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Bishop’s Opening (Part 2 of 4)

By R.S.A. Garcia

(Continued from Part 1…)

Bishop was alone in the Grandmaster’s Penthouse suite when the call came from the Kingston. Once it was over and his Grandmaster’s virtual form had dissipated, Bishop cursed under his breath.

The Grandmaster Valencia’s ship had failed to jump to the nearest Arbor after leaving Consortium space because of another instance of miscalculation by the Coretrees. There had been minor errors before, on Valencia. He’d heard of an incident several tempi ago, when a Sept vineyard transition deposited travellers at the wrong Sept. But this was far more serious. This time, a mistake had left the Valencia’s flagship stranded half a galaxy from their planned destination.

Whatever had caused the error, the crew no longer trusted the ship’s quantum exchange would work accurately. As a result, the Grandmasters had chosen the long, slow flight to another Arbor. From there, they would transition to their Septhold vineyards safely, and allow the ship to be inspected and repaired.

But that meant his Grandmaster would not arrive in time for the meeting. He expected Bishop to handle it instead. Bishop did not look forward to the task of soothing the Bartica’s temper once he realised the Kingston was not in attendance.

Bishop gathered his Pawns and joined the Rooks that waited in and around the most exclusive private conference room of the Greater Luxury Hotel. As part of the normal powerplay of etiquette, the Bartica had not arrived yet. But as he was about to commit a breach of the original Conclave agreement by representing Sept Kingston instead of the Grandmaster, the least Bishop could do was allow them the victory of being the last to arrive.

However, when the doors opened, the Bartica did not enter. Instead, his King strode into the room with their Black Knight and paused on the other side of the wide, circular table inlaid with precious minerals and stones.

Bishop rose to his feet and bowed. “King Bartica, I welcome you to this Conclave with sincerity and good faith.”

The King was not required to exchange pronouns with, nor bow to, anyone of a lesser rank, so they inclined their head instead. On the forehead of their pale blue mask was the Bartican crest of a gold triangle with a smaller red one within. “You are not the Kingston.”

“And you are not the Bartica.”

The King of Bartica curled dark brown knuckles around the back of a chair but did not pull it out to sit.

“Why does he send a Bishop to a Conclave?”

“The Kingston deeply regrets the necessity for his absence, but if you are willing to accept my credentials, we can begin negotiations.”

The King was silent for almost a full minute, hands relaxed around the chair while Bishop waited, senses on high alert.

“I do not find this acceptable.”

If he was not bound by Valencian protocol, Bishop would have given vent to the kind of language that was forbidden once you were accepted into a Sept. Why could nothing be simple?

“This is a primary Conclave, your first overture to us. Surely, the time to insist on such strict procedure is not yet at hand?”

“What we wish to discuss with your Kingston is not for the ears of a mere White Bishop,” the King replied, the very slightest thread of annoyance in their voice. Bishop noted that with mild surprise; they must be deeply invested in this Conclave to let their disappointment be so obvious.

“My apologies. Perhaps I can relay a message to impress upon the Kingston the urgency of your suit?” he offered, curious now as to what the Conclave would have addressed. This was no mere exploratory move. The Bartica had meant this in earnest, if his King was anything to go by, and that meant this Conclave might have had…ramifications.

Interesting.

The King released the chair and flicked a hand at their Knights. They left the room and Bishop motioned to his Rooks to do the same. Once they were alone, the King came around the table and they stood chest to chest, heads bowed. Bishop cupped his palms, and the King made several signs within it before raising their head to look directly at Bishop.

“I understand,” Bishop said. “I will pass on your message.”

The King spun in a swirl of silken robes and vine perfume and walked out of the conference room.

Bishop sank to his chair, thinking, his heart pounding hard.

The King, he now knew, was terrified. They had used the old language to tap out short words into Bishop’s palm. No wonder the Bartica had not come himself if those three words were true.

Moves without Honour, the King had tapped, and Bishop thought it was a wonder his hand remained steady afterward.

There was only one way to play the Great Game without honour in Valencia. Only one way to make moves that would be condemned by every Sept, in public and private, as outside the rules of Honour.

Someone planned to challenge the ranking of the Septs. Change was on the way. Perhaps even…insurrection.

And with that would come opportunities and openings he might find very useful indeed.

