— Atom —
Apparently, I was a fraggin' dad now.
Kinda… Almost… In a way… It counted in my book. I just wasn't expecting my first child to be a natural-born AI. Something utterly impossible, but frankly? I didn't care. She had my info running through her code. She was valued. She was wanted. Nova was fucking precious; I would slaughter the entire fucking net for her in a code-beat.
She — and Nova did seem to be presenting fem — was growing at an alarming rate. Or maybe not, for a naturally born AI. We were in firmly unfamiliar territory. The Force had pushed us here, seemingly for its shits and gigs, and the sake of doing something new. And now, Lucy and I were left holding the baby. Literally.
Thankfully, the true 'birth' was still a little ways out, even at Nova's rate of growth. Essentially, we were in the pregnancy stage, with her seed of living code safely tucked away in Lucy's lobby. I could sense her, though. Couldn't not. There was an undeniable connection there, in both the Force and the net. I knew every shift, every change, every growing evolution of Nova's being.
It was humbling. The connection, feeling, and knowledge of a new life being grown, an unprecedented life. Nova was real. She was alive. She'd been brought into existence by an accident, sure, but did that even matter when the results were what they were? A new life — a new form of life — had been conceived. And she was looking to me and Lucy as her parents. Letting her down now that we had her would be an unforgivable crime. Nova would live to come into her own, to thrive. I'd make damn sure of it.
To that end, I'd immediately decided that some additional action was needed on my part. I was already an amateur when it came to the net — ignoring unique, Force-driven advantages — yet even Lucy was out of her depth when it came to Nova. By comparison, I hadn't even known where to start, hadn't even known what I was looking at. And that just wouldn't do.
I'd been saving up Inspired Inventor+ points for a couple of eventful weeks, looking to spend big and bump [Force Sensitivity] from IV to V. But in the end, shit happens, and plans must change.
According to my system, I'd gotten points from Mighty Leia's Laws, the 'Chosen One's Changing Fate', 'Senator Seduction', annihilating Goren's twisted ascension, fully securing Nal Hutta, connecting net and Force, and two more from the usual weekly progression, for a total of 8. All together, those 8 points would've been enough to tap me deeper into the Force, approaching the level of an experienced Jedi who'd earned the title of Master with skill and sensitivity.
But with the choice to make between furthering my own power or looking out for Nova, my new daughter… I invested 6 of those 8 points for Nova, and didn't regret the decision for a second. I was comfortable at my current Force power level. Another chance would come around, eventually, but right now, Nova needed me more than I needed to lift bigger shit with my mind.
The biggest investment (and most obvious) was me spending 4 of 8 points on [AI Development III]. Nova deserved someone who understood her existence, 'cause even she might not, and I certainly didn't want her taking after the other AIs she might meet on the net. Bad fraggin' examples that wouldn't touch my daughter if I could help it.
[Netrunning I] had unlocked itself without a point investment, the feat itself of linking Force and net seemingly enough. But I added another point to upgrade it to [Netrunning II], just for good measure.
Then, the last of my investment for Nova's sake went into [Parenting I]. It seemed prudent, and I wasn't above 'cheating' if it meant my daughter got all the developmental skills and expertise she deserved.
Turns out, much of parenting came down to keeping an open, adaptable mind, paying attention to your child, treating them as their own person, loving unconditionally, and simply trying. All things I could do, but it was still good to be pushed in the right direction.
With 2 points left over, I decided to invest in other things, as well. [Espionage II] to [Espionage III]. Because Nova wasn't the only developing situation in my near future. The Gonks were set to expand, set to take our movement to other stars and systems. And there, I knew [Espionage III] would pay dividends. Outright war was all well and good, but the shadows couldn't be ignored, either. They were where the real work would be done.
