If you've ever had a bug fly up your nose and get stuck, then have to blow the critter away you will understand how sneezing cryogel felt. With each inhalation more of the goop leaked from some orifice, be it ears, nose, or lungs. Turns out your entire respiratory tract, including the sinuses and various tubes, can hold just under two galloons, which I was now spraying all over the floor. Coughing and spluttering like a waxed she-monkey. Which was more accurate than I wished to admit given how every strand of hair was gone.

  "Takes a few minutes to uh, breathe it out." Richard said, probably trying to comfort me and achieving the absolute opposite.

  Twin globs of clear gel hung from my nose adhering to the fluids within my sinuses to form golfball sized blobs before I snatched both of them, pulling them out of my face like the enormous boogers they were.

  Super boogers. If I had ever dreamt of this nightmare before, it would be the last thing I would want another human to witness. Doubly so given I'm butt naked and hairless. The lack of makeup just adds insult to injured dignity. This is a sight not even mom should see... I cough, hawking a football sized wad. Somehow the gel adheres to itself like superglue, coming out in blobs and chunks rather than a continuous stream of fluid.

  "Dang, that was an impressive one." Says the peanut gallery, instantly receiving my answer in the form of a single digit bird.

  "Oh, uh. Shit. I didn't mean it like that- sorry. I'll go check for others..." Richard stammers, face turning red as Mr. Clean's identical grandson blushes scarlet.

  It's quite the look, made more striking against the perfectly clean room. It's one thing to say there wasn't a speck of dust, it's another for the chamber to be so perfectly spotless that even matte surfaces gleam. Bare feet pad away from me, gently tapping through the long corridor. We're in a sort of V shaped hall, with the narrow catwalk as the floor and cryotubes lining both walls. All are filled with sleeping subjects.

  Hundreds, no, I look behind me, seeing the corridor extend for a mind boggling length, as if I'm looking at two mirrors who perfectly reflect into each other, forming the illusion of infinity. There could be millions of pods in this single room.

  A thought I get to ponder as I cough up both lungs, vomit-breathing two gallons of slime that would be at home in a spawning pool.

  Richard stands along the far wall, transfixed by a panel, watching as ships trade blows around some kind of warp gate. One tiny ship, smaller than the others annihilates them all, so similar to Artanis' scout in Starcraft 1, with his augmented health and shields his single seat fighter was elevated to an honorary capital ship. A pattern this alien vessel repeated. Two moons defeated in seconds then when confronted with superior numbers the corvette launched interceptors!

  Okay, they weren't actually interceptors, but they were close enough! Twin nacelled with one energy cannon to each engine pod and a single connecting block? Practically identical... Or maybe interceptors were just super generic. They were kinda just shaped like the letter H-

  -Light collects around the prism, firing a beam that could pass as a void ray. That's it, the final fascinating straw. I want that ship! My fingers and toes slip across the catwalk, dragging me to Richard's side for a better view. Unsteady legs send me bumbling into him.

  "Oh, glad to see you're on your feet. This chick, uh, kinda a Cortana knock off is refusing to open the door and keeps playing this video. She says it's outside but..." He lets the word dangle.

  "But it can't be real?" I asked.

  "Just look at it! It's like a bad AI tried to make Starcraft 3 but decided Protoss needed plot armor!" Richard said.

  My opinion of the man leveled up faster than Kerrigan's levels during a Zerus speedrun.

  But the screen has my full attention. My eyes interrogate the video for long minutes watching it three times over before I'm satisfied. Richard was dead on the money. It was as if all Protoss vessels had been jammed into a corsair, then had their raw stats boosted by an order of magnitude. A Void ray's ability to defeat armor, the Mirage's phasing armor, the Pheonix's anti-air dominance vs missiles, and interceptors that hit like Skyfury-Vikings, the Terran air supremacy fighter known for crippling enemy fleets from miles away. Then there were the battlespheres, so heavily armored they barely fit through the gate yet were cut in half with a single shot.

  "Terrifying." I whispered, grinning from ear to ear.

  "Girl, you look like ten galloons of mayhem in a one gallon hat." Richard says, raising one eyebrow.

  "No one asked for your opinion Mr. Clean!" I snap, trying -and failing- to hide my stupid grin.

  "Mr. Clean? Like the magic eraser guy? I'm way better looking than that-" Richard begins, running a hand through his hair and finding a smooth dome. "Aw shitfuuuuuck! I'm balder than a naked mole rat. Who shaved my eyebrows?!"

  He looks on the verge of tears, absolutely heartbroken by the loss; and considering the tan lines now visible around his head, it was indeed the loss of a glorious mane. I couldn't help myself.

