station in shimmering arms of glittering black and orange." The pilot's eyes traveled wistfully back in time to his memory of the station. "And in the centre, Tiikeri station. A silver spire, floating in the middle of the most beautiful cloud of space dust you've ever seen. It's a treat."

"Hm." The passenger commented.

"Inside is pretty garbage, sure. But it's a hell of a sight, your first time."

"Hm."

Silence reigned for a time. The instrument panel lit up, alerting the pilot of the little interstellar shuttle that it was almost time to drop back into normal space. He shifted his weight, and sat up straight.

"Hope you're ready fella. Because here... we..." He reached up and began to pull back on the hyperspace throttle, sliding them back into realspace. "Go!"

The shifting patterns of blue slid back away from their view, and were replaced by a glittering round nebula of orange and black, in the centre of which lay a long, thin silver testament to mankind's domination of space.

"May I present Tiikeri Station..." The pilot spoke regally, gesturing ornately with a wave of his hand, "The Eye of the Tiger." He smiled, and let his eyes drink in the beauty of the scene once more, as though it was the first time he was seeing it.

There was silence from his passenger for some time. At last, he shifted in his chair slightly, and nodded his head.

"Hm."

The Space Is Still There

Wednesday morning, 3am.

I roll over, and look out the window.

The stars are still there. This is good.

I roll back.

The empty space is still there. This is no good.

I reach out into the space, try and fill it with myself. It is not the same.

Nothing is the same.

I pull the pillow down to fill the space. It is not the same.

But it is... similar. The pillow still holds her scent. Perhaps it will be enough.

I hold the pillow close to myself, feel it grow warm with my touch.

It is not the same.

Her smile plays across the surface of my mind, dancing through my thoughts like she would.

I kick at the pillow, pushing it out of the bed. I roll over in a huff, eyes shut tight.

When they open, she is gone from my mind.

But so are the stars.

This is no good. No good. No.

Good Morning

I'm in the observation capsule when my watch beeps out the six am alert. I lazily move my hand over to silence the device while I float.

There's nothing to observe, of course. Just the stars. The same stars that were there yesterday, and the day before, and all hundred and eighty six previous days of the journey. There hasn't been a single visible phenomenon since the day we left. And no-one was in the observation capsule to watch our world shrink then, that's for sure.

Some of the people on the ship find it unsettling. The inky nothing. The idea that we're travelling at unimaginable speeds but seem to be standing still.

I find it peaceful.

I twist in the air, rolling to look out another window.  Different stars. Sirius twinkles happily at me. Hi Sirius.

I don't come here every day, but I try. Today will be busy, full of struggle and conflict and hard work. But not yet. Now it's just barely morning, and I can float and watch the stars not go by.

A hand snakes its way into mine, and gives it a gentle squeeze. The warmth is nice. I look down and see Diego.

"Sorry Claire. Battery 33 is developing a sputter." I smile at him, and nod. We slide towards the ladder and I feel gravity start to pull at me again.

Good morning stars. I'll see you tomorrow.

Avenue Daimyo

I'm breathing in the chemicals, the rotten mechanical effluence of the world around me. Lucky I won't live long enough to get cancer.

Wait, what?

"Hoooooeeeeeeh! That was a good one!  Right in the ten ring." My vision starts to clear, and I hone in on the voice yelling at me.  It's Squeaker, grinning ear to ear. It looks terrifying with the huge scar that cuts down across his face. He offers me a hand up.

"Ow." Is all I manage to reply.

"Yeah yeah, boo hoo. Trust me, you want this life you'll have worse. Heehee!" He reaches down a hand to pull me up, which I happily accept. My chest feels like it's on fire.  "So tell me, kiddo... how many rounds did I fire?"

I look at Squeaker stupidly.  What?

"What?"

"How. Many. Rounds."

I feel at my chest. There's three holes in the kevlar, diagonal from the bottom left. He must have raked up and jeez I almost got shot in the head! This guy's insane!

"Uhhh... three?"

"EEEEEHHHHH. Wrong. And now you're dead." He pokes me hard in the forehead with his fingers, which almost knocks me over. "Seven rounds, full auto burst. How many are left in the mag?"

