Thanks for this update go to Arkham Wyntier (formerly zWarLock) for their review and favorite of this story ^^. There's not a whole lot of action in this chapter, but there's more plot lead-up and character backgrounds, so hopefully that evens out ^^. Maera is a huge nerd, so there's going to be a lot of references to various things throughout this fanfic.

As for the lateness, I apologize _;. Normally I try and get a new chapter out every other Friday or Saturday, but this one was delayed due to getting things set up for a friend's birthday party. Ideally there aren't any delays, connection, health, and IRL plans notwithstanding.

Also, fair warning; there might be a few stray typos and/or mispellings. Usually there aren't too many problems with that, but OpenOffice seems to have forgotten how to English and is now registering everything as mispelled. I've no idea why, since it seems the dictionary is either not working or was somehow deleted altogether (if it has, I'm blaming Windows. They screw everything up), but all I know is OpenOffice is being weird. So I had to make sure all the spelling was good by hand and while I'm 95% sure it is, there might be the odd blooper I missed. If there is, whups.

Disclaimer: Y'all know what this says by now. I don't own Magic: The Gathering, the game and all the lore belongs to Wizards of the Coast. I only own my fanwalkers and fanplanes, as I'm writing this for my own amusement.


Chapter Four

Kicking a Bee's Nest

The two weeks to Saiyani Spaceport was spent in perpetual boredom. The many attempts to break up the monotony included Maera repeatedly oiling Icefire ("Is that sword your safety blanket or something?"), Grimoire finding out and then promptly deciding to try and fix Maera's fried smartphone ("You weren't kidding when you said your plane's tech was archaic."), and the vedalken teaching her how to pilot Sleipnir. Or, trying to, at least.

The ship had more than a few opinions about her skill in the cockpit.

"THAT'S AN ASTEROID, NOT A HULL DECORATION!"

Maera slammed the control to port to avoid the asteroid in question as Grimoire hung on to the seat next to her, white-knuckled and turning green. They barely missed the space rock, and the woman breathed a sigh of relief. "Um. Whups."

"Whups is not the word. Have you ever been on a spaceship before?"

"No."

"Oh. My. God. Grim, please make her stop. I don't think my circuits can take much more of this..."

"Your circuits are fine. It's my nerves I'm worried about."

Maera gave him a deadpan look. "Well excuse me for not being born in the friggin' Federation. Wrong century on my world."

Grim rubbed a hand down his face, sighing. "I can't wait until we reach Saiyani."

"You and me both." Maera leaned back in her chair, resting her hand behind her head. "How's your leg?"

Grim snorted softly. "Fine enough, I guess. Spending half my time drugged up on painkillers so I'm functional, anyway."

"I keep on telling you to get a medibot. But nooo, you say we don't need one because you can handle injuries all by yourself."

"I'm handling this one, aren't I?"

"You just said you were stoned on painkillers!"

"No, I said I was drugged up on painkillers. There's a difference."

"What's the difference?!"

"The difference is that I'm coherent, rather than stumbling into walls like a drunk."

"That's debatable."

Maera, meanwhile was listening to the exchange with amusement. "You know, you two sound like an old married couple."

Grimoire stared at her, and Maera had the feeling that if Sleipnir could the ship would be too. "What."

She shrugged. "I'm serious. You two sound like a pair of husbands who've been married for the past eighty years bitching at each other about who was supposed to take out the garbage last night."

Grim blinked at her. Then shook his head. "Please tell me we're getting close to the port."

"Sorry, there's still another five days to go."

Grimoire groaned and leaned back into his chair, hands over his face. "Eternities, I'm going to go insane before we get there."

"You know, a friend of mine once said that all Planeswalkers were at least partly insane, whether they admit it or not..."

Grim glared at her through a gap in his fingers. "Not. Helping."

Maera shrugged again. "Just sayin'."

Grimoire's glare didn't abate. If anything, it darkened. He sighed again and rubbed his face before dropping his hands. "How's the arm?"

Maera looked to the bandaged limb. She flexed her fingers. "Fine, I guess." She replied. "Sore, sure, but I guess that's to be expected." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Leg?"

Grim grunted. "Fine."

"Despite being stoned on painkillers."

"I am not stoned on painkillers!"

"Semantics."

Now it was Maera's turn to roll her eyes. "You need to get a punching bag."

"...Why?"

"So I have something to beat the lights out of so I don't go insane listening to you two snipe at each other all day."

"Your answer to everything is violence, isn't it?"

"No it's not."

"Riiight."

"I seem to remember one of you mentioning something about an 'old married couple'..."

Maera threw a wadded-up sheet of paper at the console. "Shut up."

Grimoire held out a hand palm-up in Maera's direction. "I rest my case."

"You shut up too."

"I don't hear you denying it."

Maera sat back and shoved her hand in her pocket. "I'm good at beating shit up. Not so good at being stuck in a tiny spaceship for two weeks with only a snarky AI and emo vedalken for company."