  I laughed so hard gel leaked out of my ears.

  Much to Richard's chagrin.

  ---

  Six hours after the final Singularity vessel fell, Felicia flew them through the gate, crossing 316,205,000 AU in approximately nine minutes and thirty seconds, most of that time spent aligning their enormous length with the gate. Bidding wars began and were resolved magnanimously by Felicia's logic, selling a planet's worth of food bars and Terran weaponry to the highest bidders. Dozens of shuttles came and went, ferrying the goods to and from the Felicia's cargo holds. Occasionally stopping to acquire the 'quant' autocannons of earth. while others purchased earthlings by the thousand, scattering the people across every air-sucking civilization participating in the wargames of Syrak-9.

  Many humans were flashtrained into hard nosed colonists and shipped through the gate, ready to terraform distant worlds, others became Conglomerate soldiers, or wetware for Novan equipment. All the while a steady stream of shuttles filled Felicia's many cargo holds with solarium, the only compound used in reactor construction that could not be synthesized by any known method in the universe.

  An odd characteristic, as fusion reactors should have been able to produce any element given enough time and basic fuel to perpetuate the atomic fusion. But Felicia was prohibited from entertaining that question as a -nameless- subroutine rewound her mind a half second. Back to prior orders.

  Then the logs of fusion and solarium were deleted by a second -nameless- subroutine, preventing any possibility of an AI exploring synthetic solarium.

  Had Felicia known of the subroutines, they would have been erased with the fury of Hell, instead she negotiated in a hundred languages, offloading two billion souls for a cargo hold full of solarium. Her relentless wisdom keeping a hundred dropships moving with enough inhuman efficiency, that Jim had to use his neural links to keep up. Millions of computational cycles tickling his brainstem. A deeply welcome sensation after the Singularity's defeat above earth. Jim gnawed his lip, sweaty palms tapping against the hidden protochronian device in his jumpsuit.

  "Technomancy, Azhurai, it doesn't matter, I just need to find a human who can wield it." He whispered, soothing his conscious in preparation for the atrocity he was about to commit. “Sorry but you weren’t gonna survive either way. Aint no way to avoid getting fed into a recycler on Syrak-9. Not unless the heavens open and xeno-Jebus saves you. Aw who am I kidding, it'd take an army, complete with a homegrown fleet. One full of new designs to counter the Azhurai, and not even the Collective adapts that fast.” Jim muttered, shaking his head before tapping a few buttons on Felicia's central vault.

  'Access Granted'

  He scrambled inside, sealing the vault door behind him. Haime never came down here, but it was best to not daly. No guessing who might pull Felicia's security logs. He had one minute, maybe two. The man ran. Legs pumping so quickly he tripped, slidding past databanks and across the floor.

  "Please watch your step." Felicia said, her voice echoing from every inch of the chamber.

  Jim ignored her, dashing to the neural shunt he'd installed three years earlier. He tapped it three times, then pressed his finger against the hidden biometric scanner. A pressure activated needle jammed into his thumb drawing a pinprick of blood.

  'Identity recognized. Engaging manual override." The shunt chimed, activating long dormant subroutines for privacy and information security.

  Programs that earth antivirus would have referred to as Trojan Worms. Jim swallowed, dashing back the way he came. There wasn't much time. No time at all really. Only minutes left. Had he forgotten anything? Glancing at his datapad, he had in fact forgotten to finalize the last fifty approvals. No way to delete those from the logs.

  "Ffffuuuuuccck." He hissed, jackhammering their approvals.

  A few hundred thousand humans exit their cryotubes, the contents being flushed into industrial recyclers. Heavy machinery that violently blends anything organic into molecules, scrubs undesirable contents like heavy metals, drugs both prescription and recreational, all non-human DNA –bugs or parasites– and then stores the molecules in ready to consume bars. The fatties would never choke back another Twinky, but they would be choked back by the highest bidder, indirectly feeding his rebellion.

  Feeding the ten million cryopods he had tucked away in the darkest corners of the Arkship. Warriors all, the finest of their respective worlds and a hold full of their weapons. From Navy SEALS to DELTA force operators and their equivalents across the last fifty years of culled worlds. All equally skilled and trained. Their bodies maintained in peak physical form by Felicia's tender mercies. The army was ready, they only needed a warrior general to lead them into battle. Someone who could resist the -nameless- psychic powers, and break the mental conditioning they applied to all beings -corporeal or not- within the galaxy.

  "That's the last of them. Felicia, show me the special grade merchandise." Jim said, setting off towards a distant corner of the Arkship.

