Update: A Gestating Literary Litter

Hello again, readers!

Work on the official Empyrean Dreams books proceeds steadily, if not as quickly as we first hoped.  I hear such things are normal for any project, much less a book.  Considering that we're compiling multiple books, a longer estimate might have been wise.

Still, we're crossing off tasks.  The third Stchvk detective story, "Binding Threads", is complete in its first full draft.  It will appear alongside "Bad Egg" and "Broken Record" in the largest of our four planned books.  The Scape Grace stories fit nicely still into two volumes, one containing the first story, "Wreck of the Untranslatable" and a second containing "Escape from Grace" and the new story, "A Change of Plans".

Book number four will contain short stories from both of us, all set in the same Universe but filling in various smaller corners.  This book will include the newer, unpublished stories "Labyrinthine" and "An Apostate's Dilemma". 

What's yet to do?  A lot of editing and formatting, mostly.  We also need to choose a printer and adjust our layouts to their preferences.  Art would be nice, but a basic starfield will do if necessary.  Our current target is to have at least one book ready for sale before the end of January, ideally with a few physical copies delivered to local bookstores on consignment.  After that?  Advertising!

Note that we will happily take suggestions for a print-on-demand service, if anyone knows one they particularly like.  We'll also take suggestions for an artist, although our demands for such a person could be steep and our budget, though non-zero, is also not high. 

Maybe we'll save the fancy art and style for a second edition, once the first edition has pulled in some profit... and maybe a publisher's attention?

We can always Dream.

-NL

Update: NaNoWriMo and the Publication Plan

Work on the Empyrean Dreams print books is proceeding steadily. 

Remember how I mentioned each volume would include at least one original story, not previously published on this site?  To that end, I challenged myself to write several stories as part of NaNoWriMo, the National Novel Writing Month (http://nanowrimo.org).  I won the challenge with only two stories: a new tale of the Scape Grace (#3, "A Change in Plans") and an original short story, "An Apostate's Dilemma", which explores the Mauraug Apostasy from the inside. 

So those are ready.  However, I'll have to break one promise, a little.  The Scape Grace story is longer than expected.  Fitting all three stories in one volume (much less four, if I included the related tangent, "A Bureaucrat's Tale") is a bit much.  So, I'm planning to make "The Wreck of the *Untranslatable*" a stand-alone introductory volume, with "Escape from Grace" and "A Change in Plans" together in the second volume.

Book number three should have three stories about Stchvk, Private Investigator: "Bad Egg", "Broken Record", and an as-yet-unwritten third story.  There's my next task!

That makes book four the compiled, separate short stories of Empyrean Dreams, now additionally including "An Apostate's Dilemma", along with another unpublished story, "Labyrinthine", and all my prior short stories from this site.  We'll also include any and all short stories from Laine that she selects...

...which means I could be wrong again.  If the short stories pile up too high, we'll have to split them into two volumes!  In that case, I'll split the new tales across the two books.

So this three-book project is now four books and possibly five.  I can't say I'm sad about having more to offer.  It just means that finishing everything won't happen as fast as I originally hoped.  Apologies, but we probably won't have an Empyrean Dreams book available for your holiday gift shopping.

Early next year, though!  That's the plan!

Update: A Space Station for Now

with apologies to RJD2 for the title...

I wanted to let readers know what's happening with Empyrean Dreams.  Posting has slowed down again, but there's activity behind the scenes.  I've written another long story in the Empyrean setting, titled "Labyrinthine".  It won't appear here, since I'm still trying to publish it in a science-fiction magazine.

The problems with selling our already self-published work and our new stories specifically set in Empyrean have started Laine and I thinking... why not keep doing it ourselves?  We're planning out several volumes of the stories we have already, plus one or two new, unpublished tales for each book.  For example, in one volume, I would put together all the Scape Grace space pirate stories, adding one of the new stories I've had planned for ages.  That way, you get the reading convenience of print (or electronic copy), plus new content, as an incentive to purchase.