Uhhh... shit.

"Four.... teen?" I guess wildly.

"Oooh, ladies and gentlemen thank you and goodnight! Now you've put the rest of your team in bodybags, kiddo.  Thirty-three left in the box. H&K MP5, you can tell by the click at the trigger pull. Were you even listening?"

My ears are still ringing from the impact, but to be honest... no I wasn't.

"Of course I was listening.. just... not used to the gun. I'll get it."

"You better... hehehe..." Squeaker puts his arm around my shoulders and squeezes me. It hurts like hell. "Everyone knows being a Street Samurai is about being fast. That's why they're all chromed up the wazoo kid. New hands, new feet, new arms. Faster, faster, faster. But, if you 'aint got it up here," he pokes me in the temple hard, "Then it doesn't matter how fast you are down here." And he pats me on the chest. I almost collapse. "SO! We train. Get that grey matter worth something, hehe, make it valuable to a team. Make you some moolay." He releases me and steps away.

I stand up straight, try not to show how much pain I'm in. I'll live. I'll pass. I'll be the best. If I survive.

"So what else have we got here..." He shouts while rummaging through a pile of guns. I pry my hand under the armour, feeling my chest. Yep, definitely cracked at least one rib. "Oooh this'll be good. Hehehe... Alright, what did we learn?"

"Uhh... listen?  Count the shots?" I venture, pulling my hand out to check for blood. Oh good, at least all of that's still inside me.

"That's right! Step one done already, you are a quick learner." He says as he levels some new gun at me. I step back in shock, and throw up my hands.

"Shouldn't I be wearing a new vest for this?"

"Probably. Hehehehe!" He cackles as he fires exactly thirteen rounds.

Green Is Good

My lover's got problems.  She's screaming at me, and I'm having a hard time trying to care.

My eyes glass over while I stare at her pretty face.  She's real mad this time.  Not like last time. Not like the time before. So many problems. So much struggle.

I can't hear what she's saying. No, that's not right. I can hear it. I just... don't care. Why don't I care? I should care. I count on her for so much. For... everything. She's my whole world. I should care.

I have to care.

I force myself to care. I shut my eyes, and let the sound into my mind.  I know that voice.  I know those words.  They mean something.

Why is it so hard to think?

Who cares. Just... It's not... Who... what's the point?  There will always be more problems. Let go.

No. We care. We're caring now. THINK.

I open my eyes. They hurt, and the brightness of her beautiful face isn't helping. So much light. All red. Oh boy she's real mad. What is it. Focus.

Ox... oxy... Oxygen. I hear it. She's screaming at me about the oxygen system. Life support critical. Route additional power. Duh.

I shake my head slowly, and the whole console smears in my vision. That's what it is. Oxygen starvation. Hah. Duh.

I reach up, and flip the aux power routing switch on the big, beautiful face of my ship console, and she quiets down.  Oxygen starts flowing back into the cabin, and she stops whistling the oxygen warning at me. The console moves back from red to yellow, settling once more in green. Good.

Green is good.

Thanks babe. You're the best.

The Belemorn

Humanity's trek across the stars has been an amazing adventure.  In the last few hundred years, we have gone places, and seen things our ancestors could not have even conceived of.  The fernships of Feremolius, the Lightmoon, She That Speaks in the Silence...

But put aside the wonders of technology and the mysteries of the galaxy. The thing that has always amazed me, the thing that has always filled me with wonder, are the people we've encountered. The multitudinous orders of life we've discovered, and in most cases, befriended. The utter differences in the types of life we've met yet we've still, somehow, found common ground. It makes me proud, to know that humanity has been able to put aside differences and grudges to create a better galaxy.

Take, for example, my friend here across the table. A Belemorn. No eyes, no mouth, no discernible orifices of any kind. They're basically giant, floating jellyfish with space cruisers. They communicate mostly by complex tenticular motions beyond the comprehension of humans, but when they have to speak with us they vibrate their outer membrane to create sounds. It's a beautiful system, and shows how hard everyone has worked, on both sides, to create a peaceful galaxy.

