indyana

That space between what should be and what is, a dissonance unexpected, a single measure of five beats in the steady four-four drumming of existence. I once felt sure, full of hope and expectation, but if there is one thing life is certain to teach, it is that the future is as water, changing course around obstruction, rippling as debris drops into its surface, never stopping in its tumbling, its draining, until momentum has bled away. So, in self defense, I, too, became like water, flowing downhill, spinning, 'til I could finally rest, breathe, fall into a stillness. A stagnant pool there, I waited, wondering, "What comes next?" Now, the sun is high overhead, reflecting off my surface, cutting across the grass in burning silver blades. The drone of a cicada fills my ears. Not a voice, nor a car. Not the bark of a dog. No sparrow's song. What I thought I once knew, I need to discard it, let it drop to the clouded bottom. Rise up, me, again a being, again a doing. The knowledge

Author's Note: The characters in this story originally are employed as exotic dancers. If that makes you uncomfortable, scroll along... In the great hall of Jaar Too Vruk where the gifts of her people were recorded, Oolkarti's name was unwritten. Although she had not been home since leaving three years ago, Oolkarti knew her family would have taken the photos of her from their own hall. Her name would have been struck from the Rendae family book. The name of Rendae Oolkarti would live nowhere but in memory, never spoken, never written again. And at some point in the future, when those who had known her were dead, Oolkarti would fade from her home planet of Yanamees entirely. In the flesh, she was already gone, of course. She lived on Mwari Station now. But sometimes she still thought about her name, about Jaar Too Vruk, as though without those little bits of written word in their records, she was nothing but a wandering spirit, destined to dissipate in the stream of time. Her

Arion tried to keep still as the servant adjusted the seams around his wings. The dress tunic his sister had chosen for the day was a smooth, ivory fabric that shimmered with tiny filaments of gold woven into it, a stark contrast to his copper brown skin and dark hair. Once the servant stepped aside, he stretched his golden wings, arching them around so the primary feathers caught the light and glinted with the same sunshine brilliance as the woven gold trim and belt. "Stunning, as always," Kyre praised from her spot beside the mirrors before him. She had already dressed for their meeting in a belted dress of darker beige. The fabric was light and shiny, flowing down in rippling folds around her feet, ornamented with a sash of brown and gold that complimented her darker, bronze-gold wings. Her black hair was piled up into simpler braids with a wire circlet; Kyre wanted him to be the center of attention today. "So, we are really going through with this…" Arion took a breath and

Rated PG-13/TV-14 for suggestive dialogue, sexual situations, language, gore. Character death warning. Highflyer watched from the top of a nearby light pole as the human refilled the bird feeders. The man came to the park daily except in the most inclement of weather. Sturdy, with a thick fringe of hair the color of damp earth, he was the son of the green witch who had tended the feeders before him, according to Highflyer’s mother, and now followed the path of a wizard. The crow had known him since he fledged, and over five seasons, his fascination with the human had grown from passing curiosity to unwavering fixation. Fairbeak, the last of Highflyer’s clutch mates remaining with him in their parents’ territory, swooped overhead, letting out a few short croaks of greeting as she turned and flapped down to join him, jostling him until they could make room for two on the sloped lamphead. “You are certain of this then, Highflyer?” she asked, inclining her sleek head toward the wizard

Gyles’s wake up call that morning was an urgent comm about a broken waste processor, which pretty much guaranteed that today was going to go to shit. It was the second thirtieth of xyr shift, xe had been there five-thirtieths of a day already, and repair requests had been stacked up in the team work queue since the start of it. Any minute, xe was going to get an angry comm from xyr supervisor demanding explanations. Xe ran xyr fingers through xyr dark crew cut and scanned down the list of techs before directing xyr comm at Jesher, one of the juniors. “Jesher, how’s it going with that light panel?” There was a short delay before their synthesized voice replied from the comm. “Almost done, Sspen. Just needed a new storage regulator.” Gyles thanked the universe for a small victory and checked the queue for something Jesher could handle on their own. “All right, I’m sending you a burst line next. The patch bots sealed it for now, but I need an assessment on it.” “You got it