"I'm not tiny! I have room for up to ten crew, for your information!"

"Yeah, in coffin bunks. D'you know how many times I've smacked my head on the top of my bunk? Every damn morning! I've got a black-and-blue spot in the middle of my forehead!"

Grimoire gave her another glare. "I'm not emo."

"Yes you are. You look like an edgy emo kid who's trying to look punk."

"And you look like a slob."

"I do not!"

"You're literally wearing the same shirt as yesterday."

"...no I'm not."

"I can see where you dumped pizza and coffee down your front. And please tell me that isn't a rope holding your pants up..."

"I couldn't find a belt, okay?!"

"Couple, old, married."

"Can it!"

The duo sat and fumed in their seats for a minute, before a smile started quirking at the edges of Maera's mouth. Then it morphed into a grin, then a snicker, until finally she was all-out laughing. Grimoire gave her a strange 'wtf' expression. "...Are you okay?"

Maera wiped at the corner of her eye. "Yeah," she replied, still laughing. "It's just, well...you'd fit right in with my friends."

"Are they all as broken as you?"

"Yeah. Just don't ever tell Jace that. Or Gideon. They'd both glare at you. And I'm pretty sure Nissa would point at Liliana and say she's the most broken of us all." She paused. "...Though I wouldn't exactly argue that fact. Anybody who hangs around half-rotten corpses has got to have some issues."

"Are you all Planeswalkers?"

Maera shook her head. "Not everyone. Niko, Darren, Lise, and Troy aren't." She said. "Bels, Karr, Jace, Gids, Szord, Chandra, Ral...they all are." Her smile faded. "I just wish to hell that I knew where they were..."

Grimoire's brow knitted. "What happened?"

Maera let out a deep breath, not answering right away. She fiddled with a lock of hair, scuffing her foot on the deck. "...Shit is what happened." She said, voice soft. "We went barreling onto a plane called Amonkhet to take on a bit, scaly douchebag who's been mucking about causing trouble all over the Multiverse, named Nicol Bolas—or as I like to call him, Nicol Butthead."

"Let me guess; he's a Planeswalker too."

Maera nodded. "And the biggest asshole you'll ever meet. And I've met some damned big ones." She replied. "'Bout...forty- or fifty-ish years ago he showed up on Amonkhet and set himself up as 'God-Pharaoh', killing pretty much anyone old enough to know better. All to put together a giant undead army for some reason. I think." She let out a breath and rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger. "Well, a bunch of friends and I—the Gatewatch, after Sea Gate on Zendikar—decided we'd find this guy and kill him."

"I'm assuming by the condition you were in when you showed up on Etrides, you didn't succeed."

"Putting it mildly." Maera let her hand fall limply to her side, leaning her head back on the headrest. She closed her eyes. "In short, we got our asses handed to us. We basically showed up with no better plan than 'fuck up Bolas', and he countered literally everything we threw at him. And we threw everything we had at him." She clenched her fist, ignoring the protests from her frostbitten hand. "And it wasn't enough. We drew all the mana we could, used our strongest spells, even drew magic directly from the Blind Eternities themselves via our Sparks...and we still got our asses handed to us." She took a deep breath, calming herself before she punched something. "And I have no fucking idea where anyone else would've 'walked." Or if Bolas let them leave alive.

Grimoire, to his credit, was silent for a long moment before he next spoke. "...So, that's how you lost your arm."

Maera grunted and ran her hand through her hair. "I basically got one of the spells I threw at him countered, modified, and then thrown back at me." Her stump twinged at the memory, a vestige from the pain following her arm's literal explosion. "Wouldn't be surprised if that's what knotted up my mana lines."

"Do you know anyone who may be able to help un-knot it?"

Maera nodded. "I think so, anyway." She said. "Either Bels or Emily. Most likely Emily. She's a healer, and Bels is...well, have you ever heard of an astralmancer?"

"No...what is it?"

"An astralmancer is someone who can...see magic." Maera explained. "They're a type of mage that was super rare, even before the Mending." She held up a hand to stop the inevitable question. "Err...that is a story for another day. Mostly because that's how long it'll take to explain all the weird shit that happened back then." And my own adventures with time travel... "Anyway...they pop up less often than someone goes sparky, which is why in a lot of circles the consensus is that astralmancers are hypothetical. They exist on paper, sure, but they just don't happen in real life."

Grimoire rolled his eyes and fidgeted with the buttons on the cuff of his sleeve. "If there's one thing I've learned from being a Planeswalker, it's that nothing is impossible."

"Damn straight. It's hilarious whenever someone figures out that yes, Bels is an astralmancer and yes, they do fucking exist." Maera snickered. "Remind me sometime to tell you the story of this one self-important pretty-boy on Esper...ohhh, the look on his face when he saw the boot heading for his face."

Grim's eyebrow went skyward once again. "You're never bored, are you?"

Maera snorted a laugh. "Nope. It's more fun to be an asshole. Especially to those who deserve it." She opened an eye and held up a finger. "I'm an equal-opportunity jackass; you be an ass to me, and I'll be one right back."

