A Civilised Nation

Act I: Old Friends

9.56.5.112
Saine, Maroussia
17:50 hours

A sprawl of hedges, blooming with orange flowers, corralled Qwatajawa from the path up to the sacellum’s front door. Less than 48 hours ago, Qwatajawa had been on assignment in the furthest reaches of Rej-Jir space.

She’d grown used to the metallic hum of the ship’s engines, the confined space, and structured routines punctuated only occasionally by visits to nearby outposts. It had been a long while since she’d been planetside, engulfed in the warmth of a late afternoon sun under clear blue skies, fresh air in her lungs.

Qwatajawa was on her way home—if her homeworld could be deemed home anymore after such a separation of time and distance. It was difficult to cross such a distance in a single trip, which was why Qwatajawa was here under an alien sun. She stood upon the world of Maroussia, birthplace of the Zurxok. They were kith to the Rej-Jir, and the person Qwatajawa was intent on visiting may as well have been kin.

The sacellum was Qwatajawa’s intended destination, and after the cool, dignified spaces of a Rej-Jir starship, the ebullient shapes and colours of Zurxok architecture was overwhelming. The wide building, panelled with painted wood, was topped with a shining glass dome, encased in gold. Qwatajawa couldn’t deny the luxuriant nature of her current surrounds, nor their appropriateness for her friend Xa-Kol, the resident of the sacellum before her.

She drew near to the door, itself elaborately carved and painted, but no sooner had she lifted a hand to knock upon its surface than it was flung wide open and before her stood a male Zurxok with a face painted with stark white lines.

“Commander Qwatajawa; welcome,” the unknown male intoned, bowing his head low in greeting.

Common to many Zurxok was a penchant for flamboyant dress, and this one was no different. His lilac waistcoat was elaborately embroidered and ended at the tops of his neat boots. With the Zurxok, however, the adage that silk hid steel was most always true; Qwatajawa had little doubt the fellow, despite his obvious youth, was stronger than he looked.

“I am here to see—“

“Illusionist Xa-Kol,” the apprentice finished. “She’s been expecting you. Please follow me.”

With that, the young Illusionist stepped back to allow Qwatajawa passage over the threshold into a spacious, semi-circular lobby. An ornate staircase led up to the second floor, at the top of which was a stained-glass window. A beam of sunlight was cutting through the glass, sending pools of colour upon the smooth marble floor.

Qwatajawa had been inside the Saine Sacellum before, but it had been refurbished in the years since her last visit; she would have been interested in looking around at the changes, but the unknown Illusionist was already in front of her and gesturing for Qwatajawa to follow him up the staircase.

“My name is Aswa-Tal,” the Illusionist was saying, practically bouncing up the stairs. “Illusionist Xa-Kol speaks of you often, Commander. You have both had such adventures together over the years; you must be thrilled to be returning to the fold. A much-needed change of pace after your last assignment.”

“I suppose so,” Qwatajawa replied, casting her eyes over the lavish décor as they ascended the staircase and made a right onto an adjoining corridor. “There have been many changes since my last visit,” Qwatajawa remarked. “When I was here, Xa-Kol was the only Illusionist, and it was…” She considered her words, reflecting on the dismal wreck Xa-Kol had first been put in charge of several years ago. “It was not like it is now.”

“No, I imagine not,” Aswa-Tal laughed, coming to a stop outside a closed door. He gave it a quick rap with his knuckles. “Xa-Kol?”

He had barely finished calling for her than the door had been flung wide to reveal Xa-Kol herself. She wore what Qwatajawa had long come to view as her signature outfit: a black mask which covered her entire head, a bright red waistcoat, and golden boots which Qwatajawa knew for a fact hid a variety of small equipment and interesting functions.

“Qwatajawa, my friend!” Xa-Kol said jubilantly, wasting no time and pulling the larger female into an affectionate hug. “Here you are, heart’s sister, and all is right in the world.”

The comparatively leaner physique of the Zurxok belied their sometimes astonishing strength; Qwatajawa’s arms were pinned to the side by the force of Xa-Kol’s embrace. At length, Xa-Kol pulled back but kept her hands upon Qwatajawa’s arms, stepping back to look upon the Rej-Jir’s face.

With her mask on, it was impossible to see Xa-Kol’s expression, but Qwatajawa could make an educated guess. Xa-Kol gave Qwatajawa an affectionate shake and finally released her friend, turning her attention to Aswa-Tal, who still looked on curiously.