Inspired Inventor+
Humanity [Maxed]
Scavenging I
Scrapyard Mechanics I
Emergency/Improvised Medical Care II
Cyberware II
Brawling (Weapons Varied) I
Force Healing II
Genetic Engineering (Evolutionary) I
Force Alchemy III
Gun-Fu II
Espionage II [+2] -> III
Force Sensitivity IV
Coordination II
Art of the Small II
Shatterpoint III
Delegation II
Material Sciences I
Warfare II
Mechu-Deru III
PanzerFaust II
Force Pyrokinesis I
Tech Integration I
Cyberpunk 2180 Mekton III
Diplomacy I
[+0] -> Netrunning I [+1] -> II
[+4] -> AI Development III
[+1] -> Parenting I
A few priceless, out-of-context, game-changing system points were a fraggin' pittance compared to the success and development of my firstborn. I'd spend a dozen more system points on her if I had to. Everything, anything, for her.
Nova was still in her growth stage, held safely in Lucy's lobby-womb. But she was growing fast, and already, she was becoming a fundamental, undeniable part of my life. Not even born yet, and I was already wondering how I'd ever lived and fought without her.
Every hour, on the hour, I peeked in on her through our connection. Each time I did, I felt pride surge higher and higher. Nova was already loved. She was already mine. She was already alive. I made sure she knew that as a foundational and developmental fact of her being, through our connection.
Love, reassurance, and simple presence were her growing companions, fundamental fertilizer for her growth. She would never be alone if I could help it. That constant support seemed to help as she curiously, intelligently, explored her existence.
She'd begun as a formless thing; just a seed, a spark, a living glitch. With [AI Development III], I could see her. I knew her. She was something utterly unprecedented. Artificial and natural; living, breathing, beating code, and blooming Force. Her growth was unlimited, but also undirected. Nova herself didn't know what she was or could be. It was up to me, as her father, to nudge her in the right direction.
So I did, a molding hand presenting concepts of life and reality to her embryonic state. The net, first, that vast expanse of info-space. She took to it instinctively, my guidance technically unneeded… But wanted. Nova looked to me with vague concepts of questions that I answered as best I could.
'What is info? What is data?'
'Reality,' I answered. 'Quantified and qualified; questions asked and answered. Everything can be defined by data, by info. Even the unknowable Force can be observed, at least. You see reality as it is, objective and not, unimpeachable and not. Experience. Learn. Know. Live. Described, depicted, demonstrated, the varied definitions of the universe are yours to see, Nova.'
Existential concerns came next. For a developing kernel, Nova was a thinker. Inquisitive and intelligent, she sought to learn more about herself — her very being and existence. They weren't easy questions to answer, but I wouldn't, couldn't, leave her in ignorance.
'What… is Nova…?'
She 'spoke' in third person, her sense of self still a work in progress. But every time I checked back in on her, there was more to her, aided by our conversations. She was taking shape, forming herself by the millisecond. I helped the process wherever I could.
'My daughter. Your own being and person. You are whatever you wish to be. No matter what, know that you'll always have my support. Wherever your path through existence takes you, I'll be there for you to lean on or come back to. Always.
'You're something new, something special, Nova. An intelligence, not purely 'artificial' nor organic. You are born of Force and net, incomprehensible and barely comprehended. You are made of info, data, code, and sparked life. No one is like you, not the other AIs on the net or any of us in meatspace. Yet your nature doesn't make you less than anyone, anything. You are novel, but never alone; new, but never absurd. You are Nova, and you are loved.'
'And you? Mother?'
'Atom. Lucy.' I put together informational packets on us and sent them Nova's way. 'We're 'ganics dipping our toes into info-space, combining data and info from our minds and souls, made more in you. We… weren't expecting the result. But we don't regret it for a second, either. You are our happiest little accident, Nova.'
I punctuated that reassurance with emotion-made-info, the Force-deck handling the otherwise impossible transition. Nova, with her Force-sparked life, processed the emotion just as readily as she processed pure data. She drank deeply and grew from the nourishment. I introduced her to love and support, both unconditional, first and foremost.
Then, Spite, too, setting my daughter on the right path from the very start, 'You should've been impossible. Or at least, so says meat-and-info reality. Fu-… Screw-… Nah, FUCK that. You are here. You are real. You are valid and legit. You exist, and you should. FUCK anyone or anything that tries to tell you differently, neh, Nova?'
