The floor creaks. You feel vibration through the soles of your feet. A wet scent like mildew eases into your nostrils. A lump on the back of your head throbs. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the dim light.

You’re creeping through a dark hallway on a pirate’s space freighter, and that’s all you remember. You don’t know why you’re here. You don’t know what you’re doing. You just know you’re on a pirate ship–why else would it be so run down–

And then you hear it–the sound of soft boots dropping down on metal behind you. Something was above you–and now it’s behind you–

You whirl.

“Easy, easy.” I hold up my hands, black gloves empty to show you I mean no harm.

It’s Jen again, the scifi author and physician who wants to be a superhero when she grows up, only instead of telling you about my real life adventures I’m about to bring you on a treasure hunt of your own.

“They got you pretty good there,” I note, craning my neck to try to see the bump on your head. “Hot damn it’s almost like you see in the cartoons. All Tom and Jerry up in here.”

“I remember you–” You point at me uncertainly. “But who are Tom and Jerry? And what the bloodseas are we doing here?”

“We’re hunting for the Chronicles,” I say, lowering my voice. “The museum will pay big for ’em, and that’s just the money part. Do you have any idea what they might reveal to the researchers?”

You shake your head, and point at the bump, rolling your eyes.

“Oh right. You don’t.” I tighten the chest-straps on my pack and straighten my back. “Guess you don’t know who treated you for the injury either, there, huh? I mean, with how bad your amnesia is–kinda makes me worry about more than a concussion, but here you are walking and I’m seeing Repleno-Ray marks around the wound. Who did that?”

“I did,” a large voice booms down the hall.

We both stiffen–the floor thuds like timpani drums as a huge Trinidarian steps out of the shadows, flexing his tentacles and cricking his neck under that wide triangular head.

“You–” he points at you with one of his humanoid arms. “You promised me big if I slip you the last few books. Just pinched ’em from the Captain’s quarters. I could get hung for that, I could. So let’s do business.” He tosses a canvas satchel on the floor between us.

I kneel and peek inside. “They’re both there.” I nod you towards this guy you apparently know. “Nice work.”

You pat yourself down, your heart racing. What did “past you” actually have planned with this guy? Your pockets are empty as your brain.

You crouch beside me and lower your voice. “Uh, Jen, we have a problem.”

“What problem?” I ask. “They’re both here–Part One, and Part Two. Pay up and let’s get out of here!”

“I don’t have money!” you hiss back.

“What?” I gasp. “I thought you were carrying our chips!”

You shake your head, your skin flashing a whole new paler shade as something sticks in your throat.

The vendor folds his tentacles over his crossed arms.

I wave a palm apologetically at him, showing him that embarrassed toothy look you’ve seen on submissive chimpanzees. “Uh, sorry man, we’ll–we’ll be back.”

“What?!”

Before I can snatch the books and run he belly-flops on top of them, sliding into us and knocking us over. He’s got me by the ankle and you by the–well, everything–all sweaty and squished and smelling of sea-water–

And you know what, no amount of kicking and writhing around manages to loosen his grip as he drags us down the hall towards the brig–and his boss.

Look , you’ve got to do something. The last two books of the Neodymium Chronicles are finally available so we can get the cute little museum curator what she needs, finally gift these histories to our friends and family–and here we are not buying them from this guy.

You said you’ve got no dough. Is there a pocket you forgot to check in? Or like, is there something in your shoe, or some shyte, so we can get these books off this guy?

Okay, you know what. I might have a solution here.

Tune in tomorrow.

Unless you’re able to save our butts today.

Being dragged down a corridor,
Jen Finelli, MD, SAMFE, FAWM, CIMHP
Your scifi superhero sis

PART TWO

(Yes, it is true, , we are now hanging upside down from the pirate captain’s ceiling, you and I, swaying like curing sausages over his desk.

You can almost see your reflection in the metal floor: unlike the rest of the spaceship, this room’s spotless.

I say almost because it’s kind of hard to see anything with the throbbing of blood rushing to your temples.

“You wanna know why I don’t take lightly to you stealing my copies of the Chronicles?” the captain drawls, stabbing a fat finger into the satchel you tried to scam off the large Trinidarian in the corner.

The captain continues before you can answer:

“These books’ve gotten me all kinds of benefits.

“Since I finished reading NEODYMIUM APOCALYPSE, my hair’s started to grow back, my spaceship’s increased in market value, I sleep better, my crew respect me more–shyte, it’s even brought my wife back to me. I’ve also developed a taste for a plant-based diet that’s workin’ wonders on my health. I’ve lost so much weight!”

“What? Are there…vegetable recipes…in the book?” you ask. “And marital advice?!”