“Aswa-Tal, thank you, you may leave us,” Xa-Kol bade him, and the younger Zurxok dutifully bowed and slipped away, closing the door as he did so.

“You’re looking well,” Xa-Kol said, pulling out a chair on the opposite side of her desk and gesturing for Qwatajawa to take it.

“And you—I suspect,” Qwatajawa said wryly, nodding meaningfully at Xa-Kol’s mask. Xa-Kol shrugged, and in one fluid motion, pulled the garment from her head.

Now thus revealed, Qwatajawa could catalogue the differences two years apart could make, but there were none: Xa-Kol’s hard, long face was the same as ever, and her grey complexion was smooth and uninterrupted by blemishes. Two large black eyes, their irises purest silver, gazed back at Qwatajawa evenly.

“You are unchanged,” Qwatajawa remarked.

“A good thing, one hopes.”

“Very good,” Qwatajawa assured her. She took in her surroundings. Xa-Kol’s office wasn’t particularly large, but was obviously a space Xa-Kol would appreciate: a large cabinet near the door contained shelves of books and curiosities, and a cozy green lounge took up one side of the room alongside a flowering miniature tree.

The desk, adorned with shimmering mother-of-pearl inlays, featured a contemporary computer and various decorative knick-knacks. With the sunlight streaming in through the window, the room was cheery and cozy, exactly how Qwatajawa knew Xa-Kol would have wanted it.

“What do you think?” Xa-Kol asked, sliding into her office chair.

“It suits you,” Qwatajawa replied, taking her own seat opposite. “I like it.”

“A drink,” Xa-Kol said, pulling out two glasses from underneath the desk and a fancy looking bottle, unlabelled but for a wax seal upon its surface.

“Please,” Qwatajawa said gratefully, and Xa-Kol filled up a tumbler with a purplish liquid. This was lumino tea, a Zurxok speciality which was almost like a dessert.

Qwatajawa did have something of a sweet tooth, although she tried not to indulge too much. Still, a little indulgence from time-to-time didn’t hurt, and the very first sip of the cool, sugary drink instantly made her feel more relaxed.

“How long as you here for? We’ll find you a room if you’re staying,” Xa-Kol said, pouring herself an equally generous glass.

“Not long. My ship leaves tonight.”

“Tonight!” Xa-Kol frowned at her. “You could have taken more time to visit your old chum, you know.”

“Perhaps,” Qwatajawa shrugged. “But I feel it would be better for me to be there before the others in the cabal arrive.”

“Explains the lack of luggage, I suppose,” Xa-Kol said. She cast astute eyes over the Rej-Jir. “Why is it important to get there before the others—worried about your next post?”

Qwatajawa said nothing.

“You know what you’re doing, Qwatty,” Xa-Kol said. “Everyone can see that. Besides, you couldn’t have been a Weapons Master forever, that’s not how your military works. Sooner or later, you have to take a promotion.”

“I am not sure if I am necessarily suited for a command position,” Qwatajawa admitted.

“You have been in a command position for the last decade,” Xa-Kol pointed out.

“It was different,” Qwatajawa replied. “Life aboard a ship is not like the day-to-day on a colony, let alone a core world.”

“Ah,” Xa-Kol said knowingly. “Before, you only ever interacted with soldiers. Now, you’ll have to negotiate between the military chain of command and the realities of an actual community of civilians.”

Qwatajawa thought about it. “Maybe. I am not sure myself where the anxiety comes from. Perhaps it is the Executive Officers that have been assigned to me. I have been on a mission with them once before. They did not strike me as being…” She searched for the right words. “Professional. Decisions were made that I might not have taken, had it been up to me.”

“Fair enough,” Xa-Kol replied. “But you’re in charge now. You have the power to make a difference to their approach. Are you not certain you are overthinking things? After all, you are going to a tropical archipelago to oversee a community of less than 50,000 people. I shouldn’t imagine you’d run into too much trouble.”

“There you are wrong,” Qwatajawa said. “This archipelago is home to the Mayane ziggurat. That is a newly built prison — built to house some of the most dangerous fugitives we have had in recent memory.”

Xa-Kol’s eyes narrowed and she downed the rest of her tumbler. “Ah.”

She knew the story; Qwatajawa had related it in some detail: a cabal of Rej-Jir soldiers, driven mad by some cataclysmic event, now lay stuck solid in cryo. The Rej-Jir did not execute their worst criminals; in the past, they Entombed them alive in earth and stone. In less enlightened times, they chose to simply freeze them in ice to waste away eternally.

