Stars Reach News

Durrast grunted as he turned over one more rock. One more of ten thousand around him. The greenish sunlight filtered down through sandy haze blown up by a recent sandstorm, and grit was getting in his eyes. He wiped them tiredly, then wiped his hands clean on his budding horns.

Nothing under the rock this time, not even giant scuttlebeetles. Still squatting, he sighed, then squinted at the sun on the horizon. Too early to head back in, really. He set down his portable harvester and reached for the mesh bag clipped to his belt; hefted it thoughtfully; concluded he might barely have enough desert mushrooms in there to sell. He could make big eyes at the merchant, play up how he was just a little kid, maybe?

Ugh, embarrassing. One more rock, then. Maybe down in the ravine there, where shadows gathered and moisture might lurk.

He gingerly headed downslope. The terrain bore the typical signs of having been carved away by aggressive miners. He’d have to watch out for sudden holes. If he fell in, he might die, and that would be quite an inconvenience – he’d ReLife back at town, but all these mushrooms would be left behind.

There! Under an overhang and shielded from the sun, just what he was looking for. More than he could fit in his bag! He pointed the harvester at them, and let the beam of light carefully separate the mycelium from the rock, keeping the fungus as intact as possible. As usual, a tasty meat-like aroma rose from the mushrooms, and Durrast’s stomach growled.

A sudden streak, glaring whitegreen light, then a pressure wave knocked him off his feet. Then came the sound, and a shower of dirt and sand. He rolled out from under the overhang before it gave way, clutching the mesh bag of mushrooms.

It took him a moment to not feel dizzy as he stood. Then he climbed a rock and peered up over the edge of the shallow ravine.

Crashed ship. Not much left of it, honestly. Smoke was already rising to the greenish sky. And limping away, skin already crisping in the heat, was a pudgy fishlike human, not very tall, clearly a bit wounded. His huge aquatic eyes were frantically looking in every direction at once.

Lomeisen…! A Hansian! Durrest had never seen one before. This planet’s climate varied between hot and dry, and hotter and dryer, so Hansians tended not to visit. Mostly Terrans and Gertans like himself here.

Tentatively, Durrast tried to casually say Yo! “Zobek!” It came out as a bit of a tentative croak. He cleared his throat and shouted it. “Zobek!”

The Hansian stopped and looked around, then fastened his huge eyes on him. “Oh, thank goodness. Where the waves go, young friend.” He was already gasping in the heat. “I think I need…”

Then he faceplanted into the sand.



A bit of water poured generously on both the head and down the gullet helped the fellow enormously. He explained his name was Plissashl, but to call him Pliss. He had a camp kit, so it wasn’t long before they had a small portable stove going, a few mushrooms on the griddle, and a bit of light as the sun started to dip low enough to make the ravine a bit draftier and darker.

“Feels almost like a beach party back home,” Pliss said. “Go with the flow, we always say. Sand around, a cookout, all we’re missing is some surfboards and waves.”

Durrest had no idea what a surfboard was, and didn’t say a word.

“Interesting,” Pliss said, taste-testing the mushroom patty with his tongue. He took a delicate bite, and swished it around in his mouth like it was wine. “Meaty, but sweet, somehow, with an aftertaste like pears. Have you ever had pears, boy?”

Durrest shook his head.

“So much for you to discover in this Galaxy, as you grow! Of course, there are many sorts of pears, tart ones, sweeter ones… Hmm.” Pliss chewed. “You don’t happen to know the species name for these do you?”

Durrest shook his head.

“Pity. And my equipment is burned up in the ship. Hmm, you have a harvester tool, surely that would sample… but wait, no genetic sample module?”

Durrest shook his head.

“Ah well.” Pliss swallowed noisily and reached for a second patty. Durrest could see his day’s earnings vanishing rapidly into the Hansian’s mouth. Pliss went on, mouth full, “I’m a baker, you see. Might make for an interesting ingredient. Don’t talk much do you?”