"Again I say it; you are broken."

"I know it. And I fucking love it."

"Oh, Grim, why do you always attract the crazy ones..."

"I don't attract the crazy ones." Grimoire griped. "Nasala at least isn't a lunatic."

"That could be debated."

Maera's brow furrowed. "Who's Nasala?"

"A friend of mine." The vedalken replied. "She's usually aboard Sleipnir with me, along with a few others."

"How many, usually?" Maera nodded to the hatch leading to the rest of the ship. "This place does seem a bit big for only one person. Still small, but not that small."

"Four or five, usually. Including me." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Myself, Nasala, X'vir, and Ganneth. Sometimes Tone tags along too."

"Sounds like it gets crowded."

Grim shrugged. "It's usually not too bad. But then, I've been living primarily on Sleipnir for so long, I'm probably used to it by now."

"You never told me about that. How long have you had him, anyway?"

"Aww, you're not calling me an 'it' anymore."

"That's because most inanimate objects can't talk back when you gas up the head."

"Just because I don't have a biological nose does not mean I can't tell when something stinks. For the love of the Eternities, what the hell did you eat?!"

"The same thing Grim's been, and I can tell you that I'm missing mac-n-cheese because of it." She returned her attention to Grimoire. "You said you inherited him from your parents, but...not more than that."

Grim shrugged. "What's more to tell? My parents...passed, and part of what I inherited was Sleipnir."

"Well, 'passed' isn't exactly the word I would use..."

Grimoire's eyes hardened. "Shut up."

Maera, however, caught on to the change of expression, however slight. "Something bad happen to them?"

He didn't reply right away. He fiddled with something on the console, averting his eyes. Maera saw the tension in his shoulders. "...yes. I don't like to talk about it."

"I can attest to that."

"Quiet, you."

"Nyeh."

Maera cocked a brow. "Your ship is immature."

"Oh, I know. Try living with him."

"I am right here."

"Do I look like I care?"

Maera listened to the two bicker again before piping up. "Y'know, a friend of mine once said that sometimes it's good to talk about something you don't want to." She said. "Something about it being good therapy or something."

"You're not exactly a therapist."

"Call it self-therapy, then." Maera shrugged. "I don't need to listen if you don't want me to."

"...I still don't want to talk about it."

"Suit yourself." She got up and strode over to the coffee maker. Like the aether drive, a lot of the not-quite-essential systems were down. Such as the the food replicator. Grimoire had managed to get the ship off of emergency power, but some of the non-primary systems were still inoperable.

Like the replicator.

Maera sniffed at the coffee, then took a taste. She cringed; it was horrible. I can't wait till we get to that spaceport. I miss good coffee. And tea. "Then...what's all this 'Messiah' business? Who were those weirdos, and why were they so hell-bent on having me join their club?"

Grim blew out a breath. "You're going to need more coffee."

Maera put down her cup and took the pot out of the maker, striding over and promptly refilling the vedalken's mug. "Shoot. We've only got the better part of a week to kill."

Grim raised his mug to her in a salute as she replaced the pot and returned to her seat with her own mug. "They call themselves the Cult of the Bleeding Light. Yes, they actually admit that they're a cult." He said, at Maera's disbelieving blink. "For the most part, they're a bunch of religious crazy people who yell about their 'mission' on street corners and unused comm frequencies." He explained, propping his feet up on the console. "They claim that they're on a mission from their god, to unite all of Etrides with Eternity, so they can 'take their message beyond the stars'." He peered at her out of the corner of an eye. "Their words, not mine."

"I gathered." Maera sipped at her coffee, frowning. "But that sounds way too much like breaking through to the Blind Eternities to me."

"That's because it probably is." Grim replied with a sigh. "And, well, until recently they weren't taken seriously—not that it wasn't hard to crack jokes about them. It's a little hard to put much stock in a grown man yelling at the top of his lungs and waving his arms around like he's having a fit."

"Don't forget the stupid hats. Or the makeup."

"Please tell me those stupid hats aren't white hoods..."

"Oh, no, not even close. They look like they've got wings growing out of them, only the wings have wings of their own...it's just easier if you see for yourself. They're ridiculous."

"I'll take your word for it..." She looked back to Grim. "So, harmless. But annoying."

"Yes..."

"I smell a 'but' at the end of that."

"There is." He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Within last few years, though, they've had a new leader—the Progenitor's what they call him—at the head of their organization. One who's more...hands-on about their prophecy."

"Uh, prophecy?" Maera blinked at him. "And by 'hands-on' you mean 'yanking people out of FTL and threatening to kill them until they convert'."

Grim was taking a drink of coffee and nodded as he lowered his mug. "You could put it that way, yes."

"Well, I guess that explains why Captain I-Need-Fashion-Help ambushed us. That still doesn't explain why he was calling me 'Messiah' and the prophecy you mentioned."

