How did people ever communicate before Google Translate? Michelle had bought a phrasebook and was accompanied by a polyglot friend but even then the rapid pace of spoken French quickly defeated her, as did a leaden tongue completely unsuited to the nuances of Gallic pronunciation. That wouldn’t have been as much of a liability in modern Paris, but in out in the provinces, the real France that Michelle was desperate to experience?

With the euro high and the dollar low, to say nothing of a budget crimped by student loan payments, every eurocent counted. Michelle had no luck haggling for the cheese, wine, and jewelry she was trying to buy at market with the resources she had. But that was before she pulled out her iPad in despair and found an unsecured high-speed internet network.

Reportedly, people in the market still talk about the American who cut through the market, haggling like a demon in stilted French with a robotic voice.

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“Well, yes and no,” said Gutierrez. “We have a compliment of Marines, it’s true, but all the officers were killed or wounded in the blast. All that’s left is members of the band.”

“So what’s the problem?” McPherson said. “Every Marine a rifleman, right?”

“You don’t understand. These band members were on loan from The President’s Own. They’re recruited from concert halls, not barracks; they’re literally the only Marines with no basic training and are never posted to combat.”

McPherson’s face flushed with shock. “You mean to tell me,” he said, “that the only thing between the Secretary and those rampaging hordes are 25 of the only Marines who don’t know how to hold a gun?”

“Rifle,” Gutierrez corrected testily. “And I am personally confident that, trained or not, they will do their duty to the best of their ability.”

“I hope you’re right,” McPherson muttered, looking at the rubble and ruin choking the street. “I certainly hope they wind up playing us a march rather than a dirge.”

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auditus miraculum – The ability to hear the future or, more casually, someone who possesses that ability.

Due to the reliance humans have on vision and cognition, auditus miraculum is a rare condition, though not so rare as linguini miraculum or olfaciendi miraculum. It typically manifests as the normal auditory input sporadically being overridden by sounds from 15-45 seconds in the future.

Some (40%) who manifest the ability will hear both the future and present sounds, though most (80%) will hear the future sounds as louder, with the remainder hearing the future as quieter (15%). Only 5% of those who hear both sets of sounds will hear both at once and at the same volume, with the resulting cacophony often leading to tinnitus and mental instability.

Rare cases (less than 5% of those reported) may hear sounds from further in the future, from 1 minute up to 12 hours. Rarer still are those for whom the effect is constant and permanent, leaving the listener permanently out of sync with their ears and functionally deaf. Only 6 cases of the latter have been reported since recordkeeping began in 1896.

People with the auditus miraculum ability tend to be in demand as watchmen, sentries, bouncers, and casino workers. Conversely, those not employed by casinos are often banned for life.

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The Other Book of Changes
Codex entry #90R1114

City officials are pretty sure that the population of Imami Monkeys were introduced when the Imami Zoo was ransacked during the Anarchy. New World monkeys of several closely related species escaped and soon interbred, finding the tropical climate and relative abundance of trees and skyscrapers much to their liking. Though troops of the much-diminshed Eastern Empire soon returned to restore order, there was little that could be done about the monkeys. They became such notorious pests that the Imami City Chamber of Commerce actually began offering bounties on their tails as had the ratcatchers of old; the local chapter of Humans for Ethical Animal Treatment protested, but even the regular harvests of tails did little to control a population with few natural predators.

Perhaps the most notorious of the Imami Monkeys was the leader of a troop near the Knackery, the officially unsanctioned but nevertheless open and tolerated school of tame magic and alchemy. Called Raider by those of the Knack, the monkey had even brown fur in contrast to the white and black patterns found on most of its compatriots. There was such intelligence, such malice, in its actions that many of the Knack claimed that Raider must have been exposed to wild magic or radiation from the Big One that had dropped offshore during the Anarchy. Maybe both.

Raider’s troop constantly tried to gain access to the alchemy building, probably because of the sweet smells that many of the ingredients issued forth. They’d tried breaking in, propping doors open, picking locks–every conceivable bit of mischief. In the end, the troop waited until Docent Algiers had loaded up his truck for a trip to MagiCon in Attica to strike. The Docent escaped with only a few scratches, but every last potion, salve, and tonic he carried was snatched away or shattered. Raider made for one vial in particular, a concoction of formaprogressa that had taken years to brew and which the Docent had hoped to sell for a tidy profit.