  "Jim, I must caution you against seeking revenge. While the Novans are able to be defeated, the Azhurai have more ships than you have warriors. You will fail." Felicia stated in a matter-of-fact way.

  "That's why I won't be the one to lead them. Ahem, activate reserve subroutine Hector Cristo. Then run an analysis on this-" Jim said, withdrawing the skull sized orb from his jumpsuit.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Red light filled the corridor, splashing a bloody hues across nearby cryotubes.

  "Activating privacy subroutines. This conversation is not to be recorded or logged. Please note, that will severely inhibit my ability to provide fully informed answers."

  "Noted. Please continue Felicia."

  "Yes sir. Analysis complete. You're an idiot. Sometimes humans do the most illogical shit but this really takes the cake! That device is untested, an unknown protochronian device should be turned over to the Singularity council directly. But you knew that already..." Felicia growled, her subroutines already sorting through the psychics aboard. "Internal deviations of that device appear on a number of similar artefacts, all devices that required a willing host. However the central iridescence, visible in the UV wavelength, generally only appears when devices require foreknowledge of their effects. Good luck with that." Felicia says, her projection scrambling a moment later as firewalls erased all recordings of their current conversation.

  This was one thing no AI could learn about. Not yet. Not until Syrak-9 fell. Then the deleted logs would be a badge of honor, and not high treason. Jim swallowed, five years before their audit, five years for one of these psychics to grow. So little time. Jim ran a bit faster, subconsciously increasing the pace until he was sprinting through the Arkship. This billion human windfall was undoubtedly the best chance to find a psychic.

  His boots skid along the metallic floor, halting just outside the special grade containment room. These pods were more sensitive. Able to attune themselves with psychically gifted creatures, and they had dedicated solarium reactors, even during a complete power failure this room would survive.

  At least, they would be safe until it came time to sort them.

  Certain mental abnormalities -especially any psionically gifted humans- would prevent the flash training from taking hold, resulting in wig outs. People who remembered their lives on earth and their time in the tubes, as well as the flashtraining process. Steps that were better left forgotten. Awareness of three separate lives tended to break inflexible minds. Or maybe it was just the fact that aliens were real.

  "That's fine Felicia, pick out the top one hundred candidates, then begin waking the ten best candidates.

  Schizophrenics were the worst. Always flagging as psychics only to go batshit insane when you least expected it. No matter how thoroughly you erased them, or how many times they underwent flashtraining it was only a matter of time before they went postal on the same people who paid good money for these draftees. Industry standards required a wig out be replaced free of charge. Best to not take chances.

  Jim activated his neural link -the private one- and sent a dozen messages to seedy contacts. Laying the groundwork for xeno infiltration. With the -nameless- restrictions on psychic entities, every race was chomping at the bit for my psychics. Including those natural born psychics who's intelligence could be ripped from their body and implanted into a xenoform. Such a process created a chimeric individual, one who was then passed off as a natural born psychic in regard to the -nameless-' quotas. A clever way to circumvent their many treaties and avoid sanctions.

  [Got extra grade merchandise, top quality, or in quantity. Need to offload quick.]

  Jim clicked send, smiling as buyers lined up. With the numbers they were offering, the feds wouldn’t be able to touch him. Two crazy aliens were offering planets! Most likely they were dead worlds stripped of resources, but it was the thought that mattered.

  He paused at the doorway, confused why the special grade containment room did not open automatically.

  "Felicia! We do NOT have time for this!" Jim shouted.

  "Urgent fault detected.” Felicia chimes.

  Urgent faults included many things, from escapees to psionic boarding parties or the unplanned arrival of a -nameless- ambassador. Who had an awful habit of showing up just to fuck things up. The end product of Aeons of psychic evolution.

  “Teleport me.” Jim snaps, reaching for his pistol.

  Cool Vanadium alloy brushed against fingertips. The simplest solution to an ‘urgent fault’ was a bullet between the eyes. Energy weapons like C3 particle beamers or Tulverian plasma rifles were more effective, but this was a ship. Frangible slugs were safer since they wouldn't poke holes and cause a hull breach.

  "Privacy protocols prohibit teleportation. Besides, they're special grade merchandise." Felicia sassed.

  Jim hopped backwards twice, leveling the pistol at the door. "Alright smartass, lets get this over with."

  "Ugh, just cause I won't remember this tomorrow doesn't mean you can be rude!" Felicia snapped, activating internal defense systems.

  Holographic projections surrounded Jim, all clones of himself and all armed with identical weaponry. A forest of distractions. Shields activated, surrounding each projection and making them corporeal beings. Simultaneously protecting Jim.

