Chapter 7

Flotsam

Chapter 7: The Scenic Route

I am drinking tea to the sound of tinkling wind chimes. It's pretty nice.

I’m sitting with Steadfast Freya at an outdoor table molded from heavy gauge wire in a handsome Purple Quarter plaza. The plaza is cozy and round and paved with smashed blocks of painted stone arranged in a haphazard mosaic. It’s surrounded by brightly painted junk buildings filled with art galleries, cute cafes, and Blue clothing shops. Wind chimes hang everywhere and ring cheerfully in the late afternoon breeze. The outdoor seating belongs to a tea shop built from a teal engine nacelle and run by a kindly Blue host. The shop is busy and the tables form a bustling constellation of sipping chatting patrons, which is where Freya and I are sitting in companionable silence, sipping very nice black tea. This is my kind of alien cultural experience.

After talking to Halley-23, my elder clone turned multi-breasted stripper, it was time to go shopping. I tracked down Steadfast Freya in the club and found her speaking with Subtle Helga, a Nordic bouncer slash strongwoman slash erotic dancer who had been my way into Halley's dressing room. The two Nordic women hugged tightly in farewell and we set out into the city. The Portside Menagerie is located on the border between the Human District and the Port, in an area filled with clubs and bars set to capture thirsty Spacers returning home. Freya led me deeper into the Port, down narrow streets lined with shops and narrow shebeens, below patchwork boarding houses, and into a small bazaar. The crowded market was lined with small stalls displaying unfamiliar produce, carts with roasting meat and tureens of stew, and futuristic looking curios spread out on carpets. Freya grasped my hand tightly in one of hers and began to plow through the mass of sapient shoppers toward her goal. We barged past humans and Blues, a few unfamiliar aliens, and one indignant, hissing Reptilian until we reached a large container set into one wall of the bazaar. The box was shuttered by a folding steel door and Freya banged on it with her fist until the door begrudgingly rolled up to reveal a small cluttered shop.

The container shop was cramped and dimly lit, filled with industrial shelves covered in small electronic looking things. We wiggled into the narrow space between stuff, and I noticed how cloyingly hot it was in the box. The tube lighting that ran the length of the ceiling was some sort of heat lamp which filled the shop with an intense dry heat. The shop smelled funny too, like the home of the weird trailer park guy who kept snakes in terrariums. I resisted the urge to cover my nose and followed Freya deeper into the shop. What kind of person wanted to work in a stinky, sweltering box? A Reptilian. A hugely obese Reptilian male with brown scales stretched over a tautly bulbous belly. He lifted his head, toady with a fat swollen neck, and narrowed his eyes. "Yesss, what do you want?"

"Classstar," Freya had replied, "is that how you hail customers? I expect better manners from a Merchant trading in Keybands with dubious origins.”

Classstar hissed, "I will not hear sssuch ssslander from one sssuch as you, Sssteadfast Freya! My merchandissse is above reproach."

Freya chortled, "You are fortunate that I care only for the quality of your wares, Merchant. Not their provenance."

"And I only care about the value of your currensssciesss."

Freya and the shopkeeper entered into an elaborate ritual of haggling, which was mostly just exchanging insults. Freya called Classstar a "Snake", "Half-breed", "Egg-thief", and questioned his virility and suitability as a mate. Classstar called Freya "ssslave-kin" and "automaton" and "vermin" and went out of his way to questioned her courage and honour. There was much shouting and fist waving and baring of fangs and I was afraid that there would be blows or property damage. Between the shouting and the heat and the enclosed space, I began to feel very claustrophobic. I had to start my breathing exercises to fend off an anxiety attack, but somehow prices were eventually settled, hands warmly shaken, Keybands tapped, and I left the shop wearing a surprisingly heavy metal bracelet. My very own Keyband! Halley is coming up in the world. Look out Flotsam!