"Yeah...that." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's something that their so-called 'god' predicted a couple thousand years ago, give or take." He leaned back in his chair, the seat groaning at the strain. "The story goes that someone appeared out of nowhere on a rogue planet somewhere near the Galactic Core. He claimed to be a god trapped in mortal form." He shrugged. "Kid of like you, only minus the bleeding out and with added lost marbles and raving."

"Thanks...I think."

"Anyway, he managed to amass a following. As with most cults, it started out with a few...weirdos—"

"Oh just say it; crazy people."

"—and grew over time. Along the way he claimed to be capable of seeing the future, and predicted that two thousand years after his arrival, Etrides would be visited by another like him. One who'd be bloodied, carrying a staff and an enchanted sword." He paused to take another drink of his coffee before continuing. "He started calling them the 'Messiah', who would be the one to lead the religion he'd started to—again, not my words—'unite Etrides with Eternity'...um, Maera? Are you all right?"

Maera had a white-knuckled grip on the handle of her coffee mug. "...Icefire." She said. "And...the staff..." she shook her head. C'mon. Mages are kind of a thing on this plane, at least from what you've seen so far. You're rooming with one right now for heaven's sake. No way you're the only one running around with a mage staff and magical weaponry. Still, the whole "uniting with Eternity" part didn't sit well with her, especially given how Captain Fashion-Challenged had spoken. And the whole 'god' business... "Grim...I have a question. A couple, actually."

"Shoot."

"First question...what's the likelihood that this crazy person is a Planeswalker?"

Grim chewed on the question for a moment before replying. "...Not unlikely. I've been around the Multiverse, and I've run into several cases where, on separate planes, there were planesbound people worshipping the same person as gods. And a couple cases of those Planeswalkers-turned-gods encouraging it." He nodded to her. "I think your Nicol Bolas falls into the latter category."

Maera snorted. "Well, he did remodel an entire plane to fuel his oversized ego." She said. "But..." she shook her head. "You said that was two thousand years ago?"

"Around there, yes. Why?"

Maera put down her mug and bit her thumbnail. "That's...a long time ago. A way long time ago."

"Really? I'd never noticed."

Maera shot him a glare. "Not my point." She waved her hand as if she was shooing a thought away. "See, about...sixty-ish years ago there was this thing called the Mending. Up till then, Planeswalkers pretty much were gods. We were immortal, could change our bodies at will, build and destroy whole planes as easily as farting."

"...You never run out of charming images, do you?"

Maera stuck her tongue out at him. "Long story short, Planeswalkers could do anything. We were nigh invincible." She put her hand behind her head and leaned back, crossing her legs. "And then the Mending happened. The name is pretty self-explanatory; a bunch of old, pre-Mending Planeswalkers who'd been around a while and actually gave a shit about the Multiverse literally mended rips in reality that were opening into the Blind Eternities, to keep said Multiverse from falling apart."

Grimoire let out a low whistle. "Sounds like we missed out."

"Eh." Maera shrugged. "Personally, I'm happy being as I am. Don't need the power of a god." She shrugged. "Anyway, apart from sealing the rifts, the Mending did something else; it changed the nature of the Spark entirely. It knocked Planeswalkers off their pedestals as gods, and any pre-Mending 'walkers went back to being, well...mortal. Not gods anymore. It made the Planeswalker Spark far more rare, making a successful ignition a literal one-in-a-billion chance. And any new 'walkers who sparked out wouldn't have known the godlike abilities that were around before the Mending."

Again, the low whistle. "How much research did you have to do to learn all that?"

"Well..." Maera fiddled with a lock of her hair sheepishly, figuring out the best way to put it. "I was...kind of there. And a few of my friends were around for a few centuries too so...yeah."

Silence. Apart from the ever-present engine rumble, there was complete and utter silence in the compartment. Finally, Grimoire broke it. "You...what?"

Maera felt her ears start to pinken. "Okay, first, I was born after the Mending. Time travel was involved." She said. "So, technically, I've never been involved. Nor do I want to be a god; that would be one very, very bad joke."

"Not as bad a joke as Grim's underwear drawer."

"Shut up, Sleipnir. Or I'll pour hot sauce down your intake valves again."

"You wouldn't."

"I would and you know it."

"You are twelve."

"And you're two."

Maera whistled at the two. "Next question incoming." She pinned Grim with a look and picked her mug back up. "How do you know about this pre-Mending wacko future-predictor's prophecy?"

Grim played with the handle of his coffee mug, then carefully put it down. He sighed heavily through his nose. "That's...complicated."

"You can say that again."

"Complicated how?" Maera's eyes narrowed. "Grimoire...what sort of connection do you have with those guys?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. "A weird one." He groaned. "One that gives me a headache."

"And before you ask, there's no ex-zealotry involved."

Maera grunted. "Good to know." She drained her mug before fully facing the vedalken, her elbow resting on her nee. "What's happening on this plane? What's the deal with this cult yanking people out of FTL? And the Inquisitorium? And with you too, while we're at it."

