Mapmaker's Dilemma

Description:

Aer's typical day involves shooting drones into the metadimension, analyzing the resulting data, and ignoring their manager's requests to socialize more. When some of that data arrives through unconventional means, their expected night of suffering through another office party becomes a race against a professional infiltrator.

Length: 5,400 words (16-minute read time)

***

Aer stared at the progress bar on the screen as if they could will the upload to go faster. A cable as thick as their thumb connected their terminal to the databank they’d removed from the mystery drone. Hidden within the two rows of data disks in the bank was either a lot of nothing, or the secrets to the galaxy. Most likely it was the former, but the fact that it could be the latter is what had Aer sitting next to the debrained drone staring at a progress bar in the empty office of the Protectorate’s metadimensional mapmaking division, otherwise known as the MMD.

The entire situation was made more uncomfortable by the dress pants and jacket Aer wore. It was their attempt at looking more put-together than they actually were, though the chipped nail polish and overgrown pile of hay that was their hair gave away their true gremlin self.

“Still working, I see,” Farah said from the doorway. The HR representative everyone loved to see, and Aer’s only friend. Normally, her brown skin and black hair could make her a native of four different planets, but her ankle-length cocktail dress was what Aer would call excessively Tormian: all shades of blue, with swirling embroidery and sleeves that fanned out as much as the skirt did. Fashion iconic to the ocean planet. Her flats made shuffling sounds as she made her way to Aer’s desk.

“You can head to the party without me, this will take most of the night.” It’d already taken an hour to make sure the data was probably safe enough to upload to a sandbox. The rest of the upload and safety checks would take days.

“Nuh-uh, I keep my promises. And if you don’t like it, you can blame past-Aer for agreeing.”

“Past-Aer didn’t expect this.” They gave the drone a light kick. It wobbled in response, its antennae tapping the ground when it leaned far enough either direction. Though it was one of the smaller models, it was far too big to fit on the desk and instead filled half the space meant for Aer’s chair.

“Sure, but past-Aer also told me not to accept any of future-slash-present-Aer’s excuses.” She shifted her tone to something more sympathetic. “I know you don’t like these parties, but the food will be decent and it will earn you brownie points with Steffen.”

Aer involuntarily groaned at the mention of their boss. According to him, they needed to be more of a “team player", which entailed spending less time actually working and more time eating cold hour d’ourves in the ship’s cafeteria-turned-event-hall. How knowing their coworker’s spouses’ names made them a better employee, Aer still couldn’t figure out, but it had been a continual black mark on their performance reviews.

The progress bar ticked another half of a percent higher. Only 96.5% left.

Half the purpose of the MMD was to find more interstellar pathways through metadimensional space, which they did by launching drones into the void. Most of the time, the drones never returned from the metadimension. If they did, the tracker on their databanks would alert the MMD for retrieval. Analyzing the data would show the pathway the drone took, which they could compare against others to see if it’s something new, maybe something faster. The dream was to find a pathway to an entirely new stellar system, but that was yet to happen. Each drone sent out was like pulling the lever of a slot machine. Maybe this time would be the jackpot.

This drone had broken a few of the rules. It had been shot out months ago and assumed lost, until it arrived in a mystery package conveniently after everyone else had left for the anniversary party.

The tracker was present but disabled. Aer had turned it on again to be sure it still worked. Someone had apparently found it and shipped it back to the MMD. In place of any sort of tracking ID, the box bore postage from nearly every planet in the sector. Maybe forensics could figure out where it came from, but Aer sure couldn’t.

If someone distrusted the government enough to hide their tracks like this, why would they bother sending the drone back at all? The whole situation was weird.

Aer should tell Steffen about it and let him decide what to do, but any news out of MMD got sent through the rumor mill and blown out of proportion. Farah and her many inter-departmental chats often ended up being part of the problem. With the alcohol and close quarters of the party, it’d be a disaster. Aer needed an answer to this drone’s mystery before they let anyone else in on it.

Which required analyzing the data, which meant waiting for the upload to finish, which would take another… five hours.

Aer sighed in defeat. “Alright, you win. There’s nothing more I can do now anyways. And the snacks probably are better than the standard space food.”

Farah grinned in victory and waited for Aer to triple-check that nothing could interrupt the upload. Their terminal was password-locked, and the door was badge-locked to members of MMD who’d be at the party anyways. What could possibly go wrong?

