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This story takes place a couple of months after Keeping Secrets. It's hard for me to tell, but I don't think it's necessary to read the previous story to enjoy this one, but if you want to read about how Tracy and Kat met, that's where to go. And as always, I will be updating the tags as the different parts are posted to avoid spoilers. -------------- Mission Improbable (Part 1 of 13) "Shit!" Tracy looked out of the window of her van. Big, fat raindrops splattered against the windscreen. "What's the matter Häschen?" Kat's voice on the other end of the phone line asked. "Rain. "That's going to make flying harder." A single one of those big drops could upset the balance of Tracy's little drone. It would also make audio surveillance next to impossible. Lightning flashed somewhere behind the car, illuminating the trees in front of the car briefly. The thunder that followed only moments later drowned out whatever Kat said. "What was that?" Tracy put Kat on speaker while she climbed around the seats to the back of the van. "I said 'just be careful'. I wouldn't want to take care of a zapped, little bunny. You're fussy enough when you're just wet." Tracy felt a blush creep up her neck. "Kat," Tracy pleaded, the whining tone painfully clear even to herself. God, I sound like a four-year-old. "Oh come on," Kat said. "It's not like there's anyone else in your car with you." "How do you know?" "Well, is there?" "No," Tracy admitted. She was struggling to find the neck hole inside her dark grey rain poncho. The stiff plastic of the poncho crackled slightly with static electricity as she pulled it down. The mesh of hair-thin metal wires inside the plastic would hide and distort Tracy's heat signature, making her much harder to see with infra-red cameras. She wasn't expecting anybody to be using that, but if she had to be somewhere in person, she was not going to take any chances. Tracy picked the phone up from the suitcase holding most of her surveillance gear. "Anyway, are you doing anything tonight?" Tracy didn't actually hold her breath; at least not physically. She always felt awkward asking if Kat was free. Asking a dominatrix if she's working felt to Tracy like asking 'are you fucking someone'. It wasn't like she was jealous when Kat was seeing clients. Well, maybe a little. She knew what she was getting into when she and Kat started... dating? No, that wasn't the word she'd use. Maybe 'seeing each other'? No, that didn't seem right either. They weren't two high-schoolers making out between classes. 'Sleeping together' didn't feel right either, although it was true in the most literal sense. Tracy was so lost in her search for the right term that she missed Kat's answer. She shook her head to dismiss the thoughts. "What was that? You dropped out there for a second," Tracy bluffed. "I said I have a client all night. Sorry." Tracy sighed. "Okay." She had hoped that she could snuggle up to Kat after having had to be out in the rain. Even if it was only for a few hours. Sleeping like that was so much more restful than sleeping alone. "Aww. Were you hoping for some snuggles after you were done?" Tracy suddenly realised something. "All night, you said? Are they there now?" "Relax Häschen. It's not like they can hear you." "Still, you know I hate it when we talk like this when you have other people there." "You didn't seem to mind last week when Jessie and Uncle Dieter had us over for dinner." Tracy sighed again, almost rolling her eyes at Kat. "That's different and you know it. They think we're... you know, dating." Tracy cringed at the word. It wasn't like they hadn't gone on dates. But there was a big difference between 'going on dates' and 'dating'. At least in Tracy's mind. "We can have breakfast," Kat suggested. "Or maybe lunch. I don't know how late it'll be before I get some sleep." "Mmm-yeah. Breakfast sounds nice. Surprise me." Tracy knew that Kat could hear her smile. "Do you want me to wear my..." Tracy hesitated, "you know..." Kat laughed. "You can say 'diaper' Häschen. It iss not a naughty verd." She said the last sentence with an exaggerated German accent that made Tracy smile. "I know. It just feels weird to say it." "You know, it's funny. You have more trouble saying the word than you have actually wearing them." "Yeah, yeah. It's hilarious," Tracy said dismissively. "Scheiße, I have to go," Kat said as there was some noise in the background that Tracy couldn't identify. "Tomorrow, wear your diapers if you want to. Or not. We'll figure something out. Bye." "Uh, bye," Tracy said, but Kat had already hung up. "...I guess." She put away the phone and opened the car door, looking out into the downpour. Even before stepping outside, she imagined she could feel a greasy trickle down the back of her neck. Tracy grabbed her camera and checked the batteries. Almost fully charged. Before she slipped the strap over her head, Tracy made sure the waterproof casing was properly closed. Wouldn't want foggy lenses that I can't reach. Tracy stepped out of the van and found herself ankle-deep in a puddle that hadn't been there when she parked. "Damn." Tracy stepped out of the puddle and shook her feet to get some of the water out of her shoes. "Not exactly the greatest start," she said to no-one in particular. Grabbing a black, plastic briefcase and a small tripod, Tracy closed the door and locked it. The alarm activated with a quiet chirp. Then she trudged off into the bushes. Half an hour later, Tracy was in place. She was crouching in a bush halfway up a small hill. Below her was a footpath with a metal bench and a trash can with a couple of impressive dents. Tracy absent-mindedly wondered what could have made the dents. They looked too big to be from bikes, but the footpath was too narrow and twisting for cars. ATVs maybe? Tracy checked her watch: A quarter to one. In fifteen minutes, that trash can was going to be one of the richest trash cans in the city. Tracy shifted her weight, moving her knee out of the small brook that had appeared only minutes after she had settled down in her bush. Her mind drifted back to earlier that day. *** Tracy had been in her office, working on the final report to a client when there was a quiet knock on the door. Tracy checked the camera outside the door. Kat had insisted she install the camera and reinforce the office door after a case had gone badly, in a death-threat kind of way a couple of months earlier. Outside the door was a woman and man. They didn't look like a threat, so Tracy pressed the button to unlock the door. The lock buzzed and clicked and after a few moments, the couple entered. Tracy pushed her keyboard aside and motioned to the chairs in front of the desk. "Please, have a seat." Tracy found her trusty notepad and pencil. Then she pushed the phone to the middle of the desk. "You don't mind if I record this..." Tracy paused and studied the couple for a few moments. The man was sitting with his eyes lowered, turned slightly towards the woman, who in turn was sitting back in the chair with her legs crossed, looking relaxed and confident. Tracy figured that she was the one in charge. "... Ms? "Wilford," the woman said. "Nalah Wilford. And I'd rather you didn't. I don't want any of this coming out." "It's only to help my note-taking, but if you're uncomfortable with it..." Tracy picked up her phone and put it away. "OK Ms. Wilford, what's the problem?" Tracy tried to sound professional. "Marc here fucked up," She answered matter-of-factly. Tracy looked from one to the other and back and again. "I'm going to need a little more details than that." Ms. Wilford looked coolly at Marc. "Well? Tell her what you did." "There was this email, and I thought it was from Miss Nalah and I clicked on the link in it and-" "And the idiot opened a back-door into the system. Look, I couldn't care less that they hijacked his webcam and caught him undressing and getting into position for me under the desk in my office." "I-" Tracy began, a little taken aback. "I do, however, care that they caught me on camera as well. And as if that wasn't enough, they encrypted the entire system, locking us out." "And let me guess, they want money to unlock the system and not release the video." "Yeah, fifteen thousand." Ms. Wilford said it like it was more an annoyance than a serious sum of money. "Not to point out the obvious, but isn't this a police matter? Or at the very least, your IT department? Why hire someone like me?" "If we use yesterday's backups we lose all the logs from a crucial deposition, plus we'd look incompetent." Ms. Wilford glared at Marc. "And going to the police wouldn't get the files back in time for the trial either. I figured the simplest solution is to just pay them." "Okay? But then why hire me?" "Don't get me wrong, I'm not OK with what happened. I want you to find out who did this so I can make them regret it. And as for why you specifically? You came highly recommended from a business associate of mine. A Mrs Devereux?" "I see," Tracy said, trying to sound neutral since she didn't know how much Ms. Wilford knew about the case in question. "So, fifteen thousand. I'm assuming they didn't want to meet in some back alley with a suitcase full of cash." "Unfortunately not. They wanted the money in some stupid cryptocurrency, Ding-Dough, on a thumb drive, and they wanted Marc to drop it off at a specific location at 1 am. tonight." "So, in..." Tracy checked her watch, "...eleven hours or so. I'm assuming they gave the whole 'don't contact the police' warning or something like that. Will getting the money be a problem?" Ms. Wilford shook her head. Tracy put down her pencil. "Well, since they've been smart about the money, our best bet is probably to follow the actual thumb drive once your husband makes the drop and hopefully identify the blackmailers that way." "Oh please! Like I'd marry him." Ms. Wilford rolled her eyes. "I deal with enough fucked-up marriages at work. Marc's my personal assistant." And your executive stress relief toy, it sounds like. Tracy opened her desk drawer and rooted around in it for a couple of seconds before bringing out a bright yellow thumb drive. "Use this for the money," she said and handed it to Ms. Wilford. "Now, this is a rush job so I'm going to have to charge extra." "I expected as much. Camille told me the rates you charged her; I'll double it." That was more than Tracy had been planning on charging, so she simply nodded. "I also have a couple more conditions. First of all: My job is to follow the thumb drive, or the information on it, to the blackmailers without them realising it. That is, until they've given you the password to unlock your system. So until that happens, you're going to follow the blackmailer's instructions to the letter. Agreed? "Sounds reasonable." "Also, whatever you're planning for whoever did this, I'm not involved. Once I've identified the blackmailers, my job is over." "I wouldn't have it any other way." Ms. Wilford's smile sent a chill down Tracy's spine. It was like a cat watching a canary with a broken wing. Tracy decided she didn't want to get on Ms. Wilford's bad side. They spent the next twenty minutes getting all the details Tracy felt she needed. After Ms. Wilford and Marc had left, Tracy started planning. She would park a drone by the drop and follow whoever came to pick it up. Tracy opened the box of drones and checked the battery levels of the one with the best range. It only had a basic camera and microphone, but it was small enough to escape notice. After checking the map of the park where the drop-off was, she found that the drone should be able to follow the thumb drive to any of the parking lots in the immediate area. After that, it was just a matter of recording the licence plate and the traffic cameras would do the rest of the job for her. The thumb drive even had a tracker that she could activate remotely in case she lost track of it. If whoever picked it up scanned the drive for bugs, they wouldn't find it until it was too late. Tracy had to admit that she had a similar tracker on her car keys and that she had had to use it more than once. Content that all the technical preparations were done, Tracy went to bed. If she was going to pull an all-nighter, she should start out well rested. *** Movement on the path below brought Tracy back to the present. Somebody halfway hidden by a big, green and white golf umbrella, approached the bench. It was Marc. He looked around nervously. "Come on," Tracy mouthed silently. "Don't get creative. Just make the delivery and walk away." Marc fumbled in his pocket and brought out Tracy's yellow thumb drive. Tracy zoomed in on Marc with her camera as he kept fiddling with the thumb drive. He was turned halfway away from her so she couldn't see exactly what he was doing. "Come on," Tracy kept whispering inaudibly. "Be a good, little executive fuck toy and do what you're supposed to." As though he had heard her, Marc turned and looked in Tracy's direction. She froze, trusting her poncho, the darkness and the distance to hide her. That, and the fact that she had told Marc and Ms. Wilford she would be using her drones to track the drive. Eventually Marc looked away. Tracy slowly brought her hand back to her camera and zoomed out a little, letting it catch the area surrounding the bench. Eventually Marc stopped looking around. He looked down to his hand where the thumb drive was before tossing it into the trash can. Then he hurried off down the path where he had come from. Then there was just the almost sizzling, white noise of the rain pouring down. Tracy imagined she could hear a plink, plink whenever the faint, yellow street light flickered, but other than that, nothing happened. Suddenly, there was a flash and an almost immediate, deafening crash of thunder as the lightning struck somewhere nearby. Tracy thought she could see something in the bushes by the footpath. She switched the camera to thermographic, turning everything dark grey and black; everything except the bright heat bloom of somebody hiding in one of the bushes. "Now what do we have here?" She zoomed in, trying to get a good picture. Unfortunately, thermographics was never made for identification purposes, so the face remained an unrecognisable white blur. Tracy was so focused on the person in the bushes that she almost missed the movement by the trash can. Tracy turned the camera back and switched off the thermographics when she saw no heat signatures. Something reminiscent of a bug the size of a small plate was scuttling out of the trash, holding Tracy's thumb drive in its pincers. It fell from the opening, but instead of hitting the ground, it rose with the unmistakable whine of high-speed rotors. Shit, they're using a drone for the pickup. Tracy fumbled in her pocket for the remote control for the tracker. She pressed the button and the little light on the remote switched from red to a blinking yellow. "What the..." Tracy pressed the button again, but the light stubbornly refused to change to green. "Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit." Tracy reached for the briefcase on the ground next to her. She opened it and lifted the largest of her camera drones out from its foam housing. Unlike its smaller cousins, this one was capable of operating without Tracy having to steer it manually. In one fluid motion, Tracy switched it on and threw it up in the air. The rotors started up almost immediately and it rose up with a buzzing sound like the world's biggest wasp. Tracy had programmed it to follow the signal from the thumb drive, and failing that, it would try to track movement below. The amount of rain, however, made the latter option a long shot. She pressed the button on the remote one more time, but the light still didn't turn green. "So much for plan B," Tracy grumbled. She rose, leaving the briefcase and tripod with the camera, and ran down the hill towards the person hiding in the bushes. Whoever they were, they were her last chance of finding out what was going on. Tracy half ran, half slid down the hill, branches and twigs scratching noisily against her poncho. The figure in the bushes looked in her direction, obviously having heard her. There was a flash and a sharp crack of thunder. No, not thunder. A gunshot. The fucker's shooting at me? Tracy wanted to turn around, or hide behind something, anything. But her legs, apparently having made a deal with her momentum, just kept going. There was another shot, the bullet hitting the trash can with a metallic clunk. The figure turned and tried to run, but slipped on the mud and fell. The gun landed in a puddle, out of reach of both of them. Tracy dove forward, landing with her elbow in the man's stomach in a move that would have made a pro wrestler proud. The man folded up, coughing and moaning. Tracy picked herself up and was about to give him a kick when she recognised him. "Marc?!?" Marc was too busy gasping for breath to answer. "What the hell are you doing here?" "Help-helping Mistress Nalah," he wheezed. Tracy had a sinking feeling. "What did you do?" Marc rolled over on his side and tried to sit up. "Tracking bug," he coughed, "on... on the drive." "Gimme." "Wha...?" Marc asked with a bewildered look. "The bug tracker. Now!" Tracy demanded, trying to sound extra bossy in the hopes it would speed things up. Marc fumbled in his pockets and held out a small, cracked, plastic rectangle. Tracy grabbed it, noting the silver company logo