Some said that their consciousnesses lingered on even in such a state, so they were aware of their situation even as their bodies remained trapped. It gave Qwatajawa a shudder to think about. As for Xa-Kol, she preferred the Zurxok method.

Justice was a practical matter for the Zurxok, who without hesitation condemned criminals to demanding state work, in circumstances that would probably cause more compassionate individuals to recoil.

A brief, but amiable silence followed. Qwatajawa’s eyes shifted to a glass pyramid on Xa-Kol’s desk. The pyramid was hollow, and inside various baubles floated listlessly in its contained liquid. Qwatajawa reached out and inspected the item.

“Your being on the homeworld will be a good thing,” Xa-Kol went on, as Qwatajawa gave the pyramid a little shake, and watched the baubles shimmer and dance. “A chance to re-connect to ordinary people.”

Qwatajawa sighed. “But I so dislike the idea of becoming an Omiqar. And that is the inevitable next step after becoming a Commander, you know.”

“That is many years away, Qwatajawa,” Xa-Kol reminded her. “I think you dislike the idea of a command position because you associate such things with your mother.”

“Do you find I am becoming more like her as I age?” Qwatajawa asked bluntly. “Be honest.”

“Is that really so terrible? She is formidable,” Xa-Kol pointed out.

“I would rather not be formidable, I think,” Qwatajawa said, putting the pyramid back. “You did not answer the question.”

Xa-Kol chuckled. “In temperament, no, you are not like her. Far more forgiving. But in competence? I don’t mind telling you, that you are very alike in that. Models of female excellence.”

Qwatajawa grunted noncommittally.

“Why so maudlin?” Xa-Kol tutted. “I was happy to see you, but you have brought the cold of the void with you.”

“I do not mean to be melancholy, Xa-Kol,” Qwatajawa said. “I apologise. I really am glad to see you, truly. And I am glad to visit. We will be able to see each other more often now that I am home.”

“And I can arrange a marriage for you,” Xa-Kol teased. “It’s long past time for you to settle down.”

“Do so, if it pleases you,” Qwatajawa replied, mandibles flaring in an approximation of a smile. “But only if I get to arrange yours.”

Xa-Kol planted a theatrical hand on her chest. “I am an Illusionist. We don’t tend to get married, Qwatajawa.”

“A husband might keep you in good order. You do get up to mischief,” Qwatajawa teased.

“Mischief, yes. That proclivity is probably why I won’t marry,” Xa-Kol remarked, tone rueful.

Qwatajawa rubbed a hand over her face, fingertips sliding over the familiar ridge of scar tissue that ran from the top of her brow to the hollow of her cheek.

“You must be exhausted from your journey. Shall I take you to one of the spare rooms? You can rest and have something to eat before you head off again. I’m afraid I have to run an errand, but I will be back before you must leave us once again.”

“Actually, Xa-Kol, I am not as tired as you think. If it would not bother you, it would be nice to take a trip into town with you.”

Xa-Kol smiled at her. “Of course you can come with me, but this errand is a bit of a strange one.”

“Oh?”

“I am meeting other Illusionists to…” She trailed off, silver eyes cutting away briefly as she chose her words. “To exchange some valuable things.”

Qwatajawa tilted her head. “You had better elaborate on that.”

“It would be difficult to explain the nature of the game to you; you’re not a Zurxok,” Xa-Kol said.

“Shocking information,” Qwatajawa said wryly.

“We don’t settle disputes the way your people do. Our leaders often sponsor Illusionists to do subterfuge and negotiation,” Xa-Kol explained. She stood up from her desk, pulling on her mask as she did so. “Since you won’t stay here, come along, then. It’s a bit of a drive, but I’ll explain further as we go.”

Qwatajawa stood as well, sliding her chair back into place. “Where?”

“To the capital of Solara,” Xa-Kol said, a little sneer in her voice. “I know. Nothing but snobs there. But that’s where all deals are brokered these days.” From another drawer in her desk, she withdrew a rectangular box, barely longer than a finger, and slid it into the interior chest pocket of her coat.

“Follow me, then. I’ve hired a flyer for this enterprise,” Xa-Kol said, holding the office door open for Qwatajawa.

Private flyer ownership wasn’t common for either Zurxok or Rej-Jir, given the extensive public shuttle networks. If Xa-Kol had chosen to hire a flyer just for her use, it was an indication that whatever was going down was a serious matter.