Grim rubbed his face with his hands. He swung his feet back down to the deck and turned his seat to face her, mirroring Maera's posture. "All right. Sleipnir?"

"Yes?"

"Keep quiet while I explain things. Everything." Grim said. "Just let me know if we run into anything unwanted."

"It's space. There's a lot of unwanted things out here."

"You know what I mean."

"Aye aye, Boss."

Maera raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in the ship's AI, but didn't comment. Instead she motioned for Grimoire to continue.

"The Inquisitorium...they're the galaxy's big, nasty secret. They've got their hands in virtually every government, pulling strings behind the scenes to only the Eternities knows what ends—though they claim it's to 'preserve civilization'. Not many people even know they exist, and the few who do either work for them...or are dead."

"So how d'you know about them, then?"

Grim fidgeted. "I...was one of the former." He replied. "Several years ago. I left."

Maera's mouth tightened. "I thought you said the people who knew about the Inquistorium were dead if they weren't part of the club."

"I'm an...outlier." He shrugged. "Being a Planeswalker has its benefits. If I see them closing in, I leave. Then come back in a few days—"

"Or weeks."

"—or weeks later, when the heat's died down." He finished, shooting a glare at the ceiling.

Maera studied him. "You always come back though." She stated. "It'd just be easier to bail. Just set up on another plane and start over."

"I know."

"Must be something damned important to keep you coming back. Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

A pause. "Etrides is my home. I care about it."

"It's more than that." Maera was fiddling with her hair again. "Something deeper than just caring about your home plane." She paused. "Which, I can get myself. Terrestiel's got a lot of problems, but I still like it enough to not fuck off altogether." Though for the life of me I still can't figure out why.

Grim responded with a half-amused, half-sour snort. "It's a stupid reason."

"Can't be all that stupid to you."

He knitted his hands together, knuckles whitening. "...They had my parents killed. I've been trying to pull them down for years."

So it's a grudge. He wants revenge. Maera thought. Oldest motivator in the book. "What made them kill your parents, then? They some powerful politicos who wouldn't bow to the Inquisitorium's blackmail or something?"

Grim shook his head. "They'd been a part of it. Before I was born, they defected." He replied. "The Inquisitorium...you don't just leave. It's not an option." He wiped a hand down his face. "Once you join, it's a lifetime job. You're either there until you die, or..."

He didn't need to finish; Maera did so for him. "Or you're killed on the way out."

"Exactly."

The picture was coming together for the half-fae. "So when your parents defected, assassins were sent out for them."

Grimoire nodded. "They spent about a decade or so running around the galaxy, putting as much physical, atheric, and digital distance between themselves and the Inquisitorium as they could. By the time I came along, they'd covered their tracks and disappeared into the ether—pun not intended—and settled down on Novax III, where I grew up." A small, wistful smile spread over his face. "It was a favorite place for smugglers to set up for a while and either rest up after a run, get ships repaired, sell their load on the black market, or just hide out for a while from the authorities."

"Sounds like kind of a, um...interesting place to raise a kid."

Grim shrugged. "It's not as bad is it sounds, honestly. For the most part, the only lawbreakers that hung around were smugglers, pirates, and the odd corrupt admiral or consulat." He looked out the viewscreen, face wistful. "And for the most part, they've got a pretty strong sense of honor. Keep to yourself, don't stir up trouble, and if anyone finds out that you're trading in slaves, kids, murder, well..." he shrugged. "Let's just say you'd better hurry up and find a new home port."

"How'd your parents get found out?"

He didn't reply right away. His expression shifted too, from wistful to...sad. "Looking back, I'd bet a million creds the Inquisitorium knew where they were all along." He said, still looking out at space. "Probably just let my dads think they'd managed to hide themselves away, long enough to let hem raise their kid at least. No idea why." His shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh, and he closed his eyes and looked away from the view. "But...he'd taken up there, claiming to be a information broker. Said he was going to be hiding out there for a while, until heat from the Union died down. Thought he was a decent, stand-up guy—well, barring the blackmail, anyway."

"Until he turned out to be an assassin for the Inquisitorium."

"Yes." Grim sat back again and ran a hand through his hair, eyes still closed. "Well, the broker part was true; he really did sell information, just not as an independent."

Maera's mouth twisted. "I've dealt with a few of those people. Sounds like he'd be perfect on Fiora."

Grim grunted. "Anyway. The information broking was only half of his deal. The other half was being an Inquisitorium-employed agent. I don't know if being an assassin was part of his job description or not, but he was good enough at it to kill my parents."

"Why didn't they go for you, too?"

"They did." Grim shook his head. "I got lucky. Wasn't home when Dad and Pa were killed; I walked in on the cleanup." He opened his eyes, mouth twisting sourly at the memory. "Thought I'd faint. Didn't get a chance before the new neighbor shot me in the chest."

"And your Spark ignited."