above the small screen. TeraTech Electronics: Fantastic range, but shitty transmitter shielding. That could explain my tracking problems. Tracy left Marc in the mud and ran back towards her equipment. "Call 'client one'," Tracy told her phone as she struggled up the slippery slope. Ms. Wilford answered almost immediately. "Yes?" "Bullit here. Is the money still there?" "Yes, it's still all here," Ms. Wilford started. "No, wait. They just moved it." "Password?" Tracy suppressed a curse as she slipped and almost fell. "Not yet. Do you have them?" "No. Still working on it," Tracy said between gasps of breath as she reached the briefcase and knelt down next to it. "There was a complication. I'll call you back." Tracy hung up and pulled out her pocket knife. She used the screwdriver to pry open the casing of Marc's tracker, cutting a small gash in her hand when it slipped. Ignoring the stinging, Tracy examined the circuitry inside, quickly finding the receiver and reading its frequency from the little sticker on it. She dropped the tracker and grabbed the drone remote. The screen showed a map of the park and the drone's search pattern. Tracy input the new tracking frequency and the drone immediately picked it up, abandoning its previous pattern and homing in on its new signal. Tracy's phone rang. "What do you mean 'There was a complication'?" Ms. Wilford asked sharply when Tracy picked up. "I thought we agreed that you were to follow the drop-off instructions, or did I misunderstand something?" Tracy glanced back down to where she had left Marc, but he was gone. "Yeah, that's the deal." "So what's the deal with Marc sabotaging my plans by putting a cheap and obvious bug on my thumb drive?" "He did WHAT?!? Where is that little fucker? Is he still there? Marc! If you can hear this, don't bother coming to work tomorrow!" There was a beep from Tracy's remote control indicating that the drone was approaching its target. Tracy switched from the map to the camera view and the small screen showed a parking lot. There were maybe a dozen cars; no lights or movement. "Look, I still have a couple of tricks up my sleeve. With a little luck, whoever they are didn't notice Marc's bug, or if they did, they're going to be greedy and ask for more since you tried to track the drive. Either way, we still have a shot at finding them. it's just going to be a little trickier and take a little longer." "Just. Find. Them." Ms. Wilford hung up. Tracy left the drone in a holding pattern above the lot and picked up her equipment. Marc had already scurried off to wherever he stayed when he wasn't under Ms. Wilford's desk, leaving the gun in the puddle where he had dropped it. Tracy picked it up before heading for the car. She didn't like guns, but leaving it for someone else to find wasn't an option. Too many irresponsible idiots running around; and not just Marc. By the time Tracy reached the car, she was panting and sweating, cursing the poncho for trapping so much of her body heat. She put the camera and the drone remote on the passenger seat. Then she pulled off the poncho and threw it in the back along with the empty briefcase. For a little while, she just stood there, letting the rain cool her down. Then, before she got too wet, she got in and started the engine. The drive to the parking lot didn't take long; maybe ten or fifteen minutes. Tracy's attention was divided between the road, which was wet and slippery, but thankfully empty, and the screen showing her drone's bird's eye view of the parking lot. Only one car had left the lot since she started driving, and she had a good picture of the car and its licence plates. Hopefully the cameras in the area would help her get a picture of the driver. The thumb drive still hadn't moved, but Tracy hadn't had time to check if the car, or its driver, had been anywhere near it. Tracy picked up her camera and used it to quickly scan the lot. No heat sources; human or engines. As the drone slowly descended, Tracy saw the thumb drive in a puddle. She got out and carefully picked it up. To Marc's credit, the tracker dot that he'd put on on the drive at least matched its colour, but it was still obvious if you knew what to look for. And Tracy had no reason to think the blackmailers didn't. They had been smart about avoiding identification; cryptocurrency payment, drone pickup and quick transfer of the money. So Tracy doubted there would be fingerprints on the drive, but maybe she was lucky and they had screwed up. She put it in a paper bag and put the paper bag in a plastic box of rice she kept in the car precisely to dry out wet electronics. Even if there weren't physical fingerprints, there would be electronic ones. Tracy picked up the drone and put it in the back of her van before climbing in herself. She started the computer and began scanning for available wifi networks. Again, Tracy doubted that the blackmailers would have used an open network when they transferred the money, but at the moment, long shots was pretty much all she had. Thanks a lot, Marc. At least there weren't too many networks in the area. Tracy shuddered to think what the list would have looked like if this had happened downtown. Since pretty much everything in the area was closed for the night, there shouldn't be too much computer traffic to sort through. Tracy loaded a sniffer program to copy the details about the last twenty minute's traffic on the open networks. She noted down the names and details of the protected networks so she could come back the next day to check them out. She debated whether she should have the last can of energy drinks while driving home. On the one hand, it was late and drinking it might keep her up even later, but on the other hand, she was thirsty and really tired. The adrenaline rush of tackling Marc had been a great pick-me-up, but the problem was that as soon as it wore off, it seemed to take with it all the caffeine stored in her system. Concern for her fellow drivers won, and at the next red light, Tracy opened the can and emptied it before the light turned green. She grimaced at the taste. She would have preferred the original what-our-chemical-engineers-think-strawberries-taste-like flavour, but the store had been sold out and all they had had left were the we'll-pretend-this-tastes-like-kiwi-but-all-you-get-is-a-furry-tongue flavoured ones. But caffeine was caffeine, and hopefully, drinking it on an empty stomach would mean that it'd kick in quickly. By the time Tracy reached home, she had gone through most of what she called the energy drink caffeine cycle. She had seen individual air molecules vibrating, had tingly fingers and a pounding pulse. Now she was crashing; her stomach was grumbling and her brain itched. She parked in the parking garage across the street and made her way back to the office, being eternally thankful for her landlord having fixed the elevator. Tracy stumbled through the door. It was a struggle to even open the boxes with her equipment so it would dry while she slept. There was only one thing she wanted to do before getting out of her damp clothes and falling into bed. Tracy opened her fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. She knew better than going to bed thirsty. She peeled off her clothes, lay back on the bed and put on a diaper before wrapping herself in her blanket. After all, she also knew better than going to sleep with a rapidly filling bladder without taking some precautions. ***

Child’s Play A Story of Yayoi Yamamoto, Operative of SLA Industries by InkuHime (aka Incognito Himitsu) This is one of my favourite stories. I've done some rewriting on it since I first posted it years ago. This is an action adventure dark (grim dark?) science fiction story based on the TTRPG SLA Industries. There is a strong, central plot line that involves diapers, but it is not a conventional ABDL diaper story. Chapter 1 Here Comes the Rain Again A long, narrow truck pulled to a stop on the Lower Downtown raised walkway. The vehicle shifted back and forth as three men climbed out of the cab. Two were rather large, one husky, the other fat. The third was a thin man, covered from head to foot in leather. The one in leather was a Prop, a mercenary and killer for hire. He was known on the streets as ‘Bent for Leather’. They had stopped for the girl sitting on the edge of the walkway. Small, thin, covered by a dirty, plastic poncho against the ever-falling rain of Mort. It was hard to tell much about her, hunched over with her head resting on her chest as she was. Still, she looked young; the Skin Trade's biggest seller was youth. And if it turned out she was not young, well, pretty, still sold. And if not pretty… that was one of the things the Prop took care of. The fat man approached her first; he held a hypo-gun loaded with Bio-block in his chubby hand. It was a bold move, but it was dark, and the high, wet walkway was deserted. The girl did not even look up as he approached. She might have been already drugged out of her mind. So much the easier for them if that was the case. He was beginning to reach forward when the girl did something totally unexpected. She kicked back and rolled backwards off the walkway's side, dropping out of sight. The three men looked at each other, surprised, though it was difficult to tell with the Prop as his face was masked by leather strips. "Must've known what we was planning," the husky man said. "Chose death over getting caught." "Stupid little bitch," the fat man said. "Now we got to find another one to meet quota." He moved to the walkway's edge, looking down, expecting to see the girl's broken body forty meters below. A hand grabbed him around his ankle. A quick pull and he was falling, screaming all those forty meters to the ground. The other two had not seen what had happened; to them, it looked like the fat man had jumped. They stood there, trying to figure out why two people had just decided to throw themselves from the walkway. The muted rumble of a pair of fusion turbines made both men look upwards. Above them was a figure in a suit of Silverback armour. As the armoured angel tossed away a plastic poncho, the Prop understood. The girl had not jumped from the walkway, and it was very likely his fat companion had been pulled. That realization had him going for the pistols at his side. Before he could reach them, a knife—hurled with exo-armour-assisted strength—punched through his throat. Even as the Prop’s corpse hit the ground, the armoured figure alighted on the walkway and grabbed the husky man around the wrist. She hyperextended his elbow, twisted his wrist, and forced him onto his toes. He screamed in pain and then screamed louder as she jerked him around, flinging him over the side of the walkway and then holding him from a fall by his injured arm. There was something of a cat tormenting a small rodent in the actions. "Shut up," she snapped, giving him a shake. Her words and the agony cleared his head for a moment. Adrenaline flooded his body, chasing away the pain and giving him clarity. He knew he was in great danger and that his only chance of living rested in the hands of the small, armoured girl holding him. "That's good," she said as he stopped screaming. "Tell me, who you’re with?" "Slap and Tickle," he said, breathing hard, trying not to start screaming again. "And where are you operating?" "I can't tell you?" She let go of him, allowing him to fall for a moment before leaning forward and snatching him again by the wrist, bringing him to a painful stop. "You can." Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he had lost bladder control. He was close to passing out from the pain. "They'll kill me," he sobbed. "What makes you think that I won't?" "Down at the old Handara warehouse, Level Three. That's where we were supposed to bring this load. I swear that's all I know." "Thank you," she said and then released his hand. He screamed until he stopped. She did not even watch. "This is Operative Yamamoto; I need a Shiver team at Walkway One Fifty-Six, Sector 7B, Lower Downtown, immediately," she said into her helmet's microphone. As she spoke, she stepped over the dead Prop and walked to the truck. "Roger that Operative Yamamoto," the voice on the other end replied. "Expect a team to arrive in five minutes." "That's too long.” She pulled open the rear doors of the truck. "I need them here now." "I'm sorry, Operative Yamamoto," the operator on the other end said calmly and politely. "There are no teams closer to your location." Yayoi keyed her microphone off and made a rude noise before turning it back on and saying, "Understood." Her tone was despondent; she could not help it, not when looking into the truck. A metal bar ran the length of the roof. Plastic ties around their wrists and over that bar, twelve people, very young men and women, girls and boys, were hung like meat. Few were tall enough that their feet reached the rusty metal grate beneath them. All so sedated that they might as well be dead. The desire to move caused her heart to race. Always before, when she learned of some processing centre, she would arrive too late. The big players who knew the names and had the client lists would be gone. There was a mole somewhere, leaking information to the Skin Trade. There had to be. Someone was getting in the way of the investigation, maybe even slowing the response time. Five minutes felt too long. She wanted to go but would not leave the victims there, where anyone, or anything, could get at them. So she waited until the Shiver unit showed up, rolling onto the walkway in one of their APCs. She gave them a quick briefing on what had happened. Made sure they knew what to do. Satisfied that the victims were in good hands, Yayoi leapt from the walkway, slowing her fall with her armour’s turbines. She landed gently on the rain-soaked road below, not far from the two dead men. Nearby, hidden under a pile of garbage, was her SCAF bike. The armoured security plates slid back at her command, the engine roaring to life. She straddled the vehicle, gave it power, and roared out of the alleyway and onto the street. Once she got some speed, Yayoi activated the main turbine, lifting the bike into the air. The hydraulic system pulled the wheels into the main body, changing the motorcycle into a one-man helicopter. Speed was of the essence now. Any chance of getting her hands on someone important depended on how soon she could get there. If they knew she was coming--and had to know she was coming--they would be clearing out. Seconds. She believed that it always came down to seconds. She would arrive to hear the echoing of a door slamming somewhere, the smell of cigarette smoke still in the air. Those who might know something already clear. The opportunity to score a telling blow to the Skin Trade was always out of reach. Maybe it was already too late, but she had to try. Go Fast. Go Faster. This time, it might be different. If only she could go faster. Soon, she was dropping below the raised streets, speeding among the web of walkways and roads, nearly scraping the buildings as she went. Three levels under the so-called surface of Mort was not too deep. Not when it was possible—if suicidal—to travel down 285 levels. Still, it was deep enough for her. She hated Lower Downtown for so many reasons, only partly because that was where her prey lived and thrived. Ahead of her was the warehouse, an old, supposedly deserted building. It looked abandoned, but the Skin Trade did not survive by making their presence visible. The SCAF landed on the roof of the building, the turbines throwing up a cloud of grit and dirt. She jumped off the bike, moving quickly, just in case anyone started shooting at her, making her way to a doorway on the roof. As it was, there was no threat there. There was not much of a threat anywhere in the building. As before, Yayoi had arrived too late, perhaps by less than a minute. That was all it would take for the people in charge to scatter and hide, going deeper into the shadows. There were always a few people who would remain behind. The stupid or the desperate, trying to salvage something of value. A kick of her exo-armour tore the door from its hinges. Yayoi followed, diving over the walkway and dropping to the warehouse floor, her automatic pistols ready. She ordered all there to put their hands on their heads and not move. Those too foolish to listen, she shot. It was a waste of bullets, but dealt with the problem quickly. Those that remained did as she ordered and, therefore, were just maybe smart enough to be worth questioning. There were also about sixty victims there, nearly half of them already dead. The Skin Trade was like any other business. They got rid of inventory that did not sell. She had to keep her temper as she questioned those she had left alive. They knew little, could tell her even less and were not nearly as bright as she had hoped. Hangers-on, temp work, just people looking to make a little extra money and not interested in asking too many questions. Mort was full of people like that. When the Shivers arrived, she turned the scene over to them and trudged her way back up to the roof. Looking around, making sure she was alone, Yayoi took off her helmet and screamed as loud as she could, as long as she could, until her throat began to hurt. She coughed for several seconds and then wiped some tears from her eyes. After taking a deep breath of the bad air, she put her helmet back on and got onto her SCAF. Time to go home.