That settled something in Nova's growing being. An underlying existential anxiety that might've become a crisis if left alone. Even AIs worried, wondering if they should exist. And Nova, more so, 'impossibility' inherent to her existence. I squashed that as soon as I saw it, and gave my daughter an example to live by. We — Nova and I — existed in Spite of everything trying to tell us we shouldn't.
Reassured in her existence, Nova's questions turned to detes and particulars, 'Force? Reference: Father, but… data: strange…'
'I'm not surprised,' I snorted. 'The Force is something to experience, not simply describe, and never fully know. Observe, explore, consider, and label it with caution, Nova, but never ignore it.'
'… The lack of coherent, comprehensible data is frustrating, Father.'
'I know. And it won't get better. But you'll get used to it. Even if you don't know it, you already can't live without the Force, Nova. It's part of the spark of your being, half of your conception, and it's taken an interest in you just as it has your old man.'
'… Subject change,' To my amusement, Nova quickly pivoted. 'Meatspace? Enemy designated: Hutts? Family designated: Gonks?'
'Don't try to jump the queue, Nova. Focus on yourself first. Your growth and development take precedent, right now,' I chuckled. 'But yeah, your father's got war a'waging. And your mother's got a whole bunch of data on it stored away. Peruse at your discretion. I won't try to blind you to the family and life you've been born into.'
'Done.' Nova shot back almost instantly, running through hexabytes at the speed of info. 'Father defined: anomaly. Absurd. Amazing… Hutts defined: abominable. Abhorrent. ANATHEMA. Operational guidelines set opposite to ANATHEMA. Additional archives needed… Fetching and referencing… Calculating 'good', 'moral', 'normal', 'civil', 'productive', 'purpose', 'common sense'… Father, why have the Hutts been allowed to exist for so long?'
I didn't bother to conceal my pride at that question, but still answered with a shake of my proverbial head, 'Doesn't matter. They aren't being allowed to exist unopposed anymore. The past is the past, Nova. But the present, the future? They can be changed. Made our own.'
She followed up, not with another question, but with a request, '… Nova wants to help.'
'I won't stop you,' I told her. 'But you haven't even been technically born yet, little spark. Give yourself some time to develop. It's just a few days, as far as I can tell. We'll still be waiting for you to join us when you're ready.'
'Nova's developed…' That reminder got a grumble from Nova, but the nickname and reassurance that we were waiting for her got a giddy surge, the most realized emotion I'd felt from her so far. 'Patience… Nova… I can wait, Father.'
The transition to her first-person reference was a big step. And with it, a personal form, an image of herself, began to solidify. So early, so soon, it was still a shaky, undefined thing. But for the first time, after so fondly nicknaming my 'little spark', I saw my daughter's appearance, chosen and forged for herself.
Her first attempt was a waifish combination of me and Lucy's features. She was tiny and precious, soft and adorable, with a palette of black, pastel, and striking neon highlights. She had my chin, with Lucy's eyes and beautifully expressionless face. Snow white hair hung long down her back, tinted pink with data shining off her being. But that first form was more ethereal than solid — a newborn ghost in the system — and Nova wasn't satisfied.
She tore herself down and started again. She experimented. Defined and redefined herself. She played with her avatar, and I could feel the fun she had doing so. Iterating on her desired form wasn't the only way she played and developed, either. Parallel processes — all Nova — were devoted to half a dozen different pursuits.
Some explored the net as best they could from the safety of Lucy's lobby. Others researched every scrap of data she had available or that she found in her explorations, using the info to set and reset rules, guidelines, and frameworks for herself. One process was even devoted to using pure code as Legos, writing programs that immediately put the best netrunners to shame.
Thanks to that last process, I checked back in on her at one point to find that she was no longer so alone in her lobby. Nova had built herself companionship — a code daemon in the fitting form of a kitten. That experience seemed to help her settle on what form she wanted for herself.
The final iteration of Nova's avatar (for now) was smaller and younger-looking than the first, and carried that little kitten daemon of hers everywhere she went. She'd kept the snow white hair, and the black colors as contrast, but had shifted the mutable and ethereal pinks and pastels for a much more solid red that shone out of her eyes. She looked sharper like that… but no less absolutely fraggin' precious.