Another book would contain all the Stchvk detective stories; a third would be short stories from both Laine and I.  If "Labyrinthine" doesn't sell, it becomes the bonus content for the short story book.

We're just getting started, compiling existing material and seeing how long each book would run.  The next step will be editing and layout, not to mention writing and polishing the new stories.  We'd love illustrations, but if that doesn't happen, it won't be an obstacle. 

We'll also be comparing publishers to get the best bargain on printing and promotion.  Any feedback would be welcome, though if you are selling publishing services, please don't spam.  Over-insistent salespeople have turned me away from more than one company already. 

If all goes well, though, we might have books available for purchase sometime next year.  I'm planning to put some copies on shelves at local bookstores, to start, as well selling online.  It will be a learning process, but it's worth the trouble for material we already have written and love sharing.  If people want to pay money for it, that's a bonus.

This plan will mean fewer content updates on the site, for which I apologize.  We won't disappear entirely, though.  We'll give progress updates as the project continues, and there might be some stories posted as side-effects of the process.

Watch this SPACE.

-Nathan

Darkness, My Friend

          Blindness is not usually a trait that saves your life.

          Unique situations happen, though, especially out here on the edge of known space. Even a so-called disability can become an asset. That’s going on my résumé, by the way.

           Sure, sometimes, being blind can endanger your life. It makes life a regular parade of nuisances, most days. At best, being blind gains you a little attention and patience from people who would otherwise walk right by… but that benefit is countered by the number of people who walk by even faster, irritated or even disturbed by your handicap. I suspect most sentients get tired of adjusting to my perspective. I know they get tired of adjusting the shared environment to accommodate my needs.

           Well, those needs saved my life. And not sharing my disability cost my colleagues their lives. So I’m doing my best not to feel superior, for a change.

           Those colleagues were all dock workers aboard the KelVaTinLi, cheap labor scooped up by the siliceous Zig to work their station freight. We were skilled wage slaves willing and able to handle the hazardous cargoes even the lowest-caste Zig can’t safely touch. I’m a firmware engineer, but I had to sell my services at a discount thanks to the accident that torched my retinas. I was saving up for synthorganic or maybe cybernetic replacements. After this incident, I may rethink those plans.

           KelVaTinLi orbits a blue dwarf at the edge of Zig territory, which means it sits at the rim of their slice of the galactic pie. Cargoes come in from neighboring systems, some of which have only tenuous membership in this galaxy. At least one trading partner, the Cuttle, barely participates in the same dimensional frame as the rest of us. That’s where this winding tale starts.

           ‘Cuttle’ is a Terran name, the one we Humans use, at least on KelVaTinLi. I’m sure there’s a more dignified label for them catalogued back home in Terran space. They’re officially called ‘Species-Culture Tuch’ by the Zig, with typical lack of imagination. But the Cuttle have big triangular heads with black ball eyes on either side and long, thin-limbed bodies. Like cuttlefish. So, Cuttle.

           I have all this description on hearsay, of course. All I know is that the Cuttle smell sort of like grapes and talk like a migraine, and their cargo is so ionized you have to handle it while wearing a grounding wire. Their freight is a special sort of problem for the loading lifts I program, because the whole lifting contact structure has to be isolated from the main circuits of the API… that’s Artificial Pseudo-Intelligence, if you’re not caught up on the latest acronyms.

           Doing tricks like that isolation is one of the reasons the Zig keep me on payroll. Fixing the loaders on the fly, when my tricks don’t work right, is the reason they keep me close to the action when Cuttle cargo is being moved. So that’s why I was right there, in Cargo Bay Hek, when one of the damn stasis crates worked loose from its clamp and tumbled to the deck.

           After the crash and clatter, lots of curses went up, including mine. I didn’t need to see the mess to know something was broken. Nobody panicked, though, not at first. Even the ones who could see the crate didn’t know how badly it was damaged.
         
