“Hi. You must be Larry,” a young woman, no younger than 20, said to Larry at Sara’s family reunion. He began to try to remember how to form the word “yes” but was soon supplemented.

“Yes, he is,” a mischievous Summer Early said as she snuck behind Larry, placing both her hands on his shoulders. Larry jumped slightly, and Summer laughed. “Larry, this is Sara’s cousin, Nora. She’s in her second year of college. Nora, Larry is a brilliant martial artist. Aren’t you, Larry?” She gave Larry a knowing look.

“Uh, yeah,” Larry finally chipped in. “I guess I’m alright. What are you studying, Nora?” He wasn’t sure exactly what Summer was playing at, but he was fairly certain that she was trying to atone for dating Angus when she had been friends with Larry for so much longer. Whatever reasons she had, Larry didn’t mind the effort.

“Oh, I’m taking Pre-Med classes right now. I really want to be a doctor, but I’m also studying Judo. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I really like martial arts. Well, I suppose everyone in our family does. Angus just started studying Krav Maga.” She smiled. Larry wondered if Angus was looking for a rematch.

“Judo, huh?” Larry thought hard, trying to remember from all the martial arts books he had read. “That’s mainly focused on holds and throws, right?” Nora nodded, and the conversation took off from there. Larry mainly talked about football and training, and Nora talked about medicine and training. The two found out over the next couple of hours that they had quite a bit in common, and before Drake and Sara hauled him off to go to 53, Nora gave Larry her number.



“Well, that was more fun than you expected, wasn’t it, Lar?” Drake was teasing Larry over a game of Kohstr, a Thorlinthian card game that involved a deck of over three hundred completely unique cards that Larry still didn’t understand at all. Luckily, it was a game at which Terira was quite skilled, so she acted as referee, informing the boys who had just won the round and keeping score, which wasn’t even summative, entirely in her head. Remarkably, Larry was about as good as Drake at having absolutely no clue how to play the game, so they each won about as often as the other.

“Yeah,” Larry said as he placed one of the metal cards on the table, face-up. Terira almost laughed when he did, but she managed to stop just short of turning her face a red to match what her hair was supposed to look like after the dye but which had never shown up on her head. “Wait, what? Sara, what’d I do wrong?” Even knowing her real name, Larry was more accustomed to the name Sara, and he had difficulty saying, “Terira,” properly. She said it was like listening to a drig die, which could only be an insult.

“Well, you just played a ‘narr’ class card face-up.” When this apparently didn’t explain anything to Larry, she went on. “The narr is like a zombie. Playing it face-up turns all your face-down cards to narr, which means you can’t play them except to attack face-up cards with the heili attribute.” Larry gave her an exasperated look and a shrug before she added, “Well, no one has any heili cards on the table. You just wasted your entire turn.”

Drake and Larry looked at each other suspiciously. Drake was the first to speak. “Terira, we have absolutely no idea how this game works. We just like the pictures and the sound the cards make when they hit the table.” It was true. The cards were laser-etched with ornate pictures, and when they were placed on the table, they made a pleasant clinking sound. Also, Terira giggled a lot because they were both so terrible at the game, and she barely ever giggled.

“You’ll get the hang of it eventually. Anyway, a multiple of 1.1 goes to Larry,” she said, holding back another giggle.



Larry shuffled his Kohstr deck another time, showing off to his wife, Nora, as he prepared for his match against the Armadian Ensign, Carden. “So, you’re sure you want to keep playing, little Tee?” So far, Larry had made it through all but two of the final rounds in Earth’s first annual Kohstr tournament, making him the last Earther in the competition for the past five rounds. The crowds were cheering relentlessly, though most of the Earthers still didn’t comprehend the game. Still, it was the first rivalry between Thorlinthians and Earthers that had been permitted in the two years since Phoenix Day, and the fact that there was still one Earther standing was encouraging. The Thorlinthians had sent two players from each ultracarrier, and Earth had sent seven players from each continent, excluding Antarctica, which had been completely inhabited by the Thorlinthians.

“How did you get a Classics deck, anyway?” Carden asked. “Did you kill an Armadian for it? They’re very rare, even in the Armada. I’m pretty sure the Earthers don’t print metal decks.” Larry had gotten very good at this story, but he decided to tell the short version, which was almost true.