***

Every Protectorate ship was celebrating the alliance’s anniversary. Being one of the largest ships in the Protectorate fleet, the Pyxis’ main cafeteria had been converted into an event hall, complete with mirror balls, a dance floor, and baskets full of lightfetti balls. People weren’t supposed to throw them yet, but the middle-aged office workers needed to get their thrills somehow, such as startling their colleagues by tossing ball that popped into a burst of technicolored light.

Having been hired straight out of college, this was only the second such party Aer had been employed for, and it could have been the same party as last year. It had the same food, same drinks, and practically the same music. Even the decorations were the same. The digits had long since been removed from banners and posters so they could be reused year after year, and the worn corners and faded colors showed how often that had been. Aer was even certain they themselves wore the same clothes last year.

Forty minutes after arriving, it felt like it’d been hours. They’d at least made it to the edge of conversations, rather than merely the edge of the room like last year. They stood within a circle of a few coworkers, barely listening to stories of children’s birthday parties and doctors’ visits. The music was loud enough that everyone had to shout to be heard. As their mind wandered, they picked up chatter from a pair walking past:

“…a shorter path to Rada would let us send ships to fight back.”

“Ignoring that we’re politically bound from starting a war, we’re not a military.”

“We have a military branch. And everyone knows planets are building battleships on the down-low. Especially with the black market…”

Aer’s grip tightened enough to partially collapse their cup of juice, causing some of it to splash back up at them. Could that be what their wayward drone hid? Rada was already at war against invading authoritarians. If a resistence fighter had found the drone, that would explain its secretive route back to the Pyxis and why they’d bother sending it back at all. Travel logistics were the excuse everyone else gave for not helping the planet, but the not-so-hidden truth was that nobody trusted anyone else. As if lending aid to Rada would leave them vulnerable to an attack from someone else.

Aer checked if any of their coworkers noticed their distraction and saw they’d lost their spot in the circle. With no interest in rejoining, they headed off in search of Farah. The two had been friends since they were assigned roommates their first year of college. Aer was the local, while Farah was the Tormian who’d never ridden a train before. Since then, Farah had become one of the few people Aer understood how to interact with.

They’d spotted her chatting up a storm when their compad vibrated an alert in their pocket. The only alerts they’d be getting were related to the upload.

“Who are you texting?” Farah asked as she walked over to find Aer staring at the screen. She took a bite out of some sort of roll while waiting for a response, its pink jelly leaving a smear on her cheek.

“No one, it’s—”

“Aer!” Steffen waltzed over wielding a near-empty wine glass. The first thing Aer noticed was the sparkling makeup adorning his temples, highlighting the grey hair growing from the same region. The second thing was that his suit had frills. “So glad to see you, finally coming out of your shell to have some fun!” He winked and Aer did their best to not look too upset at his presence.

“Actually, I was about to—”

“And Farah! Always a pleasure. There are big names in the house tonight, let me show you.” With one hand on Aer’s shoulder to direct their gaze, he started pointing out various department heads in the crowd, from Jezelle in security to others in genegineering, xenoarchaeology, and preservation. Though the ship could support over a thousand people, it frequently only held half that until the big parties when everyone showed up again.

Aer mhmmd their way through as best they could, eying Farah for a rescue. She instead motioned for them to go along with Steffen’s introductions. Of course she would.

“You know, I’m parched,” they interrupted Steffen to say. “I’m going to get more juice.”

“But your cup is still half-full?” Farah pointed out.

They chugged the luke-warm and watered-down remains. “Not anymore!”

They ran off before Steffen or Farah could say anything else, hoping neither would follow them. Cool air hit them as soon as they were in the hallway, where the lighting was normal and volume was reasonable. The MMD office was only two floors down, so they skipped the elevator lines and went for the stairs as fast as they could without seeming suspicious.

The upload had been interrupted. “Connection lost.” Hard-wired connections don’t drop. Someone had to have unplugged it. Aer tried to think of any coworker who wasn’t at the party, but they could only remember half of the dozen. Besides, these coworkers would know not to unplug a databank. Unless it was an accident? Like if someone used Aer’s desk for something else, like…

Arriving outside the office saved them from finishing that thought, and they instead focused on the fact that the door was slightly open. Had they left it open, or had someone else? They crept forward and stuck their head inside.