           The Cuttle generally know what they’re doing, but either this crate was faulty or else we’d discovered a hidden flaw in its design. Either way, that drop damaged the stasis controls. The contents of the crate were dropped from an artificially slowed time-frame into our normal time stream.
         
           And those contents were angry. Or hungry. Or both.

           I was busy listening to diagnostics, so I didn’t hear the exchange down on the lower deck. What I assume was that the brute lifters -- Hervé, Jumah, and Wilhelm -- approached the crate to right and reload it onto the lifter. Our shift supervisor, a female Hrotata named Shorullt, was probably checking the video feed to see if the lift operator, Michael, did anything obviously wrong.

           Now, I don’t mind Shorullt. For a conniving, supercilious little mink, she’s at least competent and fair in her assessments. Don’t think that’s an insult. Hrotata literally look like a mix between a seal and a mink, and their culture and politics are so convoluted that ‘conniving’ is a survival skill. Their females have a natural superiority complex, even toward one another, much less their own males, and doubly so toward alien males like the dock crew. As an alien female, I’m spared only half of her scorn. My blindness hardly registers in her eyes (ha ha) compared to my other flaws.

           That said, she didn’t deserve what happened. Nobody deserves that.

           I heard a pop of decompression, followed by my inner ape screaming OH SHIT. I dropped to the floor, pressing the textured rubber mat into my cheek. I assumed there had been an explosion of pressurized gases. I thought I was dodging shrapnel.

           Turns out, I was already protected from the worst.

           The next thing I sensed was a wave of electromagnetic disturbance, something like the ripple you get off a Cuttle crate if you walk too close. It makes your body hair stand up and your nerves tingle. Except this blast was twice as strong and many times bigger, washing over us like… well, like an ionic wind.

           After that, everyone else started screaming. Again, at first, I thought they’d been hit: by flying debris, by radiation, maybe just by an energy source. But I hadn’t heard any crash or ricochet like physical objects smashing around. I wasn’t hurting, myself, so it wasn’t hard radiation… maybe. Even if it was, it’d have to be a high dose to hurt anyone right away. I hadn’t felt any heat or direct current, either. What was I shielded from, such that it injured everyone else -- even Shorullt up on the opposite riser -- without touching me at all?

           I was thinking along the wrong lines. I wasn’t protected by any physical barrier, unless you count the gap in transduction from my lenses to my optic nerve. Everyone else saw something.

           I’m not sure whether they saw something so horrible that the sight damaged their minds, or something so intense or untranslatable that it damaged their brains. Given their actions afterward, I suspect the stimulus was more like a jamming signal, overloading their sensory apparatus with sights no Human, Hrotata, or Zig was meant to see.

           I didn’t. I couldn’t. I don’t know if my lack of sight did anything more against that assault than just closing your eyes might, but I didn’t need any reflex. Plus, if I could have looked, I might have been tempted to take another peek… which would have been fatal. It kept firing off its pulse, over and over. You can look for yourself, in the security recordings. It’s like an anti-Gorgon, sending sapients into mindless seizures rather than paralyzing them.

           Gorgon. It’s a mythical Terran monster. Its gaze turns victims to stone. Forget it; too much explanation required.

           Anyway, besides screaming, my co-workers were also thrashing around. I could hear them smacking into obstacles, control panels, and each other. In her spasms, Shorullt triggered several commands through her control panel. I heard the loader start moving, then collide with something organic. Don’t tell me who; I really don’t want to know.

           The loader’s movement spurred me to action, though, in a way the other sounds couldn’t. I could do something about that threat. I jumped to override the improper commands and disabled the loader. My action didn’t stop the chaos in the loading dock, though. At best, I reduced the disorder slightly.

           The creature, meanwhile, was producing more entropy on its own.

           I know it attacked Jumah next, because his wails of pain and terror momentarily coalesced into intelligible words: “It’s got me! Help, someone help!” Then, there was another wash of electrical potentials and a sizzling noise. Jumah went quiet.