He nodded. "I felt the bolt go clean through, and thought the only reason my brain was still functioning was because the message from my heart that it'd stopped hadn't reached it yet." He rubbed a spot on his chest, where Maera suspected the blaster bolt must've hit. "But instead of going cold, everything burned instead. And then I was falling, but instead of hitting the ground I fell through the world, through something that wasn't space—the Blind Eternities—and landed flat on my back in a tree. And then out of the tree, onto a giant effing anthill."

Despite herself, Maera started laughing. She put her hand over her mouth to muffle the snorting mirth, shoulders shaking with laughing. Grim gave her a deadpan scowl. "What's so damn funny?"

Maera held out her hand, finger raised, mouth clamped securely shut as she waited for the giggles to pass. "You—you sparked out, crashed into a tree...and then fell flat on your ass right on top of an anthill!"

Once again she dissolved into giggles, quickly devolving into full-on guffaws, all while Grimoire gave her an eye-twitching glower. "Do you always get laughs out of other people's misery?"

It took several minutes before Maera had recovered enough to be coherent. "Y-yes. Especially when it's something like that." She gigglesnorted again, grinning. "Of all the crazy, unlucky, embarrassing things I've heard for first Planeswalks, this is the first time I've heard of someone ending up with ants in their pants!"

Grimoire let out a noisy sigh and shook his head before picking his coffee mug back up, and nodded to her. "Well, I've told my Spark story. Only fair that you tell me yours."

Maera sat back in her chair, leaning back with a sigh. "If you promise to tell me how you ended up back in the organization your parents fucked out of."

"Deal."

Maera nodded, stretched, and propped her boots up on a part of the console in front of her that wasn't covered in data slates, bits of paper, or her coffee mug. "It didn't involve getting shot in the chest. Just my own stupidity."

Grim raised an eyebrow. "Really? What did you do, get yourself stuck on a cliffside?"

Maera snorted. "No. I was defending my friends, and in the way I do best; like a crazy-ass motherfucker."

"What did you blow up?"

Maera gaped at him. "I never said I blew anything up!"

"Whenever the term 'crazy-ass motherfucker' is involved, something always blows up." He took a sip of his coffee, then made a face when he found it was cold. "So. What did you blow up?"

Maera scratched a spot on her chin. "...I might have made a crater. Where a lab was."

Grim was getting up to refill his mug when he froze. "What."

"Hey, I said it involved me being an idiot!"

"You blew up a lab and left a crater."

"In my defense, the lab belonged to a mad-scientist assface who's creepy as hell, so no big loss."

"There could have been people in there!"

"It'd been evacuated, okay?!"

The vedalken rolled his eyes. "Why do I always find the crazy ones?"

"Because you're addicted to insanity and haven't admitted it yet."

"Shut up. I didn't ask you."

"Then why did you ask in the first place?"

Grimoire only growled and shot a middle finger at the ceiling before striding over to the coffee maker. "I'm probably going to regret this, but how did you turn a mad scientist's lab into a crater?"

"I already told you; I was defending my friends." She cracked her neck, earning herself an alarmed look from the vedalken. "Don't worry, that's normal."

"Nothing about you has been normal so far."

"Okay, normal for me." Maera leaned back in her chair. "Basically, I was casting spells that were way beyond what I should've been using. I was drawing more mana than I could control at the time and throwing it around to help cover our allies' retreat."

"That doesn't sound very wise."

"It isn't. It's why I said I was being stupid." She replied. "There's this habit I've had for almost as long as I've been a mage; I'll feel out where my spellcasting limits are, and I'll dance around that edge in a fight. It's both why I'm so damned strong and why I tend to scare the piss out of people who aren't used to me." She paused. "For that matter, it scares the piss out of some people who are used to me..."

Grim sat back in his seat and pinned her with a look. A look that said 'you are fucking insane'. "Oh, I can't possibly imagine why."

Maera tossed a wadded-up ball of paper (she'd been trying to fold an origami frog, but had given up when doing it one- and off-handed had proven too frustrating and she's crumpled it into a ball instead) at him. He deflected it with the coffee mug. "Anyway, my point is I know where my limit was." She picked her mug up and fiddled with the handle. "And, well...the people we'd been fighting were a bunch of maniacs being led by an even bigger maniac who wanted to first destroy the world, only to recreate it again so that nobody ever died."

"You sure this guy's been to Etrides?"

Maera barked a laugh. "No, doubt it. He's planesbound. Or was; his crazy plan kind of ended when he got his ass killed by a couple of the friends I mentioned who were fighting him in the first place." She gave a small shrug. "Happy ending, I guess. Anyway, his followers were, well...they were zealots. They saw him as a god, which fit the god complex he had. And as long as their boss achieved his plan, they didn't care if they got killed." She snorted. "Probably thought he'd bring them back from the dead when he remade everything."

"As a general rule of thumb, people like that aren't usually acting out of altruism."