Freya plowed a new path through the market to a cart selling grilled skewers of spiced meat. Freya explained the cart was owned and operated by Lucky Thergas, a legendary Spacer who discovered three amazing artifacts and went on to lose three different amazing fortunes. Now Spacers consider it good luck to buy lunch from the scruffy old man, a kind of karmic mitzvah to help find their next big score. Freya insisted Lucky Thergas also made the best spiced vat-meat-on-a-stick on the planet. When we reached the meat cart Freya clasped Thergas in a hug and bought us two orders to go. Brandishing the bouquets of aromatic meat skewers and a plastic cup full of sauce, Freya led me down another narrow passageway, up some rickety metal stairs, and into a rooftop parklet overlooking a crowded thoroughfare. And there we sat, legs dangling over the edge of the roof, eating spicy meat dipped in something like tahini cream sauce. I took a bite and sighed happily. It was certainly the best interstellar meat-on-a-stick I’d ever tried.

After we ate Freya gave me a quick lesson about my Keyband. She explained that she chose a robust but basic model that she herself favoured when on planet. Her professional space Keyband was more complex to interface with her spacecraft and whatnot, but she thought a straightforward model like this would be better for me. When not in use the Keyband looked like a dull metal bracelet, a deceptively inert strip of metal around my wrist. Stroking the Keyband with two fingers would cause it to project a small holographic touchscreen for simple commands. This holographic interface could be expanded into a larger screen of varying configurations or projected directly into my eyes for privacy. The Keyband would track my gestures, fingertips, or lips, so I could type on a holographic interface or wave my hands at it or mouth silent commands to the device. It was more powerful than my sadass Earthling laptop and was linked to a variety of Flotsam Networks. Freya helped me create a 'Halley24' account on the general Human/Blue Public Network, the invite-only Purple Quarter Network, and on the private Network that Hank and her shared with their friends. She explained that there were many Networks on Flotsam, mostly private or corporate, and that I should be wary about who I associated with digitally. I tried not to make a sassy teen face. Freya also set up my banking for me, linking Clem’s cash gift to my Keyband account and then explaining how the two currencies used on Flotsam work: the Planetary, linked to the cost of energy provided by the Greys, and the more valuable Orbital, set to the cost of spacecraft fuel. Freya showed me how to conduct a transaction, and then we tapped Keybands so I could pay her back for buying mine. Freya laughed and slapped me on the back, hard enough that I nearly tumbled off the roof to the street below.

Presently in the plaza the wind chimes tinkle and I take another sip of tea. I look down at my Keyband. I experimentally poke it, summoning its home screen. It displays the slightly confusing time, a root menu, and a "Congrats on your new toy :)" message from Hank. I grin, and set about typing a "Thanks :P" back to him. With a cheerful flash of blue I send my first alien text message. At least, I think I did.

After our snack break and Keyband lesson Freya took me on a long walk to our next shop. To get to the Portside Menagerie, Freya had summoned us a flying uber thing: sleek seats encased in a big snowglobe held aloft by four engine pods. It was an exhilarating ride of sweeping views  that was over in moments. To get home she wanted to give me the scenic walking tour. We backtracked off the roof, under the landing struts of a spacecraft turned house, and onto a major thoroughfare. It was the widest street I’d seen on Flotsam, and was actually paved with something like tarmac. Big shops built from welded together hull sections lined the road, their wide windows displaying all manner of unfamiliar goods and fashions, making the area seem like a kind of alien high street. The foot traffic was thick, rich in prosperous Blues and happy humans out for a shop during Shift Change. Cute couples held hands and strolled, teenagers scoffed at one another, parents lovingly scolded their offspring, and various models of drone zipped overhead carrying boxes. I tried not to freak out since crowds are definitely not my recovering agoraphobe deal, but Freya somehow always managed to carve out just enough space that I wasn’t smothered by strangers.

"Discover the Ultimate Truth!" a woman had shouted into the crowded high street. I turned and saw a pair of bizarre looking humans standing in front of a holographic sign. The shouting woman was dressed in a skintight green spandex outfit that showcased the bizarre configuration of her body. She had red hair in a cute bob and an impish face, which was all standard model, but her torso had four enormous breasts and while she had two arms, she also had four legs, each pair oriented opposite the other like two people crouching back-to-back. Four-legs looked earnestly at the strangers ignoring her and yelled again, "Let us share His Knowledge with you! The Answers you Seek are just an Epiphany away!" Her companion had kind of a giraffe-lady thing going on: she had a normal, if slightly horsey face perched on top of a too-long neck and elongated body with a lean tall torso and long, long angular limbs. She also had a flexible tail which I could see ended in a worryingly phallic looking tip through the tight fabric of her purple bodystocking. Tall-girl scanned the crowd from her elevated vantage point and when she saw me make eye contact she pointed a very long finger at me and shouted, "You! Yes you! He-Who-Slumbers has a Message for You! Won't you share in His Dream!? Find the Answers that you Seek!?" Behind them their holographic sign cycled through weird alien script, until for a moment English flashed 'The Circle of the Sleeping God'.