Xa-Kol led Qwatajawa back down the corridor, and together they descended the staircase and made their way through a long hallway. They passed a few adjoining rooms which were obviously occupied. Qwatajawa could hear the murmur of conversation behind their closed doors,

“How many other Illusionists here?” Qwatajawa asked.

“Six, including me. Fairly typical for a Sacellum of this size. You already met Aswa-Tal, he’s my 21C.”

The hallway terminated in another ornate door, which Xa-Kol pushed open to reveal the back of the estate. The grounds weren’t large. Qwatajawa had seen holos of the cabal headquarters she was soon to oversee, and she knew for a fact that both the ziggurat and surrounding training grounds were extensive. Still, the sacellum estate was beautifully appointed, with hedges enclosing an obstacle course and a modest pool of water, and in the middle of it all was the flyer. A civilian model, its bright red curves spilled out into gleaming wings which were partially folded up.

Xa-Kol palmed the identity panel on the side of the vehicle and keyed in a short code, prompting the flyer doors to unlock. Qwatajawa took a seat on the passenger side while Xa-Kol took the helm, selected a destination from the flyer’s navcom, and then set the flyer to auto-mode.

“So, where are we going?” Qwatajawa asked.

“I don’t think you’ve been to this town before; it’s called Celeiya,” Xa-Kol. “More inland than Saine, and much smaller. Makes it an ideal place to meet.”

There was a little lurch as the flyer’s engines pulsed, a metallic heartbeat which culminated in the vehicle lifting off the platform and beginning a smooth ascent, until it was far above the sacellum, far higher than any of the surrounding trees. From such a height, Qwatajawa had a superb view of the neat, star-like configuration of Saine, the verdant hills, and the white tracks of the continent’s maglevs criss-crossing the landscape. The citizens far below and in the distance were tiny figures, splotches of colour from so far away.

“You had better tell me exactly what we are doing, Xa-Kol,” Qwatajawa said.

“Alright, alright,” Xa-Kol conceded, as the flyer picked up speed and zoomed off in the direction of Celeiya. She rotated her seat, so she was facing Qwatajawa more fully, and Qwatajawa did the same, stretching out long legs and crossing her arms expectantly.

“It all started two weeks ago. There is a seaside resort run by a wealthy merchant named Maue-Vas,” Xa-Kol began. “One of the big attractions of the resort was some sort of virtual reality system, very advanced. Apparently, one of his guests had some very interesting ideas they played out in the VR world, ideas that could be transformed into very successful products.”

Xa-Kol adjusted the collar of her waistcoat, wiping imaginary lint from her sleeves. “However, the military got wind of these ideas and quickly made moves to shut down any attempt to commercialise them. They wanted the ideas for military research instead.”

“What kind of ideas?” Qwatajawa asked.

“Don’t ask me, I have no idea,” Xa-Kol said, spreading her hands wide in an ambivalent gesture. “They did a good job of hiding the details. All that really matters is what happened next. Maue-Vas and the rest of the merchant circle lodged a complaint with the Technocracy that what the military was doing circumvented the technocracy’s Core Principals.”

“Alright. I am with you. Continue.”

“There is now to be a vote among some members of the council to determine whether Maue-Vas and the wider Circle of Merchants should have the right to the original idea,” Xa-Kol continued. “You know, we Zurxok aren’t as militarised as the Rej-Jir, but we’re getting there, and there are people who are concerned that there are members of the Technocracy who are overly-sympathetic to the generals. One such member is Councillor Au-Ra. He only did one year of mandatory service, and is a businessman himself.”

“If he is fiscally minded, you would think he might show more consideration to the business application of this idea,” Qwatajawa remarked.

Xa-Kol chuckled. “You would think that, except that Councillor Au-Ra has had some unusual experiences in his time.” She tilted her head slightly. “For a while, he was based in one of our outer colonies, which was often raided by Aaevan pirates. For that reason, he’s extremely conscious of the ‘peace and security of the realm!'” Xa-Kol asserted, emphasising her words with a sarcastic salute.

Qwatajawa’s brow furrowed. “I still do not see what this has to do with you, however.”

“I’m getting to that part. The merchants are worried that Au-Ra will scuttle the vote. He’s paranoid, but he has a lot of influence in the council chamber. So Maue-Vas has taken steps. He asked the senior Illusionist of his local sacellum to dig up some information about Councillor Au-Ra.”

“To blackmail him?” Qwatajawa asked sharply, frowning at Xa-Kol.