If my soul had a sound, it would be the shimmering of leaves in an onshore breeze. Not the dried bones rustle of winter, but the soft swishing of green, ebbing and flowing. The branches lifting and bouncing in the wind, raising my heart up with it, living suspended in that moment of weightlessness before settling back into place. A forest ruffling its feathers. The sound of leaves requires quiet to be heard. Attention removed from thinking and talking and reading and scrolling. A deep breath and a moment of bringing the bigger world into focus. Wherever I am in life, I need that touchstone. That moment or two or dozen per day to rise up and listen and breathe, to appreciate the sliding whispers of thousands of leaves moving in series from one tree to the next and the next. The next time the wind blows, let it carry you up with it, rippling through you and giving your spirit a gentle shake. Let the dead bits drop through and disappear. Let yourself come back to earth restored.

That space between what should be and what is, a dissonance unexpected, a single measure of five beats in the steady four-four drumming of existence. I once felt sure, full of hope and expectation, but if there is one thing life is certain to teach, it is that the future is as water, changing course around obstruction, rippling as debris drops into its surface, never stopping in its tumbling, its draining, until momentum has bled away. So, in self defense, I, too, became like water, flowing downhill, spinning, 'til I could finally rest, breathe, fall into a stillness. A stagnant pool there, I waited, wondering, "What comes next?" Now, the sun is high overhead, reflecting off my surface, cutting across the grass in burning silver blades. The drone of a cicada fills my ears. Not a voice, nor a car. Not the bark of a dog. No sparrow's song. What I thought I once knew, I need to discard it, let it drop to the clouded bottom. Rise up, me, again a being, again a doing. The knowledge

Author's Note: The characters in this story originally are employed as exotic dancers. If that makes you uncomfortable, scroll along... Inia couldn't believe their Janos City trip was almost over. One more night, and tomorrow they'd be heading back to Mwari Station. Even though Ti said she was going back with them, Inia felt sure the Kaalkiet was going to pack up and head back here. She'd called the Boletti guy and talked to him, and he seemed eager to get her in to meet his coach. Inia probably shouldn't have been eavesdropping, but Ti wasn't saying much yet, especially with all the other girls around constantly, so Inia had to find out what her best friend was up to somehow. They were strolling through one of the more touristy areas of Janos City, enjoying the street vendors and performers. Everything was going just fine, so when Ti's corona suddenly exploded with wipes of electric white and blue, Inia flinched in surprise and spun around, trying to see what had startled her. Ti's

Author's Note: The characters in this story originally are employed as exotic dancers. If that makes you uncomfortable, scroll along... In the great hall of Jaar Too Vruk where the gifts of her people were recorded, Oolkarti's name was unwritten. Although she had not been home since leaving three years ago, Oolkarti knew her family would have taken the photos of her from their own hall. Her name would have been struck from the Rendae family book. The name of Rendae Oolkarti would live nowhere but in memory, never spoken, never written again. And at some point in the future, when those who had known her were dead, Oolkarti would fade from her home planet of Yanamees entirely. In the flesh, she was already gone, of course. She lived on Mwari Station now. But sometimes she still thought about her name, about Jaar Too Vruk, as though without those little bits of written word in their records, she was nothing but a wandering spirit, destined to dissipate in the stream of time. Her

"Did you know that a single shard of an Asteridweller can regrow into a clone of the original?" Meel looked up at Gyles from the projection he was reading, black tresses jiggling as he cocked his head. He'd exhausted researching the C-Zone species last thirty and moved on to A-Zone. "A shattered individual, in the right environment, might grow back into hundreds of clones." They were nestled into the bot garage for the night, Meel curled into one of the sleeping pods already while Gyles sat up, reading news feeds from Prime Station. Considerate Traveler had entered the Third Quadrant, and they were slowly making their loop through the inner edge of it. The farthest point in would be Prime Station, and then the ship would arc back out and continue on to Second Quadrant, where they spent the majority of their route. Above them, on the wall, the Myrmex pupae were only a background presence, as quiet as they had been for the past several thirties. Their telepathy had tapered off as

