Camo sat on the swampbed, fanning the muck with his fins, while wondering if it was all clear above. Being this close to the aquastrata was giving him the itch. There was an entrance down here; he could smell it, and the temptation to return home was looking better by the day. Lilyoplis wasn’t just a city – it was home.

  Bubbles trailed from Camo’s nostrils, like motes in the darkness – bouncing and refracting the low light of the murky waters. Camo listened to the trinkle and timber of their flows, frogkin used bubbles like beacons. They funneled sound from specific locations.

  Their other purpose, and possibly most important – they gave a few seconds glimpse to the surface. Camo’s first and second eyelids closed, as he listened intently…

  The [Apothecary] sprang from the waters, landing in a wet plop, his webbed feet like snowshoes in the muck. Frogkin – the worst city assassins, mainly due to the sounds their feet made – that and their constant desire to eat stray bugs. Targets tended to notice tongues lashing out from behind furniture. But they were near silent when traipsing through the bog.

  After confirming there were no battles taking place, Camo surfaced, worried he’d been left behind. As he walked along the shore, in that way only frogkins walked – something like a scuba diver in fins – all heels, toes awkwardly pointed out, he noticed a trail of scooped bog. He followed it into the underbrush.

  Camo was careful not to fall prey to: quaking bog, mire spiders, clickfangs, or any of the other hidden dangers. As an apothecary, he was accustomed to solo gathering missions – not like that cursed Spire would ever assign him any help.

  Snapped branches and crushed foliage painted a clear picture in his mind. And sure enough, Camo found Ren at the base of a titan root, curled up in the tadpole position. He tried poking Ren with a stick, just in case the human was under some sort of spell – better safe than sorry when dealing with magic users. After getting no response, Camo decided to up his game – repeatedly finning Ren in the face.

  “Stay away, Mom, it’s not safe – the batter–” Ren awoke with a start, “Huh, where…what – oh, Camo is it, is he? Where is everyone, what’s–”

  Camo squated in the muck – in the way only a frogkin could. “Don’t know, but he levels – he could swallow someone like Talon whole, if he had the mind for it.”

  Ren sat up, squishing into the bog, “What's that Talon guy's deal anyway – seems like a real curmudgeon. After I did my show, he swooped me up. Does he hate music or what? Did you catch my show? I was hoping to do another one – soonish.”

  Ren was getting excited; he was definitely jonesing to do a show. Camo licked his eye, and his neck bulged.

  Pat was enjoying their new life. They just weren’t sure if this was their second or third one. They were pretty sure they weren’t dead – so that was good. They didn’t have a body – not precisely – technically, DG4 was their body. One didn’t feel the folds of your balloon when you were a zephyr; you didn’t feel anything. Oh, you had sensors and readouts, but that was different from the feel of sunlight on your skin.

  Sunlight – there was a thing Pat missed. The swamp was an interesting place, but it left one feeling a bit claustrophobic. What they wouldn’t give for a day at the beach – a little sun on the skin, a cold drink, and the smell of salt air.

  Pat shook their head – they didn’t have touch or olfactory – but they did have a beautifully crafted user interface or UI, as any none newb would say.

  “I’m sure he’s alright, DG. You can sense his direction, that means he’s alive… right?”

  DG was worked up, more so than usual. It probably had something to do with the dozens of strangers milling about inside their new body, but mostly it was just worry for Ren.

  “There I see them, he’s with Camo. That is one practical frogkin, he's my type of guy – you think he’s single? Do frogkins have a type? Think he would be into a display screen?”

  “Alright, alright, we’ll talk about it later. I know you’re worried, but look, he’s fine.”

  Ren appeared to be in high spirits; he was having an animated discussion with a pair of eyes sticking up from the water.

  Pat adjusted the audio, “So your people are matriarchal than? That’s chill, all the best ones are–”

  Ren looked up – hair blades dancing in surprise.

  DG slid toward Ren at a right angle, in an unnatural display. The swamp was barely disturbed as they hovered into position and lowered their ramp.

  “All aboard the DG4 express.”

  Camo ejected onto the ramp and noisily made his way up.

  “Magic.” Ren shrugged, following Camo.

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  He marveled at what he saw. It felt like walking through a secret garden, if Batman were the landscaper, and he had swamp on the brain. Black synthetic hallways, covered in flowering vines, and just enough light to see comfortably – but not enough to quell the imagination. Doors lined the corridor, and Ren marveled at the scale of it all.

  They were following the floor running lights. Ren swore he could hear crickets chirping, and definitely noticed some fireflies flitting around the ceiling – Camo did – his tongue poked eagerly from the side of his mouth.

  Reaching the end of the hall, the door to an elevator rolled into the wall. Motors whirred to life, and Ren’s eyebrow raised at the number of floors on the panel. Their trip ended at the top.

  Hecate and Draven stood amongst a cloud of smoke, looking out the room's main feature – the window. This was the observation deck. The window itself was arched along the top, wrapping over half the room, and stood taller than the smokers.

  The walls looked like the TV aisle in a Best Buy – covered in monitors. Displayed across half the wall, an alien in a recliner, their legs crossed and hands folded on their lap; Pat was the picture of etiquette.

