LotS/The Story/Fade to Gold/Intro

Adrian Zanfran had seen his share of weird and wonderful things. He'd watched fleets of shimmering spaceships arc through the void, carrying passengers across distances their ancestors couldn't even have begun to comprehend. He'd napped beneath the shade of sentient plants, whose humming tunes soothed him like a mother's lullabies. He'd even seen an arm and hand blasted from his own body -- and gazed with horror at the purple tentacles he woke to find in their place.

The galaxy was strange. It was beautiful. And every day, whether he stared down the barrel of his editor's latest doomsday weapon or looked into his wife's loving eyes, Adrian was grateful for the life and job which had allowed him to experience so many of its treasures.

Perhaps the world which now loomed before the Fabled Zebra's flight cabin window wasn't as magnificent, bizarre, or breathtaking as others he'd visited. Yet his eyes gleamed. That familiar thrill darted from spine to stomach, heart to brain, as through preparing flesh and mind for the coming magnitude.

It was a pretty little planet. Blue oceans and trails of cloud formation reminded him of a prized marble he'd owned as a child. An unfaceted sapphire, its azure richness flawed yet sumptuous. But that wasn't what caught Adrian Zanfran's soul or made the tips of his tentacles twitch. History grasped at him, millennia of events which ignited decades of imagination and consumed them as fuel for their conflagration.

This was where everything started. Like a cosmic Helen of Troy, it had launched a million ships and set the galaxy aflame. Sian. Novocastria. Plerna. The floating station worlds of Alpha Centauri. All of them existed because of this blue dot, traversing the darkness. Proud in the golden light of its resplendent sun.

He couldn't bring himself to enter its atmosphere just yet. Instead he directed the Zebra into a winding, encircling path, then sat back in his chair.

"Panoptica," he said.

The vessel's walls vanished. External cameras painted their panorama all around him, blending into the window without a seam, till his comfortable chair seemed to orbit the planet alone. His eyes were wide. Tentacles writhed as he drank it all in.

That big blob of land, an island continent, was Australia. The place tourist manuals (or at least the one produced by the Mighty Rylattu Publishing House of Ultimate Might) referred to as Earth's own little death world. A harsh environment where dingoes ate babies, lurking spiders waited to stick venomous fangs into unwary humans, kangaroos kicked groins, and laser-edged boomerangs whirled through the air to sever the heads of rival gang members.

The planet rolled beneath him, displaying more of its wealth. Constellations of islands flowed into Asia's vastness, anchored by India and the Southeast Asian peninsula. There was China -- ancestor of the Sian Empire, which carried its culture far across the stars. The country where a funeral had once sparked war and genocide.

Adrian flew over the steppes of Russia, across Siberia where generations had endured the bitter cold through toughness of body, hardness of soul, and vodka. He passed Scandinavia's complex coastlines, from whence the Niflungs' forefathers had sailed to raid and pillage, and the Arctic's crisp white crown. The Canadian tundra gave way to immense swaths of wilderness, to forests and mountain ranges older than mankind. Beyond that sweeping land lay networks of colored lines, wide and bright, which carved America's disunited states into their latest political factions. Whilst the Fabled Zebra soared above, a series of pink lines blinked and flickered. They disappeared an instant later. Fresh green lines replaced them within the blink of an eye. Adrian could already imagine senators glugging bourbon and discharging firearms in either celebration or commiseration.

Central and South America passed by in turn, snaking dragons of green and gold. He gazed across the ocean and marveled. Had voyagers from Spain and Portugal really come all that way, battling the waves in simple wooden boats? That thought pulsed in his mind as the Atlantic's pristine glory zipped away, ushering in the grand scale of Africa. Artificial light glittered like diamonds across its length and breadth.

And finally Europe, the disparate land where centuries of war had blended cultures, enmities, friendships, cuisines, and all other measures of civilization. Over Italy's kicking boot and Greece's dreaming islands. Romania's forests and Germany's efficient illumination grids. Belgium's lauded chocolate factories and France's vineyards. Then the final turn, towards his destination.

He closed his eyes. The ride was smooth, as usual. Technology brought comfort and security. But atmospheric entry was always a little perturbing when it was combined with a panoptic view, and hungry flames raged all around you. So Adrian waited for the pleasant bleeping noise before his lids parted and his vision feasted once more.