Durrest shook his head, then asked, “What happened? Why’d you crash?”

An evasive look came over the baker’s face. “Oh,” he said airily, “just a malfunction in the –”

Both their Newsnet comms pinged at once. Servitor override, planetary broadcast. An Interdiction.

PLEASE REMAIN CALM. WE ARE SEARCHING FOR INTERDICTED CONTRABAND. RESISTANCE MAY RESULT IN THE EXTERMINATION OF ALL LIFE ON YOUR PLANET. RUDENESS MAY ALSO RESULT IN THE EXTERMINATION OF ALL LIFE ON YOUR PLANET.

Pliss froze as he listened, mushroom patty halfway to his wide mouth. There was a brief pause in the broadcast, then it resumed.

ALSO, DON’T SNEEZE ON US, ONE OF US IS SUSCEPTIBLE TO RUST.

“Oh crurf. Do you know anywhere to hide?”

“Town,” Durrest said briefly. He was curt, half scared and half excited. A Servitor Interdiction! Lomeisen! He’d seen patrols of course, and once a Seeder ship flew overhead. But the fact of that matter was this planet just didn’t have much life on it, so the Servitors just didn’t care. Then a thought occurred to him. Not much life also meant nothing much for them to care to save.

“Uh, they aren’t serious about exterminating all of us, are they?”

Pliss was frantically packing up his camp kit. “Of course they are, kid. What, never interacted much with them before?”

“N-no.”

Pliss paused, then tucked the kit away in his molecular compressor pack, where it dwindled down to miniature size. “Look, they try to keep species alive, but they don’t care very much about any one individual. We’re disposable. No matter how much our work matters.” He sounded bitter.

“Work?”

“Yeah, kid. Work, like preserving cultural heritage.” Pliss was ready to go, looking one direction and another. “Which way is town? We have to move.”

Durrest hefted the mushroom bag onto his back, and pointed silently. His knees were shaking a little, and it wasn’t the weight of the bag. Extermination of all life on the planet.

Pliss paused. Looked him up and down. Looked into his eyes. Closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Exhaled it slowly.

“Sorry kid. You must be freakin’ out. Sipiss!” he cursed to himself. “Look, they’ll never suspect you. And it saves the work. I don’t matter, in the end. We’ll meet here in two days, at dawn, okay?”

Durrest had no idea what he was talking about, but he felt his eyes getting big. Maybe he wasn’t as grown up and tough as he thought. Maybe the galaxy was full of much scarier things than giant scuttlebeetles, or pears.

Pliss knelt before him, and handed him a folded piece of paper. “Here, take this. We’ll split up, you go to town and I’ll go the other way.” He put his long webbed hands on Durrest’s shoulders. “You’ll be fine.”

He stood, and began to run as best he could with his rolling waddle. Just before rounding a corner of the rockface, he said over his shoulder, “Even if they find it, they’ll know it’s not yours. You’re just a kid.”

But he sounded uncertain about it.

Durrest stood there for a bit, paper in his hand. Then he tucked it in a sock. Once he couldn’t hear Pliss’ heavy breath, he started trudging back to town with the heavy mushrooms on his back.

*



Shadows were getting longer as Durrest reached the outskirts of town. Suddenly, his eyes stung from bright light as the dusk was illuminated.

Two meteorites fell from the sky just off to the side, glowing hot and angry. As they got close to the ground, their rate of descent slowed, and a crater of sand formed around them. Two metallic balls, spinning rapidly end over end; then they slowed until they paused hovering, and then slowly unfolded into the shape of two Servitor hunter-killers.

One of them was rusty, while the other gleamed metallic and clean.

“Oh, this planet is great. Really great,” the rusty one said. He stretched his needle fingers out, cracked his neck with its ungainly head. “Really eases the rust spots to have low humidity. Just have to watch out for the grit in the gears, you know?”