“Hello?” they called into the room.

Nothing but life support ambience responded.

Aer stepped inside, making sure the door shut and locked behind them. They thought about putting a chair in front of it, but that felt too paranoid, even for them. No person appeared among the low-walled cubicles of the MMD office. No sound save for Aer’s sneakers as they went to their desk. Whatever happened, they could plug the databank back in and resume the upload, this time babysitting it until it’s done. They’d gone to the party, they’d existed around other people, that would have to be enough.

But as they reached their desk, they realized this wouldn’t wouldn’t work.

The databank wasn’t just unplugged. It was gone.

***

Too many minutes later, Aer bolted down the hall. The location tracker was still afixed to the databank, and they’d linked their compad to its signal. They knew where on the ship the databank was, and that it was moving. Someone was carrying it five floors down.

Aer pushed past the people waiting for elevators going up to the party and pressed the down button. Being the only person heading down should make this faster than taking the stairs. As their elevator arrived, Farah was among those who got out.

“There you are!” Her cheeks were red, and her slight stumble suggested it was from drinking. “That was a weird way to exit a party, even for you. I think Steffen is actually moping over it. Everything alright?”

“Everything’s great, yeah. I have to do an important thing, I’ll head back after.” Aer got in the elevator and pressed the button for their floor. They hoped Farah would accept their answer and leave them, but had no such luck. She followed them inside and the doors closed on Aer’s chance to handle this alone.

“So important you didn’t tell your boss? Is this about me strong arming you into coming? I was trying to do what you asked, but if that was too much— why are we going down?”

“If I tell you, will you promise not to tell anyone else?”

“Okay. Sure. But only because I’m trusting you that this isn’t some crazy life-threatening thing.”

“More likely, someone is messing with me.” Aer took a moment to try to figure out how to explain this in a way a non-technical and slightly-tipsy HR person would understand. “You know how we shoot drones into metadimensional space? The drone I was working on today got shot off months ago and never told us it survived. Someone found it and mailed it back to us. I can’t figure out who it was, but if I can analyze the drone’s data, I can figure out where it went and how it got there.”

“Okay. I got half that. That data is the box thing on your desk, right?”

“That’s the databank.” Aer nodded. “It holds all twenty data drives, and all of them are needed to get complete data. Except someone took the bank off my desk.”

“Oh! And now we’re tracking it down like detectives! Is that why I can’t tell anyone?”

They arrived at their chosen floor and vacated into the uncharacteristically-empty hallway. Though all employees also lived here, this part of the ship was for the working part of the arrangement, and few people outside security were working right now. A single set of footsteps echoed nearby, and light from one office bled into the hall, but no person was in sight. Aer lead the way to where the tracker had stopped moving.

“A mystery person mailed us a drone from a mystery location. It’d take an hour, maybe two, before someone went to the press claiming we had proof of a living alien civilization or something. I’ll tell Steffen about it when I have answers, so we can skip that whole stupid rumors stage.”

Farah nodded along, but didn’t look convinced. The two continued past empty offices and locked doors, and after a minute she asked: “What if we did find aliens?”

“Then our jobs would get a lot more interesting.”

“Aer and Farah, braving the front lines to tell everyone to not be dicks to each other.”

Aer snorted. “Maybe we’d even convince a few people.”

“We wouldn’t be alone. The Protectorate’s changing. Lots of people like us are making it better. Slowly. Maybe your drone found something that will ignite the flames of a better future!”

“It’d be nice, but it probably found nothing. The whole situation is weird, including the part where someone took the data off my desk and brough it to…”

They slowed to a stop outside the door that went to the databank’s current resting place.

“…an executive conference room?” Farah finished the sentence.

The automatic lights came on as they both entered the room. A meeting table took up most of the space, surrounded by cushy chairs much nicer than what regular conference rooms had. The tracker suggested it was somewhere along the far wall, likely in the credenza cabinets with the room’s supplies. They took separate sides, each scouring the area cabinet-by-cabinet.

It didn’t take long before Farah announced she’d found it, only to follow up with “oh, nevermind. It’s just a box of markers.”

“If it helps, the tracker has a blinking red light when it’s enabled.”

“Oh, I found one of those, but there wasn’t a box?”

