((J. Dac says: Blame the lateness of this chapter on four twenty.))

I wasn't witness to the gate opening, though Gormos would later call it a miracle while jumping up and down like a little girl excited about a new flavor of bubblegum. The world darkened around me as soon as she uttered that phrase, as if her words had contained some underlying spell that knocked me unconscious.

To call my state unconscious, though, would be deceptive. If that was absolutely true, I would've remembered nothing between my desperate plea and pact and when I awakened, Gormos' concerned mug filling the span of my vision. Yet within that span of time there was an unexplained phantasm, a memory with no root and no context. It wasn't even an experience, in a classic sense, for there was no background, no story leading up to the sudden lapse in timeline. It was as if some funnel had opened from the present into different time periods, and like a vacuum, had sucked up and deposited a few fragments of the past into the present, framed by clean black.

I saw, for instance, my family at a summer reunion, everyone dressed in pressed dress shirts and khakis, and the sun catching on green-haired heads and the white teeth of smiles. It was a memory from when I was a toddler, apparent by the fact the perspective saw only from the waist down without tilting upwards.

Then a bolt of anguish coursing through my body: the bright light that annihilates, bearing down on my helpless comrades as they grew smaller and smaller on the escape pod's radar. The memory had grown old with time, and much of its initial shock had been lost, like the outlines of a watercolor blurring with time. I rarely revisited in the present day, disregarding its significance and distancing it from myself entirely. Now, its re-emergence was accompanied with fresh agony, like a scar ripped back to reveal a new wound. Tears—I could feel them warm against my cheeks, though when I touched them, there was nothing for me to feel, and nothing for me with which to feel.

The perspective seemed to shift, swiveling around so instead of facing the catastrophe, I faced the tiny escape pod, my face framed in the tiny circular window. I could see my face split in shock and sorrow, cheeks damp and eyes wide. My hand pawed uselessly at the glass, and my entire face contorted in an ugly sob. My face retreated from the window, unable to bear the sight.

Then, a new scene: me, pathetic on my death bed, enveloped in olive from toe to neck. The mark crept its way up my body in explorative tendrils. I could feel the crunching of my internal organs; I could feel the sweat on the sheets sticking to my mutated skin, I could feel my vocal chords cry out in suffering, and delirium cloud my mind. Amidst my foggy mind, though, there whispered a voice. Behind my drooping eyelids hot with fever lurked an image—a pale-skinned Faerie murmuring a promise for a frantic mind, a way out of living torture and ultimate demise. "I'll take it," I gasped. "I'll take it, I'll take it, I'll take it!"

A crowd cheered somewhere far off, and I was in moments at a rally—no, before a rally, for I looked down upon them from a podium lifted above the crowd. There were millions of a single breed of alien, but they were unlike any alien I had ever seen before: short (barely clearing the three foot mark), green, with two wobbly, ridiculous antennae and two glowing, trusting eyes, red like mine. They hoisted banners, some handmade, proclaiming "Htols lliw evas su lla!" in black paint. A cult of personality centered around a figure whose face flew on vertical portrait banners: a cruel countenance, smirking even in its iconic pose, olive green and with chin dissolving into neck, three tufts serving as hair.

Someone approached me from the side—I turned to ask questions, but as in any dream, my motions were out of my control. That someone happened to be Gormos. While his physique and facial construction were the same, his clothes were drastically different: armor suited for intergalactic combat, with a blaster hanging from his belt. I attempted to open my mouth again, this time with a different question: what was Gormos, an adamant and somewhat cowardly pacifist, doing in a soldier's uniform? I found the answer without having to ask the question. Though his face was roughly the same physically, subtle differences colored his features: a cold downturn of his mouth, his eyes narrowed just a sliver for a piercing, permanent glare. I was almost afraid of having his paw on my arm, for the claws were just slightly extended, something Gormos only did when he was royally pissed.

"Wake up," he said stonily.

"Wh-what?" I asked, barely able to control the pitch of my voice, fluctuating with fear.

"Wake up," he repeated.

With his utterance, the world around me broke off into fragments until it seemed a mosaic, a cumulative picture made from miniscule scales. Suddenly, the scales burst out of their original order, revealing another scene entirely under their veil. The massive rally was replaced by a steel ceiling, and a room filled with the pleasant hum and beeps of a functioning ship. Gormos' face was the only thing that remained constant between unconsciousness and waking—except, of course, his clothes became his familiar ratty work vest and his face lost its sharper features.