"Fucking cultists," muttered Freya, taking my hand and steering me down the road.

"What?" I asked, feeling more than a little creeped out.

"Pay them no heed." Freya had told me.

We turned off the High Street, climbed up a steel ladder bolted to a naked cliff of stone, and queued for an improvised funicular. We scanned our Keybands and climbed into a retired shuttlecraft set on rails pointed up the mesa. With a worrying thunk the funicular car started to rapidly climb the slope to higher levels of the city. I looked down getting a great view of the Port District: the hulking ragged donut of the Arena with its flapping banners and holograms, the busy transit hub and monorail stretching to the Spaceport Mesa in the distance, the large plaza of the Great Souk with its chaos of geodesic vendor tents, and the riot of lights flashing on the city’s grandest casinos. As the funicular climbed higher, I could just make out reflective black glass pyramids on the far side of the Port District. Freya saw me looking and said, "Reptilian District citadels." With a shudder the funicular ground to a stop at a station near the summit of the lower city. Freya helped me disembark and then we set off through another narrow maze of dusty footpaths squeezed between scrap-homes. Freya led me to a small shop built into some sort of battered module, spherical steel studded with domed windows, like a huge bathysphere. Freya gestured and declared it "The finest clothing Merchant on Flotsam." The Nordic woman was wearing a hunter green tunic with a narrow, plunging neckline that almost reached her naval, exposing her double cleavage.  The tunic sculpted her body like a bodice, hugging and lifting her tits in an improbable way that probably involved programmable future fabrics. Freya was pulling it off, I guess, but it was way too much look for me. I tried not to make a skeptical face as we entered the shop.

We were greeted by a slim middle-aged woman with greying hair and an impressive collection of warring smile and frown lines. She was dressed in a tastefully simple black dress and had a very smart shawl-slash-scarf thing that was effortlessly cool. Jangling bracelets lined her arms and anklets danced above her slippered feet. The woman genuinely smiled when she saw Freya, leaning in for a chaste hug and air kisses. Then she saw me and frowned. "A new Halley, I see."

I tried not shrivel under her gaze or play with the hem of my purloined t-shirt dress. "Hi. I, uh, need some new clothes."

"Yes," a look that managed to be both smile and frown. “I can see that."

Illadra, the tailor and designer, had me strip to my underwear in a privacy screened part of her shop. Since I hadn't managed to get a bra yet, this left me tits out, but a frown with a quirked eyebrow had me obediently topless. Illadra explained that she had to take my measurements, that she would be scanning me while I moved to create the perfect fit. She had me stand in a circle marked on the floor for a few seconds and then ordered me to raise my arms up, touch my toes, and twist my torso. Then she instructed me to walk along a straight line, naturally and smoothly. Which made me self conscious, so I started to think about my posture and gait until Illandra scolded me "This isn't a pageant! This is about making clothes that fit! Be natural!" I blushed and did my best to follow instructions. At the end of the marked path was a simple metal chair in another marked circle. “Sit down,” Illadra told me, and when I mechanically sat with perfect posture, she added sternly, “Naturally.” I sank into a slump, and then thought better of it and tucked my legs under me. “Very good,” the tailor said, and I felt a little flush of pride. Why did approval like this matter to me?

Illadra had me repeat the process a few more times: walking, standing, sitting. She had me hop and jump and sit cross-legged on the floor or pose like I was wearing a dress in the chair. All of this in only underwear. But between the repetition and her clear, authoritative instructions I was finding it easier to move and act naturally. With all the weirdness in my life it was a pleasure to just follow instructions. Illadra, who had been typing notes on a hologram the entire time, instructed me to twirl and bow, which I obediently did. The tailor smiled, “Yes... That should be adequate.”