That said, this son of a bitch is taking me to the cleaners today because I can't read his goddamn non-existent pokerface.  No-faced, floating little bastard.

Not So Bad A Thing

It is not so bad a thing, the flames. The pain is great, but not unimaginable.  And better to face the pain of the fire than the pain of loss, of losing her.

Does that make me a coward? To force her to take the harder path, to live without one's heart for the rest of her days, while I get to pass through the veil seeing her face through the shimmering heat?

Perhaps. The decision is long since made now.

I cannot feel the heat anymore.  Or rather, I have chosen not to feel it, I suppose.  My mind can take only so much. Thank you, mind.  The world crawls past at a glacial rate while I burn, unfeeling.

There is the disengage console.  I key in the compartment vent sequence ponderously with shrinking fingers.  The heat is replaced by dragging thunder, and I am blown out into space. The Dark Man wraps his fingers around mine, and then around the rest of me, and I have done it for her.

It is not so bad a thing.

The Word of the Void

In the inky blackness of space, there are more things than you'd expect.  Don't get me wrong, there's a whole lotta nothing.  More nothing than the average human mind is capable of comprehending, for sure. But... inside that nothing... there's more than you'd think.

I'm not talking about neutrinos, or extrasolar radiation, or particles or whatever. Obviously they exist, and permeate the black. But still... you can travel a fair distance without seeing one of them.

No, the thing you have to watch out for is the nothing. Inside the nothing. Inside you. Being surrounded by that much darkness...mankind wasn't meant for that. We're creatures of the light, social things.

Dipping a mind into the black for so long, so deeply... there's a reaction. A chemical reaction. The mind corrodes, and the Word of the Void slips inside the cracks and lodges in the dangerous places in the brain. And once that happens... there is no going back.  No ammount of light, no ammount of love will knock it loose. The Darkness is inside you, and you are Darkness. You are the Nothing.  And you will heed its words.

There's a reason children are scared of the dark, and in the space between systems, you can see it.

Hunter/Hunted

     Andrew sat motionless in the tree he had chosen, watching the huge bird thrash about in the snare he had placed six hours ago.  It was only a matter of time now. Thank god, his legs thought angrily.  The creature continued to thrash. It wasn’t giving up without a fight, but Andrew knew it was pointless.  The snare had cinched tight around its throat, so even if it snapped the line keeping the trap in place the thing would die before long.  Part of him wanted to climb down and put the bird out of its misery with his knife, but he wasn’t going to take any chances.  Not here. 

     It didn’t help that the bird was almost five feet long, and he was pretty sure the things beak would tear through his ribcage like tissue paper.  Not to mention the claws. So he waited.  His eyes scanned the shore, checking to see if anything was noticing the commotion, anything looking to steal his kill.  So far the thrashing bird hadn’t attracted any undue attention.  He was glad the thing couldn’t squawk. The scavengers here were fierce and outclassed him in pretty much every respect save intelligence.  When the bastards figure out how to make traps he would be well and truly doomed, he thought.

     The bird looked like a sort of cross between a giant heron and a penguin, if he had to guess.  It was flopping on its side now, passing out.  Andrew started climbing out of the tree, his legs shooting pins and needles angrily into his brain.  By the time he reached the bird the only thing twitching was the tiny excuse for a wing sticking out of its side, no bigger than a baby’s hand.  The creature was pitiable, reclined in unconsciousness before him, unlucky enough to have been caught in his trap.  Andrew knelt before it, and paused.  He ran a hand gingerly along its head, down its neck and back, tenderly.  He whispered something to the creature.

     Then he plunged his knife into its neck, severing its spine and killing it instantly. 

     He breathed deeply, wiping his face with the back of his knife hand.  He scanned the area quickly as he sliced through the snare, freeing the corpse of the bird.  Still nothing coming. 

     He grunted as he hefted the creature onto his shoulders, the damn thing must weigh a hundred and fifty pounds.  His legs were even less pleased with him now.  The others would be ecstatic when they saw it he knew, but Andrew would just be happy to see a bed again.  He’d been hunting for three days now, and he had yet to discover a comfortable tree. He began trudging his way back to camp.