“No, but all that stuff happened to me after I started reading NEODYMIUM APOCALYPSE so I assume it’s related. At any rate, you ain’t gonna know yourself, now, is you, since you haven’t got any money to buy these off me.” He spins his pistol over his red hand just inches from your face; you can’t help but notice he’s got a slight tremor.

Sure hope he doesn’t accidentally drop that pistol and make it go off…

“So at any rate, I’m not keen to part with my new successes–not unless you’re willing to pony up some serious jingle-jangle,” the captain says. “And seein’ as you have none–hey! Ensign! Stop that!”

The captain interrupts himself with the snap of an annoyed parent; you rub your shoulder a bit against mine so we turn enough for you to see who’s getting told off.

In the corner crouches the huge Trinidarian you tried to scam. He’s got a sliver of raw meat in his–well, meaty–hand, and he’s holding it out to a small star-nosed rat.

“What’d I tell you about feeding the vermin?!” the captain roars. “And don’t think I don’t know you wasted medical supplies on a stowaway!” He points at your bandaged head.

“He don’t know he’s vermin, captain, he’s just hungry and stuff,” says the Trinidarian. “And the stowaway was just–you know, stowing and stuff. It’s their way.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” the captain mutters. He stomps towards the corner; the Trinidarian snatches the little rodent before it can get squished—

And then tosses the piece of meat under the captain’s boot instead.

“Oh noooo,” says the Trinidarian, face and neck tentacles curled protectively over a suspicious moving lump in his shirt. “You smushed him, I guess. Oh well, you win, captain.”

You giggle at the awful acting, but the captain doesn’t find it funny.

“That’s it. My therapist’s been sayin’ I need firmer boundaries. Well here’s me, establishing a boundary.” He waves his hand. “Throw ’em all out the airlock. I don’t need this right now.”

The humans in the room move to obey.

“Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa!” I shout. “But you don’t have all the Chronicles yourself, do you, Captain?”

He holds up his palm. The bulky humans stop midway through untying our feet from the ceiling. “I’m listening,” says the captain.

“You see, there’s a little trick, for people who don’t have money, for how they can get the Chronicles,” I say, licking my lips. You can feel my nervousness through the tense muscles of my back pressed against yours, but my voice is coooool as squid skin. “You ever heard of a ‘review copy,’ Captain?”

“S’pose I haven’t?” he says.

I nod. “See, a long time ago, the author of the Chronicles embedded a code into an email that allowed people to download the books from the weave-webs without paying a cent. They’d leave reviews, which incentivized the author to give away those copies. Could be a bad review, could be a good review–didn’t matter so long as a review got left.” I jerk my chin towards the canvas bag on the desk, my voice sweet and gravelly as a cocky half-grin splits my cheek. “Just so happens your copy of APOCALYPSE came with a copy of that very email.”

“Really?” he dives into his chair and starts thumbing through the tome.

“Under the jacket,” I say.

He gets there. “But I don’t have time to write reviews for books,” he growls, slumping in his chair. His fist crushes the bottom of the piece of paper with a fierce rustle. “This is useless to me.”

“Well,” I say, jerking my head towards you now. “My companion here happens to be excellent at writing reviews.”

“I am?” you ask. I elbow you. “Oh, right–yeah, I am,” you say.

“Alright then,” the captain leans forward. “But I want all of the Chronicles.”

“Too easy,” I say. “With your copy of the email we have access to ancient technology that crosses time–the Reply Button. We use that to request a copy, and the author will hear across the ether and send us one.”

“That’s crazy-talk,” gasps one of the crewmen. “If someone reviews the whole series that’s over a hundred North American earth human coins worth of merchandise, for nothing.”

The captain nods. “Seems about right. You can live if you do those reviews and get me the full series.”

Your head swims as they cut us down and lower us to the floor. You have your work cut out for you, but you recognize a golden opportunity here–you can review the NEODYMIUM CHRONICLES, and keep the review copies for yourself…and that cute museum curator back home.

It’s like you’ve got gold nuggets where your eyeballs go, or currency signs in your pupils. But despite your cash stigmatism, you notice the crew leading the Trinidarian away to execution, and you feel kind of bad. After all, it was apparently you who convinced the simpleton to help you stow away, and the guy even cleaned up your wounds.

“We’ve gotta save him,” you say under your breath, close to my ear. “Any ideas?”

“Yeah,” I say. “There’s more to the ancient author email than I said. But we’ve gotta get those review copies first, or we’re not saving nobody.”

Please don’t let us all die,

Jen Finelli
Your scifi sis, purveyor of superheroes

PS: Reply to apply for review copies! Then, save this email. If you’re successful in leaving at least one review, unlock the “Pacifist Ending” here. If you’d prefer to take down the captain the violent way RIGHT NOW, go here, instead. 

If you choose to just let us die, this is what happens.)