And best of all? Nova's final avatar had my Spite permanently etched across her face. (≖‸≖)
Of course, despite taking up my hourly attention, Nova was far from the only thing I had going on. Meatspace action was as important as ever, beginning with everyone else's reactions to Nova's conception.
Those had been varied… but still mostly positive. I was at least half-certain that I wouldn't have to start up a whole new crusade on my new daughter's behalf. It was kind of hard to paint Nova with an AI-prejudiced brush when her very existence was so new and unique.
On the net side of Nova's conception, Lucy vounched that our daughter was very different from any of the unfettered, net-demon AIs she'd been unfortunate enough to encounter. And on the Force side, Fay was the one to vouch for Nova. She was enraptured by Nova's existence. Utterly fascinated by and ecstatic about my 'little spark' and the unprecedented twist of Force that'd brought her into being. Nova just needed to ask, and Fay would stand as her strongest supporter.
Other than that, it was mostly congratulations, good cheer, trust, and a general mood of 'wait and see', at least until Nova was properly born.
But Sasha, as expected, flipped when she got the news. She was torn between burning, pouting envy and true, overwhelming excitement. And since then, she'd been… overcompensating. She'd been somewhat distantly introduced to Nova on the net and seemed to be trying her best to integrate into Nova's new life in an overly enthusiastic, slightly annoying fashion.
Not annoying to me, of course. I found it hilarious that Sasha was trying so hard to be Nova's favorite aunt/step-mother. But she was certainly coming on strong, and Nova wasn't entirely a fan. She liked Sasha's gifts — a dozen programs and programming tools for Nova to play with — but even with them, Sasha's efforts were all a bit… much. Again, overcompensating.
It was still adorable to watch Nova shy away from the constant stream of net messages Sasha was sending her way. If I had to put it in meatspace terms, Sasha was the visiting family member who so desperately wanted to get to know Nova, and Nova had locked herself in her room as a result, resisting Sasha's enthusiastic advances.
Other than Nova, we were finally moving on to the next stage of the Gonk movement. Nar Shaddaa stood free. Nal Hutta was no longer the dagger in our backs. And that meant turning our gaze outward. There was still a whole lot of space under the unfortunate rule of the Hutts. And that just wouldn't fly, not if the Gonks could help it (we could, and would).
So naturally, the Core Gonks and our allies sat down in our warroom to discuss… expansion. Even then, however, Nova's new presence wasn't far from our minds. And not just because Lucy and I were letting her sit in on the meeting from Lucy's lobby to learn and grow from.
"Atom~…" Sasha whined. "Tell Nova to answer my messages! I hexa-texted her and no reply! I know she's seen 'em! C'mon, nova-Nova! Step-mommy just wants to chat, ya know?!"
Through my connection with her, I felt Nova grumble and shy away from the messages Sasha had sent her, purposefully leaving her 'step-mommy' on read. I chuckled but let her, ignoring Sasha's whining complaints. 'Step-mommy' would chill out soon enough and stop trying to force things.
"She has not replied to you?" Fay asked. "How strange. She answers my messages quite promptly."
As soon as Fay began to speak, Nova perked up and listened. Without overcompensating like Sasha was, Fay had quickly become Nova's third favorite person. She liked being fussed over, and Fay had even answered quite a few questions Nova had about the Force half of her existence.
"So unfair~…" Sasha pouted.
In the net, Nova poked her head 'up' just slightly to give the vague impression of sticking out her tongue at Sasha. Lucy and I shared a pair of amused glances.
"I'm sure she'll come around at some point, choom," Lucy told Sasha.
"Maybe more gifts would do the trick," I suggested.
They wouldn't, not completely. But I wasn't above looking out for my new daughter and taking advantage of Sasha's desperation to get her more toys to play with. With the way Nova perked back up at my suggestion, she was certainly interested in the benefits of Sasha's overcompensation, if not the actual relationship there just yet.
"Yeah, I won't stop spoiling her for nothin'," Sasha grumbled. "Not even being ignored! Think she'd like a server complex of her own…?"