"Oh thank betty!" Gormos sighed once the world had stabilized. "Frank, you're all right!"

"What happened?" I murmured, my throat inexplicably sore. In fact, my whole body ached without any specific ailment, as if my muscles had decided it would be a good idea to roll over in pain. I tried to sit up, but my abdominals completely disobeyed orders, and I found myself falling back to the hard ground on which I was laid out. Gormos barely caught my head in time to prevent it from becoming split cantaloupe. It was a bit embarrassing to be cradled by a giant, furry creature (and sort of trippy simultaneously), but I was so floored by a sudden wave of exhaustion I abandoned all sense of dignity.

"You latched onto Hoshi like a parasite, and then she opened the gate, and then you passed out," Gormos said. "We got away alright, but I was afraid we lost you for a second there. I thought you were gonna throttle her or something when you grabbed her for a second back there. Thought you went crazy."

I forced my eyes to remain open in spite of the heaviness of my eyelids. Gormos and I were in one of the sleeping cabins in his ship, the beds still folded into the walls. For a bedroom, it was a surprisingly comfortless room, all angles and stainless steel, able to be washed efficiently with a large, high-pressure hose. I let my head drop back into Gormos' furry bicep, using it as a makeshift shag pillow. "Ugh. How long was I out?"

"Few hours or so. Hoshi said you should be fine, but … well, I don't really trust the broad," Gormos admitted with a shrug. "Thought she had put some killing curse on you or something."

I lifted my left hand to observe my palm. The mark remained—had extended, in fact, to kiss the roots of my fingers. With a sigh, I folded my hand under my right arm, as if concealing it would deny it existence. "Yeah, well, she already covered that base earlier," I replied flatly. "Where is the wench?"

"Watching the cockpit."

I stirred uneasily. "If you don't trust her, why're you letting her watch the cockpit? Far as you know, she'll plunge us into a sun just after bailing on us," I pointed out.

"Nah, I don't think so. She said she wanted to see you when you woke up. Said it was important." Carefully, Gormos laid me out on the ground and, still crouching, turned to the fold-out bed. Grabbing a handle firmly, he pulled out the bed with a single arm, a task that would've forced me to use both arms and sacrifice a lot of pathetic huffing-and-puffing. The bed fell out with a crash, just narrowly not pinning Gormos' tail by a few millimeters. Gingerly, he lifted me from the ground and placed me on the mattress, which was only a fraction softer than the ground.

"And why're you calling her Hoshi?" I demanded as Gormos stood up, dusting off his hands against each other. I twisted my body so I could face Gormos rather than the ceiling. "Are you two getting all chummy on me?"

"Chill, Feather. Nobody's chummy here besides you two bosom buddies," Hoshiya's voice sneered from the doorway. Gormos and I both turned our attention towards her. Hoshiya stabbed her thumb in the direction of the cockpit. "Better go cover the cockpit, Gormos," Hoshiya suggested coolly, and stepped out of the doorway momentarily to let Gormos dash past her. Bowing her head sternly, she eased into the room, shutting the door behind her. "For added privacy," she explained evenly.

"Gonna try and smother me, Faerie?" I snarled. Our semi-intimate experience opening the gate had done little to dissolve any spite I had towards her or other Faeries. "'Fraid we're both out of luck—these fold outs don't have pillows."

"Idiot. I'm not trying to kill you," she said, rolling her eyes. "I can't, anyway. Like you said, Faerie law. You saved my life—at the very least I need to refrain from taking yours." She walked over to the wall opposite my fold out bed, and leaned her back against it. Slowly, she slid down until she was sitting on her rump, legs crossed Indian-style. She had changed out of the revealing hospital gown in which I had last seen her, and now donned one of Gormos' spare navy maintenance jumpsuits. The jumpsuit hung off her frame like a parachute, one bare, brown shoulder revealed with the sagging weight of the material. The only thing that kept the jumpsuit from slumping off her body was an extension cord tied around her waist, giving the minimum amount of female shapeliness to her outfit. I noticed, too, her hair was coming in slowly, darkening her hairline.

I can't say I didn't find that single shoulder and cinched waist incredibly enticing. Perhaps this was highlighted by the fact that for the first time her face wasn't construed in an expression of disgust for me. Rather, she seemed almost inquisitive.

"Why did you help me?" she asked with an alarming lack of forcefulness.