“You know the answer to that question,” Xa-Kol replied. At Qwatajawa’s disapproving look, Xa-Kol laughed. “What’s that face for?” Xa-Kol asked. “You know this about us. We don’t settle our disputes with violence.”

“No, you settle them with Illusionist’s tricks,” Qwatajawa riposted.

“It works,” Xa-Kol shrugged. “Anyway, Councillor Au-Ra was sponsoring an Illusionist of his own, and that Illusionist was able to figure out that the first was trying to get information which could be used to extort Councillor Au-Ra. So, the second Illusionist contacted a third Illusionist, and that Illusionist kidnapped Maue-Vas’ son.”

“Kidnapped…!” Qwatajawa’s eyes widened, both at the story and the complicated web of suspects Xa-Kol had just relayed.

“He hasn’t been harmed,” Xa-Kol assured her, raising her hands in a peaceable gesture. “This is very normal for Zurxok. We do this kind of thing all the time. Someone gets kidnapped, someone else pays the ransom, we hug and kiss and go home happy. We are a civilised people, you know.”

Qwatajawa was familiar with this facet of Zurxok culture, but only anecdotally. She’d never participated in an actual Compact. It was a mix of theatre, diplomacy, and intrigue, where no one really got hurt, but everyone acted as if the stakes were life and death. It made little sense to her, but for some reason, the Zurxok viewed this sort of play-acting with the same gravity as any other part of law and order.

“Did you have something to do with the kidnapping?” Qwatajawa asked.

“Me? Gracious, no. But Illusionists involved in both the blackmail attempt and the kidnapping quickly got in touch with each other and organised a Compact. Obviously the kidnapped boy needed to be returned, but what of the Councillor? It doesn’t seem like there is any way to change his mind, but perhaps the merchants could be mollified if they were presented with another idea.”

“And that is where you came in,” Qwatajawa guessed. “Where did you acquire this idea, another simulator?”

“I have contacts,” Xa-Kol replied. “There are people who owe me favours. One of them was happy to part ways with some interesting data to clear her debt.”

“What data?”

Xa-Kol paused for a moment. “That is a good question, Qwatajawa, but not one I’d answer, coming from a Rej-Jir commando.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Get serious,” Xa-Kol laughed. “A magician never reveals their secrets, but you’re welcome to watch the show.”

Act II: The Compact

Xa-Kol set the flyer down on the outskirts of Celeiya. An agricultural community, there were few buildings this far from the town’s centre, and those structures weren’t dwellings but buildings set aside for the maintenance of acres of flowers and crops.

“We’ll walk the rest of the way,” Xa-Kol said to Qwatajawa, stepping out of the flyer and prompting Qwatajawa to do the same. The afterglow of a spectacular sunset lingered on the horizon, ushering in a tranquil twilight. It instilled in Qwatajawa a sense of calm, and she walked side-by-side with Xa-Kol through the dusky rows of flowering plants.

Xa-Kol plucked a few silvery, spherical fruits from the crops they passed and tossed them wordlessly to Qwatajawa. She was familiar with the fruit, similar to the sea flowers Rej-Jir consumed back home, and so she popped them into her mouth without hesitation, enjoying the sugary flavour.

“See that building?” Xa-Kol said, pointing to a modest structure perhaps two kilometres away, a slim line against the darkening sky. “The meeting will happen there.”

“I do hope you are not expecting me to do anything when we get there,” Qwatajawa said wryly.

“Not at all, you’re my guest,” Xa-Kol assured her.

“The other Illusionists will not mind my presence?”

“Mind? They love an audience!”

They continued walking in the direction of the building Xa-Kol had indicated, and in time Qwatajawa could see its details more clearly. It was grander than she’d assumed from a distance, but in a state of disrepair, and obviously long out of use. This close to the building, Qwatajawa could discern that it was an open-air theater of some sort, which seemed appropriate.

“Hmm,” Xa-Kol muttered beside Qwatajawa.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Xa-Kol replied. “It’s just I see something up in one of the trees. You go on, I just want to check it out.”

Qwatajawa glanced sidelong at her companion, but the shorter female had already slipped away to investigate one of the many trees which were encroaching upon the theatre walls. Qwatajawa continued through one of the archways and saw something unexpected.

A congregation of perhaps a dozen Illusionists were inside, and were presently mingling as though they were at a party and not negotiating a ransom. At Qwatajawa’s appearance over the threshold, they all turned to regard her. Like Xa-Kol, they wore fantastic masks and outfits of various designs which obscured much of their features, yet they immediately raised their hands to beckon Qwatajawa closer.