Illadra held out her wrist and we tapped Keybands, making her other bracelets tinkle. "There," she said, "those are your measurements. The basic ones can be used by any clothier in the city to fabricate you garments and I've included a list of designers and finer shops that can use my more advanced measurements to make clothes that fit properly. Most clothing on Flotsam comes with instructions for your Keyband to improve the fit through the use of reactive fabrics. The fitting instructions I've just given you will be better and you should use them." Illadra smiles thinly, "I have also made additional private fitting and style notes for you, which I will apply to any clothing you purchase from me. I only fabricate with the finest reactive fabrics: imported natural fibres woven with programmable polymer spindles. I promise you, clothing designed and fabricated by me will look and fit better than anything else on Flotsam."

The tailor directed me to a comfy chair and conjured a hologram screen for me. The hologram worked like a touchscreen and displayed outfits modelled by a digital me, smiling confidently or pouting. Illadra had already organized a curated gallery of looks for me, but also had her entire catalogue to browse. I skimmed her very tasteful picks, appreciating how stylish digital me looked living her best life. I saw a tight mockneck shirt tucked into high-waisted jean-analogues that looked cute on me so I tapped on it. Suddenly a three dimensional hologram of me wearing the clothes appeared, standing naturally and shifting around, modelling the clothes. I fiddled with some controls and the holographic me obediently turned, showing off how the outfit looked from the back. Another fiddle and model-me started to walk around the shop a little, letting me see the clothes in action. I selected another outfit and suddenly the hologram was wearing a breezy canary yellow sundress with a cool scarf thing that I would definitely be buying. I loved this! It was all the convenience of internet shopping without blindly guessing how things fit! It was all the    the best parts of trying things on without the hassle of repeatedly stripping in a weird little room! A girl could get used to this.

I selected a bunch of outfits from Illadra's curated list. I mostly stuck with plain looking staples, fancier versions of the clothes I’d wear around the trailer park, but I also picked a few riskier, outside my comfort zone clothes, like the canary yellow dress. The kind of clothes I might’ve bought if I had the money and courage to be glamorous. Meanwhile Freya had picked out a couple outrageously confident outfits from a very different personalized clothing menu. We both paid for our garments and Illadra turned on the clothing fabrication machines hidden in the shop basement. She promised the clothes would be delivered by drone later that evening. As we turned to go, Illadra gave us both chaste hugs, and air kisses. "Come back soon" she instructed warmly.

And then we were back to navigating the maze of the lower city, mostly moving downslope along stairs and the odd ladder. At one point we actually used a public fire pole to slide down several stories of an apartment and into a new part of the city. Despite buildings being bodged together from space trash, every new neighbourhood had a flavour: a clump of homes and shops with a common religious symbol hanging in windows, or a very narrow street lined with matching planter boxes, or an outdoor market filled with people wearing distinctive clothes. Sometimes we encountered a wider paved road where small wheeled carts acted as mobile staging platforms for delivery drones to recharge and reload. Once we had to stand aside as a group of Ürnauts marched past in their dull grey armour, escorting two naked prisoners with them, their heads and hands encased in featureless black rubber spheres. A silvery cigar-shaped Grey probe drifted lazily overhead, budding off smaller flying quicksilver spheres. One little Grey sphere seemed to notice us and slowly orbited me, watchfully. I stared at it and tried to look innocent. Freya just ignored the drone and beckoned us onwards.

We walked into a narrow little quarter where the improvised housing had burgundy banners and strands of twee Edison lights hanging. All the residents here wore identical voluminous burgundy robes, veils, gloves, and masks so that they were uniformly obscured. "Human refugees from a digital panopticon," Freya explained. She lead me into the cargo hold of a scavenged space freighter that was subdivided into small shops run by Red Robes. Freya rapped a careful rhythm on the anonymous red plastic door of a shop with beautiful shoes in the window. The robed proprietor, a woman I'd guess by the hint of curves whenever she moved, waved us welcome into her store. Using sign language my Keyband translated into speech, she instructed me to take off my borrowed shoes and walk on a sensitive floor strip. She made a recording of my foot size, shape, and gait and then showed me a shelf of prototype shoes to choose from. I picked out a handsome looking pair of riding boots, something like running shoes, some ankle boots with chunky heels, and some simple ballet flats. I paid and the shopkeeper signed that she would start fabricating my shoes presently, delivering them by drone the next day. As I paid my currencies I realized I was buying fashion from someone completely muffled in a community uniform. I asked, "Why shoes?" The proprietor glanced around and almost shyly lifted the hem of her robe to reveal amazing boots made of green leather embossed with platinum constellations and daring heels. I smiled and winked, and the shopkeeper nodded happily as we left. Cool chick.