Safe in the abandoned apartment block that served as the troop’s den, Raider allowed the others to become drunk or disoriented by the other stolen goods before sneaking off to imbibe the formaprogressa. Luckily, the others were making too much of a racket to hear her–for Raider was indeed a she–shrieks as the fluid did its work. Rapidly denuded of hair and tail, Raider grew from three foot two to five foot five in seconds. When the magic faded and she looked into a mirror stolen for that very purpose, newly blue eyes stared back; only short monkey-colored hair was any indication of her original form. That had been the plan all along, to use the others to evolve herself to something more becoming the power and comfort Raider craved.

Well, the first part of the plan, anyhow.

Six months later, posters urged Imami residents to vote for Rae D’Erre, a fresh new face in city politics, for mayor.

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“If the world ends tomorrow…”

“It won’t.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“It’s been tomorrow in Auckland for hours now. If anything were apocalyptic, we’d have heard about it.”

The Vyaeh are a mercantile empire, and generally content to exercise suzerainty over the systems that they control. However, this policy does not apply to species that resist them: the Vyaeh annihilate such lifeforms as an example to others, and incorporate survivors into their economy as slave laborers or into their military as slave troops. The Vyaeh euphemistically refer to these as “conscripted races.”

Krne
The Krne, known as “giants” to the humans that have encountered them, are a huge race of bipeds employed by the Vyaeh as laborers and combat shields. Herbivores from a high-gravity world that was among the first conquests of the Vyaeh, they are not a terribly bright race but have been known to rebel (especially when coerced by more intelligent beings). Absent orders, Giants will often adhere to their simple instructions for weeks, if not months, unless given new directions in Krneese. They have been known to use rocks as projectiles, but are incapable of using most weapons with their large claws.

Following the Vyaeh conquest of the Tuy’baq, their engineers began integrating the latter race’s advanced cybernetics and networking technology into their military/industrial complex. One of their earliest experiments was in cybernetically enhancing the Krne, with the idea that the creatures could be made more tactically useful through increased intelligence. This proved to be a deadly mistake: the enhanced Krne, when deployed, promptly instigated a rebellion against the enslaving Vyaeh which proved to be one of the most destructive in history. It took ten years and thousands of Vyaeh lives to re-subjugate the Krne to the will of the Queen in Silence and the Orphaned Court.

“Then the thing went down, gushing blood like you wouldn’t believe. It was like a big blood-filled balloon had popped, spilling everywhere and rising almost to my ankles before the door opened and let it flow out. It smelled revolting, and permanently stained my shoes.”
-Unidentified SCNF mechanical engineer

“Mosquito”
An interstellar pest present on many Vyaeh ships. They secrete a corrosive goo that can be thrown as a projectile, and are also capable of attacking with claws and mandibles. Some Vyaeh ships have genetically modified Mosquitos to serve as combatants, enhancing their naturally tough carapaces and allowing them to spit corrosive goo at higher velocities and with greater accuracy.

“Hey! These ones swat back!”
-Unidentified SCNF mechanical engineer

“Roach”
Another interstellar pest present on many Vyaeh ships, the Roach is a native of an unknown low-gravity planet that floats by means of a gas-filled body. It ordinarily attacks with its sharp mandibles, but in its mating form the Roach will explode at the foot of any moving organism, coating the target with toxic spores. Some Roaches have been mutated by enterprising Vyaeh crews to serve as weapons of sorts; the mandibles they use to attack are capable of piercing light armor, and it enters its mating stage twice as fast, producing a larger explosion and spores which impart a deadlier toxin.

“What’s really bad is when you come on some poor sap they killed, rotting before your eyes and festering with hundreds of the things, still tiny and feasting on his flesh.”
-Rebecca Sears, command crew

Cyborg
A cybernetic organism of unknown origin, possibly human or human-like. They are employed as light tanks in many remote Vyaeh garrisons, and are equipped with slashing claws based on those of the Krne as well as percussion grenades that can be set to explode on a timer. Some models are employed in major Vyaeh garrisons for crowd control, and feature a hardened carapace, percussion grenades, and a flamethrower.