“Greetings, Rej-Jir!” one of the Illusionists called out, raising a small cup. “You are not the Illusionist we expected, but your presence is welcome.”

“You are expecting Xa-Kol, my friend,” Qwatajawa replied.

“Indeed! And where is she?”

At that, Qwatajawa heard the loud snapping of a branch, a distant crash, and a muffled curse—Xa-Kol had evidently fallen out of the tree she’d been investigating. Qwatajawa turned to see Xa-Kol jogging towards them, a few leaves still stuck to her waistcoat.

The Illusionists shouted, “Xa-Kol!” with glee as they saw her.

“La-Zaith! Re-Xan!” Xa-Kol called back. Qwatajawa brushed at her friend’s shoulders, pulling leaves free from the collar of Xa-Kol’s elaborate waistcoat.

Xa-Kol turned to Qwatajawa, speaking in a low voice. “La-Zaith, in the blue costume, is the Illusionist sponsored by the merchant Maue-Vas. She has dirt on Councillor Au-Ra. She’ll be handing it over tonight. Re-Xan kidnapped Maue-Vas’ son; he’s the Illusionist you see in the gold.”

“And Maue-Vas’ son?” Qwatajawa muttered.

Xa-Kol nodded her head, indicating a young, unmasked Zurxok who, contrary to all expectations, was lounging on a small bench in the middle of the group. He looked in high-spirits, and was drinking from a goblet of wine that a female junior Illusionist was refilling.

“His name is Ji-Vor,” Xa-Kol said, gesturing for Qwatajawa to follow her closer to the group.

At their approach, Ji-Vor looked up with interest at the Rej-Jir, but said nothing, and the junior Illusionists stepped back. Xa-Kol, La-Zaith, and Re-Xan stepped towards each other.

“Now that we are all assembled,” La-Zaith began, “let us conclude our little game.”

“A game that you started, La-Zaith,” Re-Xan reminded her, although there was no malice in his words.

“I did no more than I was ordered to do,” La-Zaith replied, with a dramatic hand upon her chest.

“It would not hurt the Illusionists, in general, to be a little more exigent, perhaps, about the type of drama we get involved in,” Re-Xan said, voice thick with irony.

“Ah, well, when it comes to drama, Re-Xan, you would be the expert, clearly,” La-Zaith shot back, pointing at Ji-Vor who was watching the interplay with interest. “Kidnapping the merchant’s son? Really? I felt it unsubtle. You could have simply threatened to do it.”

“Threatening is just so gauche,” Re-Xan replied. “I much prefer the direct approach. So straightforward! And it’s far more heroic. A great experience for our young friend here,” Re-Xan said, indicating Ji-Vor. “His first ransom! A very exciting vacation, in a way.”

“A vacation I couldn’t leave,” Ji-Vor piped up, brushing imaginary lint from his shoulders.

Partially shocked and partially awed, Qwatajawa could only observe the Illusionists’ interplay, their political double-dealing executed with a disarming, almost playful ease.

“A vacation you can’t leave is almost exactly how my father describes his marriage to my mother,” Xa-Kol laughed. She addressed Re-Xan and La-Zaith. “I do enjoy our chats, but my friend here,” she nodded her head at Qwatajawa, “is soon to depart Maroussia for the Rej-Jir homeworld. I’ve promised her a tour of Saine before she leaves.”

“Oh, of course,” Re-Xan said. “Yes, let us get on with it then.”

With that, Xa-Kol produced the slim box she’d slipped into the pocket of her waistcoat.

“A worthy project for the merchants,” Xa-Kol said, giving the box a little shake. “I trust this will mollify them.”

“Re-Xan?” La-Zaith said, looking to the gold-clad Illusionist.

“The boy is free to go,” Re-Xan shrugged, giving the youth a friendly clap on his shoulder. “I trust you’ve enjoyed your time with us,” he said, addressing Ji-Vor.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ji-Vor replied with an insouciant air, getting to his feet and moving over to where La-Zaith was standing. “Terrific.”

In response, Xa-Kol handed over the box to La-Zaith, who exchanged the data crystal of blackmail materials with Re-Xan. Promptly, Re-Xan dropped the crystal to the ground and stomped it underfoot.

“Well, then,” Xa-Kol shrugged. “If that will be all?”

“Actually — one final flourish,” Re-Xan said, stepping over to the shadows.

There, bathed in darkness, was a tall, rectangular object covered with a sheet. Re-Xan dramatically pulled it away to reveal a glass container, within which was a large, iridescent creature that immediately thrashed angrily.