A few turns later and we made our next stop, a quick foray into a lingerie shop run by a pair of bubbly, chubby women with just immense breasts. Fortunately they could use Illadra's measurements and I left the shop the proud owner of a simple collection of functional brassieres, no awkward tit measurements required. Freya bought a truly menacing looking four-cupped bra that she claimed was designed for "support whilst weightless in the Black."  We continued on horizontally and the scene got artsier and the foot traffic got Bluer and less uniformly human. I guessed we were back in the Purple Quarter? Freya spotted and waved at an enormous furry alien who tooted back musically. The creature was huge, taller than Freya, and looked like a humanoid-shaped pile of brown fur. Its face was completely hidden by fur except for two huge globular red eyes. Its body had two legs, two arms capped with six flexible tendrils instead of fingers, and so, so much fur. The creature wore a single garment, a heavy belt of bulging pouches and hanging tools. It was like spotting a handyman Sasquatch. "We call that sapient Furry Fred," Freya explained. "It performs simple repairs for sapients who dwell in the Purple Quarter. It is very territorial, and lives amongst us to avoid the other eight of its kind that live elsewhere in the city. They only mingle during their mating frenzy, when they enter courtship combat to determine who will be the dominant female in the coupling. Their breeding is a scourge upon our city, but fortunately it happens but twice a decade." Which sounds like it would make compellingly weird porn. While walking past some Blue galleries I spotted a shop selling bags and I zipped inside. I found a large canvas shoulder bag with a grey and blue fractal pattern that I thought looked cool. I bought it and headed back out to find a smugly proud looking Freya waiting for me. I stuck my tongue out at her and she laughed heartily. She asked if I was thirsty, and after I admitted yes but not for booze, she nodded and resumed leading me through the city.

It might have been my imagination, but I swear one of those silvery Grey drone globes was following us. There’d been that long unsettling look-over by the silvery globe by Illandra's shop, and now this drone seemed to be following us like a cross between a lost dog and a helium balloon. I stopped walking and looked up at the drone and it stopped and hovered above me. "What do you want?" I asked nervously. The drone swung closer and hovered a few inches from me, the warped reflection of my face on its quicksilver skin staring back at me. "Seriously what?" I asked. Freya frowned at the drone, hands on hips and other arms crossed. It might have been my imagination, but I swear I saw her shake her head ever so slightly. The drone backed up a few feet, hung in the air for a moment, and then rapidly flew away from us. "What the fuck was that?" I asked. Freya shrugged, "The Grey are mysterious. Best to put it from your mind."

And a skip, hop, and an actual jump later here we are drinking tea in a lovely mosaic plaza. Free of mysterious drone scrutiny. I think. I take another sip of tea and try to stay in the moment. Remind myself that paranoia isn't healthy. Wind chimes tinkle.

I look at Freya sitting across from me sipping her tea with one hand, while fiddling with a Keyband hologram with her free hands. She’s been very nice to me today. This whole shopping excursion, the act of doing mundane things while walking around on Flotsam has been really enjoyable. Even being forced to confront my previous clone, it was nerve wracking but... cathartic? "Thanks for, well, everything today."

"It is no hardship," Freya says looking surprised. "You are my friend."

That's sweet but... "You hardly know me?"

She dismisses her Keyband hologram and chuckles, "This must be odd to you, as we have just met from your perspective. Yet I have known many other Halleys with the same memories as you, in this same life moment, who acted much akin to you. I may not truly know you, but I already know that I admire you and that we can be close companions."

That... makes sense. In a really mind fucky kind of way. Being a clone is fucking weird.

Drink some tea.

Appreciate you have inherited a friend.

I smile at Freya and blush a little, "That's really... nice. Thank you."

Freya nods curtly, smiling back.

We both sip our tea, letting the moment hang. "Are you friends with the other Halleys?"

Freya nods, "I have been friends with several Halleys. Since taking Hank as a lover, I have met every new Halley."

"Have been friends? That sounds past tense..."