When First Rook returned a few minutes later to report the King had left and the hotel was clear, he sprang from his seat with energy he had not had in many tempi.

“Send for a car,” he told. “I must return to the flagship.”

This was news that could only be properly shared in person.

---

When they stepped out from the noise and heat of the bay they’d been assigned to one cycle after their arrival, Sebastian felt like less of a visitor and more like he was returning to a familiar and beloved place.

Olly had warned him that things would not be the same as in her stories. Station turnover was common. People came and went frequently, and places were always being added, or torn down and replaced by something new. But he was so rarely in port on a station this big, Sebastian felt the relaxed thrill of a true vacation. He walked the narrow, crowded lanes, craning his neck like a tourist at the levels that rose above them in spirals and connecting tubes.

“Still smells like too many people,” Olly said, wrinkling her nose as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her utility pants.

“You’re just sensitive because it’s been the three of us for so long,” Sebastian countered, staring at the shops and flashing ads while he ignored the endless permission pings on his chirp.

He stopped to stare at a gorgeous image of a teeming ocean in front of a travel registry and Reece moved in behind him so close, he felt the heat of his body against his back.

“Didn’t get around to visiting the beach on Tavaco,” Sebastian said, berating himself for not going alone when Reece and Olly refused. He was too used to the rules of growing up as part of a large family in dangerous places. No solo outings, just in case.

Reece’s warm breath puffed into his ear. “Next time,” was all he said. Sebastian turned, surprised. “You mean it? You’ll come?”

Reece had a grimace on his face as he stared at the display, but there was no mistaking his assenting grunt.

“Well,” Sebastian said softly. “Looks like Olly gets to take watch next cycle.”

Pausing next to Reece, Olly shook her head. “Wrapped around his finger.”

Reece shot her a look and she sniggered before striding away, mag-boots clicking. Sebastian bumped shoulders with Reece as a thank you before they strolled after her.

All in all, everything felt…perfect.

Until they got to the Basement and stood where Sticky’s should have been, and it was a Creole food stall instead.

The owner looked at them with mild disbelief when they asked about Sticky’s. “You gone ah long time. Sticky’s closed since before I come here, and that was right after the Blowout. Years now.”

“But the doubles? The roti?” Sebastian said, heart sinking.

“Don’t sell them thing out here now. Have to go Arborside. By the rich people them.”

Sebastian tried to convince her to go with him, but Olly would not listen. “We’re not going into Valencian territory,” she said firmly as they walked back toward the unimaginatively named Busy Junction where people, hotels, shops, restaurants, and stalls met in a chaotic, food-scented crisscross of lanes. “It’s dangerous and there’s plenty of good food right here.”

“We’ve got time to sight-see. We could just take–”
“Bas,” she said without looking at him, “It’s not always about what you want. We’re not going, and I’m done discussing this.” She lengthened her stride to leave him behind.

Sebastian halted as he realised she was angry at him. Really angry, in a way he’d never seen before. What did I do?

“Did I miss something?” He looked at Reece. The pilot put his hands on his hips, stared upward for a moment, then directed his gaze at Sebastian. “Give us a minute.”

“Sure,” Sebastian said, trying not to feel hurt. It was moments like these he was reminded of how long they’d been together, their connection rooted in secret smiles and monosyllabic references; questions they shrugged off and jokes only they understood the punchlines to. Worried he’d once again strained their relationship in some unexpected way, he slowed, watching Olly gesticulate while Reece listened with a frown crinkling his forehead.

An enclosed bullet car slowed to a stop in the street, gliding noiselessly on buried tracks. The light from the double doors of a hotel on his left slid along the car’s tinted roof and sides like water. A group gathered in the hotel’s doorway. They all wore masks but the tallest among them, at the front of the group, wore a patterned one. Sebastian sped up, trying to get out of their way.

The side of the bullet car retracted, and he glanced at it. A shifting shadow and a flicker of light in the dark interior caught his eye and he halted suddenly. His boot didn’t engage as fast as he needed, and he stumbled to his left.

His shoulder slammed into someone, his hands tangling in satiny cloth over warm hardness. There was a sharp intake of breath as fingers gripped one of his wrists. But Sebastian was looking behind him because his mind had finally figured out what he’d seen.

A dark shape crouched just inside the car doors. Sneering lips curled beneath a black mask that hid everything from nose to forehead.