Author's Note: This chapter is rated PG for mild sexual situations; trigger warning for touch/sex aversion. True to his grandmother's word, by late afternoon, the shuttles were ready to depart, loaded with a selection of riches handpicked by Vida and Kyre for their journey to the mysterious location that Sovereign Stelte's invitation only referred to as 'the Labs'. The more traditional gifts were most numerous—shiny, translucent containers filled with finely milled hesha flour, shimmering benos yarn and silk-wool fabrics in a variety of colors, vials of dried spices native to their planet, blocks of flavored cheeses sealed in brilliant shells, and sturdy bottles of Acharynian wine and liquor. In addition, Gens Sones had sent specific examples of the mountain bounty that made their gens famous and enviable. There were pounds of rare metal and mineral ores used in the production of most Acharynian ships and technology. Crafted examples of magical technology, such as decorative crystal

The joy of connection with his bride-to-be was soon crushed when Emex reverted to her reticent behavior at dinner that evening. Arion held out hope that the events of the next few days could encourage her regard in his favor. Kyre planned for them to leave on a multi-day tour of their territory via air transport, stopping at Glenega, where his younger sister Harptise lived with their second cousins. It would be the perfect opportunity to entertain Emex's ground-bound cousin and prove himself amenable. Another blow fell on his confidence when Kyre pulled him aside the next morning before breakfast. "Arion, events have conspired that force me to cancel our full tour of the lands." She kept her voice low, even though they were alone in his dressing chamber. "What? ...Can't we at least go to Glenega and introduce the Steltes to Harptise?" Kyre swept down her hands into a flat line in front of her chest, a gesture that indicated her decision was authoritative. "I cannot explain more to

Sovereign Vida Sones sat on a settee in the gens's private meeting chamber. She was not yet prepared for that evening's formal dinner with Gens Stelte and reposed in multilayered robes of gold, green, and ocher, mottled bronze wings hanging over the backrest. Her graying hair was wound into a single, long coil that flowed over the front of her shoulder and rested on the cushion next to her hip. A frown drew her weathered, sienna skin into deep lines. She listened impassively as Kyre relayed the events of that morning, only raising eyebrows and widening pale brown eyes when they came to the topic of the true identity of Emex Stelte. "The guardswoman?" Her frown deepened, and she squinted. "I now wish I had paid more attention… She did not strike me as a beauty, but then again, the Eeblae woman do so little with themselves. She seemed young, strong..." "Her wings, grandmother, you should have seen them," continued Kyre. "Broad and proud as an eagle's. Terribly tarnished, but they had

Arion tried to keep still as the servant adjusted the seams around his wings. The dress tunic his sister had chosen for the day was a smooth, ivory fabric that shimmered with tiny filaments of gold woven into it, a stark contrast to his copper brown skin and dark hair. Once the servant stepped aside, he stretched his golden wings, arching them around so the primary feathers caught the light and glinted with the same sunshine brilliance as the woven gold trim and belt. "Stunning, as always," Kyre praised from her spot beside the mirrors before him. She had already dressed for their meeting in a belted dress of darker beige. The fabric was light and shiny, flowing down in rippling folds around her feet, ornamented with a sash of brown and gold that complimented her darker, bronze-gold wings. Her black hair was piled up into simpler braids with a wire circlet; Kyre wanted him to be the center of attention today. "So, we are really going through with this…" Arion took a breath and

Rated PG-13/TV-14 for suggestive dialogue, sexual situations, language, gore. Character death warning. Highflyer watched from the top of a nearby light pole as the human refilled the bird feeders. The man came to the park daily except in the most inclement of weather. Sturdy, with a thick fringe of hair the color of damp earth, he was the son of the green witch who had tended the feeders before him, according to Highflyer’s mother, and now followed the path of a wizard. The crow had known him since he fledged, and over five seasons, his fascination with the human had grown from passing curiosity to unwavering fixation. Fairbeak, the last of Highflyer’s clutch mates remaining with him in their parents’ territory, swooped overhead, letting out a few short croaks of greeting as she turned and flapped down to join him, jostling him until they could make room for two on the sloped lamphead. “You are certain of this then, Highflyer?” she asked, inclining her sleek head toward the wizard