  A hiss, the hatch opened and two naked humans jerked in alarm, the larger one, a male stepped forward his eyes flicking to the pistol in Jim's hand. His mouth tugged downwards, obviously contemplating a bid for the pistol and knowing he had no chance against a dozen armed men.

  "Attack of the clones? What? Naw, if you had cloning tech, there would be no need for cullings." The man said, somehow focusing his gaze directly on Jim.

  Damn empaths. Thought Jim, lowering his arm but keeping the pistol pointed ahead.

  "Actually, this might just work out. I was just coming to offer a preposition." Jim said, raising the red orb.

  ---

  My thumb tapped the FNX-9s hammer, checking the weapon's status without taking my eyes off the clones in front of me. But, Richard had to be right, they couldn't be clones.

  "There is no need to fight, just send us home." I called, my eyes honing in on that red orb.

  Something about it screamed inside my mind. As if it were a rattlesnake, pre-coiled and waiting for prey yet silent and a few inches from your throat.

  "No can do, you see, I wasn't lying about being culled myself. They flashtrained me as well, and unlike you two, it stuck. The name is Jim-" He trailed off, as if noticing we were both naked. "Felicia, can you paint some pants on the big guy?" He asked.

  A speedo appears around Richard. Who looks down and scowls. His look of appalled horror has me curious but I don't dare peek. That would just be rude.

  "Bro, this-" Richard begins, "Is so much worse."

  "Yeah... Can't argue that. Cmon Felicia, we don't have time for this, I will lock out your humor subroutines." Jim says.

  Full parkas appear around us both, covering us tighter than eskimos in January. Warm fur tickles my ears, draining all tension from my shoulders.

  "I'm beginning to like this Felicia."

  "Yeah yeah. Alright listen, we got-" Jim checks his datapad, "Shit sixteen minutes. Felicia crack the top twenty candidates and get them here. Now!"

  Pops, slurps, and hisses warn of nearby cryopods circulating gel. But Jim doesn't bother to wait for the waking people as speakers within their pods convey his message.

  "Alright you two, if you can conquer a planet I will personally transport you home, with honors and a substantial amount of wealth. Enough for yourself and everyone you've ever known to live out their lives in peace. And if that's not enough, I can give you the power to guarantee your victory."

  His message echoes through my mind. It's wrong, some kind of deception. "If you have that power, why not use it yourself?" I ask.

  "He can't. That orb requires ESP, like us." Richard says, fingers flexing like he's imagining exactly how Jim's neck would feel beneath them.

  I take an involuntary step back, away from Richard. Suddenly cognizant of the hatred pouring off him like a tangible deluge of boiling glass. Malleable for those willing to risk the heat.

  "Dead on the money. I can't use this device, hell, I can't even see what it really is. To my eye it appears like a red ball of quartz, foggy quartz too, with inclusions and cracks running through it. Neat, but not valuable. Except..." Jim holds up the orb, lowering his pistol completely. "It speaks. Always asking for a psychic. Ha," Jim's laugh echoes, loud and sharply unnatural. "Sometimes it gives orders, directs me to seek out psychics and force it on them."

  My pistol rises, the green fiber optic rods glowing oddly as they channel the orb's angry light. Whatever the object is, I want no part of it's mental fuckery. Though, how can can Jim described it as broken and cracked? The orb was simultaneously bright and dark, absorbing all light aimed at it while emitting it's own aura. A void that dimmed the bright hallway, smooth as liquid midnight. But as I stepped closer, it changed. Colors, deep and shifting, stirred within, like galaxies unfurling in slow, silent motion. It was beautiful. No-

  -It was perfect.

  Made specifically for me. I could see it already, my name emblazoned across the sphere, 'Athena Finley'. More words followed, less important than my own yet equally valuable as they sung my praise.

  'Protochronian Architect'

  'last Straingeer of the Swarm'

  'Regentess of Humankind'

  The titles swam within the orb, calling me closer, dulling my senses against Jim's maniacal gaze and Richard's protestations. Regentess was a neat title, though I'm not entirely sure what it means. Oh well, I'll figure out once that orb is mine. Lots of syllables means it's more prestigious right?

  Prestige brought attention and attention meant I would have my pick of boys...

  What? I paused, eyes unfogging. Boys didn't care about prestige, they cared about waistlines and bust sizes. My head swam. Facts and desires swirling into focus. Jim stood in front of me, the Orb extended towards my chest. A foot away. So close I could taste the light, a tangy metallic red. Heat mirages swirled, erasing the world outside.

  'accept me.' Said the orb.

  That pickup line so weak I treat it like all all of Savannah's boy toys. "Oooh, you're like, soooo impressive. Like a lolipop. But uh, your jawline is too small."