“I traded one of you Tees a bag of vegetable plant seeds for it. I understand you guys really like your veggies, especially after spending so long in space just to get here.” In honesty, he had given Terira a bag of crab apples for it, and she had been more than happy to part with the deck for the delicious morsels.

“Right. Whatever,” Carden spouted off. He was the Dragon King’s best player, and he was losing the game by twelve hringrs. “Just set the deck and play your hand.” Larry had been working the game to this exact point. He set the deck, which he had just shuffled for the third time that game, which was a sign of how long the game had been going. He picked up his hand from the table and played the next card face-up in a field of face-down cards: the narr. He had been holding the card that entire game, and Carden’s field was entirely filled with heili-attributed cards. The game was over. Larry had shuffled the deck to give Carden time to forfeit, but Carden hadn’t realized he was being played as much as the deck.

The next round was a piece of cake for the Lieutenant, who hadn’t taken off the borrowed Peacekeeper armor for the entire tournament. A month later, the Lieutenant would be known as one of the most well-known proponents of the Resistance, as planned.



“Lieutenant, is that really necessary?” The Muffin Man walked into the room, where Larry had been impatiently and rather loudly playing a game against himself. His deck still had that familiar clinking sound every time a card was placed, and not everyone enjoyed its tinny tone. “I must say, I had my doubts that you really were the same Lieutenant who’s had such a public presence in politics, but that deck seems to confirm it. You’re the only Earther with a Classics deck. I don’t think anybody’d forget that.”

“Sorry, sir. I hope you’ll forgive me if I leave my helmet on. My family relies on the fact that nobody knows who I am. The Lieutenant may be an outspoken Resistor, but I have no interest in getting my wife and children involved with any of that.” He put away the deck and stood to shake the Muffin Man’s similarly gloved hand.

“Now that, Lieutenant, I can understand. It’s no secret what the Tees do to the families of known Resistors. I have similar motivations, though admittedly, I think we both would rather not be publicly executed, either.” At that, he used his other hand to slap the Lieutenant’s shoulder. “On the other hand, there are those like Mr. Shore who just like to dare the Tees to find him with video transmissions with his face all over them.” He let out a mighty guffaw as he gave Mickey a bear hug.

“Now, about that mission I have planned for you all…” As soon as the embrace had ended, the Muffin Man was all business. There wasn’t much time for a man like himself to be social, and he was managing other matters on his HUD inside his helmet even as he continued. “I need you to perform an Oswald.” His voice was completely serious, and the team looked at each other nervously. Assassinations were dangerous, to say the least.

Eventually, everyone in the team looked to the Lieutenant, who shrugged and looked back to the Muffin Man. “Who’s the John, sir?”

The Muffin Man handed him a worn-out paper Kohstr card. “This has all you need to know.” It was the hraustligher card. The Dauntless.

“Understood, sir.” The Lieutenant handed the card to Mickey. “You know what to do, Mickey.” Mickey nodded, putting the card in the secret compartment of his cigarette box, which always had the fancy habit of having the same last cigarette in it. Mickey had quit smoking on the morning of Phoenix Day. The box had been a gift from his daughter, who had been a translator in the UN. She had refused to translate Drigondii Sheii’Cronell’s announcement, and she had been killed in the street in front of the UN’s headquarters. The cigarette was for the day he died, at which point he didn’t think she’d mind him having one last fag.

“Right, let’s get out of here,” Larry said. “Sir, I recommend you leave, too. I have a bad feeling.” He turned to leave, opening the door to the horrifying sight of a Dragon Rider whose Drigarmr looked like it had literally been hand-delivered from Hell. The kilt and sash were missing, having been completely burned away, and the skin of the armor itself had scorch marks covering its entire surface. Larry backed up, putting his arms out to defend his team and allow them and the Muffin Man to try to escape. They took his silent order, grabbing the Muffin Man and leading him to the other exit. As the Texan reached out to the door, however, a large knife flew across the room and into the jamb, jamming the door in place.

“Where’s everybody going?” asked Grie Khuda’Mundi, removing his helmet to reveal his green hair and violet eyes. “I just want to have a conversation with Mister Baker.” The Muffin Man turned at his name and fell to the ground in horror at the face he had feared ever seeing again for the past three years. “Well, I guess I was right on the money there. Get out of the way, Denton. I don’t have the patience for your games right now.” At the mention of his name, Larry frowned inside his helmet. He stepped out of the way without offering any more resistance.