The British Isles grew larger beneath him. Their illumination more brilliant. London was a bright beacon, as though that sprawling settlement radiated the language which had conquered human space and attained such dominance that some aliens referred to it simply as 'human'. His craft slowed as it descended into its diagonal path across England. Nearness and dissipating speed made the country seem bigger than Russia or Canada, Australia or Africa. It stretched on and on, rising to greet the Fabled Zebra and beckon the ship into its teeming lights.

A merry bleep told him he'd reached the northwestern city which had drawn him across so many star systems. Adrian gazed at its streets and buildings with redoubled interest. Why this settlement, out of the many thousands which dotted the planet? Choosing Earth was one thing. Perhaps he'd been a little surprised when he'd learned the meeting wouldn't occur on Sian. But what more fitting place was there to talk about human history, deeds, and heroes, than this blue world which had given birth to them all? Thus he'd relished both the opportunity and the sense of importance that choice lent to the coming interview. Why Manchester though? Why would the story be told here, of all places?

Adrian's eyes scoured the cityscape in search of epiphany.

There were stadiums. Green spaces embedded in grand luminescent halos, open to the heavens -- offering their spectacles to God and man alike, while worshippers cheered in the stands and sang blasphemous hymns. One was a cricket ground. On a whim he waved a tentacle, and a screen blinked open in the air beside him. Within its zoomed-in view, a Snuuth in white flannels ran with remarkable speed, torqued his body, and bowled a red ball down the pitch. It bounced towards a Vlarg batsman, who stood stalwart before his wicket. The three-eyed alien swung his bat and knocked the ball flying.

No... The person he'd come to speak with wouldn't be a cricket fan. Not this dull old game. Soccer maybe? The Fabled Zebra darted closer to the next stadium, as near as he could approach without its security craft intercepting him. This time his screen showed players in red shirts and shorts, vying with enemies in blue for mastery of the coveted ball. One of them secured it and launched it with his instep. It arced high above the field, and dropped down well beyond the blue warriors with their craned necks -- onto a waiting red chest, which deposited it in front of eager boots. He kicked. The goalkeeper dived, groped, and missed. The net puffed out. Its electric strands glowed and changed color in acceptance. The crowd cheered or groaned.

Adrian frowned. A soccer fan? This too seemed unlikely. But his mouth curved in a wry smile when he glanced at the concrete expanse outside the arena. Here too there were blue and red shirts. But they bulged around pendulous beer bellies, throbbing chem-filled muscles, and assorted cybernetics. Here the two teams weren't fighting for a ball. They were just fighting.

He winced when a metal fist met a jaw, and bloody teeth flew towards him on the screen. Yes... This was more like it. A brawl, where boots and knuckles battered bones, and hooligans crashed against the energy barriers which encaged their riot. Adrian Zanfran sighed. If he had to wade into the middle of that fracas for his meeting, he'd be going home with a few bruises. But his right tentacle invoked a second screen and he exhaled. The location he wanted was elsewhere.

"Panoptica off."

The ship reappeared around him. He tapped the nav console. The autopilot located a public landing area not far from his destination, and he let it take him down into the midst of the assorted vessels which rested on the black surface in colorful rows. Landing gear met the ground with a soft thunk. His communications console flashed at the same moment. A pinkish-red face appeared on the screen, framed by lengths of chunky, similarly colored fleshy tendrils.

"Puny husband!"

"Hi, Kwix."

"Behold, your sniveling young!"

The Rylattu reached beneath the bottom of the screen. Her hands returned a moment later, clutching a diminutive being with a bulbous red head. The child giggled and clapped its tentacular hands together.

"Pu-nee da-dee!"

"Yes, your father is indeed puny!" Kwix said.

"Hi, Adnan!" Adrian waved a purple appendage. The child mimicked the movement. "What did you do today?"

"De-stroy hoo-mans!"

Adrian sighed. When he got home, he'd have to talk to Kwix about the videogames she let Adnan play.

Kwix beamed at the child in her arms. Adrian did the same. Perhaps there wasn't much of his genetic material in the engineered mix, or at least not much of the stuff he'd been born with. But no one would ever mistake the tentacled tot for anyone else's son.

"When will you return, to engage in inferior human lovemaking?"