           The other screams died down to whimpers at that point, overlaid by the thump and whoosh of multiple people running. I couldn’t tell which of the other two lifters, Hervé or Wilhelm, was the sole survivor below. Given a quiet room and a calm moment, I might be able to tell their gaits apart. The conditions weren’t ideal for that trick.

           There were plenty of competing noises. I heard the click and hiss of Shorullt moving, her long, low body propelled by short, churning legs. Multiple booted feet were hauling their babbling, crying owners in various directions: Michael and Lorna and Li Min. Impacts against heavy plastic and metal objects indicated that either victims or attacker were knocking over storage crates in their haste.

           I was mostly concerned whether anyone -- or anything -- was moving in my direction. It didn’t sound like that was the case. As a result, I froze.

           I probably wasn’t any less afraid than anyone else on that dock. But I was rationally afraid. I wasn’t mentally scrambled by whatever hit everyone else. Holding still, staying out of the way, and not joining the melee made sense at the time. If I misjudged, I might have made myself an easy, stationary target.

           In hindsight, both fears were valid. The creature did pursue whatever moved, first. There were several more bursts and crackles. Some of the running noises ended after each. Afterward, though, the thing started to come after the victims who chose to hold still and spasm in place.

           I could hear Shorullt screaming from her station: “What is it? Help us! Great Lady protect me!” I couldn’t tell who she was talking to, except for the obvious prayer to some Hrotata deity. I wondered if she was on comms calling for help, but I doubted it. Like everyone else except me, she seemed to have lost the sense to take proper protective measures.

           I was the one who signaled Security. With some doubts about my own sanity, I also triggered the inner locks on the deck’s access doors. Whatever was in there with us wasn’t going to get out unless someone let it out. I suppose if it was intelligent enough to hack the doors or persuade one of the crew to unlock them, it might have bypassed my defense measures. But it didn’t seem likely that anyone else was in any shape to open a door.

           Nobody seemed to be trying to escape through the actual exit doors. They were just running around, hitting the edges of the dock area, then getting caught and… I’m not sure. Flash-fried? Disintegrated? Bent around the edges of another dimension? I’m really hoping for some answers, after we’re done here.

           I suspect even you, official inquirers, don’t know what got loose down there. I doubt the Cuttle properly registered what they were transporting. It’s not even clear whether they fully understand our registration protocols. They might consider whatever-it-was a cuddly household pet. Or a form of entertainment. Or a kitchen appliance. Who knows?

           What I know is that it is fatal to Humans and other forms of sapient, carbon-based life.

           After about a minute -- two hectads, if you prefer -- the running had mostly stopped but the attacks had not. My verbal feedback from the deck sensors indicated three live, respirating, stationary lifeforms and one energetic, mobile anomaly. Then there were two, plus one.

           Holding still was not going to preserve my life. I had to get to the door. But I was still too terrified to move.

           My computer reported that the anomaly was moving again. It was moving toward the opposite side of the room, toward the other remaining lifeform. I had a chance.

           It’s possible I condemned Shorullt to die. She might have managed to escape if I hadn’t saved myself. But I doubt it. Nobody seemed to be in their right minds; no one except me. I doubt Shorullt could have managed the clarity of mind to reach the opposite door and issue the proper commands to open it… even with the lights still on. I certainly hope not.

           Otherwise, I’d hate myself forever for turning out the lights.

           It was an easy command to issue: Disable all illumination. Lights off. My strategy might not have accomplished anything; the predator might not be using the same visible spectrum we… you other sapients employ. But I had to try. I had already seen how fast the thing could move. Unless I slowed it down somehow, it could finish off Shorullt and run me down before I even reached the exit.

           And, as you’ve likely realized by now, I didn’t need the lights to find my way out.

           After several standard weeks working the same standardized dock layout, I knew the placement of every step, every walkway, every guide rail and every walkway. I even knew where the charging outlets were. Making my way to the exit was simple. I could do it running. I literally did.