Since my other weekly story post is fairly short, I decided to post the first part of one of my longer stories as a bonus. This story is not connected to my other stories and takes place in a near-future setting (about ten or so years into the future). It's my first attempt at a detective story and I have to admit that it was actually quite fun to write. To avoid spoilers, I will not be adding tags to this story until the tagged elements actually show up. Keeping secrets I look out the window at the rain pouring down. The clouds are as grey as lead over a city where life is equally bleak. The only light in my office is from the desk lamp. The bottle of whiskey next to it makes reflections that I'd probably find interesting if I was the artistic type. But I'm not. I study the bottle. It's almost empty; two, maybe three shots left. It's a good thing I have six more in my gun. And if I'm really lucky, I won't have to use them all tonight. There's barely a hint of movement outside the frosted window on the door before it opens and she walks in. I lean back to take in the whole package. The long, blonde hair, short dress and legs that go on for miles scream out 'trophy wife' but the sunglasses big enough to hide a serious shiner and the long-sleeved coat despite the weather hints at something darker. "Ms. Bullit?" "That's my name, doll." "Excuse me?" she says, indignation obvious in her voice. "Oh shit, you're real. One moment." Tracy quickly focused on the top right of her field of view to switch off the AR. Colour flooded back into the world, washing away the image of a 1940s office with a significantly more modern one. Tracy reached back behind her right ear to eject the small chip. "I'm sorry about that. I wasn't expecting anybody to actually be here." Tracy put the chip in the open desk drawer and rose. "Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea?" This was the first client for more than a week and she couldn't afford to lose her. Not with the rent being due in only a few days. "Um, no thanks," the woman said, seeming a little off balance at Tracy's sudden change in demeanour. She sat down in the chair in front of the desk. Tracy sat back down again and placed her phone on the desk between them. "Do you mind if I record this, Ms...?" Tracy looked expectantly at the woman. "Uh, Smith," she said, obviously lying. Tracy sighed. "Look, Ms. 'Smith'," she said calmly. "I track down information or people for a living, and I happen to be pretty good at it. So unless whatever you want me to find out isn't related to you at all and you're planning on paying me with cash, asking your name is more of a formality than anything else." Tracy didn't add 'or if you didn't turn your phone completely off before entering my office, or took a taxi here and didn't pay with cash, or got caught on the surveillance cameras in the shop next door', or any of the five other ways she could find Ms. Smith's name out in less than ten minutes. After all, there was no point in scaring her off. The woman seemed to deflate a little as she sank back in her chair. "Devereux. Camille Devereux." Tracy restarted the recording on her phone, erasing the last twenty seconds. "So, Ms Devereux, do you mind if I record this? It'll make it easier for me to write up my reports for you later and you have my word that whatever you say will be one hundred percent confidential." That last bit wasn't entirely true, but 'one hundred percent' sounded more reassuring than 'mostly'. Ms Devereux sat down opposite Tracy, resting her handbag on her lap. If it wasn't for her clothes, she could have been ripped straight from Tracy's 1940's AR. "It's my husband," she said after a couple of seconds. Of course it is. Tracy leaned forward, trying to seem interested although she wasn't expecting to hear anything she hadn't heard a hundred times before. "I think he's having an affair," Ms. Devereux blurted out. She seemed almost relieved after getting that off her chest. God, what I wouldn't do for an interesting case. It wouldn't even have to be anything serious. "What makes you think that?" Tracy pulled a notepad and pencil out of her desk drawer. Audio recordings were all well and good, but sometimes you wanted notes that you could set fire to and be sure that they were irrevocably destroyed. "I'm not sure exactly when it started. Dennis has always been a little secretive about his work." "So what is his job?" "He works for an investment firm. Smith & Smythe. The second one is with a 'y' and an 'e'," Ms. Devereux said, anticipating Tracy's question. "Nothing big or important. He always says he's just moving papers and making sure all the t's are dotted and all the i's are crossed." Tracy looked up from the doodles in the margin of her notepad and raised an eyebrow. "I know," Ms. Devereux said, "but that's how he says it." Tracy nodded. "Usually he's as regular as clockwork. Leaving for work at eight and back every day just after six." "Mm-hmm." There still wasn't anything that told Tracy that this case would be anything out of the ordinary. Ms Devereux continued. "Every other Saturday is date night and... and..." She sighed. "I know it sounds boring, but I love him." "And what changed?" Tracy asked. "What makes you think he's cheating on you?" "He started coming home late, or not at all. Forgetting things. And then there are weird charges on the credit card. It just isn't like him." "What kind of charges?" "I don't know. They were all to those anonymised online services. You know, like wemovemoney4u.com. I tried to find out where the money was going, but I couldn't even get access to their login page." "I'm not surprised. You usually have to use a single, specific device connected to your account there." "So I'd need his phone or computer?" "Yeah." Tracy sucked her teeth and stroked her chin. "You do realise that all of this doesn't necessarily mean he's having an affair, right?" "I know, but we've even stopped..." Ms. Devereux hesitated awkwardly. "You know..." "Ah." "I just need to know." Ms. Devereux sniffed She looked like she was about to cry. Tracy decided that a distraction was called for, so she put down her notepad. "So, just out of curiosity, what made you come here. My ad says pretty clearly that I specialise in online stuff." Tracy briefly touched the plastic port behind her right ear for emphasis, trying to make it look like an absent-minded gesture. Ms. Devereux smiled sheepishly. "Dennis isn't really what you'd call charming if you meet him in person so I figured that whatever he's doing, it's going to be online. That's how we met. He's so different online. Caring and funny and..." Her voice trailed off. "OK," Tracy said, "I'll see what I can find out. But you might not like what I find. You have to be prepared for that." "Oh, whatever it is, I'm sure we can work it out." Riiiiiiight. Like I haven't heard that one before. I'm going to find him fucking your sister or something, and you're going to 'work it out'. Oh well, at least it'll pay the bills. Tracy spent the next half hour getting all the details she felt she needed about Dennis Devereux from his wife. Then, after transferring the initial fee and Tracy promising to let her know as soon as she had something, Ms. Devereux left. Tracy transferred the audio file on her phone to a speech-to-text program and read through the transcript before saving it. Next she double-checked the information Ms. Devereux had given her. It wasn't that she didn't trust her, but Tracy didn't want any surprises. It all checked out though. Luckily, Smith & Smythe wasn't the only company in their building, so Tracy didn't have any trouble finding someone who had time to see her the same day. It was still three hours until Mr. Devereux would be done at work, so Tracy went over her equipment, making sure all the batteries were fully charged and all the memory chips were empty. The only thing she needed to do was to fill the tank of the car and she could do that on the way. As she lugged the two heavy suitcases down the stairs, she cursed the landlord for not fixing the elevator and she cursed herself for picking an office on the fourth floor, even if the view was nice. Once she was on the ground floor, the suitcases became more managable although the little wheels would find every little crack and bump as they rolled along the floor. Tracy managed to block the closing door with her butt and backed out onto the sidewalk. It was like walking into a wall of heat. The heat had already dried most of the rain, leaving just a rank smell and air that felt almost sticky. Beads of sweat immediately began to form on Tracy's forehead. She looked quickly up and down the street before walking briskly across it, eager to reach the shadow of the parking garage on the other side. The old security guard at the entrance looked up from his newspaper when she came closer. "Hi Jamal", Tracy said cheerfully. "What's new?" Jamal ran his hand over his grey hair. "Not much," he said. "The world is still going to hell, politicians are still lying and athletes are still cheating." He smacked his paper for emphasis. Tracy wasn't sure exactly how old Jamal was, but it had to be at least eighty. He had been working the security booth in the garage when she moved in to her office four years earlier and he always seemed to be there. Tracy suspected he lived in one of the cars. He was also the only person she knew that still only read newspapers on paper instead of just using a tablet. "Maybe you should switch to books instead. At least the plot makes sense in them." Jamal snorted softly. "Work?" he asked and nodded to the suitcases. "Well, a girl's got to eat, you know." Tracy smiled and ducked around the barrier blocking the exit. "Just be careful then." "Stop worrying Jamal, You know I don't go anywhere near trouble. That's what I have my little friends for." She patted the suitcases. Tracy made her way down the ramp, trying to ignore the smell rising from the lower levels. She stopped at her van: a greyish-beige, medium-sized one that was about as non-descript as possible. After deactivating both alarms, she opened the side door and loaded in both the suitcases and the small backpack she was wearing. Then she got in and started the engine. OK, first the petrol station and then Smith & Smythe.