Aer stopped their search and checked where Farah directed them to. Following the source of the light led them to a palm-sized disc, still sticky with adhesive. The tracker, disconnected from the databank. Next to it was a piece of fancy stationary. The back of which had an embossed emblem of a comet. No, not a comet. The Comet. The capital ship owned and operated by the black market group called the Syndicate.

On the front was a hand-written note:

Sorry, dropped this. Put it in here for safe keeping. Hope you don’t mind! <3 G

With a sinking feeling, Aer tried to pull open the conference room door. And found it locked.

***

“Fuck!” Aer shouted as they shook the locked door. This whole room was a trap, and they fell for it.

“Whoa, hey,” Farah said, “don’t break the boss’ toys. Pretty sure you can’t anyway, they don’t joke around with doors on ships.”

“Someone stole the databank. The tracker was a distraction while they got away.” Aer pulled out their compad to counter-hack the door. Having access to the system already should give them a leg up on their competition.

Farah’s face sobered as she processed the information. “I’m calling security.”

Aer opened their mouth to protest, but stopped. Calling security was a reasonable idea. The two of them were locked in here and, aside from being avid treadmill users, had no useful experience to stop a thief. Certainly not one working for the Syndicate, the largest and most sophisticated black market organization in the sector. Aer tried not to think too much about why their instinct was to hack the door instead.

Your instincts were right, a voice said in their mind. Its owner could be around Aer’s age, but the smoothness of his voice filled their mind like water rushing over stone. I’ll take the compliment, but you should stop her. If security gets involved, I might be forced to destroy the data, and that’d be unfortunate for both of us. He sent them the image of smashing the databank on the ground. The drives had become more resilient over the years, but not that resilient. Not with the cost cutting needed to mass-produce disposable drones.

“Wait!” Aer called to Farah. And to the telepath in their mind, they said, You’re bluffing.

Am I? The data isn’t worthing dying over, and I’d rather not get shot.

The echo of security answering Farah’s call carried faintly across the conference room.

Fuck. Aer signalled to Farah to kill the connection.

“Sorry, umm, wrong number?” Farah said to the security guard before hanging up. “What’s going on?”

“Thief’s a telepath and has threatened to destroy the data if we get security involved.” Aer got back to convincing the door to open.

“Oh. Sure. That’s all.”

Voices melded inside Aer’s head as friend and foe spoke at once: “This is starting to get scary and life-threatening,” The door will open on its own in an hour, “you said it wouldn’t,” why not relax, have some drinks, “we really should call security anyway,” enjoy the excuse to skip the party? “or at least tell Steffen—”

“No!” Aer shouted at both and regretted it. “Sorry. I’m… I need to focus on this.”

Farah was the only one who listened to the request. She sat on the table jiggling her foot in thought and silence.

If you unlock the door with enough time to come find me, I’ll be impressed enough to offer you a spot on my team.

You’re offering me a job? Me? The person you stole from?

I stole from the Protectorate. And why not? You clearly don’t like it here. You’re good at what you do, but they still want you to be someone different. How long will you let them try to change you until you find somewhere better?

“Aer? You’ve stopped typing, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just thinking.” Who are you? they asked the voice.

Ah, sometimes I forget this only goes one way. The name’s Gayle.

Bullshit.

Gayle’s laughter rippled through their mind. Not a reaction I’m used to getting. The connection between our names is merely coincidence, promise.

That he knew their name made sense, but only made them feel worse. He had no right to know them that well. Their hands shook with too many emotions to list. They had to ignore him and decide what to do next.

“I’ve almost got the door,” they told Farah, “He’s gotta be heading to a docking bay, but I don’t which. If I can get data on what ships are where I can probably figure it out but—”

“Starboard.”

“What?”

“He’s docked starboard. Terrence, he’s one of the docking bay managers? He told me there’s a problem with the fuel system on the port side. They had to move all ships starboard. It’s been a mess trying to keep track of everyone, and with fewer places to dock, they’ve had to get people to carpool or go elsewhere. A telepath could easily get through in the confusion. Brain fog an overworked attendant and bam, you’re in.”

The door clicked open.

“Starboard it is, then,” Aer said.

“I’ll meet you there. I have a plan!”

***

Both docking bays were split into wings that serviced different sized ships. A thief like Gayle would likely have something small, maneuverable and easier to hide from sensors. Something he could even pilot alone if we was stupid.

I’m not, he rudely interjected.