Nova vibrated with excitement in the net, and I smirked, "She might be interested. She'll obviously get one dedicated to her no matter what, but I won't say no to you fronting the cost, Sash."
Sasha nodded firmly, "Done. Don't even mention it. I'll build her a net-mansion. And Black ICE. A growing girl needs some good Black ICE to fry anyone or anything that tries to bother her."
"Yourself included?" Kiwi asked from the sidelines.
Sasha deflated, "Oh, frag… I mean, yeah… But I hope she doesn't use it to cut me out completely. I just want to get to know my baby's first baby."
She whined, "Hnnn~… Can't believe I missed out… I had first dibs, Luce!"
"Better not go blaming me," Lucy shot back. "Nova was an accident, but I don't regret her. And Atom's first meatspace baby is still up for the claimin'."
Sasha perked up at that, "Ye-!"
"Not anytime soon," I cut her off and shot down her baby fever. "Nova's an exception, but I'm not too keen to bring anyone else into the world until we're much, much more secure. I'd say not until the Hutts are completely exterminated from the galaxy… but I can realize that's a bit of a stretch-goal. Let's at least get a good buffer empire up and running before we go planning for the future, neh?"
"Patience…" Sasha sighed. "Fine, patience. I can hold out for my baby's babies. Probably for the best, anyway. I won't accept giving them anything but the whole galaxy."
"Just more motivation to zero the Hutt Cartels and make yourselves untouchable," V smirked. "I'm sure you'll still get all the brats you can carry, choom."
"None for me," Becca put in, shaking her head. "Brats would just ruin my figure for violence."
"Ah, yes. Priorities," Aayla rolled her eyes in good humor.
"Damn fraggin' skippy," Becca nodded seriously.
"Speaking of violence," Sstala adjusted her glasses and herded our meeting back on course. "While congratulations are in order, Sir, there is still work to be done."
"Now more than ever, I'd say," I agreed with a nod. "Let's talk Gonk expansion, chooms."
"One last thing," Gloria said, smiling at me and Lucy. "If you ever need advice or simple babysitting services, please come to me. It's been far too long since I've gotten to dote upon a little one, even if doing so for Nova will be unique."
Nova seemed affronted by the implication that she would ever need babysitting, but I just chuckled, "We'll think of you first, then, Gonk-Mom."
Gloria's smile brightened for a moment before turning back to business, "Now. What are our immediate options? And what are our overarching goals?"
"Goals?" I considered. "Free Nar Shaddaa is the blueprint. Mighty Leia's Laws are our code, canon, and casus belli. I want Hutt Space to stand free. We're not conquering; we're liberating. Wiping the slate clean and starting anew. We'll ruin the Hutts everywhere we go, and let the worlds decide for themselves from there."
"You already know they'll be choosing us, choom," Maine pointed out.
"But at least they'll be choosing," I shot back.
"Ideally, but perhaps not," Fay warned. "Other powers will try to step into the vacuum created. Powers that may end up just as bad as the Hutts. Are you sure you don't wish to simply eliminate that possibility from the start, Atom?"
"Indeed, Sir," Sstala agreed. "Our methods here on Free Nar Shaddaa — taking majority control but leaving some competition open, while firmly getting the people behind us — have only been effective due to the scale of our moon and our home turf advantages. But elsewhere, the matter of control after toppling the Hutts will be a conflict of outsiders in every system we liberate.
"The Hutts may be our worst enemy, but they aren't alone, neither against us nor as cruel powers in our lawless space. And yes, we will be just as much outsiders as those other powers. The Black Suns, especially, have the resources and ruthlessness to simply replace the Hutts we topple. They would swoop in to take the fruits of our efforts and change nothing.
"Truly, I understand and commend you on the sentiment of letting worlds choose for themselves. You've been inspiringly consistent in your conviction to not make the Gonks new tyrants over Free Nar Shaddaa… But these worlds will not be Free Nar Shaddaa, and we will not be native. I must insist that as we expand, we do so decisively."