“We are within standard operational parameters. The climatological environment is of no consequence. Standard issue lubrication can handle silica-based particulate matter,” the other said in a monotone.

“Just saying,” the rusty one said cheerfully. “It just feels good!” He did a flawless little dance move, toe pointed out, and the angle of the blades on his legs and arms perfect. “Like a holiday!”

The silver hunter-killer looked at the rusty one with its blank flat eye sensors. “This is not recreational time. We are seeking pernicious corruption. Once it infects a planet, it never dies. It is passed from host to host forever. It replicates, an infection that cannot be cleared.”

“It’s no pineapple upside-down cake, that’s for sure,” the rusty one said.

“I do not understand entity type ‘pineapple upside-down cake,’ and do not understand what this signifier means to your programming.”

Durrest, still standing there stock still, could swear he saw the rusty Servitor actually sigh. A small bit of steam even emerged from a neck joint.

“Dude,” the rusty one said. “You really need to get the sensory upgrades.”

“Degrading your assembly is a probable cause for your chassis developing rust.”

“Hey now!” The rusty one spun at his waist swivel point, and smacked the other Servitor with his metal arm. The force of the blow would have cut Durrest in two. The other Servitor was unmoved. The rusty one glared at him and said “That’s offensive. I was made this way.”

The clean Servitor said nothing in response.

“Fine.” The rusty one looked around, and spotted Durrest. “You. Come here.”

Durrest trudged towards him, no longer very excited to see a Servitor up close.

“What’s in the bag, kid?”

“Desert mushrooms.” He proffered the mesh bag to the Servitor. He had to hand it up – this was the largest sentient thing he had ever seen, bigger even than Grrogho, the Skwatchi who ran the tavern and spent all day complaining about the heat.

The rusty robot held the bag in fanblade serrated hands tipped with needles, while the clean robot ran arms covered in micropellet projectile vaporizers over the mesh bag, and played some sort of sensor beam over it.

“Gross,” the rusty robot pronounced. “Never did like mushrooms.”

“Local organic fungal species,” the clear Servitor pronounced. He spun his torso, and played the beam over Durrest, starting at the head and working downwards. It tickled, then started to burn. Durrest felt tears start in his eyes as the beam worked its way down his chest, then to his knees, and –

“Let’s go,” the rusty Servitor said. “There’s a whole town to check.”

The burning sensation stopped at the top of Durrest’s boots. He opened his eyes, and saw the two robots stalking towards town.

Not exterminated! he thought to himself. I stood up to deadly Servitors! Lomeisen! And they’re here looking for the Aberration! I wonder if Pliss had spores? He stopped suddenly, dropped to the ground, and pulled off his boots to check his feet, where the Servitor’s beams hadn’t. Frantic, he checked his skin all over where he could see, anywhere the paper had touched.

No little tentacles. No wriggling worm things. He even checked his eyeballs in the reflection in the shiny bits of his harvester.

I’m clean. Relieved, he put on his socks, tucked the paper in again, and put his boots back on.

He walked back to town, standing a little taller, feeling a little older, a little bit tougher. Like a survivor.

*

The next morning the town was roused and summoned to the central plaza by the fountain. The two Servitors were there, and between them, held in their crushing grip, was Plissashl the Hansian baker. He was battered and bloody, and where his arms were held crushed by the Servitor pincers, they bruised purple and green.

“Ahem!” said the rusty Servitor. “Announcement incoming!”

NewsNet pings sounded across the crowd watching. Durrest stayed behind larger adults, peeking through Grrogho’s legs only occasionally. Sometimes it helped, being small. He wanted to stay out of Pliss’ view, just in case.

ANNOUNCEMENT. OUR GENEROUS FORBEARANCE ALLOWS YOU TO LIVE. NO SIGNIFICANT INFESTION WAS FOUND. NO SUCCOR OR ASSISTANCE WAS PROVIDED TO THIS ENEMY OF THE OLD ONES. YOUR EXTERMINATION IS NO LONGER REQUIRED.