"I've just arrived in Manchester. Knowing my luck, in about five minutes I'll be running back to the ship with blaster bolts after me."

"Tell your pathetic and worthless interview subject that I'd avenge your death with my superior technology!"

"Will do. I'd better go, Kwix, or I'll be late. Love you. Love you too, Adnan."

"And I love you too, with superior Rylattu love!"

"Love you!" the child said. He clapped his tentacles again.

Adrian Zanfran deactivated the screen, got up from his chair, and made his way to the external door. His smile lingered on his face for some moments. But it began to evaporate when the exit hissed open, letting in the warm air and blended sounds of the city. He'd been joking about the blaster bolts. Then again, when you met dangerous people, and asked them questions, you never knew what might happen.

He locked the ship and walked across the tarmac.

"Oi, mate..."

He turned, wondering if he was about to be mugged. But the dreadlocked woman was wearing a crisp blue uniform and a security guard's badge.

"Are those... tentacles?"

"These?" Adrian glanced down, just to be sure. But his biology didn't appear to have altered itself during the past thirty seconds. "Yes."

"Freaky," she said.

The guard walked past him, whistling as she continued her patrol. Adrian blinked at the green tail that slithered in the air behind her. A forked tongue shivered between the serpentine fangs at its tip.

"Yessss. Freaky!"

"Excuse me," Adrian said.

She stopped and turned side-on, looking back at him. The eyeless snake head twisted round to face him as well.

"Yeah?"

"Yessss?"

"I'm looking for Wilmslow Road," he said.

"The Curry Mile?" she said. "It's just over there."

Her tail hissed and pointed.

"Thanks!"

Adrian Zanfran sauntered past the spaceships until he came to one of the streets bordering the tarmac. And sure enough, a big glowing sign -- which threw the legitimate street name into gloom and shadow -- proclaimed it to be the Curry Mile. Across the road, presumably for the benefit of metrically inclined visitors, its twin read, 'Curry Kilometer'. He doubted either measurement was accurate.

The road stretched off into the distance. On each side, lights painted the buildings in neon hues that reminded him of Blackpool or Drekchester. Big crowds thronged the pavements, either jostling their way down the street or loitering and chatting. There were lovers arm in arm. Families with laughing children. Humans and aliens of every sort. Some wore shalwar kameezes, or other flowing garb. Cars zipped past them all in rapid, screeching streams -- filled with youths who leaned out of the windows, cheering and waving flags.

"Ah," Adrian said.

Of course. Today was Eid ul-Fitr. He sauntered along, basking in the festive cheer, smiling at the youngsters who pointed at his tentacles. A few of the braver ones even gave them a tug -- much to the horror of their apologizing parents.

"Eid Mubarak! But we'll kill you all tomorrow!"

"Khair Mubarak! Not even if the prophet himself comes to help you!"

The two men, one dressed in a black Kebab Chaos uniform, the other in the garb of the Curry Caliphate, laughed and hugged. Around them their fellow employees did the same. Plates of baklava, burfi, and other sticky treats passed around the group, which lounged in front of their neighboring establishments.

Dozens more restaurants and takeaways lined both sides of the road, and Adrian wondered how much curry, shawarma, donner meat, gulab jamun, or fattoush one city could want. A lot, apparently. Everywhere appeared to be doing brisk trade. He could've wandered there for an hour, surrounded by spicy-sweet smells, happy faces, and joyful banter in a dozen languages. But when he glanced up he saw the name he'd been looking for.

Adrian Zanfran passed beneath the blue and yellow awning, pushed the door open, and entered the small lobby beyond. Then he screamed.

The blue and purple tiger which lazed alongside the left wall stopped licking its paw and glanced up at him.

"Roar," the tiger said, in a female voice.

"Roar?"

"Yes, roar. I'm a tiger."

"Oh..."

"Read the sign, and don't say we didn't warn you!"

She tilted her head upwards. Adrian read the illuminated words on the wall above: 'If you dine and dash, so will she!'

"It's not quite true," the tiger continued. "I don't eat people."

"That's... That's good!"

"I rip them open and let them bleed to death in the street. It gets the point across just as well, I think."

She laughed, and both politeness and self-preservation encouraged Adrian to laugh along with her.