  “Lad, yee made it – mayhaps yee can explain all this?”

  Finally, it clicked for Ren, “Do you know Brewgar?”

  “Whadya ask? Fer me maner of speak? Har har har.”

  “So you do know him – hah. Best Zug-Zug ever. Speaking of which, DG buddy, do you still have my drugs – er, I mean recreational substances?”

  An overhead compartment slid open, and a factory assembly arm slid free, extending toward Ren. Ren smiled and approached. He could really get used to this. Before he could reclaim his lost goods, a meaty fist swiped his keg.

  “Har! Da mind if I do – I’da know me own brudders work anywhere.” Without so much as a by your leave, Hecate spun on his heel, returning to his smoky perch. Ren’s eyes narrowed as he collected his Sandy’s Candies.

  “Thanks, little buddy, I appreciate it – so what happened to you? It seems like every time I see you, something's changed.”

  Ren walked around the room, running his hand over the wall panelling – their texture like military-grade plastics – the kind of stuff that made the best phone cases. His phone, now there was something he hadn’t thought about in a while. Ren’s hand reflexively went to his pocket, checking for the rectangular device. It was strange not having it in his hand all the time; he shuddered at the thought of all the missed content.

  He plucked a violet lily from one of the myriad vines around the deck – when he noticed Pat staring intently at him. Ren blinked, and they waved.

  “So…do you know how we got here?” Ren decided to go for the elephant in the room.

  “Got where?”

  Or not, Ren supposed people had different priorities, “Wherever here is.” He waved his hand randomly.

  “Ohh right, well – DG – do you mind if I call them that? I understand it's the nickname you gave them. Anywho, they were screaming in my head about you being in trouble, there was pain, apparently, lots of pain – something else too, they couldn’t quite explain that part. But there was pain, and then DG started changing – their hull vibrating with power, and well.

  Pat gestured to the deck.

  “It’s pretty neat, isn’t it? I believe we’re bigger on the inside than on the outside, though it's hard to say for sure. Dimensional magic is tricky. I’ve been going over some formulas, the algebra here is…different, but there are enough similarities, just don’t ask me where I got the examples from–”

  Ren dug his hands into his pockets, “Erm, I was actually referring to this world. Did you die? I died…I think.”

  “Oh, right – of course. Heh, heh, how silly of me. Well, the last thing I remember…”

  Ren stepped off the elevator and onto the crew quarters. Pat hadn’t been very helpful, they seemed to get hung up on small details and were easily distracted. And Ren’s hair seemed to cause them no end of anxiety. Something about not being symmetrical, he really didn’t know, but he was glad DG had a friend, and at least he had another Earther around – even if they seemed…alien.

  He was headed to Meen-Tra’s quarters; she seemed to be the only sensible one around here – not that Ren was. He couldn’t get her melons out of his head; they seemed to be swelling every time he saw her – he shook his head, that kind of thinking wasn’t cool, especially not when her mother was battling a dragon worm. But still, they were the jiggliest. Were there magic bras…

  Ren paused — a muffled explosion from the door on his right. He approached, pressing his ear to the surface. Smiling at the stream of sweets-related curses filling the air, he knocked twice before slipping his hands back into his pockets.

  After no response, he tried again, patiently waiting. Finally, the door slid open – and Ren’s eyes traveled to the ground, and the pinkness whose face was covered in black soot marks. “Everything ok in there?”

  Mitzy’s eyes narrowed, “What are you saying. Are you implying I’ve forgotten the fundamentals of fermentational fructofuranose because let me tell you the flammable freezing formulas happen to be a specialty of–”

  Ren held up his hands, “No, of course not – a candy connoisseur such as yourself, Wonka’s got nothing on you.”

  He pointed to the mark on her face.

  “You look like you’ve come from a war.”

  Mitzy nodded, “Tis true, the lollipop labs can be a dangerous place – where there is science and sweet – death always follows.”

  Ren followed Mitzy inside; the door hissed closed behind him. This really was a fancy ship. Mitzy climbed onto her stool, kicked her boots off, and hopped onto her workbench.

  The lab looked like a clean room. White surfaces, wall shelves filled with glass equipment, and hanging tools complete with air hoses. Ren was impressed.

  “Where did all this come from?”

  “It's not bad, my lab is better, but I’ve had years to fine-tune it. This will do for now–

  Ren wondered at her skittles-themed toenail polish and why exactly she was barefoot, but decided there were more important things.

  “So I collected a fascinating sample – quite a few actually, so we have room for experimentation, according to Meen-Tra, they’re called mallows. Now, my high-performance liquid chromatography or HPLCs.

  She tapped her head dish then her eye, as she pranced along the workbench – sidestepping spoons and hopping over some kind of…writing implement.

  “Indicates levels of sucrose previously unheard of, Ren.

  She stopped her pacing, looking pointedly at him. Ren stared back blankly. She tapped her foot.

  “Ren, this plant could very well be from the Lecker Smecker Province.

  You could hear a pin drop. She threw her hands up.

  “Has nobody heard of the lands of the Fey, surely–”

  A blood-curdling scream shattered Mitzy’s enthusiasm. Ren was already out the door.

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