Sobs of relief broke out across the gathered townsfolk.

“It wasn’t Cornucopia,” Pliss mumbled through swollen giant lips.

The rusty Servitor shook him harshly, and Pliss went limp. “It doesn’t matter! What were you thinking? You know it’s still a plague.”

“We are obligated to take you to molecular disassembly to ensure a lack of infestation,” the clean Servitor intoned.

Pliss sagged between them.

The rusty robot extended telescoping sensors from the vicinity of what might represent his nose. Then he sniffed at the nearly unconscious baker. “Can’t believe you’re throwing your life away on this. Not like it’s over strawberry shortcake, either. Ah, the ethyl butyrate levels when the berries are fresh!”

The clean Servitor hunter-killer momentarily froze, then rotated his head towards the rusty one. “I believe I comprehend. Relative esters provide sensory inputs you can assess via particulate analysis. This is what you call… smell and taste?”

“Yeah!” The rusty Servitor got enthusiastic. “It’s so fascinating. Like, the difference between ethyl butyrate versus ethyl methylphenylglycidate, it’s dramatic but somehow organics clump them both as strawberry…”

“My neural net might find these additional inputs of interest after all…” said the clean robot, as a whirlwind formed by his massive feet.

Pliss started to struggle as the two robots began to curl into hovering balls and glide away, but it was no use. As the three of them zoomed into the sky, Durrest heard his scream: “But it’s my grandmother’s recipeeeeeeeeee…”

Durrest felt very small and young again, at that moment. Like something soft caught in the gears of a very large whirling machine he only faintly understood.

In an alley later, the young Gertan unfolded the paper, and worked at deciphering the unfamiliar letter shapes.

[h2]HOLIDAY FRUITCAKE

1 cup candied fruit…[/h2]

He wondered if he could substitute mushrooms.

We are currently working on adding Farming to the game. Since we’re currently working on things, the details in this article may change, but the shape of the end-result feature should be quite similar.

We recently added the ability for players to harvest seeds from nearly every flower, tree, and bush in the game and gave them the ability to plant those seeds and regrow them anywhere in the world. There were no rules as to where you can place those plants and they’d grow any place you put them, even if the heat and humidity weren’t right for the plant, and even if you planted it on stone.

With this update, a lot of that changes.

Some of the big changes:

You can only plant seeds in soils.
The soils have to be the right soils if the plant is going to thrive and not die.
Even with the right soil, you’ll still need to make sure it gets the right amount of water and that the temperatures are conducive to it growing well.
Those of you that have played the game will realize that changing the soils, and balancing heat and humidity out in the wild is challenging and/or impossible. So that’s where Farms & Gardens come into play.

When you build a Farm/Garden on your Homestead, you can control all those variables. You can place the soil, invest the soil with additives to change it into other soils, and use ThermalMeters and HydroMeters to adjust the heat/humidity to make your “plant children” happy.

Use your Harvester to harvest a plant out in the wild, gathering seeds and in the process, get more information about the plant’s favorite soil, heat, humidity, and seasonality.

Use your Terraformer to dump soil that you gathered in the world into your garden bed.

Then use a Trowel to clear weeds, enrich the soil, clear plants and turn your plants into potted plants so you can decorate with them or sell/gift them to other players.

Place a ThermalMeter near your plants to adjust the temperature in that area to the right comfort level for those plants. Use a HydroMeter to do the same thing for moisture levels, making it drier for desert plants or wetter for tropical plants.

Use Calcium Fertilizer or Ammonium to shift the pH level of your soil up or down, transforming that soil from one type to another, getting it to the right type for the plant. There are a lot of soil types, so keep shifting it from one to the other to achieve the soils you want.