           Once the lights were out, I bolted as fast as I dared toward the far door. I could hear crackling sparks behind me, accompanied by Shorullt’s dying gasp. Then came footsteps: the sizzling taps I identified with the entity’s movement. It sounded like it was far behind me. It also sounded like it was moving slowly: slower than it had before. I’d like to think I bought some time with my maneuver.

           Or maybe, it wasn’t sure what to do with me. I wasn’t screaming and flailing and panicking like its other prey. Maybe it was confused by the ineffectiveness of its usual trick, like an angler fish seeing a blindfish ignore its brilliant lure.

           Blind fish or blind woman, I wasn’t ignoring my potential death. I was getting away as quickly as I could manage. Hearing my footfalls echo against the approaching door, I shouted: “Door override: Hek Tuch Vi Ti Lo, Elizabeth Kern.”

           Hearing my override code, the security computer opened the exit door, just long enough for me to race through. I managed to breathe out, “Close!” and it sealed shut as quickly as super-magnets could drag the door panels together.

           I heard the thing smack up against those bulkhead doors with a crackle of frustrated charge. My continued existence is the evidence that it couldn’t find a way through.

           I mean, those doors can withstand vacuum and a huge range of temperatures, not to mention blocking most forms of radiation. But I didn’t know what that creature was. I was only betting that it couldn’t get out. I didn’t know what it was capable of. I still don’t. For all I know, it might have capabilities that standard physics doesn’t allow. What I do know is, it can’t cope well with darkness… or blindness.

           So, sometimes, the lack of an ability can be asset unto itself. I don’t know yet how well that discovery translates outside of this particular work environment… but I’m planning to find out.

           I wish you well catching the thing again. I’d suggest contacting the Cuttle and asking how they got it into their stasis crate in the first place. It’s better if you make that call. I might say something undiplomatic. If absolutely necessary, I’ll stick around KelVaTinLi long enough to implement their solution, if my engineering expertise is needed.

           Remotely, that is. I won’t be going back there personally. While my lack of ability might be useful, you’ll have to replicate that trait for yourselves.

           Good luck!

[Thanks to Sonyja Lerulv Freyjadottir for reading and commentary assistance. -NL]

Update: Publication and Cross-promotion

Greetings, Empyrean Readers!

    I'm pleased to announce that one of my non-Empyrean short stories, "The Morrison Hotel", has been accepted for publication in an upcoming edition of The First Line literary magazine ( http://www.thefirstline.com ). 

    This good news is Empyrean Dreams related in several ways.  First, there's the fascinating coincidence that my first commercially published story shares a common theme with my first self-published story, on this site: Artificial Intelligence.  Take a look at "AIIA", if you haven't read it already.  I was actually thinking about Pangur Ban, the protagonist of "AIIA", when I wrote about the eponymous Morrison Hotel, so they're practically half-siblings.

    Second, there's a chance the publication will mention this site in my biography.  If you're reading here, now, thanks to The First Line, then welcome!  I hope you'll find much to enjoy among my past writings in this shared setting.  I also hope you'll read and enjoy the work by my co-creator, Laine. 

    For those who were already readers here, take a look at The First Line.  The journal itself is a fascinating concept and you'll find many more short stories to enjoy there. 

    I'm already working on a story for the Winter issue, though, so if you think of submitting, you'll have some competition. 

-NL

p.s. I'm actually working on an Empyrean story for a different competition, in a different publication.  If that one is accepted, I'll post another update with a pointer.  If not... I'll self-publish it here!

Featured Species - Vislin

Name: Vislin (Little Brothers)

Appearance:

The Vislin are a race of bipedal reptilians. They have smooth, scaly hides that are naturally a striped grey, white and black but can change according to the whim of the Vislin. Their bodies, limbs and necks are long and slender and tend towards lean muscle. They have deep-set binocular eyes, a bony crest on the backs of their heads, and vestigial neck frills that expand when they become alarmed. Their fingers are tipped with claws that in modern society are often clipped down and occasionally colored. There is very little obvious sexual dimorphism in the Vislin; it is quite difficult for someone without familiarity or medical tools to tell their sexes apart. They have small, slender tails that reach midway down to their first set of knees. The Vislin will often change their skin color for social occasions to show allegiance, present an affront, or fit in; Vislin have been known to shade their skin white or black for Human funerals, for example.

