It was a bar, like every other on Bellant: an ant-hill burrow of corridors and oblong, rounded chambers, walls coated in thin coats of polymerized H2O. The Singularity Hollow, like its brethren bars, was a place of reflections and transparency, a dwelling place of phantoms, like childhood dreams, long vanished behind shifting veils of selective memory and nostalgia. Maelin—born on the outrimmer world of Hela, he'd seen little of the core systems and even less of the Frontier until his induction into the Unified Stellar Services. There were humans of a dozen breeds here, most numerous being Helax, like Maelan and like Hlan. They were quiet in their avoidance of their fellows, however; Hlan for his reasons, and Maelin because his association with Hlan had shown him elements of Helax culture that he’d scarcely considered in the early days of his crèche-life. He’d taken to space, because of a deep need--what Hlan called a poetic truth, and in seeing snippets and snatches of this truth, he felt himself pulled, inexorably from the clutches of unthinking stellar nationalism. Most numerous after the Helax were the Orāē. He'd served on board an Orāē vessel, early in his tenure in the Service. The Tÿé. He'd come to know them, and he recognized the subtle waft of meta-sensory fields in quiet activation. The Orāē—strangest members of the human breed—were uniformly jealous of their privacy, their silence, and blunt inquiry among them was a crime worthy of name-breaking. Maelan knew little of the custom, though he'd heard rumors—on board the Tÿé: of former members of the crew, name-broken and forever beached on worlds as remote as Prenska, Dorloan, and Tlesh. Now, on Bellant, a dozen levels beneath the frozen, airless surface, he thought of those remote worlds and wondered who here might know of some name broken individual. Did they talk of such people within their meta-sensory shields? There was no way to know, and Hlan—as aware of the name-broken as any Orāē, spoke in common Orāē manner and discouraged too scrutinizing an inquiry into the ways of these particular people. “You'll learn what they want you to learn...and you'll learn it when they see the correct patterns,” Hlan had said. “And you,” Maelin challenged. “You've learned?” “I've had my time among them.” It had been curiosity that prompted the next question, one Maelin felt certain he could ask, but of course a question spoken was a far different thing than the silence of a question in the mind. “Can you read me?” he'd asked: thinking himself brave, thinking his inner secrets hidden. There were things he'd never revealed, even to himself, and so it seemed likely that no one else could pull those secrets from within him. But Hlan did so: quietly and without words. And now, years later, he stood with Hlan, surveying yet another bar. They'd come for quiet time, and moments away from the confines of their ship They'd come for beer, and harder drinks. They'd come for reasons unspoken, and as Maelin spotted a group of Orāē, most likely here for the same reasons, he felt a spread of comfort. “C'mon,” Hlan said quietly. “Let's go find a place to sit.” *** This is multiple images, collaged into one. All work done in photoshop, with extensive brush and filter work. And, as always, thank you for viewing, commenting, and reading.