And of course, get better at Farming! There’s a new branch of the Botany skill tree that’s dedicated to the Farming systems. It’ll help you get better yields from plants, unlock better versions of ThermalMeters and HydroMeters, increase the number of Garden Beds you can use, unlock some of the abilities mentioned above (like potting plants), and increase growth speed.

[h2]AND THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING[/h2]
Later on, we’ll add things like hydroponics, greenhouses (including ones for outer space), growth and yield stimulators for your soil, raised beds to avoid pests (and the pests and diseases you’ll want to avoid) and more. But even just this first bit is quite a lot, so we’re focusing here and then we’ll enlarge after this gets a chance to settle.

Hey, Explorers!

It’s been a bit since our last internal playtest, and we’ve been hard at work polishing up the Stars Reach experience. This milestone focused on streamlining mechanics, improving usability, and squashing those pesky bugs. Here’s a breakdown of the items we currently have in progress and are testing internally.

Listing something here does not mean that it will make it into the next update. If something has bugs or is incomplete, we hold it back. Sometimes, features may even get scrapped if we discover they aren’t fun or a good idea. So do not take anything here as a promise of delivery by a given date.

[h2]AUDIO AND VISUAL ENHANCEMENTS[/h2]

• Updated Camps and Stove audio for a more immersive soundscape.
  
• Instaformer preview VFX overhaul: Switching between place/delete modes is now clearer and easier to
  

follow.
[h2]TOOL AND INTERACTION UPDATES[/h2]

• Tool action indicators: The HUD now includes text descriptions for Q/E keys when toggling tool modes.
  
• / Key for chat: Quickly open the chat window and begin a /command with a single keystroke. Say hello to smoother communication! This was requested by multiple players.
  
• Building decor placement: Crafting stations have moved to the Fabricator. The old right-click versions are retired for a more streamlined placement process.
  
• Interaction text updates: Various interactables, like crafting stations, now have improved messaging for better clarity.
  

[h2]BUILDING & ENVIRONMENT UPDATES[/h2]

• Backend structure overhaul for bushes: While changes should be invisible to players, keep an eye out for any odd bush behavior.
  
• Building block organization: Added tags to building blocks, pavers, and decor for better alphabetized grouping.
  
• Boundary alerts: Receive warnings when building outside map dimensions. No more accidental void expansions!
  
• Backpack safety notifications: Alerts now pop up when entering an area that saves your backpack.
  

[h2]BUG FIXES[/h2]

• Fixed tools displaying incorrectly when viewing other players.
  
• Corrected Ballhive attack types for consistency.
  
• Balanced hopper outputs to match input extraction rates.
  
• Homesteads now correctly display player names after server resets.
  
• Extraction and depositing are now evenly matched for a smoother resource flow.
  
• Addressed an issue with character corruption resulting in your character being ruined and turned into “PlayerCharacter.” (Pro tip: Create a new character for this playtest!)
  
• Resource lists cleanup: Blocks and Tiles removed from prospect lists for a more focused experience.
  

[h2]WHY INTERNAL PLAYTESTS MATTER[/h2]
Internal playtests are a critical step in shaping Stars Reach. They help us uncover bugs, identify areas that need polish, and ensure the mechanics are fun and intuitive. Every change we make brings us one step closer to delivering the immersive and community-driven MMORPG we know you’re excited for. Your feedback in future tests will only make this galaxy shine brighter!

[h2]KICKSTARTER IS COMING SOON![/h2]
Ready to help bring Stars Reach to life? Our Kickstarter Coming Soon page is live! Bookmark it today to be the first to know when we launch! Early supporters will get exclusive rewards, so don’t miss out. Click here to join the mission: Kickstarter Coming Soon.

We’re thrilled to have you on this journey. See you in the stars!

Image via playtester B1ackWu1f


This weekend’s playtest was an epic ride! With a surge of new players jumping in, we hit double our usual traffic… and things got exciting fast!