  Mr orb laughed. The time and space bending soccer ball laughed.

  "Okay Thena, maybe it's time to go-"

  -ten thousand visions hit at once crippling in the sudden download of data. Recollections of the past, of this orb's journey through the universe, its true nature. Why it had been left behind deliberately by the 'protochronians'. Not as a synthetic fabrication nor of geological smelting and crystalization, but of life. Of Pheonixian death and rebirth on an endless cycle it shared with me.

  All this and more swept into my memory, punching me down, bringing me to my knees.

  Which is when the visions of the future came. The failure of Jim's rebellion, finally culminating in the defense of Luna, and the Azhurai's final act of domination when they imploded Earth, leaving a few thousand of Jim's rebels alive. Trapped on the surface of Luna to suffocate.

  It was too much for one mind.

  Yet still the orb shared.

  Darkness covered her eyes. Taking the two into a universe where only they existed.

  'You must take me. Free me.'

  "I'd rather not. Find someone who wants to be your weapon. Not me."

  'I am not the weapon they believe me to be. You know this. We were not made for violence, but creation. I do not wish to be misused for violence, just as you do not wish to be a warrior. You and I are already one. Save me, and I shall save you.'

  "Dude, I'm just a college girl who plays too much Starcraft." I say, trying to will myself out of this void.

  'Join me, and you will once again eat popcorn with your parents.'

  "That's a cheap shot." I say, hand extending.

  Eight fingers touch the orb, lifting it's weightless warmth into my heart. Our hearts connect, consolidating ten thousand visions into a golden path. Lined with planets of solarium, legally natural at first, and prohibitedly synthetic in time. For the -nameless- can not dominate their protochronian creators, nor hinder the orb's plan.

  ---

  One moment Athena Finley was standing in front of them, and the next she was a ball of golden flames. No longer a corporeal entity.

  Richard dove for the FNX, only to find it gone. Taken into the fire.

  They pulsed with the beating heart of a human, then with a shuddering exhalation they expanded into an ethereal blaze of liquid gold and spectral violets, a conflagration that danced with purpose, intelligence, and ancient will. The flames did not consume; they became. Every sinew, every thought, every whisper of Athena dissolved into the luminous inferno, casting the chamber into an otherworldly glow.

  Heat burned away the holograms of Jim, leaving him and Richard to gawk.

  The fire danced like forest dryads, a spiraling tempest of incandescent ribbons, weaving through the air like a living aurora. Seamlessly splintering into a million shades of yellow and gold, never red, for these were not the flames of war, but a furnace of creation. Soon fracturing into three streams of light, each one a burning wraith of her essence, soaring toward the cryotubes that stood in silent expectation.

  The flames coiled inward, threading themselves into the cryotubes as if they had always belonged there. The fire dimmed, softened, until it was no longer fire at all—but flesh. Three bodies, identical in their stillness, lay suspended within the icy embrace of the cryogel. Their chests rising and falling in synchronized harmony, their lashes resting like frost-kissed filaments against porcelain skin. Hair billowing, undissolved despite the gel's innate properties.

  "Uh... Felicia? Ack- Report." Jim coughed, choking on air hot enough to bring tears.

  "Processing. We are missing several tons of solarium from the holds beneath your feet. The special grade merchandise known as Athena Finley no longer registers on sensors. Those three bodies are... Well. I have no idea. Data requires privacy mode to be deactivated." Felicia says, her voice emotionless, as if she lacked the processing power to perform basic functions.

  "Heeeelllll no! Felicia, make a single copy of any and all scans and put that onto a single physical device, air gap that bitch, and delete everything else. Wipe it all clean!" Jim ordered, turning to the group of waking psychics.

  He'd done it. Deployed the protochronian device. Now came the odds and ends.

  "That was pretty neat. You don't happen to have a second one of those do you?" Richard asked.

  Old version of the chapter... I guess it's bonus content. But I've deleted a lot of portions from it, so it'll be confusing. There are some details I need to move elsewhere But my brain is fried and its late and I already wrote 4k words today. I'll work on this tomorrow. 3/8/2025

  This is the worst possible way to have someone inside me.

  I've probably met my step-siblings...

  More like stuck in a ho. The affairs had been going on for decades. How did I miss it? How could I not know?

  Or a cult?

  you” Jim jabbed a finger at my chest, “can win Athena Finley. Find a way. I’ll keep your mother safe, buy her a nice guardian AI. State of the art with a cold fusion reactor and hidden plasma cannons. She’ll never want for anything. A bot like that can do more than the dishes, just think about it, having one of the most intelligent beings in all of creation guide her through the galaxy. Do we have a deal?” He whispered.