Quiet.

I can only communicate with willing targets. Perhaps you’re more interested in talking than you want to admit?

Aer slapped their ID badge at a set of employee doors. They had few advantages in this race, but one was that living on the Pyxis gave them knowledge that Gayle’s telepathy might not be able to extract. A second was that Gayle would likely move at a slower, less suspicious pace around the more-populated docking bay. Aer had less to risk if their mad dash through the hallways attracted questions, though their body and dress pants both had complaints.

The bigger risk would be around security. Until Aer reclaimed the databank, the usual security presence around the dock would be a liability.

What do you want with the data? they asked. Telepathy had the benefit of not caring how out of breath they were.

If this data leads to a new system, what do you think the Protectorate will do with that information?

Aer had debated this a hundred times. Given their job, how could they not? The Protectorate was under too much scrutiny to hide information that big, and the attempt would be used as further proof that the interplanetary alliance was failing. Yet revealing the information could be the catalyst of war, as planets fought over territory and resources.

Exactly, Gayle agreed with their unspoken thoughts. No matter what the Protectorate chose to do, it would be the wrong choice. Better to let someone else handle it.

I won’t let the Syndicate get credit for our discovery.

You haven’t discovered anything yet. Gayle’s voice oozed smugness.

That final taunt was all the fuel Aer needed to ignore their pounding heart and push forward as fast as their legs would let them. They burst through a final set of doors into the small ship wing. A handful of people milled around chatting. One person on his own wore a Protectorate uniform and carried a bag roughly databank-sized.

They both ran for the gate between them, but Aer’s path was shorter. They slid to a stop in front of the gate, blocking the thief’s exit.

“How did you…” If Aer doubted this was Gayle, the voice proved it. He had light brown skin, dark eyes, and a birthmark on his left cheekbone. A curled lock of hair showed beneath the Protectorate cap the topped off his disguise.

“Knew a… shortcut…” Aer managed to say between gasps of breath.

The surprise on Gayle’s face shifted to a smile. “Alright, consider me impressed.”

“Didn’t do it… to impress you…” The full force of fatigue was catching up to them. Their legs felt like jello and they were way too warm in their jacket, but they couldn’t take it off. Not yet. They tried to stand up straighter as they held their hand out. “I want to solve this mystery, and I respect myself too much to do so with the Syndicate’s help.”

“I take it you’re not coming with me, then?” His expression turned crestfallen. Telepathy wasn’t necessary with him, he wore his heart on his sleeve. “You can’t stop me, Aer, but I’d rather not force you aside.”

He was right. Aer couldn’t stop him, only keep things from getting worse until a better option presented itself. Not too different from the Protectorate, even down to the bystanders barely paying attention. Gayle knew everything that went through their mind and still he stood there with such sincerity on his face, it made them want to scream. Maybe if they’d told someone—anyone—about the strange delivery, they wouldn’t be dealing with this alone now.

A ball soared through the air and landed in the space between the two. Aer closed their eyes before it popped open in in a shower of light. Gayle wasn’t so quick-thinking, and while he blinked through the lightfetti surprise, they snatched the bag from his hands and ran.

They barely made it a dozen steps before a tall, broad man in a security uniform stepped in front of them. Of course. To anyone else, it’d look like Aer just stole from an employee. They tried and failed to evade the guard’s grasp, which came down on their arm like iron.

Around the same time Aer processed that they were now safe to tell security about the infiltrator, they noticed there was something off about his uniform. No nametag, no badge, no radio. Under his cap, a heavy brow shadowed an austere face.

“He’s Syndicate!” Aer shouted about as soon as they realized it, hoping the accusation would attract anyone’s help.

What they got was Steffen, who jumped onto the tall man’s back while shouting “unhand my employee!”. Whatever Farah had told him, it’d convinced him to provide the lightfetti distraction and more.

It was enough to let Aer wrench themself free. They pivoted, knowing Steffen wouldn’t keep the man busy for long, and headed for the employee entrance they’d arrived through. Scanning their badge would slow them down, but it was the only other way out. Except they nearly ran into Gayle trying to get there.

From behind, Steffen demanded to be released and complained about a bloody nose.

“I told you I wasn’t stupid enough to do this alone,” Gayle said. “Though it seems our positions have swapped. The databank?” He held out a hand.