"Oh, I remain compatriots with some Halleys, and count a few among my innermost counsel. Yet people grow and change, and you are experiencing a great upheaval in your life. Every Halley adapts to life here and some go down paths separate from mine. Not all friendships are meant to last forever." Halley shrugs her upper arms, "Life is about cherishing the moment, not grasping at the past."

"That's profound."

Freya nods solemnly, "Tea is a drink meant for profound thoughts."

Her deadpan cracks into a smirk and I giggle, earning a bray of laughter from the larger woman. "Are you still friends with Halley-23?" I ask her.

Freya considers this. "We are still on companionable terms. Yet our bonds of friendship have faded, not out of malice but from neglect. She has built herself a new fellowship of sisters and no longer needs Hank and I as she once did. I am glad for her in this regard. There is also a matter of her... vice..."

"That Bliss drug?"

Freya nods, "Hank has explained to me how anxiety and depression are an illness that requires treatment. Yet among my people, the Nordic clans, we view fear as a thing to be conquered and drugs as a cowardice. It is a failing, but part of me is uncomfortable with her use of narcotics, even medicinally."

I get where Halley-23  is coming from but still... "That makes two of us."

Freya leans in conspiratorially and in a voice pitched up comically, "Like, I also find the way she talks like, totally annoying? Like OH MY GAWD!" She bats her eyelashes for emphasis.

I laugh, almost spilling my tea. "Like, I totally get what you are saying?" I reply breathlessly, doing a nigh perfect impression of Halley-23.

Freya grins back at me, "I do find her a tremendously gifted dancer."

Playful grin, "You should see me on a dancefloor."

Flash of teeth, "Or maybe a pole?"

I blush, am I flirting? "It'll take something stronger than tea to get me to do that!"

Smiling Freya rolls her eyes and snorts, and waves to the proprietor of the tea shop, a Blue laden with a tray of biscuits and tea.

The Blue tea shop owner has weathered skin and wears a colourfully patterned veil and a cloth wrap dress kind of like a sari. Their blue skin is pale and wrinkled, making me think this Blue might be elderly. They smile broadly at us and present each of us a pair of crescent shaped cookies. "A joyous greeting! Friend Freya, it is a pleasure to see you once again. And, forgiveness, but have we met?" Large black eyes blink and nostrils flare. "You look/smell familiar to this one."

"No, I'm afraid we haven't met before," I say in maximum politeness mode. "My name is Halley."

"Ah, Halley," The Blue says thoughtfully, "Where are you in your lineage?"

Lineage? Oh..."Twenty-four, the newest one. I'm... only a couple days old?" Whoa.

The Blue nods and hands me another cookie. "You may call this one Hearthstone."

"It is very nice to meet you," I reply. "Your tea shop is delightful."

Hearthstone smiles, "Gratitude! You Halleys are so polite!"

"Have you met other... me's?"

"One is familiar with some Halleys, yes. One of your lineage once worked for this one here at this shop. Such a sweet... how does one say? Girl? Such a sweet girl. But so naive and so full of questions."

"What happened to her?"

"One does not know, really." Hearthstone cocks their head,  "This one’s Halley had been very excited by a group who promised her information. She requested time off to travel, and that was the last one saw of her." The Blue shakes their head sadly and refills our tea cups, "One hopes she is alright. One does worry."

"I hope she’s okay too." I say, also worried for one from my lineage.

Heathstone looks up, sniffing the air. They smile politely, "By your leave, one senses other patrons in need of service. It has been a joy to meet you new-Halley. The best of fortunes to you." The teashop owner nods farewell and moves to a table of Blues.

I nibble on one of the cookies and it tastes like sugar and almonds. I think I might love this tea shop. I take another bite of cookie and look at my new friend. I realize that I know very little about her. Especially compared to how much she pre-knows about me from past clone lives. "Freya..." I ask, "What brought you to Flotsam? I mean, I'm assuming you aren't from here."

"Aye, 24th, I do not hail from Flotsam originally. I came to this planet seeking adventure and fame as part of my battle/glory/courage/journey. This concept does not translate well... let me explain." Freya places her tea on the table and steeples all four of her hands together. "In the days before the unified Reptilian Empire and their war with the Grey, the Reptilians had many warring clans fighting for prestige and dominance. My people, the Nordic Humans, were created by a fearsome Matriarch to be a slave race of elite warriors. She used Witchcraft to Shape my ancestors from normal stock humans, performing the rarest of all acts of Witchcraft: inheritable transformation. To Shape a human so that they breed true requires changes, genetic changes, to their gamete cells. This is a fragile art, nay a science. To create viable Shaped offspring a Witch must create a new program of genes, to create a new subspecies rather than simply guiding mature flesh into a new shape. Your witch Clementine, for all her power, lacks the finesse and biological sagecraft to create such a miracle.