I shrugged. "We needed to get out—I needed to get out to save my life. You obviously couldn't handle opening the gate on your own. I was working on a hypothesis. I figured you just needed more energy, and also assumed energy came from life force. So, I decided to lend you some of mine."

"You're one and a half portions right," she said. "I did need more energy. The bloody gate was a whole lot heavier than I had anticipated. I could've done it, eventually, but we didn't have the time. And yes, magical energy is drawn off of life force—but only in a sense. Magic energy rides off emotions, mostly, and life causes emotions. Your anger gave me plenty of fuel to open the gate, but … in the process … I accidentally ran across … other memories of yours."

"Oh." A pause extended between us, not tense, but anxious. "Well, that explains some of the … images I saw while passed out."

"I assume that two of those scenes were memories," Hoshiya said softly, turning her eyes towards the ground. "A-and … I'm sorry for your loss. You do know … you do know most Faeries had no idea what was really going on?"

"It's society's responsibility to examine its administrators," I replied coldly. "When a society supports a monarchy, it's double their responsibility to pay attention, and inspire the masses to rise up in revolution when the time inevitably comes. Ignorance doesn't make you exempt from guilt. And I'm not going to forgive you, or the rest of the Faeries in blissful ignorance. Understood?"

She seemed taken aback by my stony proclamation, and immediately withdrew some of the vulnerability she had laid out initially. "That's a cold assessment," she answered with a slight sniff.

"That's my truth. Take it or leave it."

She stuck out her lower lip, tracing designs in some of the dust on the floor with her forefinger. "Anyway, what interests me is the second two scenes. They didn't seem like memories at all."

"They weren't," I said. "I recognized a few people in them, but I haven't lived them."

"You haven't lived them yet," Hoshiya clarified. "I'm fairly certain those scenes were pulled from the future."

"Well, that's reassuring," I said sarcastically, the scene with me struggling in bed impressed all too vividly in my mind. "But why would you draw emotions from scenes from the future? Can you normally predict the future or something? 'Cause I really have no idea how Faerie magic works, and whether or not it includes clairvoyance."

"Only extremely powerful Faeries, like the Queen Faerie, can see the future," Hoshiya said. "However, if a Faerie—even an ordinary Faerie—is sufficiently charged and motivated, it's not uncommon for said Faerie to be able to see the future. In fact, it's one of the symptoms of being over one's magical limit. It probably extended to you as well because you were touching me."

"Then give me some good news, Faerie—having had this sneak peek into the future, is there any way to change it? Basically, I'm asking that age-old question: fate or free will?"

"I'm thinking it's the latter, because the Faerie Queen is said to often use her powers to steer Faerie society away from danger. So, I guess I'm trying to tell you … not to worry. I also wanted to ask you … do you have any idea what that last scene was all about?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "No idea. I mean, I recognized Gormos, but that was about it. I couldn't tell you where I was. I've never seen those creatures before, let alone that land. I barely even felt like I was part of that scene."

The seriousness of the moment was broken by a sudden exclamation from my stomach, reminding me that I was ravenously hungry. Hoshiya stood up suddenly, heading towards the door. "You should rest some more," Hoshiya commented, keeping her tone purposefully flippant. "I drained quite a bit of energy out of you. I'll get Gormos to start cooking something."

"Thoughtful, yet suspicious," I thought aloud, leaning back in the bed. "Is the Faerie beginning to feel a little guilt for afflicting me with this wound?"

She looked back at me, one hand on the door's frame. I held out my left hand so she could see the mark and that it was spreading, conquering territory both above and below it. She pursed her lips, and turned her face away.

"You're not going to die, Feather. I won't let you. So stop bothering me about it, or I might change my mind." She slammed the door definitively behind her, and I stretched my arms out above my head, a contented smile crawling cat-like across my face. Still, despite the continuing friction between us, I felt a bit of my reservations towards Hoshiya wear away. Indeed, she was still a Faerie, and not to be wholly trusted. But considering our conversation, the fact she was in my debt, and the fact Gormos and I outnumbered her gave me some peace of mind around her that would be essential to coexisting with her in the ship.