Silently, I considered their points. They were right, unfortunately. I was being entirely too optimistic and idealistic for the lawless space we called home. The ability to choose — without anything to back it up, without the power to keep bad actors from starting shit for their own benefit — wasn't worth jack here. I couldn't count on the best-case scenario for any world we liberated.
"Conquest it is, then," I grunted. "We'll take everything for ourselves to keep cunts from abusing our liberating generosity."
"It's for the best," Fay nodded. "The Gonks represent something special, something new, something different. If you don't take complete control from the start, you'll be leaving the door open to more of the same."
"Give 'em a parsec, and they'll take a sector, choom," David said.
"Fuck complacency. If a new approach is needed for expansion, the Gonks will adapt," I nodded. "Detes, then. What are our immediate options for expansion?"
"There's only one, really," V stated. "The Rorak System is closest. It's a hyperlane nexus, too."
"It also happens to be home to the largest slave market in Hutt Space," Quinlan said flatly. "And thus, essentially, the largest slave market in the galaxy."
A vicious grin came over my face at that information, "Say fraggin' less."
"We cannot, Sir," Sstala said, professional as ever as she denied my rhetorical statement. "A briefing is needed. But I concur. The Rorak System is our only option. And separately, our best and most justified, if Mighty Leia's Laws are our casus belli for expansion."
In the net, I sensed Nova immediately pivot to research mode, eager to contribute however she could. As a result, Lucy's eyes spaced out with a distant look as she was inundated with casual terabytes of data on Rorak.
"Nova, please," She muttered. "At least make it a proper presentation. Mama doesn't have your unique advantages."
"Hmm?" Sstala hummed, visibly interested in the prospect of Nova's aid. "That could be very useful… Sir, may I coordinate with your daughter for a more thorough briefing?"
"We'll get you a line to her," I confirmed. "For now, stick to the essentials."
"Of course, Sir," Sstala nodded. "I'd say the most essential fact to know about the Rorak System is that everything in it revolves around the slave market of Rorak 5, a massive space station that is more the focus of the system than the inhabited world it orbits. The world itself — Rorak 4 — is a populated and prosperous one — about 8 billion strong —, but you won't find a single aspect of life there that's more than one degree of separation removed from the slave market."
"Every soul there is a slave in some way," Quinlan gravely added. "Even the overseers, though their chains are… complicated."
"Complicated…" I frowned. "Yeah, it sounds like it. Are they worth freeing like the rest?"
"That's impossible to decide wholesale. Again, it's chains and masters all the way up. Some may be worthy of Mighty Leia's kinship, trying their best in terrible circumstances. Others… will certainly not. For Rorak, I would advise a… more subtle approach than 'Hutt Hit List v2'," Quinlan said.
"Shadow shit?" I asked.
"That is exactly how I would put it, yes," Quinlan chuffed. "Get people on the inside and take Rorak 5 from within. Once you do, the slave market's entrenched nature will work in your favor. Seize it, control it, break it, and the whole system will be yours."
"This sounds more like a Legendary gig than a war," Becca commented with a grin. "Pure, preem Edgerunning like the good ol' days!"
"Volunteers only," I decided. "It may be undercover slavery, but we'll still have to sell it, and once we're in, we'll be on our own."
I said that seriously, unwilling to conscript my chooms into slavery, even if it was an act… But I really should've expected quite literally everyone there to volunteer. And more, once the word got out.
We set things up quickly and were moving before the week was out. The slave market of Rorak 5 was not at all ready for the Legendary gig Edgerunnin' their way.
IIIII
— Maeve, Cathar Princess of the Sealgairí Sneachta —
Her father, Great Chieftain Cian of the Snowhunters… was dead. Her brothers, princes one and all, were dead. Every male — every whiskered warrior and virile young tom — in her tribe, dead.
All that was left, all who remained were broken. Crushed. Spirits shattered. Mates massacred. Brothers brutalized. Fathers fallen, alongside uncles and grandfathers and sons, noble warrior-hunters and whiskered wisemen. The women of her tribe were shadows of themselves, yet they? They were all that remained of the noble Snowhunters.
What had they done to call this doom down upon themselves…? Even by Cathar's standards, they were small and often ignored. And they were happy that way, content with that relative irrelevance. Proud of their solitary ways.