"The first Nordics were unleashed upon the rivals of their Creator Matriarch, an unstoppable miracle army which tipped the balance of power within the Reptilian clans. It was a glorious victory for our Creator. Yet the Nordics did not remain the weapon of a single clan: some of our number were captured by rival clans and allies were gifted breeders to create their own warriors. And so the First Schism occurred, and the Nordic humans went from a single clan to many, and were forced to fight one another for their Reptilian mistresses." Freya shakes her head, "these were the darkest times in the saga of my people.

"Yet from this darkness came the seeds of our emancipation. My people were proud of their skill and lore and the common culture they had forged. Nordic warriors of all clans came to respect their Nordic foes from the other clans. A respect that they did not hold for the Reptilians, whom they viewed as vile oppressors. And so the clans united in secret and rose up against the Reptilian Matriarchs in a glorious rebellion! The battle was fierce and saw Reptilian space buckle and warp in a crucible of glory. When the fighting stopped the Nordic clans had carved out a Holmspace for themselves and won their freedom. As did many other normal human slaves, who escaped their overseers in the chaos and fled to more hospitable space.

"The Nordic Emancipation War broke the system of the Reptilian clans and left a small number of Matriarchs with inflated strength. This began their Wars of Consolidation, a period of civil strife that lead to the creation of a unified Reptilian Empire. With the hated Reptilians fighting amongst themselves, my people experienced their Second Schism. The Nordics were not a people prone to peace and yearned for a life of conflict and rivalry. And so the Nordic clans were reborn and began to raid against each other and compete for prominence." Freya pauses to eat a cookie. "Many of my people consider this a Golden Age, the true Nordic Era. And yet the infighting amongst the clans left them vulnerable to the looming threat of the new Reptilian Empire. The Matriarch Empress brought her military might against her upstart slaves and invaded Nordic Holmspace. Despite the bravery of the Nordic Warriors, my people were routed and forced to flee before the Reptilian Host in the Great Exodus. The Nordic humans lived for generations as nomads, fighting a war of insurgency and resistance against the Reptilians. The Matriarch Empress, emboldened by her victory, decided to turn her military against the Grey to begin a new wave of Reptilian conquest. Yet she gravely misjudged the strength of the Grey, who swept upon the Reptilians in a wave of quicksilver destruction which decimated the Reptilian Host. Sensing a moment of opportunity, Valiant Thor, a great Nordic hero, rallied the clans and attacked the weakened Reptilians and took back the Holmspace.

"The sanctity of Holmspace was enshrined in the accord between the Reptilians and the Grey, and so the threat of Reptilian invasion was eliminated. And yet the clan leaders had seen firsthand how infighting had nearly destroyed their people. So they formed a Counsel and forbade armed conflict between clans, ushering in a time of peace. The clan leaders began a program of civilization, of rebuilding Holmspace and weaving together the clans into a single people. A true Golden Age.

"Yet my people still yearned in their hearts for glory and conflict and adventure. They could not fight each other or attack the Reptilians without violating their oath, so the Counsel decided on a new way for the young to prove themselves worthy. When a Nordic youth reaches the age of adulthood they are sent out of Holmspace on a battle/glory/courage/journey, a sojourn into space to seek adventure and battle. They are meant to prove their courage and return to the clans clothed in glory and with experience of the wider galaxy. For most Nordics this means enlisting in armed conflict as mercenaries to connect with our warrior traditions.

"I came to Flotsam as part of my battle/glory/courage/journey." Freya takes a long drink of her tea.

Holy History Lesson Halley. But, interesting. "Sounds like a noble version of Rumspringa," I say.

"I do not think that translated for me?" Freya replies. "I heard Technological/Debauchery/Vacation."

I giggle, "That's actually just about right. There is a religious sect on Earth who live by a... strict moral code and who reject a lot of technology because they think it's sinful. They send their young adults out to live in mainstream society and experience all of the cool gadgets, drugs, and sex of the world. Then these young adults are expected to choose between committing to their sect and its rules or leaving it all behind. That's Rumspringa."