The Aisha home world was a considerable distance from their space station. In fact, the Aisha's expressed purpose of creating that space station was to be a middle point from their home world to even further space travel. What most space epics fail to portray is the excruciating boredom that insulates the brief pockets of adventure in space. Even traveling at a rate above light speed, there was considerable travel time—longer than any road trip an average Neopian could imagine. We spent three weeks in that miserable ship, and cabin fever struck in the middle of the first week. By then, we had exhausted all card games, and after Gormos managed to lose one of the kings, our card games stopped entirely. Simon Says got old with only two people, even though it was fun to get the Faerie and Gormos to do humiliating things. Arm-wrestling proved amusing for only Gormos—fragile Feather and Faerie arms were no match for Gormos' chiseled biceps. Only Gormos and Hoshiya were interested in weight-lifting. There were some spare free weights in the storage room, alongside my medical equipment. We alternated using the storage room as a gym and a lab.

When we grew sick of one another, we retreated to our separate rooms, which weren't actually separate, because Gormos and I had to share a room. (Hoshiya, in a moment of den-mother domination, demanded she occupy the single, which wasn't any bigger than the 'double.')

Though my first impression pegged Hoshiya as a butch Faerie, spending extended periods of time with her provided me a window into her gratingly girlish side. She busted out the hair accessories and brush, and attacked helpless Gormos, who wound up looking like a botched Beauty Contest entry. Having sufficiently emasculated Gormos, she turned her crosshairs towards me.

"Oh, no, no, no, no," I said, holding up my hands defensively. I leaned back as far as I could on the chair I sat in inside the cockpit. "I'm not letting you turn me into that," I said, pointing to Gormos in the captain seat, who was struggling in vain to undo the braids Hoshiya had made out of his whiskers.

"Alright, alright, no makeup," she promised, "but at least let me groom your wings."

"Why? They're useless. I might as well chop them off and sell them to the highest bidder," I said, waving towards my back dismissively. "The only reason I haven't yet is because it would probably hurt massively."

She ignored my pragmatic statements. With her eyes fixed on my wings, strapped down under my scrubs, she circled me like a Pteri coming in for the kill. "Take off your shirt," she ordered, dropping her girlish voice for a more commanding one. I gave a look of alarm towards Gormos, who shrugged his shoulders helplessly. I rolled my eyes but removed my top so she could see my wings more clearly, rather than a vague outline under my shirt. "Take off the harness," she continued. Not wanting to make this any more painful than it needed to be, I undid the several belt-like buckles that secured the harness. Leaning forward, I allowed my wings to stretch out. Immediately they twisted in a cramp, not used to actually being moved.

"Son of a--!" I groaned, reeling forward in pain. Hoshiya reached forward and grabbed the afflicted wing, massaging it gently. A shiver ran through me at her touch: in Feather society, it was considered extremely rude or a gesture of exceptional intimacy to touch another's wings with the hands. I jerked away my wing automatically, feeling violated. "Jeez, at least warn me before you're going to touch 'em." She shrugged, and reached forward for them again, stroking the white feathers with a gaze of fascination.

"Faerie common knowledge says that Feather wings are unclean and gritty because of their feathers," she commented, running her fingers slowly over each individual feather. "But they're quite soft. Very clean, too. No smell."

"Well, I maintain my hygiene," I said irritably. "Now kindly unhand me." She continued to ignore my requests, and leaned down to pluck a rough hair brush from her plastic box of beauty weaponry. She began brushing my wings with a brusque motion, nearly knocking me off my chair until I steadied myself by planting my two feet firmly on the ground. I looked over to Gormos miserably. "Make her stop."

"She can't be stopped. She's a beautician possessed," Gormos complained, picking the ribbons out of his hair.

Hoshiya's insistent, daily nagging convinced me to abandon the harness for my wings completely, at least within the confines of the ship. I at first pointed out that I would be unable to wear a shirt regularly without my wings pinned to my back (something I was not willing to do, even in the company of non-strangers). Hoshiya eliminated this valid complaint by cutting two large slits into the back of all of my scrub shirts while I was napping. Upon waking and seeing my newly tailored scrubs, I nearly pitched a fit. Gormos just barely managed to calm me down and prevent me from attacking a sleeping Hoshiya with the scissors in question. With few other options, I began reluctantly wearing the scrubs. As predicted, my wings got clumsily in the way of everyday actions—I was painfully unused to accounting for the space they occupied behind me. Daily movement, though, allowed me to adjust. Soon I navigated the ship with relative ease, bowing my wings when they would strike the ceiling, folding them against my back in narrow passages, and flexing them in the morning to give them regular exercise.