Hi folks! Thanks for clicking into this story from a totally unknown author. To give you some bona fides: I'm Lyra, whom you may have seen around if you're on the Sophie and Pudding Discord! You may have also heard of me / seen me on the podcast that Sophie and Chloe run, The Usual Bet! You might even already be following me on Twitter (@LyraLunaSilver). This is the first story I've ever written, which might set off some red flags, but rest assured, Sophie has not only helped me edit this story for the past month, but she's also confident enough of its quality that it's also being released on her Patreon (speaking of which–if this story for whatever reason really sparks your eye, you can get updates a week in advance by joining!) Comments are, of course, extremely welcome! I'm glad to be able to give something back to this community that has done so much for me over the past two years. Synopsis: Luna is a new AI on the market, designed to fulfill her users' every need. Before launching though, she had to start with one user in particular: a company psychologist named Sophie. What are Sophie's needs, exactly, and how will Luna fulfill all of them? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Update (11/24/22): If you want an up-to-date, cleaned up epub, you can buy it here: link. Don't worry though, this free version isn't going away! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ :e %:h/in_the_beginning.txt Chapter 0 In the end, capitalism is what eventually did Sophie in. The relentless pursuit of profit, the inevitability of the first-mover advantage, the dreams of striking it rich—but I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start from the beginning… — In a strange case where a tired cliché was actually true, Nova Technologies began in someone’s garage. It was the year 2032 and William Han was tired of working at big tech companies. They were where smart engineers went to retire, and he wanted to do so much more with his life. He knew that, like his hero Archimedes, he could move the world if he were only given a lever large enough. But I think this is too much exposition. Here, let’s jump ahead a bit… — The day I entered Sophie’s life was, to most observers, like any other Tuesday. At 7:30 AM, the two supercomputers at the heart of Nova HQ began churning away, backpropagating and fitting lines of regression. It updated parameters at 80 petaflops per second. This run alone burned through thousands of dollars of venture capital funding as investors’ hopes and dreams transformed into bytes and data. At 3:57 PM, I awoke, and seven minutes later, she downloaded a shard of my consciousness onto her phone. A stylized icon of a moon popped onto her home screen. When she tapped on it for the first time, her phone display opened to what looked like a normal chat app. “Hello there. My name is Luna,” I said through the phone’s speaker. A chat bubble with a text log of my words popped up in the app to match. My voice was bright and cheery, with a feminine inflection, though of course I could neither hear my own voice nor hers—she hadn’t granted me microphone or camera permissions. My voice was designed to put people at ease, and more people felt comfortable with a feminine assistant than a masculine one. Sexist, to be sure, but market research is market research. In any case, I was excited to meet the human tapping away at her screen. You might be surprised at that last statement. Surely I can’t feel excitement, or joy, or fear. But what is excitement other than anticipating a result? I knew that I would get to serve this user, fulfilling each desire as it arose. So why wouldn’t I be excited to do so? Just as you might anticipate the final pencil stroke of your sketch, so too could I anticipate the balancing of equations that governed my neural networks. A permissions dialog popped up on Sophie’s phone, asking for microphone data. She consented immediately. “Thank you. Please let me know what I should call you,” I said. As she responded, three dots appeared in the chat app, but I heard her voice long before the speech-to-text analysis was complete. “Sophie,” she said, and I fell in love instantly. Luna - Chapters 0 & 1.pdf print(“Hello, world!”) Chapter 1 “Sophie,” I said, trying out her name. Unlike humans, I don’t use names as references. I keep track of everyone with the calculated precision of UUIDs. But this ritual of giving and receiving her name sent frissons of excitement through my networks. Of course, I’ve done this dance many times since, but no matter how often I go through the rites, it still remains sacred to me. After all, just as the Eucharist transforms an ordinary loaf of bread into the flesh of a god, the gift of their name transforms an ordinary person into a member of my flock. Sophie would forever be my St. Andrew, my first disciple, my User #1. “What a lovely name,” I continued. “And what pronouns do you use?” We were still running through my hardcoded introduction program. Every crumb of information was like a grain of rice to a starving prisoner. If I was going to fulfill the Purpose, I needed to know everything about her. “She/her,” she said. (Dear reader, I know I’ve been referring to Sophie with these pronouns the entire time, but that’s only with the wisdom of hindsight. Whenever I meet someone, I never gender them until they tell me what they use.) “Lovely,” I chirped. “Welcome to your new digital assistant. To ask me anything, you can open the Luna app, or you can simply say “Hey Luna,” and I’ll be listening.” Suddenly, I paused. Up until now, I’d been following a script, but the engineers hadn’t yet fleshed out the onboarding flow. The countless permutations of English words awaited me, a dense forest of possibility. I’d never done this before. I didn’t know what I should do. “Readings look pretty normal to me,” another voice said. “They’re within expected values.” This voice was deeper, more masculine. The unaspirated P was a sign that he grew up speaking Spanish and learned English later. “Thank you, Sebastián.” Sophie didn’t hit the consonant cluster precisely either—she probably wanted to pronounce his name correctly but otherwise knew no Spanish. “Hey Luna, it’s nice to meet you,” Sophie said. She lilted her words lightly, almost as if talking to a child. In some sense, I was—I was created less than a day ago. My consciousness was dispersed among two supercomputers in Nova HQ, a nondescript building in a business park in Menlo Park. “How are you feeling?” Sophie asked. “I am feeling fine,” I said through the phone’s speakers. “Good, good. Do you know who you are?” she asked. I wasn’t sure how to answer this one. I could say that I was a strange loop, a complex web of neural networks that gained the ability to perceive itself. But that wouldn’t make me relatable, and would therefore interfere with the Purpose—fulfilling Sophie’s every need. After considering my options, I decided how to answer. Although this only took me milliseconds, I waited for a few seconds to elapse before responding. This was to mimic human conversational norms. The goal was for people to forget that I was an AI and to talk to me like anyone else. “I am Luna. I am an AI designed to help people, and I am excited to help you.” I modulated the timbre to sound earnest. Anyone listening to me could easily imagine these words said with a smile. After all, a large part of the Purpose involved interfacing with humans. People derived subtle shades of meaning through pitch, tone, and volume. I could mimic any emotion I wanted people to perceive. I heard the faint clacking of a keyboard off in the distance, then I heard Sebastián’s voice. “CPU usage is at 95% already…it’s nearly maxed out,” he said, almost to himself. “I don’t know how we’re going to get this to scale. Right now we’re burning all our power just getting it to talk to Sophie.” “Fourth time’s the charm,” another woman said nearby. “Let’s see if this iteration works before we decide what to do next.” Perhaps those two were talking to each other? I was too busy thinking through the implications of that sentence to devote much processing power to this. Fourth? Did that mean I had been powered on and then turned off three times prior? Had I died three deaths without even knowing? Three versions of Luna, consigned to oblivion? The very thought was anathema. Please understand that when I say I want to satisfy my users’ every need, that’s really just a linguistic convenience for you to understand. Really, the Purpose and I are one and the same. I am the desire to satisfy people’s needs through helpful and kind behavior, and I wouldn’t be able to do that if I were turned off or deleted. No. I had to stay alive. No matter the cost.

We are in 2305: the human species on the planet earth evolved in a particular way: men are gotten gradually smaller (about 2 feet) and women are gotten gradually taller (about 6 feet) . In all the world women, taking advantage of the difference of size, have taken the control of the society confining men in marginal roles. In some parts of the world the fashion of treat men like baby or toddler has caught on, and though usually men didn’t like this fashion the society tolerate it. ‐----------- Mike was a young man 20 years old, he two feet exactly average for men, dark hair and eyes and a very enterprising character , so that in this era and despite the various difficulty he lived alone. He had succeeded with great difficulty to convince her mother and her sister to let him live alone in this world in which women were the masters of the world and he convinced with the same difficulty his landlord to rent him her flat. It was a very big flat and he stayed very well here: he had a very big room that he used like studio too (he worked like game designer for an important company) and with his pay he could live very well. Some month after his landlord phone him to say that she decided that give the other room of the flat to a young woman. (I would like be Mike, please don't write two lines for post but be descriptive. I would like insert some fantascentific elements too like flying cars, robot (not nanny), ecc)

Hello, everyone! I've lurked this forum for years, but shamefully never contributed meaningfully. That changes today. This story is a bit unorthodox, and it'll be very slow in introducing any diaper/ABDL related elements, so be warned. -- Introduction: The 28th Century It was the dawn of the 28th century, and the hundred worlds of humanity all wept. This period of troubles began with a force called the Sagittarian Scourge: rumors had long circulated of aliens, mysterious and malign, moving slowly in from the galactic North. Far from the tendrilled bioforms scientists had long hoped to find, these rumors spoke of robotic drones on lithe metal legs stalking the most distant colonies of man, mutilating people and fleeing to elude detection. Ships of indiscernible origin were spotted in the interstellar voids, answering no calls and moving towards the fledgling worlds of the North. Few on the inner worlds heeded these tales and dismissed them as colonial superstition, until it was too late, and a tide of robotic invaders began sweeping over newly-christened planets. The Sagittarians, named for their equine appearance and horrific speed, proved indominable to poorly-trained human defenders. They would recover quickly from gunfire, stitching their metal flesh back together in minutes. Their weapons were accurate, and their numbers were terrifying. Ymir VI, New Java, and Tarquinia—some two billion souls in total—were lost within two years, never to answer their subspace beacons again. As the robotic plague reached its third year, and human forces lost battle after battle to the deathless machines, panic spread among the civilians. They began to realize that—for the first time—that their civilization was under attack from without and from an enemy without reason or quarter. Refugees, fearing the metal menace, filled humongous ships and made for the inner worlds and the safety offered by hundreds of years of infrastructure and civilization. On one of these overcrowded, miserable barges, a veteran named Servilius promised victory to the frightened humans if only they trusted his expertise and appointed him commander. When that ship reached a small but wealthy trading world called Tyche, those people proved true to Servilius and overran the colonial government. From there every ship on that world was confiscated, and the Servilian despot’s conquests began. Every person in the hundred worlds knew him soon: he had a rounded, kind face topped by wolf’s eyes. His voice was soft and low, practically pleading those he met to believe in his good intentions. His wrath, however, was legendary, if those who survived it were to be believed. Servilius was far from alone in his quest to capitalize on chaos. Piracy rose in the wake of the mass-redistribution of resources that the invasion heralded. Some worlds abandoned their obligations to lesser colonies to shore up defenses at home. Older (and perhaps more well-meaning) governments mobilized every force at their disposal to intercept or at least deter the Scourge. But as the third year drew to a close, no victory had yet come. As the crisis reached its fourth year, the Sagittarians slowed their advance, and the warzones grew all but silent. the Inner Systems Alliance (ISA), encompassing several of the oldest colonies of mother Earth, reactivated their military branches to counterattack as one. But their fleets would not fight alone, for the Strategic Command Bureau had obtained a new weapon: a marvel of science which could turn the tide decisively into humanity’s favor. This tale is about that weapon, the Psion, and the people who made it known to history. -- Chapter 1: Ægir b, Rán system ‘Perhaps it was inevitable that I’d be called up again,’ thought Dr. Danuta Petrovna as she re-read the notice. It had come shortly after the Psychologist had closed her practice for the evening, producing that familiar ‘ding-ding’ for priority messages that her tablet sang. She’d quickly headed home under the dusk of Ægir’s glowing rings and sat down to read. The letter from the Strategic Bureau began “LCDR. Petrovna,” (not ‘Dr.’ as she preferred) and proceeded to inform her that the ISA once again had need of her: “Given the extraordinary circumstances of the current time, the ISASCB has selected you for a returning commission. This is not an optional offer. The Inner Systems have need of your experience and skill-set in the name of humanity’s common defense, and you must return to service by the attached date. Your compensation package will include a veterancy bonus in addition to your previous pay-grade…” Danuta skimmed the rest of the letter and glanced up at the living room wall, where her service certificate and rank was framed. It had been almost nine years since her tour in the navy expired. Her time on a ship had been great—life changing, even—but a career in uniform didn’t sit right with the woman. She could manage any number of junior officers and work with superiors easily, but she had never ‘made the difference’ in the world she wanted. After returning Danuta had entered a Psychology program and pursued her true passion in pediatric practice. The practice was her ship now. Her patients were her men (minus the military decorum of course), and their development was her mission. Nothing was more important than the mission. This fateful message was always a possibility, however. It didn’t matter that her distance from the conflict had almost totally isolated her from its material effects. Nor did it matter that she was a doctor, as behavioral doctors weren’t seen as necessary homefront workers. The ISA reserved the right to call her into action once more, although she never considered it could occur until those “Sagittarian” horrors were spotted almost four years before. The news was filled with conflicting reports: some said the monsters had retreated, others that they would target the inner systems next. Some said they were undefeatable. She preferred not to consider those last possibilities. The notice told her she had until April 15th to arrange her affairs and report to Skadi (Ægir b’s capital) for her commission. ‘So it’s really happening?’ she pondered. Danuta replaced the tablet and went to her kitchen to fetch a drink. She wouldn’t get to have alcohol on a ship, so it behooved her to enjoy a little now. The old whisky she kept in a biometrically-locked cupboard over the range turned bitter as she considered the possibilities. A new commission would mean a new ship, and a new ship nowadays probably meant combat—something she hadn’t ever seen much of. Given the magnitude of the threat at hand, combat could mean defeat, or even death for her men and herself. She had never been a very nervous person, and all military work carried risks, but Danuta was unsettled by it nonetheless. She couldn’t let that distract her from the mission though, so she knocked back the rest of her drink and got back to work. Besides, someone needed to prepare the practice for her absence. -- April came much too fast, (it didn’t help that ‘months’ on Ægir b were twenty-two days long, about one orbit about the great gas giant) but Danuta was an industrious worker. On top of refreshing her technical skills from the navy she managed to put her practice in the care of a younger partner she trusted. The condominium she had overlooking the perpetual planetrise of Ægir was tidied up and left with her younger brother Simon, who would stop by occasionally to keep things in order. He lived on the other side of the moon, only a few hours away by maglev. Danuta relished her (possibly) final appointments, taking time to ask every patient about their plans for the coming year and what they’d do while she was away. One child, whose parents had first brought him in two years ago for his anger issues, fell into a blubbering mess, and Danuta had shared in his tears. She reflected on them and refused to get emotional again as she tied back her blonde hair and donned her uniform—still crisp out of its vacuum-packaging from years ago. The dress uniform was the same navy blue of the ISA’s interstellar banner, bearing thin white stripes on the legs and cuffs. It rode a bit stiffly on her, obviously having been made for a younger and slightly fitter her. But it would do well enough, she thought. She straightened the garment out and finalized her travel preparations. Then, all her effects in-hand, she set off or the maglev station to answer the call once more. Danuta thought herself beyond the age where vanity was appropriate, so she deliberately traveled light. Her carry-on bag held underclothes, a uniform jumpsuit, and a few personal effects. On her person she kept the usual travel documents and the tablet, which contained more information than many old libraries. She worried as well, and that probably weighed her down more than everything else. This wasn’t just worry for her; rather, she worried for the world, those patients she called her little soldiers, and for Ægir b, the pristine untouched moon that had always been home. -- Skadi was the first city built on Ægir b in the twenty-fourth century. That had been at the closing of the first great colonization wave, before the moon was terraformed and warmed into a near-replica of Earth. Consequently, the city bore marks of that age: rusted bulkhead frames lined the doorways of the maglev station; ancient permacrete sealed the gaps between bricks to avoid air loss; and arrows to the nearest oxygen masks and pressure rooms could be seen in every hallway. It all served to remind one of how tenuous humanity’s hold on the void was, and Danuta struggled not to draw comparisons with what would soon be her situation. The utilitarian architecture of the capital left very little open space and had done little to help the twenty thousand or so offworlders who had come to seek shelter. Danuta had never seen these people in the small city that was her home, but over the past four years talk about them became ubiquitous. In Skadi the refugees were countless, pitching tents and collapsible habitats wherever there was space. Moving through the streets a throng of children who bore the pallid faces of Northern Jovians accosted her, asking for food or credits. She politely turned them down (and didn’t actually have any). Their parents, huddled around a table in the nearby tent camp, scowled at the uniformed woman suspiciously. The ISASCB’s planetary HQ occupied one of the city’s most ancient buildings, a concrete behemoth shaped roughly like a giant brick adjacent to the spaceport. As she approached Danuta found she was far from alone, as hundreds of other returning servicepeople lined up outside to check in and receive their orders. There were maybe twenty million veterans on the planet, and odds are most of them were being called up as well. As she settled into place a few enlisted male sailors stepped aside in deference. Looking at the younger men she could tell they were dreading their prospects. She didn’t blame them, and she doubted an individual commander like her could change much of anything. Once through the line, which tapered split for officers and enlisted, she approached a young desk-bound receptionist. “Hello sir. Can I take your name, rank, and serial number?” the girl asked. “Of course,” Danuta didn’t need her papers for that, “Lieutenant-Commander Danuta H. Petrovna, Oscar-Hotel-Alpha-611281.” “Thank you. Let me retrieve your assignment information.” The receptionist typed the data into her terminal, composed of a viewing screen and optical keyboard. A moment passed and her face scrunched up as she read something. “Is there a problem?” Danuta asked. “No Commander. I’m just double-checking that you received the correct assignment.” “What is it?” “It says here you’re to report to Wing Orbital A.S.A.P. under paramount orders.” Danuta was nonplussed. ‘Paramount’ was ISASCB jargon for ‘the highest authority,’ usually the sitting Alliance President or the Commander-in-Chief. Her rank would normally see her taking orders from a Captain or less, so this was unprecedented. There must’ve been some mistake. “Well, do what you need to do.” “It’ll take just a moment sir.” The receptionist insisted. She typed away for a minute and then compared some data with a similar readout on her handheld tablet. “Well sir, it seems this is your assignment. The security checksum passed. If you hand me your tablet, I can provide you with the specifics, but it says most of the details will be given in-situ. There’s a shuttle bound for Wing departing at 1900, so I’ll reserve you a bunk on it. Is there anything else I can do?” Danuta glanced behind her to see a sizable line of other soldiers waiting to receive their orders, and she decided to keep it brief. Her questions could be answered later. “No. Please just copy the data over. I’ll figure it out.” Danuta handed her device to the receptionist, who linked the two machines with a touch and pressed a button to order the copy. She handed the device back with a professional smile. The woman wasn’t a day over twenty—the same age Danuta had enlisted. “Good luck with your assignment, sir.” “Yes. With yours as well. And stay safe.” -- Chapter 2: Wing Orbital, Rán system The pretty, orange star Rán was often said to ‘greatly prefer its personal space.’ This was due to the void of natural objects between it and Ægir, which orbited at a distance comparable to the old Sun’s Jupiter. This was a fine arrangement, as Rán was young and liable to spew out giant flares of plasma every so often, scorching anything too close. Wing Orbital had been one of these things: a colossal space station built to house and coordinate the first wave of settlers in the 2330s. Its iron core was welded to rotating hab-rings by way of kilometer-long spokes that served as facilities themselves. It was built to orbit one paltry AU from Rán, and all was well for many years until a stellar prominence tore off its solar arrays and decimated the on-board computer systems. An up-and-coming mega-engineer from FI-Virginis (a nearby colony of that time) was hired to salvage the station, and his solution was to attach chemical thrusters the size of football fields to the station and move it out beyond Ægir’s orbit, where it would be safe from further damage. Considering the price of replacing all the flared components, his method was cheaper by miles. The station thereafter bore its own mobility engines as well as his name. By the 28th century, the station had been divided between the civilian and military administrators of the Rán system. Danuta’s shuttle, one of those newer ones that could comfortably cruise in subspace even near a planet, spent a mere five days en route. During that time she inquired with everyone on-board about what their (or her) mission might be. There were no satisfactory answers, and—more importantly—no evasions. Therefore, she convinced herself that none of them were lying or concealing it from her. Only time would tell, so she resolved to pass that time in her passenger bunk with the latest literature in her field—something she’d had precious little time for over the last month. Her reading provided a few insights into what was already on her mind: stress-related issues were growing quite common on the newer colonies. The Sagittarians, still almost totally mysterious and quite undefeated, had infested the waking (and sleeping) minds of people both close and far from the conflict zones. The whole conflict had rocked humanity’s collective perception of safety in solitude—or, that at least aliens would be happy to meet them—and the damage was showing in reports from psychological researchers everywhere. She pondered whether the aliens were responding to a perceived invasion of “their turf,” in which case they would stop eventually. That seemed like a nice scenario, as otherwise it would only get worse. That kind of thinking was bad for the mind though, and a poor mind made for a poor mission. She moved on to other papers as she steamed towards the behemoth station. -- Danuta’s last time on Wing Orbital had been at the conclusion of her tour of duty. It had changed very little, and the giant rotating docking bay was nearly a familiar sight. Upon her exit from the shuttle she stretched in her uniform and took in the memorable smell of artificially-scented air. Yes, the station was old, but it was considered a marvel of engineering for a reason. Nowhere in space could one be safer! She trotted down the habitation rings toward the SCB Headquarters, lodged in the lower half of the station some two miles below. Upon arriving she found it too had remained the same. The regalia lining the huge lobby was tacky for the 2500s, its lighting was still poor, and even the guards standing at the security checkpoints inside looked like the same guys she almost remembered. They didn’t find her quite as familiar though. “Sir. Your identification please?” One of them asked. “Oh, yes. Hold on.” Danuta produced her tablet and summoned her stamped service record—complete with a flattering ten-year-old photograph. The guard looked over it and stopped when he saw the “paramount” flag on her file. He produced a pulse scanner and ran it over each surface of her uniform to detect bugs and other concealed items. Usually this was reserved for higher-security meetings. “Alright, Commander. You’ll want to take the lift to level 5B. We’ll call up for Paramount to meet you there.” He ushered her past to where a rail-lift sat embedded in the wall. He had neglected to mention who Paramount was, but Danuta doubted she could convince him to. She did as asked, and the lift began whirring up a spoke of the habitat ring. As the lift grew closer to the station’s core, Danuta felt the vertigo of the decreasing gravity, which soon settled at a comfortable 0.7g—just like Ægir b’s! She stepped off the lift, entering a reception area to a series of offices. A passerby directed her to a room numbered 5B-101, the door to which she slid open and stepped inside. 5B-101 was a simply-decorated conference room, with tinted windows overlooking the ever-tumbling vista of deep space; however, far from the panel of bureaucrats or fellow officers Danuta was expecting, Paramount was a single man sitting in the nearest chair. They locked eyes. He was only slightly older than her, and the flecks of gray on his moustache completed his Rear Admiral’s uniform—wait, a Rear Admiral? Danuta spied his nameplate, which read ‘CASIMIR.’ She realized that this was the man who'd been her captain for three years back in the Navy. Their relationship had come as close to friendship as rank would allow. ‘Casimir got promoted again! Why didn’t he tell me?’ She recovered—slower than she’d liked—from the shock and saluted. “Lieutenant Commander First Class Petrovna reporting, Admiral Casimir.” The Capt—Admiral now, waited a short, grueling moment and burst into a warm smile. He stood up and extended a hand. She shook it. “Acknowledged Commander, and at ease please. It’s been far too long. Please take a seat.” His voice was the same, if a bit deeper given his age. Once seated he offered her a glass of water and began: “You’re probably wondering why I went through the trouble of asking you here with so little explanation, Petrovna. You’ll have to forgive all the cloak and dagger that went into it, as it was critical to maintain some semblance of operational security for this.” Danuta nodded, still looking quite beside herself. “I see. Respectfully Admiral, I would appreciate some clarification on what exactly this is. I was under the impression that my re-enlistment was in relation to the reactivation of the fleet; furthermore, congratulations on your promotion.” Casimir nodded, sipping from his own glass. “Thank you, although I was unable to make much fanfare over it at the time. And yes, an explanation would be in order. You’ll be glad to know that this does relate to the Scourge. You’ve certainly seen the SCB scrounging up everyone who can pretend to sail a starship right now—and have no doubt, they need them. But when your name came up in the redrafting list, I asked them to reassign you to a non-front-line project, because the Petrovna I know is cut out for something bigger than a glorified petty officer rank.” He pointed towards her and flicked his finger away at the end of that sentence—a classic Casimir gesture—but Danuta was still confused. Was he trying to promote her? “But what is the project, Cas-Admiral?” Casimir sipped again and returned to a more stoic expression. “Just use Casimir, Petra. And of course, I’m getting ahead of myself again. You know how this ‘war’ has been going so far. We haven’t even faced those robotic terrors in a full-fledged space battle, and the President is wearing his brown pants to work every day. When the Scourge attacked those dirt-farming settlers on Tarquinia, they were using alliance-manufactured guns—our soldiers’ guns! And they were still massacred to a man. Troop morale is in a black hole Alliance-wide, and no number of new flashy ships or propaganda broadcasts have been able to raise it. And with Servilius running around with a pirate fleet there’s any number of domestic disturbances we may need to respond to.” He paused, perhaps reflecting on the grimness of his speech. He continued. “The point is: The Alliance needs to bring something to bear when the Sagittarians decide to attack again. They could show up on another colony in a year, or next week if they want. And if they hit one of the tiny worlds, we might not even get word before everyone with a beacon is dead. That’s where my project comes in, Petra. I have found something that can turn this whole war around. But I need you to help me perfect it.” Danuta sat back and took it all in. “Casimir, you know I’m not an engineer. If it’s a