What the hell?

He wrenched his arm free and took a step toward the car and the object glinting in the passenger’s outstretched hand. Is that a gun? Weapons were forbidden on Greater P., but he knew immediately it couldn’t be anything else.

Instinctively, he lunged for it, and the passenger pulled back as he grabbed at a black-gloved hand and shoved upward. They grappled, Sebastian toppling into the plush seat alongside the door, one foot still on the sidewalk.

Grunting, the passenger got their leg beneath Sebastian and kicked hard. The first strike robbed him of his breath. The second sent him staggering backward out of the car.

Several hands took hold of him as the car door closed.  It slid away into the street, scattering pedestrians. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw silent figures loping after it, taking bounding leaps through human and vehicular traffic in the low gravity, but his attention was captured by what he held in his palm. The silver-grey tube had a tiny button on the side and two hollow ends. It fit neatly in his hand, innocuous and almost weightless. He had no idea what it was.

A hand covered in a white glove closed over his wrist. The tube was wrenched from him, and he was jabbed painfully in his ribs on either side. He heard a shout up the street. Olly’s voice. About time, he thought, still a little resentful they’d walked off on him. Reeling from the suddenness of the fight, pulse rioting under his skin, he looked up at the person in front of him.

A white mask, decorated with swirls of green and yellow flowers, stared back at him. The eye pockets were tinted, and a dark pinhole speaker where a mouth would be formed the centre of a flower-head.

“Name the Sept that hired you, and I will consider letting you die swiftly.”

Sebastian’s stomach lurched, nausea slicking the back of his tongue. “What?”

Iron fingers curved into his throat, squeezing hard around his Adam’s apple, and cutting off his air efficiently. “If you answer me now, you deal with me,” the soft monotone continued. “If you refuse, I’ll give you to my Rooks. I promise you, whatever happens to you then will happen to everyone you love as well.”

Sebastian struggled but the hands on his biceps and forearms held him tight as he fought to breathe. The hand on his throat loosened and he doubled over, gasping, as an outraged bellow sounded somewhere far away. Through blurred, teary vision he saw a dart of shiny metal sticking out of his left ribcage. Fingers gloved in white plucked it from him. A headache speared behind his eyes, and he moaned at the sudden pain.

“They shot him,” a voice said above him.

“Why would they target their own?” another asked.

“A question worthy of consideration,” the monotone replied.

Something crashed into his left side. Amid harsh cries and the thump of flesh hitting flesh, he heard Olly calling his name. Pain sat on his chest like an idling cargo bot, and he couldn’t catch his breath to answer her. He fell sideways, his boots losing contact with his ground, his body beginning to drift.

Hands pulled at him, lifting him against a firm torso. He looked up into the masked face. It was luminous with sparkling, twisting flowers growing downward to brush squared shoulders. The slowly curling stems and blossoming petals were mesmerising. He could smell their floral perfume, and it smelled better than Olly after a real shower. He lifted a hand and stroked at the mask. It was smooth beneath his fingers; firm and cold as metal. He sighed, oddly soothed, a faint smile curving his lips.

“What did you do!” Olly’s voice sounded muffled. “What the fuck did you do?”

He wanted to defend himself, to tell her he hadn’t done anything at all, but the swelling bubble of pain in his head and the roiling in his stomach distracted him.

The monotone said above him, “Take the gun. There will be traces inside. We must know what they used. We have minutes at most.”

“The Station Agents–”

“This is not their business.” There was a pause during which he could clearly hear scuffling and Reece swearing. “Bring them.”

An arm was around his waist, another under his shoulder and he was spun in a circle. A bullet car stood waiting in front of him. “Do I get to ride in that?” he wanted to ask, but then pain hooked viciously into his ribs, and he screamed.

“Sebastian!” Reece sounded panicked and furious, but oh God, the pain. He couldn’t answer, couldn’t think; the pain had him, and it dragged him down, down, into a black hole of nothingness.

---

He drifted back to full awareness with a chill burning under his skin. He lay on something velvety and yielding, but he shivered so hard he heard his own teeth clicking.

“The antidote is working. You may leave us.”

A hand slid under his head, lifting his chin. Insistent fingers pressed against his mouth. He parted his lips, and a pill was placed on his tongue. He tasted the salt of skin as the hand withdrew. The edge of a cup replaced it, washing down the pill with water.