Maera shook her head. "No, he wasn't. He just wanted to be a real god, rather than just acting the part of one." She went back to fiddling with her mug. "Anyway, because I knew my limit I knew I was crossing well past it. See, it's one thing to know the mechanics of spells beyond your skill, and it's another thing entirely to actually be casting it. It's something I make myself keep in mind when I go poking around arcane libraries."

"I can think of a few people who could learn a few lessons like that."

"Yeah, well, blasting a crater into the ground and throwing yourself into the Blind Eternities is a really good way to learn said lesson." Maera snarked. "Sooo I was well aware of how dangerous my spellcasting and mana-throwing-around was, but goddamn it these were my friends they were trying to kill. There were kids we were protecting, and if you think I'm not going to put myself between them and nihilistic psychos then you're out of your cotton-pickin' mind." Her eyebrows dove down into a deep scowl. "I was not going to let them pass. Even if I turned myself into a living magical bomb in the process."

Grimoire was studying her, but didn't pipe up, so Maera continued. "Finally, push came to shove and I drove myself too far past my limits, and...well, something had to break and it was either me or my Spark."

"Dammit Hellion! What the hell d'you think you're doing?!"

"Getting these kids outta here!"

"You're drawing too much mana! I can feel you from where I am! Stop it or you'll blow yourself up!"

"It's either that or let these jackasses get through, and ain't no way in HELL I'm letting that happen!"

"It was my Spark. Long story short, I ended up and Ravnica and another poor Planeswalker ended up being my landing pad. I don't think he's going to ever let me forget that, either."

Grimoire didn't speak right away. Instead, he remained silent as he let the story sink in. Finally, when he did speak, he was a straightforward and deadpan as the rest of his comments."

"Suddenly, I'm not so sure you should be allowed anywhere near anything explosive."

Maera laughed. "Too late. Things tend to blow up when I get pissed, and I very rarely need help from explosives." She replied. "Remind me to tell you the napalm story sometime."

"What the hell is the napalm story?"

Maera grinned as she swung her feet down to the deck and stood to get a fresh mug of coffee. "Let's just say that it involved napalm, dragon manure, and fire. And a catapult."

"...you've got to be joking."

"Nope."

Behind her, she heard a pained groan. "No. Just...no. You are not right."

The grin was still on her face as she poured her cup. "Bro, if you've only just now realized this, you really don't know me that well."

"I'm starting to think that I don't want to know you that well." He was shaking his head as she turned back to him, leaning against the wall. "If you ever have kids, I worry for the Multiverse." Maera's grin widened. Grim blinked, then hung his head with another pained, pitiful groan. "Why. Why are you real."

She shrugged. "Blame my parents. They're the ones who had sex."

He made a sound somewhere between a gag and a retch. Maera almost had to put her mug down, or she'd spill coffee. "Ah, don't worry. You're taking my special brand of crazy better than most."

"Thanks, I think"

"I'm not sure which of you I should worry about more. The crazy woman who blows things up, or Grim for that sound he just made. I think something died in you, boss."

Grimoire kicked the console. "You're not helping."

"You're just ungrateful."

"Ungrateful my backside. You're annoying."

"It's a talent of mine."

Grim made a frustrated noise and rolled his eyes. Something pinged. "What the—?"

"We're being hailed."

"I know that. Who's hailing us?"

"Looks like it's Ganneth's comm signal. Oh, hello."

"What?"

"There's a ship ahead, must've just dropped out of FTL. Their engines are still not." Sleipnir answered. "Aaand that's where Ganneth's signal's coming from. Looks like they've just come from Saiyani, if I'm reading their direction right."

Maera could see the tension drop out of Grim's shoulders. "Patch him through." He turned to Maera. "You're about to meet quite possibly the crudest person around."

Maera blinked at him. "You know Bels?"

Again, the deadpan stare. "What."

"Bels, if I may say, is the queen of the freaking sewer. Take a game of Cards Against Humanity—it's a game on Terrestiel, thought up by some dirty-minded Mundanes with a twisted and hilarious sense of humor—and put it into human form and you have Belinda Scale. She's not exactly shy on profanity and doesn't even know what a clean joke is."

Grimoire snorted. "Oh, you haven't met Ganneth." Maera sat in the other seat and crossed her legs. "Grimoire here. Ganneth, what're you doing out this far? We're still four days away."

"I came t' give ye a lift. Yer not goin' like the news I got fer ya."

Grim's brow creased in a frown. "What's that?"

"Honestly, it's somethin' I'd rather tell ye in person. Don' want t' risk th' connection bein' hacked."

"And you call me paranoid."

"Just shut up n' git in the shuttle bay. Yer pain in the ass ship oughta fit."

"I take offense to that!"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up ya ol' tin can. Just git her butt in here so I kin explain what's goin' on. Grim, I hope ya have a high bullshit meter."

-XXX-

Zachar steepled his fingers, processing what Ganneth had just told him. The minotaur was sitting across from him in the mess, waiting for the reply. His perpetually-scowling face didn't betray much—other than the usual mild irritation—but his hands, worrying at the empty coffee mug, revealed his concern. "Well? What've ye gottern yerself inta?"