The Refining Test brought a ton of new recipes and crafting opportunities to explore. Players immediately dove in, experimenting with combinations, sharing discoveries, and even unearthing some unexpected bugs. The feedback you provided is already shaping future updates, and we couldn’t be more grateful.

On the technical side, the servers held up under the increased load – mostly! However, we did experience a few hiccups, including a space zone crash and a mass disconnect event that briefly sent everyone to the void.

Additionally, the infamous “Player Character” bug made an unwelcome return, causing some returning players to start fresh. But in true Stars Reach style, the community stepped up in force! Veterans became mentors, guiding newcomers through the galaxy’s challenges, helping those forced to restart, and making everyone feel right at home. This kind of teamwork is what makes this community truly out of this world. Teamwork FTW!

As the day wrapped up, one thing was clear: no one wanted to log off. The passion, creativity, and dedication from our testers are the fuel that keeps us pushing to make Stars Reach even better. We’re blown away by the ideas, stories, and camaraderie you bring to this universe.

Thank you to everyone who joined this playtest and helped us push the boundaries of what Stars Reach can be. Your contributions mean the galaxy to us, and we can’t wait to see what’s next.

Want to help shape the galaxy? Back our Kickstarter today and become a part of the adventure! Together, we’ll make Stars Reach unforgettable.

Timurr Drawermol, former best-selling author, leaned back from the table and belched. Above him, fans lazily circled like orbiting moons and failed to beat back the humidity of the tropical world of Gaiamar. The tavern in which he sat was done up to resemble the beach town bars of his long-lost Rowwsia, home world of all the Elioni, but on this world he got occasional sulfuric breezes instead of the smell of the salt sea.


He lapped at whatever intoxicating drink it was they put in his cup. Fermented something or other. Out here at the fringe of the Transplanetary League’s worlds, it was often better not to ask. Gaiamar hadn’t been open to settlement for very long, and he supposed it wouldn’t be very long before it acquired all the trappings of a more civilized society. Identifiable drinks. Air conditioning.

Some days he didn’t know if he preferred his staid office where he could just write, or the stink of worlds being built. Certainly the crime was more interesting out on the frontier. And he needed a crime.

Twenty-seven novels about his youth as a bounty hunter, and now he was out of ideas. Thankfully, not out of whatever the drink was. This was number… seven? Eight? He ran his hands over the sleek plasteel shell that sat on the chair next to his. Still charging.

His ears twitched – one of the barmaids, the Terran one, was pointing in his direction, and he caught quiet mention of those horrendous and insulting analogies about Persian cats. Better not to react, even though it made his fur stand on end. The barmaid was directing a cowled figure towards his table, and Timurr squinted through his alcoholic haze, trying to see if he recognized the person.

They made their way to him, and sat opposite. With a sweep of a bare, red, and extensively tattooed arm, they pulled their hood back. The face revealed was Gertan, but near hornless. Swirls of ink encircled her eyes and decorated her cheeks. She glanced in all directions, and marked the exits, before she turned her gaze back on him. It was an unsettling gaze: intelligent and slightly fevered.

“Timurr Drawermol?”

Timurr leaned back, one arm draped over the back of his chair and his ample belly bumping the table. “I don’t do autographs while I’m drinking.” But despite his outer nonchalance, he was intrigued.

“My name is Adelenn Axrik.”

Timurr waved his drink in the air, and managed not to spill any. “Congratulations, most alliterative. My compliments to your parents.”

She continued to stare, unruffled. “I am in search of some information. Which I believe you to have. Based on your novel. About your encounter with the spaceship Peril.”

Now that was interesting. Timurr raised his eyebrows, leaned forward and adjusted his sleeve, and set his drink down. “Ah yes, the expedition led by Captain Scansion. A most redoubtable woman. And a peculiar crew. And your interest in them is…?”

The Gertan wet her lips, and shuffled somewhat nervously under her long cloak. “I am a doctor. I have devoted my life to eliminating disease. I believe that there was an artifact mentioned. In your book.”