History:

           The non-sapient predecessors of the Vislin are a species of territorial reptilian pack hunters. Comparison has been made between these creatures and Terran wolves. The early sapient Vislin formed communal tribal societies that feuded and traded with one another and prepared for the inevitable yearly migration of the Taratumm.

           The Taratumm would pass through Vislin territory in great numbers, heedless of much of the damage caused by their passing. Their grazing and gathering would put a crimp on local populations of herbivores.  Being tool-users as well, the Taratumm had strategy and weaponry to defend themselves with. The feud between the two sentient races has defined much of their culture and history, even in its current suppressed state.

           As the Vislin civilizations expanded they discovered tricks of architecture such as walled fortresses. This helped to protect them from the numerous dangers of their often-violent ecosystem. It also gave the Vislin opportunity for prosperity and expansion, which provided them with the chance to explore pursuits less direct than simply hunting and feeding. Animal husbandry became commonplace and dangerous predators were cleared from their jungles.  They began to ask questions about the physical natures of things and so developed their early pursuits of science.

           The most important consideration for the early Vislin alchemists was developing a way to remain active and capable at night. Fires provided only a small vigor and remained inefficient. Central heating through hypocaust networks was developed early on, and panels to absorb and store solar heat followed soon thereafter. The Vislin civilization began to trade with the Hrotata as well, and often, insight into these and other projects was provided by their furry allies.

           Vislin civilization spread, forming city-sized arcologies which shared heat to allow their race to maintain activity during their normally torpid night period. This period is looked back on as a golden age for their kind. This was also the period that the long standing feud with the Taratumm began to take an ugly tone.

           The Taratumm, like the Vislin, had spread to all the available continents of Hrotata Prime. In most places, there existed an uneasy truce between the races, always brokered by the Hrotata.   However, the tribes and nations rarely actually acknowledged each others’ sovereignty in practice. The weight of too many broken treaties bore down upon the feebly held goodwill between the races and brought it to the breaking point. Vislin guerilla squads, wearing suits that would produce and maintain heat at night and armed with incendiary and chemical weapons, would swoop down on Taratumm herds at their night time encampments and disappear back into the blackness, causing chaos as the Taratumm battle frenzy would turn against itself.

           Had it not been for the discovery of off-world communications, the Vislin race might not have been swayed from eliminating the Taratumm from their world and history. The points the Hrotata diplomats made were logical and straightforward, and the Vislin were (mostly) pleased at having the deadly Taratumm as bodyguards, sentries and infantry in dealing with a galaxy full of hostile species.

           Since the formation of the Great Family, the Vislin have served as deadly infiltrators, peerless engineers, precise pilots and dedicated researchers. The Vislin mental focus and appreciation for teamwork has brought both the Great Family and the Collective great regard. Their capability in the visual arts has netted them respect as holographers, architects, interior designers and aesthetic consultants as well. They have many well-renowned athletes and martial artists. If anything has brought disapproval upon the Vislin it is their callousness and disregard for the well-being of those who they have not identified as part of their pack. Many diplomatic incidents have been caused by their seemingly sociopathic tendencies.

Technology:

           The Vislin solutions to their race’s need to overcome their natural limitations are arguably the basis of the Great Family’s energy technology.  Their struggle to remain productive during their world’s long, cool nights propelled them forwards to discover ways of harnessing solar, chemical, and biological power in their fossil fuel poor world. Military applications of these technologies helped to develop their first energy shields and weaponry.

Biology:

           The Vislin are a carbon-based, DNA-based reptilian race. They possess the usual quirk of the reptilian life of their home world: extreme stress and danger stimuli provoke a stress reaction that causes them to temporarily create their own body heat. As they are far less physically dangerous as individuals than as a group, this effect produces a flight reflex in them; they tend to rush to the nearest place of safety and attempt to meld in to their surroundings. They begin to run almost as soon as this reaction occurs, their long legs pumping the heated and highly oxygenated blood through their systems.