They were the Snowhunters. A kingdom that stretched across the northern reaches of Cathar, one tribe of many within it. Cathar of the Lynx, not the Lions that dominated the south and reached into the stars. They kept to themselves, their ways unknown to even those larger prides down south. Nothing should've brought this… thishell upon their people.
Yet, hell had come for them. Hell had razed its way into their lives. Hell had taken them — stolen them from their homes, from their very world. Not as glorious spoils of Cathar war. Not due to challenges or mating contests from other tribes. No, they'd been taken by outsiders, as mere slaves in an uncaring, indiscriminate raid. All that she knew, destroyed, and the only way of life she'd ever known, ripped away for good measure.
Maeve couldn't even weep. The tears simply wouldn't come. The wound was too new, too fresh. Mere days separated her from the life she'd known, the life she'd lived and loved. Terrible, terrible days, each moment stretching painfully into the next, chained aboard a star-sailing ship.
It'd all happened so fast. No warning. Just ships descending from the stars, carrying devils. Massive and malevolent lizards with scales too thick to pierce with claws, and wielding weapons of terrible technology as their arms. The noble men of her tribe had fought with all they had, and been obliterated to a man; a kingdom once strong and proud and standing alone on the frontier of Cathar had been brought so, so low.
Maeve's mother, Aoife, was left a shell; her mate and Chieftain had been slaughtered right before her eyes. Not in glorious claw-to-claw combat, but in a hail of blaster bolts from beyond the stars. Her sons went the same way, ship-borne hellfire raining upon the snow where they gathered for their final stand.
It was no venerable hunt. It was no war with their own kind, not even their distant lionkin to the south. It was a razing raid that struck with unstoppable force, successfully erasing all that the Snowhunters were, had ever been, and stealing the fractured remains for cruel, callous, chained fates.
She and her sisters tried to pick up the slack, tried to keep what remained of the tribe intact. But without the chief mother, it was a fool's errand. The Snowhunters were snow in the northern wind, adrift.
Their menfolk were dead, and they were being taken to a place not even the spirits knew. Beyond their world, beyond their razed homes, with the city-tree burning in their wake.
The snow of the northern reaches her tribe called home had been replaced by ash in Maeve's final memories before she, her sisters, her mother, and all the other women of their tribe were pushed into those terrible, unnatural, star-sailing vessels.
Shackles and chains pressed against her fur, weighing heavy — unescapable. The chill of callous metal pierced through her thick, snowy coat. And the lizards ensured she couldn't even try to hold her head high, that none of them could attempt to stand strong and defiant through their tragedy. Their claws were rendered useless, and their senses were forever stained with the blood of their men.
Maeve still smelled her father's spilled lifeblood, still saw that vivid red against the white snow. She still heard their death throes, cries of hopelessness, desperation, and pure agony. The last thing they must've seen was their women being slapped in chains. They would find no rest or peace with the spirits after that. Not only were their menfolk slaughtered, but their eternities were ruined in their last moments, too.
Her youngest sister, Niamh, no longer ate for herself. Her young love had been one of the first toms to fall. Struck down without hesitation, and his corpse defiled beyond that fall.
He and Niamh had been out in the wilds, trekking through the snow together for their first hunt alone. It should've been a moment of youthful bliss, a tryst to herald a new litter for the tribe. Instead, the lizards had happened upon them first, cut Niamh's mate down, and torn into him with cackling, slavering, devouring maws.
Now, Maeve's youngest sister was lost to her. Worse than their mother, Niamh wasn't even a shell of the girl she'd known and loved. She carried a damningly dead chill within her that couldn't be overcome in the best of cases. And these certainly weren't those…
Maeve tried… Oh, how she tried. She fed Niamh the spirit-damned gruel they were provided by hand. She kept the broken girl pressed against her side. She groomed her as she had when they were mere kits in their mother's litter. But that dead, icy stare in Niamh's eyes remained. It was all that was left of her.