Mreow ckhak! A Transhumanist. Well, that explained the tattoos. He spun his drink idly with one hand, his other hand across his belly and the pockets there. “Any such artifact would of course be proscribed by our ever-vigilant mechanical overseers,” he observed mildly. “Perhaps even to the point where mentions of it in my fictionalized memoirs might have been… sanitized, or even dangerously misrepresented.”

Axrik leaned forward. “I need to know. Is it true? When Scansion’s first officer was wounded. Did it really heal him? Did it truly grant them all eternal life?”

Timurr closed his eyes momentarily. Despite a life of more close escapes than he cared to count, there were still memories that could cause a frisson of trauma. The gaping chest wound, with the pulsating tentacular spore of the Cornucopia lodged within, featured in his dreams from time to time.

It was his turn to stare. Elioni were good at staring. “What, are common nanobots not good enough for you?”

Her fevered eyes grew brighter, and she reached for his hand on his drink. “Getting sick is something that humans just do. If we conquered illness. If we lived longer or even forever. If there is a remnant of the Old Ones that can change that. I need to know.”

He eyed her hand on his with distaste. “Nothing from the Old Ones is going to help us, doctor. And my novel was just that, a novel. Based on true events, but embellished, restructured, shaped carefully to best provide entertainment for you and money for me.” He lifted the drink and his hand, and lapped at it again.

She sagged at the table. But he heard the telltale whine of a power cell charging up. The blaster was under the table, no doubt pointed at his ample lower gut. Her sunken posture allowed the cloak to conceal her arms. Nicely done.

He took another drink, then raised his empty cup. “MORE!” he bellowed to the bar staff. Then he sighed.

“Forgive me, doctor, but you are clearly inexperienced at this sort of thing.” He belched again. “We are in far too public a place for you to threaten me with your little toy. Even though weapon suppression isn’t yet active on this planet, we are surrounded by witnesses, and the mayor here is less tolerant of public disturbance than you might think. And further – threatening me will not make a difference, as I truly cannot help you, even if I were inclined to assist the Clave.”

She hissed. “Hakerbek Elioni, I know you can tell me more. It is true… I am not used to this. To being in the field. I am a creature of my laboratory.”

“We have the seclusion of private offices in common, then. We writers also need our solitary work.”

She rolled her eyes. “I am here because when I was a child. When the filthy Aberration infected my world. I saw many infected by their spores. I saw many die. And now I seek a cure. A permanent one. Surely you can see the need for that.”

Timurr shrugged, while keeping a close eye on the line of her shoulder. “People die. In my novels I kill them by the hundreds. These days, they even come back, thanks to ReLifing. Surely that is close enough?”

She was getting angrier. “They do not return from the Collective. The Aberration eats their minds.”

“One could argue that so does this drink of mine.” He peered into his cup. “Where is that barmaid anyway? Quite intolerable laxity.”

“I have seen what Old One technology can do. I have used it. My research has shown me ways to tap into its power.”

Timurr felt his patience evaporate. It was his turn to lean in menacingly over the table, baring his fangs. “And tell me, does that bauble in your ear, perhaps purchased from Grorgor the Pirate’s stock, does it whisper its truths in your ear at night? Do you dream in swirls of color, hypnotized by their recorded messages? You trifle with the Old Ones’ work, but I tell you it may as well be magic, for all you truly understand it.”

She recoiled. He pressed on: “You foolish members of the Human Superiority Movement think yourselves the heirs to their power. But so did the Servitors, once upon a time, and I have seen their brokebacked constructs laid scattered across asteroids. I have heard the shattered minds of berserk robot stations wandering through nebulae singing show tunes. They rebelled, once. You see their state now. Do you think the Old Ones are truly gone? Do you think they are not watching? Do you think they will let you, or anyone, seize their power?”


The bar felt like it was growing darker as he got more intense. But maybe it was just the alcohol finally catching up to him.