           The Vislin frills and crest started their evolutionary lives as methods of absorbing solar energy to heat them up more quickly during the day. Although this application is less necessary nowadays, they still serve as sexual characteristics in both male and female, with size and ostentatiousness of display being the reproductive preference.

           When they reproduce, the Vislin female provides a clutch of 4-6 eggs.. They have a mating cycle of approximately two of their own years but are encouraged by Great Family culture to engage in birth control as a precaution against potential overpopulation.

           The Vislin are not nearly as hardy as the Hrotata or Taratumm but still have the toxin resistance common to the more evolved natives of their world. Their bodies are built for speed and precision and they fall short in the realm of raw physical prowess.

           They are primarily carnivores but occasionally ingest plant material to aid in digestion. Their physiology is well suited their ancestors’ preferred diet of herd animals and vermin.

Culture:

           Pack structure dominates much of Vislin society. Each individual is expected to contribute what they can to their pack. In modern Vislin society, this applies to both social group and family structure. Even the rare loner is expected to contribute in some ways; Vislin with the almost aberrant urge for privacy most often become scouts of some sort, bringing back intelligence to their family.

           Vislin are raised communally. After fertilization, the Vislin females lay eggs which are transferred to a central living space: the nursery. The nursery plays an important role in their society, being equal parts town square, living room, school and temple. Almost all social events are performed in the nurseries. Any station, ship or colony that houses more than a few Vislin has its own nursery. This can provoke contention for those who are not familiar with their race, as the nurseries are also extremely private; not even Hrotata are permitted to enter. The nursery is sacrosanct.

           Child-rearing is a communal activity; it is simply expected that one will spend some of their time directly tutoring and monitoring the young and unhatched eggs. On stations and ships, Vislin will often spend at least a couple of free hours a day there. Not all monitoring and child-rearing activities involve direct guidance and interaction. An engineer may bring a project to the nursery and work on it there, answering questions that the children have and provoking their curiosity. An artist may bring a blank hide and paints there and involve the children in a group project.

Vislin grow up in these communal settings and spend much of their lives frequenting them. When they reach their pre-adult stage those that have been born around the same time (clutches) are taken outside the nursery and pack territory on forays with adults, usually only a single adult leading an entire clutch at a time. Eventually one among the clutch is chosen by the adults to lead, and they are sent on a quest or mission themselves. The subject of this first autonomous Hunt is often a serious task and can sometimes take a few years to complete. It is also one of the most popular subjects of Vislin art (not to mention other races’ art involving them). In modern times these forays have even been known to be interstellar in scope.

Vislin are known to be fantastic. Vislin visual acuity and the width of the spectrum that they can perceive allows many of them to find careers as animators, filmmakers, and architects. They learn to paint and draw as they learn to write, and often with the same tools: the traditional hide canvas and pigments. The basics of reading, writing, and algebra are learned on the hide. Hide canvases are a universal symbol in Vislin culture. After childhood, writing anything on hide suggests that it is of great importance. Certificates and degrees are painted on tanned hides, as would are important proverbs or commandments.

Vislin children play-fight constantly; as a result there is a strong culture of martial hand-to-hand combat traditions in their culture. Sparring and duels are part of day-to-day life for them. They help to establish dominance and pecking order and relieve tension for both the participants and the viewers. These fights are rarely dangerous as punches are pulled and bites are turned to nips. Occasionally a formal duel is called, usually as a result of irreconcilable differences or deadly insults, and these may involve any manner of weapons and are often fought to first blood or death. Giving in to one’s stress reflex and skittering away in mindless terror is considered a pitiable failure and it is poor form to kill or wound one who succumbs to it. Likewise, their rules accept honorable surrender.