Aer shook their head. They pulled the bank out of its bag and let the canvas drop the floor. “I’ll destroy it.” They sent back the image of the drives scattering across the floor. All while they tried not to think of their backup plan. Their hands stepped through actions they’d taken enough times that they didn’t need to think about it.

“Now you’re bluffing,” Gayle said.

“You can read my mind, you know I’m not.”

“You’re as stubborn as I am.” He bowed his head, levity melting away. “I’m sorry about this.”

He took a step closer and Aer felt a weight lift. He met their eyes once before he turned away toward the gate. The other Syndicate member tossed Steffen aside to follow, and both of them went through the door to their ship. Nobody stopped them. The bystanders remained nothing more than that.

Aer clutched the sleeve of their jacket as they tried to process what just happened. Labored breath signalled Farah’s arrival, fashionably late to the party, but it was Steffen’s groan that snapped Aer back to reality.

“Are you okay?” they turned to ask, embarassed that they hadn’t yet.

“Not the first time I’ve been punched in the face,” he said, still checking his nose for blood. “Would either of you care to explain?”

“One of our spike drones was mailed back to us, and the Syndicate stole…” the words disappeared from Aer’s mind. What did he steal? Real security was arriving on scene. Maybe a bystander had been useful, after all.

“He was a telepath,” Farah filled in the gaps. She handed Aer their compad back, the screen still following the tracker currently in their pocket. “If I’d told you everything, he would have known.”

“Ah. I understand.” He straightened his coat to compose himself, then put a hand on Aer’s shoulder. “Aer, it wasn’t your fault. Not entirely. But now we need to talk to security.”

***

Real guards escorted Aer, Farah, and Steffen to security offices, where the head of security joined them straight from the party. Far fewer people would be willing to antagonize the ship’s security team if their uniform showed off Jezelle’s muscles as well as her red, shimmery dress did.

Aer, however, was focused on retelling the night’s events. They sat in an office chair, feeling as mobile and cognizant as a sack of potatoes. A fog lingered over their mind, requiring concentration to remember all the details. They were certain half their story didn’t make sense, but nobody told them to stop. “…I threatened to destroy the data if he didn’t leave, and then I…” The fog thickened, but as they thought more about Gayle’s apology and the weight lifting from their hands, it began to clear, and they weren’t happy with the image it revealed. “I let him take it. He made me forget about the databank, and I let him take it from me.”

“That asshole!” Farah said from beside Aer, where she’d spent most of the retelling pacing.

“I suspected that’s what happened,” Steffen said. “I’ve seen the blank look of people’s faces when their thoughts are… suppressed like that. There was nothing you could have done.”

Jezelle scoffed. “They should have reported this from the start. A suspicious package always warrants notifying a supervisor.”

“Excuse you!” Steffen donned his best offended tone. “That package went through security checks prior to being delivered. My employee is hardly at fault for trusting that. In fact, had Aer not proactively begun the upload, we’d have none of the data and no notice that it was stolen at all. Perhaps you should be more concerned about how security was unaware of the infiltration? There was a remarkable lack of security in the small ships wing.”

Her face went as red as her dress and Aer worried Steffen was about to earn a second black eye.

“Something we will look into,” she said through gritted teeth. After a breath, she managed to compose herself. “Am I to understand this was a complete loss of unknown data to the Syndicate, aside from what was uploaded before the party?”

Steffen nodded. “Yes, it seems so—”

“No.” The final memory clicked into place in Aer’s mind. The reason they still wore their jacket. They turned their chair to face the nearest desk and gently poured the contents of their sleeve out, revealing eight data drives tucked within. “I knew he might do something like that, so I pulled as many drives out of the bank as I could. We can’t get complete information without all of them, but neither can he.”

“Only a partial loss, then,” Steffen said with a grin.

“I can upload what data I can, compare to past scans, and probably figure something out, but…” They braced themself for a statement that could have prevented this entire mess. “I’ll need help.”

It was thanks to Farah that they were able to get to the docking bay in time, and thanks to Steffen that they had a chance to get even eight drives out of twenty. This wasn’t the last they’d hear from Gayle, and if he wasn’t stupid enough to do this alone, then they couldn’t be, either. They wouldn’t lose to him a second time.

***

This was originally posted to wow that's a lot of stars in April, 2024. It was last edited in October, 2026. See it in-World here.