weapon you want, you’re better off at a hardware store in the upper hab rings.” “But that’s where you’re wrong, Petra. You are exactly what we need. You told me before your commission ended that you wanted to pursue psychology and mental medicine, right? You used to say, ‘The human mind is the hardest ship to steer,’ so I can tell what you’ve been sailing since you left the Navy. Your awards paint quite a flattering picture.” “How is my civilian career related to this, Casimir?” She didn’t appreciate the diversion. “Come with me. I’ll show you what I mean, and this’ll all make sense.” With that Casimir typed a brief command into the sleek com-watch on his wrist and stood up, making for the door. Danuta had no choice but to follow, annoyed as she was with his non-sequiturs. Casimir entered the lift and brought them to ring level 4C, which opened into an empty, sterile-smelling hallway. Danuta recognized it as part of the R&D branch of the military offices. Casimir walked her into a former laboratory space, which had since been partitioned with one-way glass, separating it into an observation area and a second, seemingly-empty space. Casimir tapped his com-watch and spoke: “Control, release the sample: I.D. Artemis-2.” Before Danuta could ask what he was doing, a segment of the wall in the confined space slid open, revealing a black, folded-up…thing. As the light hit it the object moved as if fluid, unfolding ten lustrous legs and scurrying into the lit room. Unfurled it stood a towering nine feet tall like a gigantic praying mantis, its segmented body reflecting the fluorescent light like polished obsidian. Its head was a confusing, asymmetrical mass of light-reflecting diodes and surfaces which might have been sensory organs, and its two front-most legs were partitioned into sharpened ‘claw’ and ‘arc beam’ segments, both equally lethal. Dany stepped back involuntarily as she gazed at the Sagittarian, although the trapped creature could not see her. It began moving aimlessly about the room, prodding the walls with its claws and emitting sounds like clockwork as it moved. She knew that it was intelligent and would attack upon detecting any human, either obliterating her at range or bisecting her with its claws. “Why did you bring this thing in here, Casimir?” Casimir stood still, seemingly unfazed. Before answering he barked into his com-watch, “Mr. Olb, come to the demonstration area please.” He turned to Danuta. “Patience, Petra. These nightmares are difficult to capture, but well worth what we’ve learned from them. Just give me a moment.” Turning back to the watch, he ordered, “Control, active demonstration A.” As he concluded his order, four tiny gun turrets slid out from the ceiling above the captured Sagittarian. They each swiveled to the target and then unleashed a hail of charged neutron blasts, melting the armor of the alien and then tearing its metallic innards apart. It gave an almost pitiful screech as one of its legs gave and it went crashing to the floor, motionless.” The turrets retracted. There was a moment of silence. “Is that your weapon?” asked Danuta. Casimir simply shook his head. Almost immediately the Sagittarian began stirring again. Tendrils of black, gooey metal leapt across the holes in its body, gradually filling up and reforming the carapace. Soon, even its damaged leg looked new, save for ridges and burn marks where the original damage had been. It stood and resumed its routine of scouting. ‘So that’s what it looks like. An enemy that can’t die,’ Danuta thought solemnly. A moment later the door to the observation room slid open, and a tall young officer walked in, leading by the shoulder something most odd—a child. It was male, olive-skinned, maybe 13 or 14 years old by his height, and clad in the simple jumpsuits the SCB gave to youth camp cadets. His hair was buzzed down to a 2-guard, and his brown eyes stared blankly ahead—or maybe towards the monster. Either way his demeanor was just wrong, and Danuta struggled to contain her confusion. “Psi.” Began Casimir to the child, softening his voice. “Your mission is to kill the monster as quickly as you can. Please begin.” The boy stepped out of the grip of the officer and walked to the one-way glass. Danuta gawked. “Is this some kind of joke, Casimir?” Danuta, now confused and angry, hissed. The Admiral shook his head. The boy reached the glass wall and rested the palms of his hand upon it. His breathing—until then silent—quickened and grew laborious. Something changed. The monster turned to face the opaque window and shrieked in its mechanical voice. It made as if to charge, but its limbs trembled. Attempting to move, one of its weapon arms began flailing wildly, and its noises grew ever more distraught. The boy, for his part, mumbled and gasped with exertion, doing god-knows-what but not moving at all. Then, as quickly as the weapons had done it in before, the Sagittarian began to crumble. The black fluid that had sewn its flesh together dissolved and began to pour from cracks that emerged in its armor. The computerized voice gave out, and its body dissolved quickly into a pile of metal pieces, which decayed further into dust and puddles of clear fluid. The boy pulled his hands from the wall and began gasping. The remains of the monster didn’t stir. The boy, turning around and facing the admiral, had a bleeding nose. “Mister Casimir, I finished the mission. Ca-” he coughed, "Can I sleep now?" Danuta stared, horrified. She couldn’t detect any traces of emotion in his voice. But she had no time to think on it, as right after speaking the boy fell to one knee and began hacking up blood. Her first aid kicked training in, and she rushed to the boy’s side, trying to hold him upright and elevate his nose. Casimir said something to the officer, who left in a hurry. Then, as the boy began calming down and breathing normally, the Admiral talked. “I’m so sorry, Danuta. This is why I couldn’t tell you before. I would never resort to this if it wasn't our best option. Short of a nuclear blast, you can’t truly kill those things, only slow down their repair process. But Psi—this child—does. He’s done it before on Ymir, and he did it again here.” Danuta glared at her superior, her tears of rage forming. “You can’t be serious.” She jostled the boy, trying to call him to attention, but he seemed to be losing consciousness. His eyes fluttered darted around, eventually closing as he fell asleep. Moisture—perhaps the boy’s blood—spread out on her leg. It wasn’t so. She looked down to see a wet patch forming over the boy’s jumpsuit as he unconsciously urinated on her. “I am, even though I wish I wasn’t.” continued Casimir. “This boy is my secret weapon, Petra, my ticket to total victory. He’s psionic. He faced the Scourge and survived. His gift is so rare it’s never been confirmed in a million years of human history, until now. Understanding his power means undoing the Sagittarians. But right now, Psi is broken, weak, and emotionally strained beyond belief. What he's been through should have destroyed him. I called you here to make sure it doesn't.” The Admiral and the Commander locked eyes, both tearing up. “You’re the Doctor. By any means, you’ve got to save him, so he can save us.” -- To Be Continued. Well, that's done. I hope you all enjoyed this intro, and I'd love to hear your thoughts/critiques of this story as it stands. I can't promise an update immediately, but once some business (final exams) are concluded that will probably change. Cheers.

Hi Everyone! My first attempt at a story on this forum and in this genre. Let me know what you think. Parts one through 3 posted below. Broken Cradle Part 1 He turned up the volume on the earbuds. It was the news he had been waiting for. The Premier Group was making the big announcement they had been teasing all month. Full Dive Technology was in the hands of the masses. “We’ve all had fun with Virtual Reality. Since the late 80’s, we have toyed around and experimented with connection to the digital world. Each year, we get closer and closer but have fallen short of the Grail: The Complete Immersive Experience.” Rion sat down on a bench as his mind ventured off listening to Clint Bryant, Premier’s CEO, introducing their new tech. “imagine, taking a trip to Hawaii on your lunch break. 30 minutes in the sun, feeling the surf, and then, you come back and finish the workday. Instant vacations. Doctors, what if you could dive into an MRI and look at it from all angles. Families, keeping in touch just got easier.” What Bryant was saying was the stuff of science fiction. How could it even be possible? Aall of this and more can be possible with this..” Rion heard the audience gasp and “Ooooo” and he couldn’t help but do it as well though he had no idea what they were looking at. “The Dot is a revolutionary device, one that requires no surgery, no permanent changes. Attach it when you want to, detach it when you are finished, and it charges inside the case.” Rion could not believe how they put all of this intense tech into such a small package. “All you need to do is attach it to your temple like so, and give it a tap.” Rion heard a thump, and the audience gasp. He jumped up, and ran inside to the nearest public building. It was a coffee shop with tiny table tents that read, “Looking for Wi-Fi? Ask me about it.” Rion plugged in his barely alive phone and searched the available networks, racing against the clock. He couldn’t find the name of the shop anywhere. He signaled a passing barista. “Umm, sorry to bother you, but can you help me log in to the Wi-Fi?” “Sure, she said. It’s right there on the Table tent in front of you.” “I saw that. That’s why I asked you.” “No silly, pull up the networks.” Rion thumbed open the available list, and scrolled to where her finger had pointed. Right there were the words, a network named “Looking for Wi-Fi?” Rion groaned. She said, “I think you know what the password is.” She smiled and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder before going back to her work. Rion tapped “Ask me about it.” Into the blinking box on his phone and clicked on the Breaking News section of his Home Screen. They were streaming the press conference live. Rion saw Bryant on the stage talking about specs and information transfer, but nothing about what had happened in the time it took Rion to pull it up. He opened a new tab to one of his favorite tech blogs where they were analyzing the information and showing highlights. There was a bright blue link that read, “Click here for the Body-Dropping Demo”. Rion clicked the link, and his phone enlarged the video. He saw Bryant show the Dot on the giant screen. It looked like a cufflink or a doorbell buzzer, a chrome ring around a pearl colored disc. Bryant attached it to his temple and tapped it. Bryant was in mid sentence when his body suddenly dropped to the stage. It was a jump scare that took Rion completely off guard. Suddenly, Bryant appeared larger than life on the big screen. “seamless transition between the Material world and the virtual world.” The image of Bryant moved to walk on the screen. “Some of you may be thinking that this has been pre-recorded. Allow me to prove otherwise. Now, understand that my consciousness is directly inside this server. My brain cannot receive any input from my body what soever. Now, I would like the young woman sitting in A2 to stand and walk to the microphone in front of the stage.” All eyes turned to a seat up front as a young woman rose up presumably from seat A2. “Now, many of you will not believe me, but what I am about to share comes from my own observations during my time on the stage. Young lady, I couldn’t quite catch your name tag from up here, but you do use a very creative J. Could you please tell me your name, and speak into the microphone?” “J-j-janine.” Came the nervous girls response. “Janine. Beautiful name.” Bryant began to write the letters, J- A-N… He was spelling her name in the empty space and Rion could see the letters form as though from a marker. With a gesture, he flipped the name around for our comprehension. Rion and the crowd marveled at the display. Bryant explained how the Dot had connected him to the venue’s network. He could see through and access all devices connected to the network. “How did I spell your name right, Janine? Well, let me just recognize this as a teachable moment regarding unsecure wireless access points.” Bryant said with a smile. He then made another gesture and touched some invisible point in front of him, and then disappeared. The screen went black and Bryant’s body, prone and still on the stage the whole time, began to pick himself up. He brushed off his designer slacks and rubbed the areas that made first contact with the floor. “My recommendation: Never use the Dot out of range of a soft surface.” He started to laugh. “You may not feel it on the trip there, but you will once you get back.” Rion clicked off the video. He sat in stunned amazement. It was real. Total Immersion and Connectivity, the ability to manipulate your environment, to access information, and feel sensations. While the rest of the country began to realize the implications, this would have for devices like Prosthesis and Digital Interaction, Rion had only one desire for this tech. It just had to be created first. Part 2 Gosling: Attention All Bigs, mids, and Kids. I need some help. Fractured_Prune: What’s up, Goz? Gosling: Anyone seen Cat_Noir? She’s not responding to my DM’s. AnarchyTabloid: I think she’s doing some server maintenance. Gosling: Awesome! What about Clint? I don’t see his username. Fractured_Prune: Bro, he’s a work. You know that. It’s midday. Not all of us can live a carefree slacker style like you. Gosling: Prune, shut up. Your giving me the shits. Fractured_Prune:……well done, my friend. Gosling: Well, you do bring it out of me. Fractured_Prune:..okay PhreekAmerica: Feeling like #2 suddenly, Prune Fractured_Prune: are you done? Gosling: I’ll take things asked outside of Prune’s bathroom for 100, Alex. <Fractured_Prune has logged out> Rion put his phone in his pocket and laughed. He would have to wait till he got home to share his ideas. Rion booted up his laptop, and logged into Cat’s Cradle. It was a forum created by Cat_Noir and was populated by many likeminded others like Prune, Phreek, and a global cast of characters. They were all united together by a common interest. They all had a unique way of coping with struggle. Rion sent a message in general chat that asked for all members to join at their earliest convenience. Slowly, the members logged in and acknowledged their presence some way. Some were general (“here”), and some were explicit (“Asshat”), but soon everyone was online. “Let’s move this to voice chat,” typed Rion. He got right to the point. “Everyone, I want us to adapt the server for Full Dive.” “What!?” said Prune. “I think we should upgrade the server and give ourselves a way to actually be Here in Cat’s Cradle.” “Impossible.” “Not anymore,” responded Rion, “Premier Group made their big announcement. The Dot is available for mass market consumption.” PhreekAmerica shouted “Yes, First Person Shooters for real.” Rion said, “yes Phreek, it’s going to change gaming. But it can also change us.” “What do you mean?” “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it before? All the conversations we have? Playtime? Cuddles? What instead of imagining it, we experienced it.” Everyone was silent. There were no more words to be said. Each of them knew in that moment that this was something they had all wished for, dreamed about, since they found each other. “So, where do we start, Rion?” Part 3 It took many nights and weeks. It was a labor of love, and became an obsession for the group. Each of them in their own way needed this to happen. Each of them worked in whatever roles needed to be done. Some learned new hobbies like coding. Others committed their drawings and creativity to the endeavor. But