It was a vaelisk, a rare arboreal glider. Qwatajawa had seen them before, and her understanding was that the animals were status symbols for high-ranking Zurxok. The animals were long-necked, with delicate skulls and semi-translucent membrane fins. This one appeared to be a male, judging by its crest frill and bright red tail trimmed with bony spikes.

“A gift,” Re-Xan announced happily, gesturing to Ji-Vor. “For your father. A sign of goodwill on behalf of all Illusionists.”

“Better not open that,” Xa-Kol mused. “It looks really pissed off.”

Re-Xan waved her concerns away like an errant insect. “Nonsense, Xa-Kol. Have you no respect for tradition? It is a sign that all wild things can be negotiated.”

Qwatajawa looked over at Xa-Kol in alarm, and in the next moment, Re-Xan had opened the latch on the container. Immediately, the vaelisk burst from the container and unfurled its wings with an ear-piercing, enraged shriek.

“Now, now,” Re-Xan said firmly, withdrawing a small, electrified prod from his belt. “Settle down, boy.”

Either the vaelisk was accustomed to such punitive measures or was simply unconcerned about the consequences, for it whirled about and swept its tail in a wide arc. Re-Xan was sent airborne, hitting the bench and table with such force that they splintered. Caught in the ensuing melee, the junior Illusionists, who were still milling about there, were sent tumbling by the projectile Re-Xan had briefly become.

“See?” Xa-Kol clucked. “Told you.”

Pandemonium erupted as the vaelisk launched itself forward, wings flapping furiously, toppling over statues and the colourful streamers the Illusionists had set up to mark the Compact. Ji-Vor, who had been laughing at Re-Xan’s predicament, was still laughing and swearing as he hid in an alcove, hands over his head.

It went for La-Zaith first, barreling towards her with outstretched claws. The senior Illusionist nimbly rolled out of the way and took cover behind a pillar. The vaelisk turned, spotting Xa-Kol and Qwatajawa, and let out another banshee-like wail. Its crest flared scarlet, bioluminescent veins igniting beneath its membranes, casting the theatre in violent light. 

Qwatajawa and Xa-Kol glanced at each other and then ran in opposite directions, Xa-Kol heading to the raised stands, Qwatajawa to the ruined archway that led outside. The vaelisk decided Qwatajawa was the more attractive prey, and went howling after her, claws scraping against the ruined ground.

The creature flapped its wings once more, and the gust it created was sufficient to knock Qwatajawa to the ground. She rolled, falling partway into a ditch, and the vaelisk followed, jaws snapping. Its breath was oddly sweet and sulphurous, almost like decaying flesh. Qwatajawa pulled her fist back and socked the creature hard on its snout, causing the winged beast to rear back with outrage.

She climbed out of the ditch and practically skidded into a small alcove where the vaelisk would have no hope of fitting through the door. It hardly mattered, though, for no sooner had the vaelisk recovered than it apparently decided that flight was better than fight. It flapped its shimmering wings once more and took off for the heavens, leaving the theatre behind.

“Don’t let it go!” Re-Xan was yelling from somewhere behind her. “Do you have any idea how expensive one of those things is?”

“I got it,” Xa-Kol said, suddenly at Qwatajawa’s side. She tore off across the field, and, after a beat, Qwatajawa followed, the pair of them carving a path through the long stalks of grass. 

“What do we do?” Qwatajawa called to her.

Xa-Kol reached into a discreet interior pocket of her waistcoat, pulling out a small leather satchel. “They’re attracted to bright colours!”

“And then what?” Qwatajawa called back, leaping over a stream hidden by the blades of grass.

Xa-Kol tossed Qwatajawa something small and dark, and Qwatajawa caught it one-handed without slowing her pace. It was Re-Xan’s baton.

“I don’t want to hurt the creature,” Qwatajawa replied, mandibles working, eyes fixed on the creature still disappearing into the distance. She didn’t know how close the nearest settlement was, but she knew a gliding predator in panic was no one’s idea of civic order. There was also the possibility that the creature could fly right into the path of a flyer, and that would be even worse. 

“It won’t hurt the vaelisk,” Xa-Kol assured her, slowing her pace and clambering up a large, flat rock. “It’s set to stun only.”

Qwatajawa harrumphed, but she ducked down behind some bushes anyway, watching as Xa-Kol flung out a handful of glittering particles into the dusk air. Immediately, the glitter crackled and burst into a colourful, and noisy, lightshow, jets of vivid cerulean, pink and orange spiralling into the sky.