Imagining the faces of the group all lit up with joy, sitting around the fire eating until they get too full to move, laughing and relaxed... Andrew was lost in the daydream he’d conjured to forget about the mile hike back to camp carrying a giant dead bird.  Suddenly he froze in his tracks.

     It was the smell.  An unforgettable, piercing aroma.  The reek of death and decay mixed with power and fear.  He knelt close to the ground, and let the bird slide off his back silently onto the forest floor.  Please don’t let it be them. His hand slipped the knife out of its sheath, and he gripped it tight as he knelt.  He tried to make himself as small as possible, as slowly as possible. They were close.  Too close.  He should have been more careful.  Please let it be something else.

     His mind was racing. He was kneeling in the middle of a small clearing, no tree to hide behind, no bush to slide under.  Just the foot-high underbrush to provide cover, and not much at that.  Just him, his head and torso completely exposed, and the bird.  Not a bad meal. 

     His eyes slowly scanned the area around him, trying to be as still as possible.  He watched the undergrowth sway in the light breeze, and he tried to match it gingerly.  Anything to not stand out.  Then he saw them. 

     They could be damned quiet when they wanted to be.  They walked toe-first, slowly rolling their immense weight backwards on their foot.  It was slow, but it was quiet.  He guessed they were headed to the lake for a drink and a snack.  Something on the edge of the water was about to have a really, really bad day.

     Andrew hoped it wasn’t going to be him. 

     There were three, an adult and two juveniles about the same size.  Andrew stopped breathing.  Partly to hide, partly to avoid the smell.  Black gunk dripped from the mouth of one of the juveniles.  He didn’t want to think about what that would do to you if that got into you.

     They were passing close to him now, as close as they would get if they were headed for the lake.  They were just on the other side of the small trees in front of him, no more than three metres ahead.  His knuckles were white on the knife, not that it would do him any good if they noticed him.  The big one passed beyond him, then the first juvenile.  The second stopped.

     So did Andrew’s heart.

     It put its foot down, and turned its head to face the tiny clearing Andrew was in.  It sniffed quietly.  It sniffed again. 

     There was a low, quiet rumble from the adult.  Andrew didn’t dare turn his head to see how far it had gone in the eternity since it passed.  The juvenile sniffed again, impudently, but moved on. 

     Andrew closed his eyes, and breathed again.  He could wait a few minutes, and then get on the move again.

     He turned to watch the T-rex family slide through the forest.  He hated them.  He hated them so, so much.

The Waiting Game

The beast was running hot, hotter than she normally ran.  Everything had gone to hell in a hand basket, and Shaunessey was stuck sitting in an overheated mech waiting to die. 

Shaunessey hated waiting. 

Computer said it would be another thirty seconds to operational.  The heatsinks were white hot out the window, desperately trying to soak up the overload from the last strike.  The cannons were beautiful, big, devastating, and hot.  Too damn hot.  Shaunessey wiped the sweat out of her eyes and hit the override button again.

“System Error.” said a pleasant voice while blocky text flashed the same message across the canopy.  Shaunessey slammed her hands down on the non-operational controls, furious.  She checked the time remaining. 

27 seconds.

Outside she could see her doom crouched in the tropical early morning light.  The rising sun glinted off the canopy, a nearly blinding little star that seared its way into Shaunessey’s scowling eyes.  She was a light mech, a scout.  Had almost gone out in one shot, and would be strewn all across the beach right this second if Shaunessey’s piece-of-shit, played out, ancient goddamn mech hadn’t overheated in this ridiculous tropical weather. 

Well, and because she’d been riding the jumpjets ever since she booked it out of Korio.  And because she’d fired all her weapons simultaneously in an attempt to cream this prick all at once.

And possibly because she’d removed a heat sink to fit one last extra teensy weensy little cannon on her mech. 

But screw that, she was going to blame the weather.  Stupid, muggy, soup-air weather.

Twenty seconds. 