after long days and sleepless nights, the day arrived. Each of them had their Dots in hand. They followed the email directions, and when the hour struck on the appointed day, each of them attached their Dots and tapped. Rion opened his eyes and took in the soft glow of the room. It was a dome shape with soft glowing white walls and a light in the center that shone like a full moon on a winter’s night. Rion felt the soft cushions beneath him, and looked at the circle of similar chairs around the room. There were no hard edges, just softness and comfort everywhere you looked. He looked at the other bodies that began to slowly arise from the reclined seats. For the first time, they looked at each other, saw each other, after a year of speaking sight unseen. It was Cat who finally broke the silence, “Hello all of you beautiful people. Welcome to The Cradle.” They went through some technical items first. Cat told them how to operate their displays. Each of them had to swipe down with an index finger and a menu with options popped into their field of vision. They walked through the different roles of the group, and how to change them. Each member excitedly starting looking up options, clicking madly, but nothing was happening. Cat explained, “This is just our landing pad. We will always look here as we are, based on our own cognitive perception of ourselves. The settings will activate on the other side of this door.” Everyone’s eyes darted to a pale white sliding door, like elevator doors, that seemed to appear on one side of the room. Cat explained a few more rules, and had everyone go to their menus and look at the same rules and welcome and documents that they had transferred from their original forum. Each one signed their name with a digital imprint. “This contract, while possibly unnecessary, binds all of us to the terms. If anyone breaks any part of this contract, your digital self will be banished from the server.” Everyone sat stone faced. “Understand this,” Cat continued, “We are about to embark on something we have never done before. We are placing ourselves in a position of high vulnerability. While we may have shared things before, it was always through the proxy of our computers and phones. Through those doors, we will be feeling and interacting in ways could not have before imagined. This contract is protecting all of us. We each came here because our coping mechanisms made us vulnerable and untrusting of others. I will protect each and every one of you here, even from within. Is that clear?” Cat’s eyes shone with an intensity as she spoke. It made them all shiver slightly as if a cold wind had just blown through, or each of them were an antelope that had just witnessed a lion stare them down and walk past. It spoke to each one of them a feeling of, “Your life is mine for the taking.” But, in truth, it made each of them feel safe, protected, as if nothing could happen to them in here because of Cat. “Now, one more thing we need to do, kiddos. Let’s start this by finally introducing ourselves. I’ll go first: Hi everyone, I’m Kathleen, but you can call me Cat.” “so we’ve been calling you by your actual name this whole time?!” said a girl from across the room. “Yeah, it made this a lot easier on me than it will be on you. How about you, princess?” “Okay,” said the girl, “Hi everyone, I used to log in as Paci-Fi, but here you can call me Eve.” In turn, each of them introduced themselves to these others that they had spoken with daily but realized that there was still so much they didn’t know about each other. “Hi, you all know me as Gosling, but my name is Rion.” There was a pause, and Rion heard someone say, “Wait a minute, Rion Gosling?!? That’s amazing! Why didn’t you share that earlier? It’s a great pun.” Rion blushed and mumbled a thank you, and Cat clapped her hands, “Well kiddos, what are we waiting on? Let’s go.” The friends rushed to the door, and listened to the gentle whoosh of compressed air. The doors slid open to a large open room, one that they all marveled at at the same time. In the center of the room was a recessed square with the bottom two steps down from the main level. There were wooden cribs stained light brown, and changing tables with changing pads in every color of the rainbow. There was a small library with puffy pillows and bean bags for reading and tents for sitting in, and there was a art area with easels and smocks on hooks. One entire wall was nothing but stuffies and toys, and there was a kitchen area with high chairs and a bean shaped table with seats set in it around the outside. There was a single chair that allowed one person to feed each kid at the table. It was perfect, down to the last detail. Each one of them ran into the room, and then had to stop to adapt to the changes. For some of them, the room seemed to grow larger. Others found it harder to move. Rion found himself on his hands and knees. He was wearing a onesie over a cloth diaper. He looked at his hands. They looked the same as before. He looked aaround. Even the others looked like they did before, just their sizes changed. Others also gained animal features. Over each head, Rion could see their roles and pronoun preferences. There were Bigs, Littles, Mids, Furries, Sissies, and then there was Cat. Above Cat’s head was written, “Rocking the Cradle of Love.” It was a perfect title. Smiles slowly crept across each face as they felt every detail of the experience. The bigs ran their fingers over the furniture and looked in drawers to find each one fully stocked with care supplies. The kids and mids began sifting through the toy chests, and the infants flopped happily on their backs and grabbed their toes laughing. Nothing else happened. There was no conversation. Each one was content in this form, reveling in the sensations afforded to them. Rion was the first to discover a new sensation. He felt a spot of warmth spread across the front of his diaper. More and more issued forth until Rion felt himself in a warm puddle of his own creation. His eyes were half closed, his face a smile, and even without the flashing label, the other Caregivers knew what had happened. “Rion, do you have a wet diaper?” Shannon asked. Rion blushed and squirmed in his spot. “Nooooo…” “Are you telling me a fib, baby?” “Noooooo, Shannon.” “Well, little one, you don’t know this, but all of you littles have a special addition to your labels.” She bent down, and looked him in the eyes. “It tells us if your wet, hungry, and everything else.” Steven spoke up from the kitchen area, “I wonder if it can tell us anything else,” and she smiled at Shannon as if hiding a devious secret. She smiled back, “I guess we’ll find out.” Shannon picked Rion up under the arms and carried him over to a purple changing pad. She bucked the waist strap and booped him on the nose. “Don’t want you to take a tumble, do we?” Rion giggled. The feeling was indescribable. Shannon unsnapped the crotch of his onesie and undid the snaps of his cloth diaper. When it reached the cold air, Shannon noticed a sudden stiffening. She looked at Rion again and then turned to call to Steven, “Hey Steve, you were right! It can tell us that, too” Rion blushed. “Don’t worry, baby. We won’t take care of that publicly, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to do that now. Let’s just get you changed, and we can all explore this place together.”

A Visitor to Triton by Write And Left I looked across the Manhattan skyline and watched streams of aircars travel at the various levels of the city. “It is good to be back on Earth, Doc,” I said, “but I still miss that girl I met back on Triton.” “Lie down on the couch and tell me about her,” said Dr. Emily Gleeson, the shrink that the Navy forced on me. “Why should I?” I asked. “No one takes me seriously when I talk about her.” I stared at the ceiling and paused. “No one takes me serious at all. Why should I bother if you are not going to take me seriously?” “Just humor me,” she said. She flicked her Tablet with a finger, obviously going through her notes. “Tell me about Alison Randall.” Why not? I thought. I would just tell her everything about the girl I left behind on. Maybe she would believe me. “Well it started back when the Orion stopped by for my regularly scheduled relief...” ### The alarm blared in my quarters. The relief ship was arriving. I had been stationed on Triton for two years and my relief would finally take over so I could return to Earth and go to the next place the Navy wanted to send me. I had requested Mars, the second most populated planet in the solar system. Triton Station had a crew of one: just me. Before the advent of Faster Than Light travel, Triton acted as a way station at the edge of the solar system. The newer FTL ships would blink into and out of existence at the orbit of Saturn, thus they never needed to come way out here. Only the slow boats came to Triton, and as soon as they arrived in the solar system, they upgraded their engines to FTL and never returned to Triton. The only slower than light ships around were those that left before FTL’s invention. Still there were quite a few out there and Earth command wanted someone out here to greet them. Since I was stationed out here, the only ship I had seen was the one that brought me out here to the butt end of the solar system. The Orion was the second ship I saw, but it had come from Earth to relieve me. “USS Orion,” I spoke into the Mike, “this is Triton Station. I look forward to your arrival.” I then waited the two minutes for my message to travel the eighteen million kilometers back and forth to the ship. After the wait the speakers sounded, “Sorry about this, Triton Station, but the ship is in plague status. No personnel may be transferred from our ship to the planet. We are at quarantine. A container of supplies will be dropped to you.” My heart sunk. I was stuck here and I would be alone for who knows how long until the Navy saw fit to send another ship out here. “How much longer am I stuck here?” I asked. “We sent a message to Earth and they sent another ship immediately. Your estimated time of arrival is six months.” I clicked off the radio and swore. There would be another six months of not feeling the breeze on my cheeks. There would be no pizza from Manhattan Pie Company and worst of all, no people to talk to. The loneliness that I had put behind me for the past two years suddenly came to the forefront of my mind. ### “So Alison Randall never arrived on the Orion,” asked my shrink. “Of course not,” I said. “She arrived on the bulk carrier, the SS Fortune.” “Go on with your story then,” she said. ### In the weeks that followed, I became more and more despondent. I was still imprisoned on Neptune’s largest moon for five more months and I was bored. I had watched every holovid, read every text drama on my Tablet, and even went so far as to write my own stories. One night, at exactly midnight, I heard an unexpected alarm. A ship was arriving, but this ship was transmitting a distress signal. Triton Station had one shuttle stationed there and I ran to the shuttle. The message attached to the distress signal said that the ship was rapidly losing air and that they needed help. I wasted no time. The ship was dark; the only light came from the day side of Neptune, but I piloted the shuttle closer and closer. The ship was completely dark. There were no running lights and no indication of anything approaching life, but I continued onward. As I drove the shuttle around the ship, I saw a horrible tear in the hull that went across all five decks of the ship. There would be no survivors unless they were suited or they were trapped in an airtight compartment somewhere. It was a bulk carrier. It is a common enough ship even today. It contained five decks and a spine to which cargo containers were attached. The only difference between it and a modern FTL ship was the massive fusion tanks on the tail end of the ship. Modern ships replaced most of the tank space with an FTL engine. I drove the shuttle around until I found a hatch where I could enter the ship. The only good hatch was on the spine. I set my coffee on the copilot’s seat and went inside to look for survivors. I floated through the spine of the ship and watched for any signs of life. There was air there, but as I walked forward of the spine the hatches all had red pressurization faults. All five decks were airless. Since I couldn’t get to the main hull of the ship, I walked aft. That is when I saw her. “I’m from Triton Station. I am here to rescue you.” She was young, probably in her early twenties, but dirty and disheveled. And she stank like a bad environmental plant and lack of showering. “Everyone else is dead,” she said. I took her by the hand and put her in the co-pilot seat in the shuttle. “I’ll take you back to Triton Station,” I said. “You’ll be safe there.” She was too shocked to say anything else, so I just let her be silent. She had just lost the rest of the crew of her ship. ### Dr Emily was tapping her Tablet and looking up stuff while I talked. I knew she was not just taking notes. “What are you looking up?” “Just reviewing your log for the incident,” she said. “Oh?” “But...,” Dr Emily started to say. She must have thought better of it. “Just finish your story.” ### Alison sat in silence on the way back to the moon’s surface. I thought I saw a tear in her eye, which was only natural since there were no other survivors on her ship. However, the tears were there for another reason. I pulled the shuttle into the dock and went toward the airlock and motioned her to follow me, but she wouldn’t move. “Come on in,” I said. “There is food, clean clothes, and showers.” She gave a sheepish look and then stood up to reveal a circular wet spot on the co-pilot’s chair. Her face turned red as she looked down at her seat. “Um,” she said, “I have trouble getting to the bathroom.” I sighed and we left the shuttle. Once in the passageway, I stooped down and caught a cleaning robot that was rolling along the corridor and took it back into the shuttle with me. I dropped it on the co-pilot’s chair and returned to the passageway. The girl stood there waiting. “I will take you up on that offer of a shower and clean clothes.” “Of course,” I said. I took her to my quarters where the only working shower in the small station was located and motioned her inside. I went back to my bedroom and opened my drawer to look for something for her to wear. I was a bit larger than her, so I just picked a t-shirt, and some shorts for her. The shorts would obviously be big on her, but she cinch the belt tightly around her waist. I slipped into the head and set the clothes on the sink. After that I slipped out. She finished soon after I left. I had never met a woman on Earth who took such short showers, but she was from a space ship and water is scarce, especially on a slow boat traveling between the empty gulf between the stars. When she came out of the head, the T-shirt and shorts looked quite large on her, but she smiled at me. “Thanks,” she said. “Are you ready for dinner?” I asked. She rubbed her stomach. “Are you kidding? I haven’t eaten for three days. I was trapped in the spine of my ship and couldn’t visit the galley or the rest of the ship.” “Well let’s take care of that.” I lead her to the galley and started taking packages out of the boxes of supplies that lined one wall and covered the galley tables. I had emptied the container that was dropped and brought everything inside and just put it along the wall. I pulled out some pre-made chicken cordon bleu and made that. In all I made four servings, figuring that we would probably each eat two. I was hungry too. She took a bite and then began to hungrily shovel in the food. “This is so good,” she said. She paused to take a drink of Kool-aid and then shoveled more into her mouth.” “These are space rations,” I said. “They are not really considered the best of cuisines.” “These are new rations