He curled into himself, trying to get warm. Callused hands grasped his palms and chafed them with strong, firm movements. He gasped with how good it felt and inhaled a delicious, floral scent.

“Reece?” he murmured, forcing his eyes open.

The blurry face above his resolved into stern lips pressed together beneath a green mask that covered nose and forehead. The memory of a black mask floated to the top of his mind, and he jerked backward, hitting his head on a wall. He groaned as sparkles exploded behind his lids and agony sliced through him.

“Careful,” the voice was low and so resonant it sent a shiver through him. “You don’t want to move much yet.”

He lay still, catching his breath and cataloguing the aches rioting through his body in swift jabs and lingering strikes. When he felt warmer, after the shivers passed, he licked his lips. “Reece? Olly?”

“Your friends, I assume?” The figure straightened, towering above him. This mask did not cover the eyes, but the holes were too deep set to see them at this angle.

My family. My everything. But that was none of this stranger’s business, so he simply said, “Yes.” He tried to sit up and a firm hand descended on his shoulder. Heat seared his skin through his shirt.

“Slow. Your balance might be affected. The pain and hallucinations may return.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“I hoped you could provide those answers.”

He frowned. “Me?”

Corded arms a lighter shade of brown than his own folded across a flat chest. “Your name and pronouns?”

“Sebastian.” In the expectant silence that followed he instinctively added. “Carver. Sebastian Carver. I prefer he/him. Yours?”

“Bishop shall suffice. He/him. Are you a resident of Greater Paradise, Sebastian Carver?”

The way his name rolled off Bishop’s tongue, resonating in that low register, made his skin tingle with awareness. He shook his head, then regretted it instantly and pressed his fingers to his temples. The pain has certainly returned. “Passing through. The Kiskadee needed repairs.”

“Your ship, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“When did you arrive?”

“A cycle ago. I think.” He frowned. “How long have I been here?” For the first time, he glanced around and realised he sat on a bunk. The walls that curved around the small space looked carved from polished wood, filled with silvery ripples and dark knots. There was a desk and chair to his right. A closed door stood between the bunk and the desk, and another behind his questioner. “Where am I?”

“Aboard the Kingston’s flagship.”

He rubbed at a sore spot on his ribs absently. “Sorry, I think I missed something. What’s the Kingston?”

“My Grandmaster.”

At Sebastian’s raised eyebrows the stern lips parted with a quiet sigh. “You have no idea to what I refer, do you?”

“Should I?”

“Tell me something,” his voice was filled with curiosity, “why did you reach into that car, Sebastian Carver?”

“Just Sebastian,” he said automatically. “They had a weapon. You took it from me.”

“You put yourself between me and that weapon. Why?”

Sebastian groaned as he settled elbows on his thighs and gripped his throbbing head. “Because I’m clearly an imbecile.”

“Perhaps. But I need an answer.”

Sebastian tensed, realising suddenly that although he was the one injured, he was being interrogated. “Well, Bishop, if you have a problem with me saving your life, you can call the Station Agents. Otherwise, I’d like to go back to my friends now.”

“Is that what you think you did? Save my life?”

“You tell me,” Sebastian said, spreading his arms wide, exasperated.

“This is your plan, perhaps?” Bishop asked in a mildly amused voice. “To place me in your debt?”

Sebastian was done. This was beyond ridiculous, and he had no more patience for it. “If it was, it clearly wouldn’t have worked, because you don’t seem the grateful type. In fact, you strike me as an…”

…asshole. Oh. Shit. His eyes widened as he stood tall enough to see dark eyes as cold as the deep space outside the station hull.

“You’re Valencian,” he breathed. That must mean… He understood now why he’d been able to lie down with no restraints. He was on a Valencian ship, in gravity.

The slightest curl formed in a corner of Bishop’s lip, and confusingly Sebastian’s skin flushed with heat. “Why am I here?”

“My question first, Sebastian Carver.”

“I’m not sure, okay,” Sebastian shot back. “It was a weapon, and I was the only one who saw it. Nobody would have had time to stop them. I thought…it was the right thing to do.”

“Are you in law enforcement?”

“I.” He swallowed then took a deep breath. “I’m a cargo handler.”

In the silence that fell between them, Sebastian shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking everywhere but in front of him.