Freya grunts, "That sounds like a clever way to propagate the sect."

"So... you came to Flotsam instead of being a mercenary?"

"Nay," Freya said, "I have been blooded in battle and honoured with a Name.  I was among the marines who boarded the Flexidrine Flagship; I fought on the barren moons of Eldrix against the 3LT56-VX swarm; I held the Citadel Station control throne singlehandedly, silencing the rail guns during the invasion of Klooonr-9. I am Steadfast, a warrior proven."

I don't know what any of that is. But it sounds impressive? "Then, sorry, why did you come here?"

Freya smiled ruefully, "because while there is glory in battle, their is no honour in mercenary work. I grew weary of killing for rich sapients and their insatiable greed. There was no reason for me to continue that compromise for I had already been Named." Freya shrugged, "I still craved adventure and was not yet ready to return to Holmspace to reproduce, so I came here and joined a Spacer crew. Now I find adventure exploring the strange derelict spacecraft and artifacts orbiting the Flotsam sun. Perhaps I will find new glory and fortune by discovering something worthy of song?" Freya smiles wistfully.

"Wait, reproduce? You have to have kids when you go home?"

"You make that sound strange? This is the way of my people." Freya smiles easily, "After my battle/glory/courage/journey I will return to Holmspace, find a worthy mate, and spawn. The offspring of my body I will send away to another village to be raised communally by the clan. In turn I will stay in my home village and help raise children born to other clan villages. This is the home/child/labour phase of our lives where we rear the next generation of Nordic warriors, farm the land, and tend to civilization. And then, one day, I will go on my second sojourn: the vocation/knowledge/wisdom/journey where I will travel out into the galaxy and devote myself to a craft or lore to become an artisan or sage for my clan " Freya pauses, "I know it is very different to your Earthling ways, but it is my home and my family."

I nod, "Family is important." Not that I really had a chance to know mine.

"Yet Flotsam is also my home and Hank and my crewmates are also my family." Freya shrugs, "I still have much to experience before I am ready to, as Hank puts it, 'Settle down'".

Freya lifts her cup and finishes her tea. She stretches and stands, "I will return anon; I need to make water."

My Keyband flashes for attention. I wake it and the homescreen shows a new text message. I gesture it open thinking it's Hank responding but...

-GreenGurl: Hey! R U the New Halley?"

I stick out my tongue and type a response.

-Halley24: Yes. Who dis? New phone.

-GreenGurl: LOL Luv the Earth jokes. Im Halley-22!

Holy crap. I stare at the messenger hologram for a full minute. Another clone getting in touch with me by text? That's not kosher, right? What do I do?

-Halley24: O Hi. Whats up?

-GreenGurl: Just saying hi.

Okay....

-GreenGurl: U should come visit me <3

-GreenGurl: <Sends Pathfinder Link>

-GreenGurl: Come whenever. Just give me a headsup so I can be ther to meet you : )

Freya sits back down at her seat and frowns at me, "Are you well? You look unsettled."

I swallow down a bubble of anxiety and push my messenger hologram to Freya. She taps it and the letters morph from English to runic. She skims the text and raises her eyebrows. "Well? What do you intend?"

"I think, that I should go meet her?" Meeting Halley-23 had been weird but good. And I was curious to see how a different version of me turned out. "What could it hurt?"

"Excellent!" Freya thunders, smiling fiercely. "We will need to get your immunity nannites updated before you visit 22nd."

"Immunity nannites?"

"Your translation nannites also protect you from infection by alien pathogens."

"And mine are out of date!?" I shudder, "You took me to a strip club!"

"Fret not," Freya says laughing, "You have nothing to fear from the Menagerie but a hangover and regrets. Your clone template of Halley-Prime has many immunities but predates the Grove and its problematic flora. You simply need a special patch before you can safely visit it. It is a small thing."

I take a deep breath, "Okay... so how do I get this sorted out?"

"We need enlist the skills of a Healer. I know just the sapient to consult." Freya fiddles with her Keyband. "She says she is available today."

"Cool."

"She will meet us at the Witch's home."

The witch? Clem? Clem's place? Oh no.

"Oh fuck."

***

Chapter 8