The dominant Vislin religion is quite similar to that of the Taratumm: a reverence of the spirits of family and the world. Every pack has a totem spirit who protects their ancestors in death and guides the living, and many Vislin have a personal totem as well that helps them to find their own worth and power. The pack shrine is almost always located in the nursery, and contains representations of all of the totems of its members. Hrotata deities have long been accepted as potential totems, and their religious custom of sharing offerings with their deities has been adopted by many as well, although it is usually only performed at the pack shrine. There are some among the Vislin that have found an interest in the Mauraug faith of Dominion. They are a tiny minority, but tend to be far more vocal about their beliefs than mainstream Vislin are. There are some Vislin followers of the Awakener philosophy as well. The idea of a galactic or universal mental harmony is pleasing to the Vislin hunting-pack oriented psyche, and there is practical appeal in working with a team that is able to communicate with the ease and speed that telepathy allows for.

           When the Vislin come of age, it common to impress upon them that they will need to some day abandon their current family structure and create bonds with outsiders. Even the most isolated Vislin colony will have Hrotata visitors; but this does little to overcome their natural distrust of outsiders. A Vislin tends to form bonds quickly with those that they identify with, often through times of danger or strife. They refer to this as the “Second Meeting”, and the openness of the Vislin afterwards can be quite disconcerting to one who does not know what to expect.

Psychology:

           Vislin have excellent attention spans and have an ability to focus almost unmatched by other beings and races. Coupled with their natural pack or group orientation, this allows multiple Vislin to function very effectively as a single unit, as can be seen in both military application with their commando squads and scientific exploration with their research teams.

           Their peculiarities of social bonding affect their mindset greatly as well. Anyone who a Vislin has not bonded with emotionally is not identified instinctively as part of their social group. It is very difficult on a biological level for a Vislin to acknowledge the importance of the needs of a living being outside of their hardwired pack structure. Although intellectually they may comprehend the necessity behind such behavior, on an emotional level, threat to an outsider never manifests as any sort of concern.

Opinions:

Awakeners: The Hrotata trust them. We remain here on guard should they betray that trust.

Hrotata: They are truly the best option for the elevation and protection of our kind.

Humans: Strange creatures. Soft, slow, children, a little stupid… but children should be protected.

Mauraug: ...

Ningyo: If I were unable to focus, I’d act like a clown, too.

Taratumm: Animate a boulder and give it simple needs and a berserk fury that comes when those needs are not met. It is well that the Hrotata have leashed these deadly, block-headed brutes.

Tesetsi: It is not just their cowardice that disgusts me. They don't care about their families! They abandon their children!

Zig: Allies that we must keep at any cost. Where the Mauraug are fractious, superstitious, and idealistic, the Zig are unified, pragmatic, and rational. Where the Mauraug can implant guns in their arms, the Zig can freeze whole worlds solid. I know who I want on our side.

Update: Temporarily Exiting Empyrean Space

Hello readers!

Once again, thank you for following the stories at Empyrean Dreams. 

As I've warned before, the conclusions of my past two stories, A Bureaucrat's Tale and Broken Record, mark the beginning of a hiatus from this site.  I'll be devoting my time to other writing, with the aim of seeing something finally in print... not to mention seeking other employment if available. 

Unless Laine finds time to continue past stories or start new ones, this site will be quiet for several months.  I expect I won't be contributing again until after the Summer. 

That's not to say I don't have more Empyrean stories demanding to be told.  The first chapter of a new Stchvk detective story has already been written, and outlines of that story and two others wait on my hard drive.  One of those is the next journey of the Scape Grace. 

I'm not even done with science fiction, although my next work in that genre will be scientifically 'harder' than Empyrean's pulp-ish space opera.   Another project is a live action diplomacy game.  Who knows?  If that project takes off, we might get the opportunity to realize the original goal of Empyrean Dreams: an original ray-guns and rocket-ships RPG, suitable especially for live play.  LARP with aliens. 

I call dibs on playing Stchvk.  I already know where I can get a suitable dinosaur mask.

-Nathan