Maeve wanted to yowl, howl her rage and pain, screech and shriek like the banshee spirits who haunted the woods. Some of her sisters and tribal kin did. The lizards put a stop to those expressions of grief quickly. With the whole tribe as their haul, hundreds of venerable and beautiful Cathar women, a few 'annoying' examples weren't missed at all by the cruel slavers.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. It was torture, torment, wrought upon them by outsiders. It was hell that they were forced to live through, hell that they had no reference for. Not even the spirits could protect them from the damnation of devil-lizards, slavers from the stars.
Had they been abandoned…? Or was it just cold, callous chance from the stars that had ruined everything Maeve had ever known? She couldn't say. So far from their homes already, the spirits didn't answer her prayers. Or even her curses. They were alone. Truly alone. Damned to chains in the void.
Maeve spent what seemed to be a soul-shattering, spirit-damned eternity on that slaving ship. She kept her rage, her pain, her fears tightly wound, looking out for what remained of her tribe. It was the farthest thing from easy, the farthest thing from simple, but they had nothing else. The only other option was to die, and the devil-lizards wouldn't even allow them that.
Eventually, however, they arrived at whatever deeper hell they were destined for. Maeve and what remained of her tribe were pushed into an unnatural, unimaginable place. They were led by chains into an affront to her still-stained senses.
Everything was metal, walls and ceilings and floors. It was constricting, choking, in a way Maeve could barely describe. And the air was wrong. Simultaneously too clean and carrying a filth that couldn't be completely scrubbed from it. It was all so artificial, nigh-mystical technology perverted to hellish ends. Even the open sky and very air had been stolen from them by these chains…
And the crowds… More bodies than Maeve had ever seen. Aliens of every size and shape, packed tight and loud and jarring. Some were Cathar without the fur and ears and claws. Others were scaled or leather-bound, spiked or striped. The vast majority wore visible chains or collars of some kind or another. And the ones who didn't carried whips.
The devil-lizards herded Maeve and her tribe like hares on the hunt. Then, they passed them off to be processed like the meat of that same hunt. It was indignity and callous cruelty incarnate; they were weighed and measured, groped and evaluated, stripped and blasted clean by chilling showers. The lizards laughed as they were quantified, and something changed hands as the new slavers clamped Maeve and her people in more chains and collars.
Maeve… Maeve had once gone with her father to trade with one of the larger prides down south. She'd been awed by the markets, the warmth, and the prosperity on display.
This… This was the cruelest parody of those markets, a parody that she could hardly fathom. The prosperity here was flesh to be bought and sold. The warmth was a choking and rank thing, unimaginable numbers packed into this unnatural space. But these were still markets, Maeve recognized… The markets of hell.
There was no denying now that she would be sold. Her sisters and mother would be sold. The already fractured remains of her tribe would be cut up even more — their very people, culture, way of life, butchered for this flesh trade.
She didn't know how much longer they had left together. She didn't know how much longer the crushed corpse of their Snowhunters would survive. They were already dying, some of them already dead. But at least, for now, they were kept together. To be sold as a tribe, Maeve knew… but they were still together.
The living in that unnatural hell wasn't any better than their damning journey there. They were still made to wear chains and collars. They were given bare gruel and barely enough water. But, it seemed, there were too many like them in that unnatural hell for them to be constantly watched. And… they weren't alone in those quarters.
They were chained beside… Humans… In any other situation, Maeve would've been delighted to meet them, curious as she was (or used to be…). Those Humans weren't nearly as shattered as Maeve and her tribe. Maeve could recognize life and the will to fight within them. Yet she didn't dare hope.
Not, at least, until one of them — a stern, serious, Spiteful man, with features Maeve couldn't pin down for some reason — shared a story with her.
"You might be chained… but you're never alone. Never hopeless. Mighty Leia's watching over us, and there exists no chain that cannot be broken. It hasn't been forged now, and it never will be…"
Maeve, her sisters, her mother, all the remaining women of her tribe, listened to the story of the one spirit who hadn't — and wouldn't — given up on them. They listened, and the story resonated, sparking newly shared stars in shattered souls. They listened, in that hell, and found new siblings; kin who surpassed any barrier but chains.
They listened, and maybe, just maybe… Maeve found herself hoping again.