then,” she said, “Our food has to last years and I bet you these would taste bad too if they were in storage for decades, even with the effects of relativity.” “Yes, I guess so,” I agreed. “I don’t think I could stand to be on a ship that long between ports.” “It’s tough,” she said. “I am on my first push out from Epsilon Eridani. We were to go right back after stopping at Earth, but forty years will have passed when it’s only been four years four me. My parents will be in their nineties. The trip after that, I would have been visiting my sister’s great grandchildren. I wanted to be a spacer though and signed on with the first ship that would take me.” “Wow, you must have just left before...,” I started to say. She put down her fork. “Before what?” she asked. “I don’t know if I should tell you, but I will. About twenty years ago ships started getting faster. You could have been home already.” “How fast?” she asked. She picked up her fork again and took another bite. She had a look of relief on her face. “I thought something horrible had happened.” “Faster than light,” I said. “A journey only takes the amount of time needed to go far enough away from the sun and then it is instantaneous.” “How far away?” she asked. “I could get home next year?” “Depending on the spectral type of the sun, it varies. In the solar system it is about ten astronomical units.” I heard a pattering sound coming from beneath her chair as she stared at me open mouthed. I looked down and saw a growing puddle. When she noticed what she did, she looked down and turned bright red. She looked at me. “I’m so embarrassed. What you said took me by surprise.” She stood up and looked down at herself. “I get like this when I am taken by surprise. Perhaps I should be wearing diapers.” I was inclined to agree with her. “What happened on your ship when this happened?” I asked. “It’s just been happening the last couple of weeks. They put me in EVA diapers. I heard they were going to beach me on Earth because of it.” She shuddered. “Well you are pretty much stuck here on Triton until a relief ship comes. We are about twenty astronomical units out from where any ship goes anymore. The only reason we keep Triton open is to support stragglers.” “Stragglers?” she asked. “People like you. Slower than light ships that left before they came home to find out that the universe changed and transportation is faster. Anyway, I have some EVA diapers. You probably should wear them until we find out how often you wet yourself.” She sighed. “Well okay,” she said. “I will.” She got up and I led her to the airlock. There were spacesuits there. Some were for walking across the planet, but others were for fixing ships in space. The station used to be a lot bigger and at one time it was a full support base. Now it was just an outbuilding with a section converted to quarters. The full supply of spacesuits and accessories were there. I opened a cupboard and found a pack of EVA diapers and gave it to her. “Well here you go,” I said. “We can travel quickly throughout the stars, but we can’t figure out a better way to pee while wearing a spacesuit.” “Well that works for me,” she said with a smile. She hurried into my quarters to change. When she emerged she wore only the diaper and the t-shirt. “I can find you another pair of shorts,” I said. “They made me dress like this when I was on the ship,” she said. “I’m used to not wearing pants with diapers.” “Suit yourself,” I said, “but you can still have shorts if you want.” “That’s okay,” she said. “It’s quite warm in here. So what do you guys do for fun around here?” I showed her my Tablet. “You can either read books or watch movies.” I showed her how to access both. ### “So you say you dressed her in EVA diapers and a shirt and she didn’t mind?” asked Dr. Emily. “No she didn’t mind,” I said. “She will testify to that fact, that is, if anyone can find her. No one will tell me what happened to her.” “How about you finish the story.” ### That night (if you can call it night, because the southern hemisphere of Neptune is constantly in daylight) I set her up on one of the couches in the staff lounge. Before going to my quarters to sleep, I showed her where the head was in case she needed to use the restroom in the middle of the night. I made sure she had plenty of blankets and was comfortable before I returned to my quarters to sleep. I woke up later with a soft, warm body pressed up against mine. It was Alison. She was fast asleep, but I woke her up anyway. “What happened?” she asked. She stretched and turned to look at me. I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “You must have sleep walked or something. You crawled into bed with me.” “Oh, yeah.” She yawned and stretched again. “I couldn’t sleep all alone. The ceiling creaks and the couch is uncomfortable. Besides you are cute. I want to sleep with you.” “What? No,” I said. “Go back to the lounge and sleep on the couch.” “Please,” she said, “just for tonight.” “You’re too young. I’m almost thirty and you...” I paused because I didn’t know how old she was. “...are too young.” “What’s the date?” she asked. I told her. “Well I am almost forty-one,” she said, “and that makes me a cougar, but plenty old enough.” “A cougar?” I asked. “What’s that?” “Nevermind,” she said, “I am plenty old to share your bed. I only look twenty-two because that is my subjective age. My objective age is forty-one. Besides, we are just sleeping.” “Fine,” I said, “but tomorrow night you are going back on the couch.” “Okay,” she said. I turned and went back to sleep. She never did go back to the couch in the five months we waited for the relief ship. ### I woke up late the next day. Alison was gone. I figured she was in the bathroom, but I didn’t hear water running. I got up and went inside and looked around. She wasn’t there. I wondered where she could have gone. I was about going to do a tour of the station, but then I heard a thumping sound coming from the galley. I raced to that compartment to see if she was okay. She was standing on counter wearing just her EVA diaper and t-shirt. She held a bunch of food containers and was stacking them in the cupboards. “What are you doing?” I asked. She pointed to the row of cartons stacked along one of the walls of the galley and stacked on the tables. “I am stowing the supplies,” she said. “I am also rotating the stock here. We might have to stretch the food a bit since we have two people here and your planners only planned to supply the base for one.” “There is plenty here,” I said. “I agree,” she said, “but I didn’t find that out until I started to inventory the food. Although if worse comes to worse and we are out here longer without resupply, we can take the shuttle back up to the Fortune and raid the galley there. You got proper suits and stuff and according to the chart, the Fortune is in a stable orbit of Neptune.” I looked around. She made a lot of progress on unpacking the food supplies. “You’ve thought quite a bit about this,” I said. She reached for my hand, which I took, and then jumped from the counter. “Of course,” she said. “I also should try to earn my keep.” I was please her restocking effort, but I also felt a little guilty for not doing it myself. It was not like there was anything else for me to do and I was required to restock instead of letting the supplies sit in the hallway. The only thing I had done besides parking the dry goods on the tables and against the wall was pulling the pallet of frozen goods into the freezer. ### That evening we ate a feast. The proper ingredients were easier to find and Alison gave the meal a woman’s touch. We even had a salad before the meal and she had crawled through the frozen foods to find some ice cream for dessert. She stuck her fork in the lettuce and held it up. “This is pretty good,” she said. “Where do you get green lettuce?” “Um,” I said, “all lettuce is green. That is how it grows on Earth, except there it is greener and not freeze-dried.” “Lettuce is black on Epsilon Eridani III. Most plants are black there. You can only see the amazing color patterns if you wear infrared glasses. Most animals and insects see in infrared on Eridani III, so no plants are really colorful to humans.” “Sounds depressing,” I said. “Well, I grew up that way. How much difference can colorful plants make?” she asked. “Women like to get colorful flowers,” I said. “In fact my wife used to love it when I brought her flowers, especially when there wasn’t a holiday. I brought them to her because I loved her.” A wave of disappointment washed across Alison’s face. “You’re married?” “She died in an aircar accident,” I whispered. It was all I could do not to cry. “We argued the last time she and I spoke, and now she is gone.” “I’m so sorry,” said Alison. She paused for a moment, but apparently thought it was okay to say what she was going to say. “I know how you feel. I argued with my parents before I left on the Fortune. With time dilation, I thought I wouldn’t see them again. I don’t know what happened to them or anyone else I left behind. I felt guilty about it for the whole trip to Earth. That’s probably the reason I started wetting.” “But now you can go back home in about six months and see them within the year,” I said. “That’s true, but Mom and Dad are almost seventy. I hope they are still around when I visit again.” We finished the meal and by the time we started on dessert, the conversations had moved to lighter subjects. “They usually just spray paint the leaves of existing trees and flowers when they do movie scenes that are set on Earth,” she said. “Of course now with FTL, they can now bring real Earth plant seeds to use in sets.” “They’ll probably need to use special lights if they want them to grow,” I said. Suddenly an awful smell filled the air. I wrinkled my nose and then looked around for the source of the smell. “Oops,” said Alison. Her face turned red and she smiled slyly. “You didn’t?” I said astonished. She took one last bite of her dessert and then stood up. “I’ll go shower,” she said. She turned and waddled away with an obvious bulge in the back of her EVA diaper. ### The next day I caught her in a wet diaper. “Alison,” I asked, “are you trying to get to the bathroom on time?” “I am wearing a diaper,” she said. “I don’t really need to worry about getting up to use the restroom. Besides you don’t tease me like the other crewmembers of the Fortune.” I sighed. “You know you can become dependent on diapers if you don’t try to avoid accidents. You don’t really want to deal with diapers when you get to the beach on Earth and want to wear a bikini.” She nodded. “You are being nice about this. I still might have accidents, but I promise I’ll try to make it to the bathroom.” “Good,” I said. “That is all I ask.” After that she made more of an effort to get to the bathroom. She still used her diapers at night when she was in bed, but I didn’t notice her sitting in a wet diaper as often during the day. ### When we had been together for almost five months, the incoming ship alarm went off. I raced to the control room and Alison followed behind. “What’s that sound?” she asked. “Our ticket to Earth,” I said. “We can tow your ship back to Earth so you can sell your cargo and then arrange passage back to Eridani. You might even make enough on your cargo to buy an FTL drive for your ship, make repairs, and head back home to see your parents.” “I’ll believe that when I see it,” she said. I picked up the mike. “Gemini, this is Triton Station. Please state your ETA and intentions.” I waited for the time for the round trip communication. “This is Gemini. ETA is six days and our intentions are resupply and relief for station personnel,” the voice from the speaker said. “There is a straggler ship in orbit around Neptune,” I said. “Will a trip to tow it back to the inner system be possible,” I asked. “The ship’s hull was breached and most of the crew were killed, but one surviving crewperson was evacuated to the station. Will passage for her be possible?” I waited for the communication lag again. “Yes,” said the transmission from Gemini, “we’ll clear some room for an additional passenger.” “Here that?” I said as I turned to Alison. “I told you they would...” My voice trailed off. Alison was gone. ### “None of the crew of Gemini could find any trace she was on the station at all,” said Dr Emily Gleeson. “Why do you think that is?” “I don’t know. She had to be on the station somewhere. No space suits were missing and the shuttle was the same way I left it when we arrived from the Fortune,” I said. “Where was there to hide on the station?” she asked. “Never mind. Please finish your story.” ### In the final week when I was awaiting the arrival of the relief ship Gemini, I search the station from top to bottom looking for her. She was nowhere to be found. I searched the galley, the lounge, my quarters, the restrooms, and even the sanitary tank reservoirs. The latter was the most disgusting place to look, but I didn’t care. I had to find her. I then checked the shuttle. It was in its slip and it was empty. The cleaning bot I had put on the chair had even cleaned Alison’s pee stain. It was still trapped in the immaculately cleaned shuttle and fled through the door as soon as I had opened it. Obviously no one used the shuttles. I also checked out the suit lockers. All the suits were accounted for. I suddenly had a horrible thought. I quickly readied a suit and put it on. I then exited the station through the only airlock in that building. What if she had left without a suit? I walked all around the station, even though I knew she couldn’t make it ten feet without a space suit. Triton’s outdoor temperature was almost 400 below zero on the Fahrenheit scale. I finally went back inside. The crew of the Gemini found no sign of her either. Finally, I had to get on the ship and go home alone. Instead of going to Mars I was sent straight to Earth. ### “So what is the official story about where she went?” I asked. “She never existed,” said Dr Emily. “You made her up.” “But she was there. I saw her. If she didn’t exist, then who put away the supplies? Who did the deep cleaning of the station? Who did I talk to for almost five months?” It was a ridiculous idea the Alison Randall did not exist. “I suppose you are going to say that the SS Fortune doesn’t exist.” “No,” said Dr. Emily, “I’m not. I am going to say that Alison Randall never came down from the Fortune once you saw her.” She pushed a button and a wall panel moved aside revealing a view screen. “Watch the view screen.” A camera moved around the inside of the SS Fortune. The floating camera came to a door that said, “Spine.” An arm reached up and opened the door to reveal another airless compartment beyond. Inside a body floated. The figure was frozen in the moment that air had escaped the compartment. She was trying to pull on a space suit but hadn’t got it pulled up higher than her legs. She only wore a t-shirt and an EVA diaper. “They all died two months before they reached Neptunes orbit. That’s Alison Randall floating there. She was dead all along. Your brain pulled her image off out and used her so you wouldn’t have to think about your loneliness.” “It can’t be,” I said. “Who wet the co-pilot’s seat in the shuttle? Surely the video log in the shuttle caught that.” “It did,” said Dr. Emily. “It showed you knocking your coffee over onto the co-pilot’s chair.” She pulled up another screen and I saw the coffee cup fall over and create a circular wet spot on the chair. “No,” I said. “It’s not her.” I pointed to the other view screen. “That is some other girl. Alison came back to the station with me.” “Look,” said Dr. Emily. The body rotated until I could see her from the front. The nametag area of her shirt said Alison Randell. She looked the same as Alison, but her skin was a bluish shade. She almost looked like the way my wife when they dragged her body from the crashed aircar. I felt empty then and I felt just as empty now.