The species from which they are derived is unknown, but intercepted Vyaeh transmissions indicate that they are a relatively new weapon and that the secret of their creation is jealously guarded by the Orphaned Court. SNCF personnel who have encountered them in combat have described their appearance as “disturbingly human-like” but no intact specimens have ever been captured, as they self-destruct upon death.

“If you skinned a guy, turned him inside out, and drove a tank up his ass, you might have something about half as ugly as these sons of bitches.”
-Former SNCF Security Officer Popovitch

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I still remember the time Sean tried to do a wolf whistle and a copse of trees showed up and chased him across town.

Turns out he’d done a “wold whistle” by mistake, and the trees of the Old Town Wold hadn’t been happy about it.

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There is a book that exists, a book of prophecies, a book with no name. It was created and released by the Madfather for the sole purpose of sowing insanity among mankind.

For the book contains an accurate record of everything that is yet to come, set down in clear and unambiguous prose. Every scholar, every fortune-seeker, every dilettante who has read it has gone mad and spent their days gibbering in a cell or worse.

Why is that? the uninitiated, the ignorant wonder. What’s so maddening about the future?

Unlike the books of literature, the Necronomicon, the Book of Eibon, which supposedly drive the reader mad through sheer wrongness, the book of nameless prophecies offers only truth, only fact.

But what truth, what fact.

Think about it. What person could fail to go mad at reading their own history in exacting detail, knowing they can do nothing to change it? The ultimate fate of mankind–indeed, of the Earth–in the far future? With the next few moments of a reader’s own perusing of the book near the beginning for good measure.

No, children, you must beware the nameless book of the Madfather and seek it not out, lest you share in that unhappy fate.

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Dorothea Burke 1947-1975
She said “I’ll be right back.” We’re still waiting.

Franklyn Merrill Wright 1978-1999
A petty thief killed resisting false arrest. “Just cuz it’s wrong don’t make it Wright.”

Alba “Margie” Williams 1882-1951
Her twin dreams were to live forever and to visit Paris. One of them came true.

Nolan A. Reynolds Jr. 1901-1962
A dog that doesn’t bite can still push you off a ledge.

Sonja Cain 1966-1995
Lost to altitude sickness: died raising Cain.

Bernard Wong 1969-1999
Mixed up with Franklyn Wright during initial interment. “These undertakers, they don’t know Wong from Wright.”

Eunice Lisa West 1968-2002
Died from venereal disease. “Go West, young man, go west.” They did.

“This store is terrible,” groused Harold, intentionally complaining in front of the ladies who worked there. “Everything is too damn expensive.”

“This is a dollar store, sir.”

“And there’s no selection! None at all!” Harold continued, gesturing at aisle 27 of 53. “I tell you, if my name hadn’t been drawn out of the hat for the office party presents, I wouldn’t even be darkening your goddamn door.”

“Wow, buying Christmas presents at the dollar store,” one of the shopgirls murmured. “Pulling out all the stops, aren’t we?”

Harold began to walk down aisle 27. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” the other shopgirl said.

“Why the hell not? I have presents to buy for everyone at the firm and this aisle is 50% off.”

“That aisle is for wizards and the magically inclined. You need to have a good grasp of the seelie and unseelie worlds to make it out. It’s full of stocking stuffers.”

“Hah! The day some frump in a red vest tells me what I can and can’t do is the day I give my part of the office a raise!” said Harold, defiantly setting off down the aisle. “I don’t care if Merlin himself is in there.”

He walked confidently away as the ladies shook their heads and moved off. True to their word, the aisle was full of little baubles perfect for stockings–and perfectly priced at 50 cents a pop. Most were little carved gnomes and gargoyles. Harold examined each, looking for something that he was sure he wouldn’t want for himself.

Looking back, he noticed that some of the curios seemed to have shifted position. Shrugging it off, Harold kept browsing. The next time he turned around, the geegaws seemed to be even closer.

There wasn’t a third time. Tiny claws closed in on Harold from behind, and everything went black.

The store clerks found him the next day, stuffed and mounted as if by an experienced taxidermist and set at the end of row 27. “I warned him there were stalking stuffers down there,” one said. “Can’t say I didn’t warm him.”

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