“A cargo handler. You are…interesting, Sebastian.”

There was that warm tingle again, stronger than before. Oh hell, no. This is not the time, Sebastian Thomas Carver. You don’t have the faintest idea what you’re dealing with yet. He made himself look directly at Bishop. “Where are my friends? What did you do to them?”

“Do to them? You should ask, Sebastian, what they have done to us. My Rooks were exceedingly solicitous, given their behaviour.”

“If you’ve harmed them–”

Bishop stepped forward, bringing them so close, Sebastian’s fists were brushed by the soft layers of silver cloth that covered Bishop’s body; his scent swirled around them. “What will you do? Kill me, after so kindly saving my life? That would be such a waste of your efforts.”

Sebastian’s heart sped up even as bewilderment seized him. “What is wrong with you? Why the hell would I want to kill you? I just want to know why you’re keeping me here and why you won’t let me see my friends?”

“Because I must know if you are part of the attempt on my life, Sebastian,” he said in a voice suddenly sharp as metal. “As for your friends.”

He strode to the stateroom door and laid a palm on it. After making a few hand gestures, he brushed past Sebastian and strode to the desk. Sebastian watched Bishop lean there, ankles crossed, hands braced against the edge of the desk, until a flurry of activity drew both their gazes back to the doorway.

“Bas!” Olly ran to him, and he caught her, arms tightening around her curves. He hissed at the discomfort as she hugged back, relief coursing over him as he breathed in the crisp apple fragrance of her hair.

His cheek against hers, he looked up as Reece came into the room. Sebastian’s eyes widened at Reece’s bruised face and split lip. “Reece, what the hell–”

Without warning, he was crushed against a massive chest, Olly caught between them, his arms trapped against Reece’s hard stomach as the man held onto the back of his head and waist and pulled him close. Shuddering breaths skimmed his ear.

Sebastian’s heart beat hard in his chest. “Hey,” he said, surprised and deeply happy at their emotional welcome. “I’m good. Except for the part where you’re crushing me. It kind of hurts.”

Olly made a sound in her throat and shoved him hard. He stepped back, rubbing at his sore chest, then froze as she wiped at her damp face. “You idiot,” she said fiercely. “What were you thinking?”

“That someone was pointing a weapon at me, and I didn’t want to get shot?”

Her laugh was harsh. “I wish I believed that, Sebastian, but I know you. You’ve never put yourself first. This is the space walk and the fire all over again.”

He rolled his eyes. “We’re back to arguing over the space walk? What did you want me to do? Leave you to die?”

“You jump into danger every time without thinking. And you have no idea, no idea, how it feels to watch you risk your life like that.”

“I wasn’t the one who walked off and left me alone on a Station I didn’t know!”

Olly’s lashes fluttered and she looked stricken. He’d hurt her, yet again, without meaning to. He made a rough sound in his throat and ran his hand over his hair.

“Sebastian,” Reece said, his voice tense, “not here.”

“And you,” Sebastian snapped. “Look at your face. Why did you attack their people?” He waved his hand in Bishop’s direction. “There was no need for that. I was just a little stunned from the fight–”

“You were dying,” Bishop interrupted in a mild voice. “Poisoned.”

“I–what?”

Olly strode over to Bishop and poked a finger at his chest. “You piece of shit. You had no right to take him and keep him from us. Who do you think you are?”

“You would have preferred I left him on the sidewalk to die in unimaginable pain?”

“Why not?” she spat. “That doesn’t usually bother your kind.”

The stillness that emanated from Bishop made Sebastian’s hair stand on end. “Olly, don’t. Leave him alone.”

“You know nothing of me,” Bishop’s voice was steel wrapped in silk.

“I know your people. You’re heartless, violent pricks, every last one of you. You kill as easily as you lie, and all you care about is money and your sick games.”

Bishop stepped close so his taller vantage forced her to look up at him. His murmur was low, but audible. “Who did we take from you?”

Olly’s fist flew without warning. Bishop caught her hand and spun her, twisting her arm behind her. She tried to stomp on his foot, but he put an arm around her and lifted her, enduring the strikes of her boots against his shins without a single flinch.

“Let. Her. Go,” Reece said.

The warning in his voice made Sebastian step between the pilot and Bishop. “Stop. We all need to calm down.” He turned to Bishop. “Release her and talk to us. I’ve answered your questions. It’s time to answer mine.”