She could see the auto repair finishing up on the pissant little scout.  Any second now it was going to power up and blow her to smithereens while she could do nothing but watch.  Son of a bitch was probably laughing in his cockpit. 

Jerk.

She reached up and switched off the audio warning.  For some reason it had become an unintelligible suh-suh-suh-suh repeated over and over again.  Awesome.  Last thing I’m going to hear before I die is my mech having a nervous breakdown.  Fantastic. 

No, that’s not true.  The last thing I’ll hear is the short range missile exploding on the canopy, shattering my pretty face with hot metal and glass. Sigh.

Twelve seconds.

Shaunessey put her fist under her chin, and rested her elbow on the side of the cockpit.  This was practically boring now.  Just a matter of time. 

She wished the little shit would just get it over with.  She let her eyes play over the control panel for the thousandth time, and was surprised to see her hand absent mindedly mashing the Heat Override button over and over again, a half dozen times per second. 

Well that’s good.  At least the audio isn’t broken, she thought.

Sigh.

Eight seconds.  The scouts exterior lights came on.  The hydraulics started to pop. This was it.  Shaunessey wiped an ocean of sweat off her face, and wished she could have died somewhere less tropical.  She had to crane her neck around the new words flashing on the canopy to see the little scout prick that was about to murder her. 

Suddenly she realized what the canopy said, and she flicked the audio back on.

“Override Engaged.  Have a nice day.”

Huh.

Shaunnesy gripped the throttle and stick, grinned, and thought hell... I just might.

Kingdom of the Void

The sound of silence wrapped itself around me like a calm storm,  taking away the horror of the situation while amplifying it.

The roaring rush was gone. The deafening explosive thunder had subsided, and I was left to drift in the pristine stillness while my saliva boiled away. The freezing cold on my face was punctuated by the growing heat on my back.  I stared languidly at the ship, as it pulled itself infinitely thin and vanished, silently.

I close my eyes, that I might be blind as well as deaf to my fate. And so I embrace the dark king, who's terrible kingdom is the infinite.

Please Specify

“She's a spaceship, not a rabid dog. She won't bite. Just go ahead and tell her what you want, kiddo.” He shouted back from the cockpit. The ship wasn't very big, just big enough for a single corridor stretching from the cockpit in the front to the galley in the back, with a door on either side.

“But...” How do you ask a spaceship to make you something that you don't know how to make yourself? “I... Okay...”

Felix had been alone for four months, trapped planetside. He hadn't always been alone. At the beginning, there were resources, and tools, and... family. But that seems so long ago. Better not think about that. Sentimentality makes you blurry, loses your edge. Gets you killed. That he knew.

But he wasn't planetside anymore. He didn't need to keep the edge. Didn't need to be the blade. Right?

He was standing in front of the food replicator still. Staring. He hadn't eaten anything he didn't find or kill himself in... longer than he'd been alone. He knew exactly what he wanted, but... to finally really get it...

“Space... ship. Computer. Space computer. Computer.” he coughed. He closed his eyes. It's fine. Just... ask and you can have it. It really is that easy. You're not dreaming, you checked. “Computer... I would like... a Hot Chocolate.”

“Please specify temperature”

Of course, there's always complications. “Uhh... hot. But! But not too hot. I want to drink it... now.”

“Please specify – White or Dark chocolate.”

“Dark, please...” The hope was draining out of Felix with each question. This was going to be all wrong, he could tell. It wasn't going to be right at all.

“Please specify- ammount”

“Uhhh... a mug? A mugs-worth? Enough to fit... like... in a mug.” He made gestures with his hands to indicate the size of a mug before he remembered it wouldn't help. Despair set in. This was a mistake. He would never have a hot chocolate like mom used to m... it didn't matter. His eyes shut again, heavy with defeat.

The Felix that drank hot chocolate wasn't Sharp anyway.

“Drink complete.”

He opened his eyes, to see a lightly steaming ceramic mug of hot chocolate on the tray.

It had marshmallows floating in it.

Just like mom used to do.

He smiled a little, and sat on the floor, staring at the mug.

And Felix cried.