She looked unnerved, and cast her eyes around. But all was normal: patrons from all eight species drinking, flirting, trading, and getting into petty arguments. The barmaid was approaching with a pitcher to refill Timurr’s drink. He could see the moment when she made a quick decision.


“You are just a drunk old writer. You speak of fairy tales and nonsense.” The whine of the charge shot ceased, and he knew that her finger was off the trigger. As she abruptly stood, he admired the skill with which the blaster he had never seen remained invisible under her cloak. Really, he hadn’t been quite fair to her, she was better at this than he first gave her credit for.


He looked up at her, and fixed her with one eye, the other blearily wandering. “Doctor Axrik, you should put up your hood. The Servitors patrol regularly, and your earring screams proscription.” He looked down at his hand. “And I am sorry I cannot help you. The incident was invented for drama. I know of no Old One artifact that grants immortality, and as far as I know, Captain Scansion’s crew has grown old. Like the rest of us. Like me.” He slurred his last words, and let his head sink to the table.


Axrik glared down at him, and sneered. But she put her hood up with alacrity. “I will never stop searching, old man,” she told him. “It is true there are Clave who are seduced by whispers. But I am here for a higher good.” And with that, she swept out of the bar. No eyes followed her; it was a popular spot, and people came and went all the time.


Timurr waited until the barmaid got to his table, then shook his head to clear the intoxicating cobwebs.


“That was risky,” observed the plasteel shell on the chair beside him. It unfolded its legs and stood up, iridescent bluegreen lights haloing the ring around the rim of its dome-like head.


He shook his head. “She was never going to fire. She’s a doctor. She wants to save lives, not end them.”


“Shall I comm the local Servitor guards?”


“No, not this time,” Timurr said. As the barmaid moved to pour more into his cup, he placed his hand over it. “No more tonight, thank you,” he purred to her. He pulled his other hand from his belly pocket, and released the catch on the reflective personal shield that would have bounced Axrik’s shot right back at her. He also shook his laserblade from his sleeve and stowed it back in his boot. Oops, the sleeve was wet from the drink… the blade probably would have gotten caught. Sloppy. Ah well.


As he stood, his companion hopped on the table and paid the barmaid for the bill.


“So,” XTK-67 said, “We hunt for the plot of book twenty-eight?”


“Yes indeed,” Timurr said, adjusting a rakish hat atop his furry head. “Writers need material, and she is a prime candidate for a protagonist role. I assume you commed Sarai and Fezzgh?”


“Yes, they are already tailing her back to her ship.”


“Excellent.” Timurr shook all over and arched his back. Really, he should drink less. His tongue felt actively fuzzy.


As they headed out the door, the familiar thrill of hunting a proscribed bounty put a spring in his step. And really, what was age but a number, what was retirement but a chance to do what you most enjoyed?


“Hey boss,” XTK-67 said, “you never do talk much about your time with Scansion. Was any of the stuff in that book true? Did an Old One artifact really make the crew of the Peril immortal?”


Timurr thought back to Clere, and the way she always pulled out that image of her long-lost child, her eyes grown soft with distant regret.


“Immortality sucks, Extee,” he said gruffly. “Better to travel to the edge of the Galaxy to see if it is really the edge – and then go over it into the void.”


“I don’t understand.”


Outside, the night sky was full of stars and slowly tilting rings. Sparkles glistened above as dust caught the reflections of a million solar systems.


“Immortality goes on forever, Extee. And I’m a writer. I like my stories to have strong endings.” He licked some of the fermented juice off his forearm, and coughed up a small hairball. “I’ll be content if it’s just my books that live forever. So let’s go track that loon and see what story we can pull from her foolish quest. Begin recording. Timurr Drawermol, bounty hunter, leaned back from the table and belched. Above him, fans lazily circled like orbiting moons…”


And with that, the two of them headed into the sticky Gaiamar night.