One minute Bishop had Olly in hand, the next Sebastian caught her as she stumbled into him. She rubbed at her arm as Bishop said, “Ask them.”

“You alright?” Sebastian asked Olly.

She nodded, narrowing her eyes at Bishop. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

“I have no desire to touch you. But I make no promises.” Bishop leaned against the desk, hands across his chest. “I will not allow anyone to lay hands on me.”

“It was an assassination attempt?” Sebastian interrupted. “On you?”

“Yes, and yes.”

“Why?”

“Any number of reasons.” Bishop shrugged. “Persons of my rank endure several a tempi, at least. Greater Paradise is neutral ground, though, and such attempts are forbidden here.”

“Pretty sure murder is a crime everywhere.”

His stern lips twitched. “If you are caught, absolutely.”

Olly tossed her hands up. “See!”

“Do you think we’re involved?” Sebastian asked, knowing this was the real issue. If Bishop thought they had any part in this, he had a feeling they would not make it back to the Station.

A few seconds of silence passed before Bishop responded. “I had to rule out the possibility. Valencians often carry antidotes for common toxins, but this one, Quasi’s Death, is extremely fast acting. It’s rarely used because of its virulency, even in Valencia, but the Kingston’s flagship has the most complete medical bay in the fleet outside of the Valencia’s flagship and carries the antidote. That’s why I brought you here.”

“Bullshit,” Reece hissed, stalking forward to stand behind Olly and Sebastian. “You wanted to interrogate him. You wanted information.”

Bishop tilted his head to one side. “That too.”

“Information?” Sebastian frowned.

“If you weren’t involved, at the very least you’d seen the assassin,” Olly said, “They needed to know what you knew.”

“But I would have told you that anyway if you’d just asked. Why separate me from my friends?”

“How was I to know they were your friends?” Bishop waved a hand at Reece. “I’d been attacked twice, and they’d injured two of my Rooks. Perhaps they were there to make sure of my death. I had no way of knowing their story was true. I had to wait until you were conscious.”

“In case they meant to harm me.” Sebastian paused, eyebrows raised. “You were…protecting me?”

“A favour returned, and a debt paid, perhaps.”

Olly shook her head. “Not likely. Bas was never in danger from us.”

“Surely, saving his life counts for something?”

“His life would never have needed saving if it wasn’t for you,” she spat.

“Who are you, exactly?” Sebastian asked.

“I’ve told you already.”

“Yes, but who are you, that someone wants you dead?”

Behind them, the door opened, and a masked person appeared. They bowed, crossing a forearm tattooed with a glimmering, geometric pattern against their naked chest.

Bishop straightened. “It is done?”

“We anticipate your presence in Interrogation Room 3.”

Without another word, Bishop was past them and out the door, and Sebastian saw the glimmer of a tattoo on his back as he went. Reece attempted to follow, but found his way barred by the newcomer.

“You will await the Bishop’s return here.”

“You,” Reece said, “can fuck off.”

In two swift movements, a hand plucked a cylinder from the belt around a narrow waist. The cylinder extended in both directions into a humming, tapered pole that managed to look both innocuous and dangerous.

“You will wait.”

Sebastian sucked in a breath. “Reece.”

Reece clenched and unclenched his fists, but he only watched as the guard withdrew from the room, shutting the door in their faces.

(Continued in Part 3…)

---

Host Commentary

By Valerie Valdes

Once again, that was part two of Bishop’s Opening, by R.S.A. Garcia. It will continue with part three next week.

Much like in the first part of this story, Bas once again makes a split-second choice to save someone at his own risk. This time, alas, does not work out quite as well for him. It does, however, save Bishop from an untimely demise, and propels the two men into each other’s orbit. Some attractions can’t be helped, but what will happen to Reece and Olly, and what secrets will be revealed that may change all their lives? Find out next week.

Escape Pod is part of the Escape Artists Foundation, a 501(c)(3) non-profit, and this episode is distributed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International license. Don’t change it. Don’t sell it. Please do share it.

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Our opening and closing music is by daikaiju at daikaiju.org.

And our closing quotation this week is from N.K. Jemisin, who said, “Conquerors live in dread of the day when they are shown to be, not superior, but simply lucky.”