Xa-Kol began to make a peculiar ululation, trilling her tongue in a manner that produced a sound no Rej-Jir was capable of. Far off, the vaelisk’s dark silhouette seemed to spin, following a gentle curve as it returned, swooping back their way. Qwatajawa watched the scene unfold with careful eyes, calculating wind direction and glide arc. 

“Yes!” Xa-Kol shouted gleefully, conjuring more fireworks. They illuminated the severe, masked planes of her face in bright hues. “Come here, beautiful! Come and see the show!”

The vaelisk was within range now, and it descended with a high-pitched cry that made Qwatajawa want to spring from cover. Xa-Kol hopped off the rock and raced away, and the vaelisk once again gave chase, gliding close behind. That was Qwatajawa’s cue to emerge from the bushes. Her boots beat a heavy staccato beat against the loamy soil as she sprinted to catch up, cautious of the male’s spiked tail which gleamed in the last rays of sunset.

She increased her speed, running parallel to the creature. She angled low, sliding beneath the sweep of its tail, and drove the baton upward into the soft membrane beneath its ribs. The vaelisk let out an aborted, pained squawk, wings locking up. It lost altitude in moments, careening hard into the ground.

For a moment, the only sound was the settling grass and the creature’s shallow, stunned breaths. 

Qwatajawa wondered if Xa-Kol hadn’t been squashed by the beast, but a second later, her friend popped her head up from the grass and gave Qwatajawa a Zurxok salute: right fist over her heart, and then held up to the sky. 

“Come on, let’s go tell Re-Xan and the others that the beast is down,” Xa-Kol told her, though when Qwatajawa turned, she saw that Re-Xan and the others had caught up to them.

“My,” he remarked, pulling at his frilled sleeves. “This was invigorating.”

“I’m done,” Ji-Vor said, throwing up his hands. “I want to go home. Right now. You people are insane.”

“You’re not wrong,” Xa-Kol said cheerfully, clapping Qwatajawa on the shoulder and steering her away. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before my fellow Illusionists cause more chaos.”

Qwatajawa didn’t say anything, nonplussed by the Compact and the casual nature with which Zurxok approached kidnapping and the trafficking of rare animals. The Rej-Jir had their vicious vices, too, and corruption was unavoidable, but it wasn’t nearly so out in the open. On the other hand, when things did boil over, they were far more explosive. 

“You did not tell me what it was you found up that tree,” Qwatajawa suddenly remembered, smiling slightly at the thought of Xa-Kol falling on her ass.

“Oh, right,” Xa-Kol said, pulling out a hexagonal bauble from her pocket and handing it over to Qwatajawa as they walked. “It’s a charm. Maybe some kid left it up there. Anyway, it’s yours now. It’ll be your good luck keepsake for your new assignment.”

Qwatajawa pocketed the item and let Xa-Kol steer them into a deepening night.

A good meal close to Saine’s nearest starport had concluded the evening. Xa-Kol had urged Qwatajawa to eat, and Qwatajawa, used to military rations, hadn’t been ashamed to do just that on Xa-Kol’s tab.

The starport itself was bustling with activity, as travellers arrived and departed through the various terminal doors. This starport was hardly the largest on the planet, nor even the continent, but it still had flights bound for Qwatajawa’s homeworld of Naxetektonaktl. Qwatajawa was scheduled for the very next launch on a civilian carrier.

“I will give you a call when I get there,” Qwatajawa was assuring Xa-Kol. She pulled the other female into a one-armed hug.

“Please do,” Xa-Kol said. “I am eager to hear all the news.”

A synthetic female voice blared over the intercom, announcing boarding for Qwatajawa’s ship.

“You had better head off,” Xa-Kol said, releasing Qwatajawa.

“Thanks for this,” Qwatajawa said. “I confess I had been a little nervous about—well. Serving as the warden for that archipelago. The convicts Entombed underneath. Seeing you so at ease in your own role has softened my attitude, I suppose.”

“You think I’m at ease?” Xa-Kol laughed. “It’s just acting.”

They clasped each other’s forearms in the manner they had done since their youth.

“I will be seeing you,” Qwatajawa said.

“Good luck,” Xa-Kol said, releasing Qwatajawa’s arm and taking a step back.

Qwatajawa nodded, turned on her heel, and stepped through the terminal gateway. There was work to be done, but she could handle it. She had faced worse. It would all work out.

Wouldn’t it?