Zachar shook his head. "Too much is happening at once," he said, massaging his tattooed temple. He swore he felt the implant in it itching, but it'd been rendered inactive years ago. "If this is all a coincidence, I'll eat my coat."

"Yeah, I said th' same thing. Though I mighta used some differn't wording..."

Zachar gave the minotaur his best long-suffering look. "You probably told him to go do something anatomically impossible with his FTL drive."

"I'd say yer wrong, but..."

Zachar rolled his eyes. "You're a child."

"Meh. Bein' an adult's overrated anyway."

The vedalken rubbed his eyes, exasperated. And stressed. "First the Bleeders are going crazy over their 'prophecy', and now the Inquisitorium's put a price on both mine and Maera's heads."

"Kinda makes me glad I ain't one o' you planeswalkers. Y'all attract too much trouble."

"Ganneth, I feel the need to point out that you don't need to attract trouble. You go looking for it."

"I get bored easy."

Zachar groaned. "My god. You're as bad as she is."

"Hey, I ain't ashamed of it. So what if some slave trader happens to be in th' same system, n' I happen to owe 'im a few 'favors'..."

Zachar held up a hand. "Stop. Right there. I just got over the ulcer that one caused." He pointed at Ganneth. "I may be a technomage, but I don't like to make a habit out of erasing official records to save your idiot ass."

"Hey, if it ain't on paper, it didn' happen. Least, s'far's the law's concerned."

Zachar groaned again. "One of these days, you'll get your balls caught in a legal vice, and I will not bail you out. I go off-plane and let you sort out your own mess for a change."

"Yeah, yeah. Ya said that th' last time too, and ye still bailed me out in th' end."

Zachar put his chin in his hand. "Yeah. Right." He played with the handle of his mug, ignoring the

gone-cold coffee inside. "How large is the bounty?"

"Quarter million creds, each. How many laws did ya break to get that landed on ya?"

Zachar let out a heavy breath. "None, to my knowledge." His eyes narrowed, gaze on the table. "Damn it all...I should've 'walked right away. Saved us all the trouble."

"Ya think she'd've been able to go with ye?"

Again, Zachar rubbed his temple. He made a motion halfway between a shrug and a headshake. "I have no idea."

Ganneth sat back in his chair and hummed, crossing his arms. And ye scold me about gettin' mah ass stuck in a bind."

"Shut up. I didn't try to tie a pirate in a knot and then replace the antimatter in his tank with green gelatin."

Ganneth grinned. Zachar sighed and facepalmed. "So. That's why you're doing this pickup." The minotaur nodded. "Thanks for the warning, in any case."

"What're ye gonna do?"

"Lie low. Hope they can stay away until I figure something out."

"Ya mind if I point somethin' out?"

"Go ahead."

"Ye shoud never've tried takin' down the Inquisitorium in th' first place." Ganneth's face was serious.

"Woulda been smarter just t' stay in n' do what ye could for us folks rather than fuck outta there. They wouldn't be lookin' fer ye if ya had." He paused. "Hell, woulda been even smarter not t've gotten mixed up in 'em in th' first place."

Zachar rubbed his eyes. "I know that now." He said. "And before you say it, I was young and stupid." Even to his own ears it sounded like a weak excuse. Of course, it's not like I had many other choices, really...at least, none that I could see at the time.

"What're ye thinkin'?"

Zachar looked up at the minotaur. "Trying to figure out who I should hack first."

Ganneth raised an eyebrow. "Yer not serious."

"It's the best way to figure out what's got the Inquisitorium so stirred up."

"It's also a great way t' let them know where ya are."

Zachar gave him a sardonic smile. "You do remember who you're talking to, right?"

"Oh boy," Ganneth rolled his eyes to the overhead and shook his head. "Cyros forgive me, yer gonna go stickin' yer nose inta this mess."

"Damn right I am. If I'm going to have both the Inquisitorium and the Bleeders on my tail, I want to know why."

"Ye'll get killed. Ye and yer new friend."

Zachar raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Ganneth, you know what I can do if they do try it."

Ganneth sighed, but nodded. "That don' mean it's any less dangerous."

"It's been dangerous ever since my parents were assassinated. It's only gotten more so since...well."

The minotaur sighed again and wiped a hand down his face. "I kin see I ain't gon' be able to talk ya outta this." he said, rising. "Jus' be careful, kid. Yer kickin' a bee's nest. Yer gonna get stung."

Zachar grunted. "I know."

Ganneth studied him for several moments, before he responded.

"I'm serious. Be careful, Zach."


Ahh, nothing like a nice cool-down before the next round of troubles begin. Just like last chapter, this bugger's the longest yet-anybody else noticing a trend here?

Anyway, to quote a fellow fanfic author (and Bleach fan), reviews desired but not required. I don't hold my fics hostage for reviews, but they still feel nice to read ^^.

~Hikari Hellspawn