"Welcome to The Rylattu Raj, by the way." She turned her head and unleashed a genuine roar, making him jump. "Customer!"

The door opposite the entrance opened. A blue Rylattu emerged, wearing a yellow turban and shalwar.

"Eid Mubarak, stink-beast. Do you have a reservation?"

"I'm meeting someone," he said. "My name's-"

"Ah! The tentacled human. You are expected!"

He stepped aside, leaned against the wall, and gestured at the dining room beyond the doorway. Adrian looked at him for a moment. The Rylattu stared.

"Stop standing there like a pile of waklak feces!"

"Aren't... Aren't you going to take me to our table?"

"You have eyes, wretched stink-beast! Find it yourself!"

The tiger sighed.

"I'll show you," she said.

She got up and padded into the dining room. Thick muscles rippled beneath her fur. Adrian followed her, into a large, grand chamber. Gold and ivory facades decorated the walls, depicting a range of multi-armed beings which all possessed bulging Rylattu heads. Many were using lightning bolts and sundry other celestial powers to obliterate tiny human figures. But if these threats or dreams of genocide bothered the largely human clientele sat at the rectangular tables, they gave no sign. Every mouth seemed to be employed in munching, chattering, or both at the same time. A melange of scents -- ginger, cumin, turmeric, garlic, and countless other herbs and spices -- swirled through this jovial atmosphere, making it rich and exotic.

"Your friend's over here," the tiger said.

She led him to a corner, where a small table waited with one seat occupied and the other vacant. Adrian coughed. Its occupant looked up from the menu.

"I hope I'm not late, captain."

"Captain? I was captain in a thugby team, not the military. Call me that, and I look around expecting to see... Just call me Talia. And sit down."

She reached over and scratched the tiger behind the ear. A purr made the big cat's throat tremble.

"Enjoy your meal," the tiger said, before padding away.

Adrian watched the animal go, but it was fairly clear by this point that she wasn't going to slaughter him. So he met Talia's gaze. And his brow furrowed before he could stop it. Something was... Wrong. Different about her. It took him a moment to realize what it was.

"Th... Thank you for agreeing to the interview," he said. "I've heard you usually shoot people for asking questions about... About what happened."

She shrugged. And that gesture somehow cemented it in his mind. Talia looked older. The last vid he'd seen of her was from a few years ago, but it was more than that. Her eyes. They weren't the carefree, thrill-seeking eyes he'd seen on Sian Dragons shirts or posters. And their unexpected solemnity seemed to add a decade to her face.

"Yeah," she said. "But no one's asked for a while now, and I started thinking. What happens when I'm gone, and everyone else who's kept the secret? It'll be like the galaxy just... forgot. She deserves better than that. And I haven't forgotten what you did. How you helped us. Anyway, some things don't have to be a secret anymore. Not after what Sky Commander Bethany did last week."

"Huh? Everyone's saying the announcement's just a hoax. A way to attract converts."

"They're wrong."

"But... Even if it's true, what's that got to do with..."

Adrian broke off when the waiter appeared at the table.

"Are you ready to have your puny human guts destroyed by our superior gastronomy?"

"Yeah," Talia said. "I'll have the anaconda tikka masala."

"I'll..." Adrian Zanfran's gaze darted to the menu, and he uttered the name of first dish it alighted on. "I'll have the... octopus vindaloo! Oh..."

"Bring us some pilau rice and a garlic naan as well. And some poppadoms while we're waiting."

"And to drink, I recommend our superior Rylattu mango lassi!"

"Fine. But put some vodka in the jug."

The Rylattu took their menus and left.

"The octopus vindaloo?" Talia said. "Isn't that like cannibalism?"

"You are what you eat, I suppose."

Her lips twitched, and her eyes seemed just a little bit younger. Adrian wondered whether he should begin asking questions or keep chatting to build up their rapport. But the waiter was faster. He set down a pile of crispy white poppadoms before slipping away again.

Talia reached out, snapped off a piece and held it up.

"We came here a long time ago. Me, the boys, the captain, and Illaria. While we were eating these, a woman started yelling out in the street. A chem-head was trying to rob her. Ragnar killed the guy with a poppadom."

She sighed, and the years returned.

"But that's not the story you're here for." She crunched the fragment between her teeth. "You want to know about [Player Name] and Noir..."