The agent glared at him for a few moments before responding. "A 
few of SCP-1517-A's eggs didn't make it back to containment after 
your tour of the site. We're trying to find them now." 


Trighit tried to put on his most genuine smile. It didn't work. 
"Well, | do hope you locate them." 


The agent grunted and moved towards the beds, upturning 
everything and inspecting all of the sheets. Trighit angled his head 
towards the bathroom to look at his companion, who quickly tossed 
the eggs into the toilet. Pokum edged out of the bathroom as quietly 
as he could, but the squeaking of the door's hinges as he tried to 
close it caught Fredrick’s attention. 


"Hey, what were you doing in there?" 


"| was, ah, just trying to..." Pokum stumbled over his words as he 
searched for an alibi. By the time he had thought of one, the agent 
had pushed past him into the small room. 


"Not even a day into this thing and already..." The pair could hear 
him mumbling from the room as they stood silent, erect, and 
terrified. Soon after, a clanging resounded in the room, 
accompanied by yelling and the sounds of things falling and glass 


breaking. The agent ran out, arms covered with crawling colorful 
insects. 


His screaming only lasted about fifteen seconds. The Antarctians 
didn't stop screaming for a while, not until more people came, hosed 
down the agent, and shoved the pair down the hallway to the Site 
Director's office. 


« Hub » 


From On High (Antarctic Exchange #4) 


Darkness, and then light. The mind crystallized, the web of gold 
filaments woven into spiraling pathways amidst the fluid blackness, 
shining spheres beading on the mesh. 


Peace flowed, one thread to the next, one golden sphere to the next. 
They twisted and danced into their proper ordering. Each Blessing in 
turn was made right. 


Highest? 


One particular Blessing was proving an issue: it had become tangled 
in the webbing. Gently, gently, the knots loosened. 


Highest? 
One string snagged. Gently...gently... 
Highest! 


The web vanished. Lucrezen Lhivaen Battackan Chlolassouvin 
opened her opalescent eyes. Sight and hearing burst back into 
being. She uncrossed her legs and stood up, rising to her full nine 
feet. In a fit of improvisation, the Foundation had granted her an 
unused lecture hall to sleep and live in. She was thankful for that: at 
least now, when she was teaching or sleeping, she did not have to 
do so hunched over. 


She gracefully walked to the door, her layers of intricately-woven 
robes swishing around her impossibly slender frame. Her grace hid 
her bubbling irritation. She knew the voice behind the door and 
thumping on it. 


No, no, he would insist on ceremony. It was his way. 


“Highest?” 


SCP-580-01 is crewed with approximately 40 terra-cotta warriors, 
similar to those found in Shi Huang Ti’s tomb and the Terra Cotta 
army of lore. Each one is a mechanical golem that has shown skill 
with various ancient Chinese martial arts weapons and unarmed 
combat. They are armed with the standard weaponry for soldiers for 
their original time period: short sword, spear, and repeating 
crossbow. They do not communicate unless spoken to, and refuse 
to attack unless they are provoked first; in addition, they have shown 
skill at seamanship and minor maintenance functions for 
SCP-580-01. Present among the crew are four (4) officer warriors, 
who seem to lead the crew and determine interaction with outside 
parties. It is currently unclear which one of the four is the leader, as 
they are all identical in appearance. 


Addendum: Reference Documents : , and , as well 
as Data File are currently awaiting declassification, pending 
approval from Dr. Kamen. 


« SCP-579 | SCP-580 | SCP-581 » 


Lucrezen sat on the first desk tier. It would do for a throne for now. 
“You may enter, hand of the Empress.” 


The door slid open, revealing the form of Sakarn Var Surten. The 
man took a few steps forward, eyes averted, before dropping 
prostrate to the floor. 


“Ten thousand pardons, Highest. Your servant did not wish to 
interrupt your holy duties, but was forced to by matters beyond his 
control.” 


“Speak.” Scrounging and begging, as usual. Lucrezen was reminded 
of how much she disliked it. Bow to the Empress, and the Empress 
alone. | am only her tool. 


“The fools of the Black Court, Trighit and Pokum, have been found 
guilty of a heinous crime by our esteemed hosts, and are currently 
held by the Director of this site for treason. The Northworlder deems 
himself of importance to issue you command, and has requested 
your prescense.” 


Exaggerations, most likely. Lucrezen deeply wished to remind 
Sakarn that the Black Court were likewise children of the Empress, 
but she knew he would have none of that. Feigned acceptance, until 
she was out of sight and earshot. 


There was a sharp, pinching pain from the left side of her head. And 
there it was, the consequences of breaking meditation to listen to his 
groveling. 


“| will soeak with the director.” And now, time to get him out of the 
hair that she did not have. “And to you, my valued servant, | bestow 
to you a special duty. There is an item of some note, which our 
hosts have provided us access. | have arranged you and your 
manservant to observe this place. It is of great interest to me.” 


“Of course, Highest. | am your humble servant. Your will is mine.” 


“Go then. Speak with Doctor Hanakawa. Blessings of the Empress 
upon you and your house.” 


“And upon your ancestors and line to come.” Sakarn stood up, head 
still bowed, and shuffled out of the room. 


Lucrezen stood up, rubbing at the side of her head with a single, 
white-gold finger. 


Once again, she was reminded why she much rather preferred 
dealing with children. They were much more honest, with their 
gapped-teeth and scuffed-knees. 


Lucrezen sat cross-legged on the floor, still tall enough to be on eye- 
level with the dour-faced man across the desk. Trighit, fat and 
round, sat on her right. Pokum, smaller with patches of brown in his 
fur, sat on her left. Both had heads hung in shamed silence. 


She had almost mentioned how much the Director looked like one of 
her sons. The same jawline, the same eyes. 


Ahgh, her headache was clouding her judgment with discomfort. 
She needed to finish her meditations. 


She inhaled deeply, trying to calm the pain and collect her mind. 
Trighit was a fool: that was common knowledge. But he was the 
Empress’ fool. And a fool of the Empress was still under her care. At 
least he didn’t grovel: the Black Court was the Empress’ court of 
fools and jesters, dancing under the moons of the long night where 
there was no caste. Everyone was family in the Black Court. 


She set the sheaf of papers down on the desk. 


“According to your documentation of the creatures, they are 
harmless until the shell is broken, generally through consumption.” 
Her voice was Clear, clipped, bearing neither Imperial accent nor 
Northworld inflection. Such was the Blessing of Tongues. “Theodore 
Lawrence consumed a specimen before a warning was able to be 
issued. This was an unfortunate accident caused by a careless fool, 
Director. Not an act of malice.” 


“Your researcher flagrantly broke containment, resulting in the death 
of a Foundation agent.” 


“A truth, but it must be said that the specimens were adequately 
contained.” 


“A glass bottle is not adequate.” 


“So long as they are unbroken, they are not dangerous. Granted, 
Trighit’s inevitable experimentation on the eggs would result in 
breaking of the shell, and such an event would be clearly his total 
responsibility. But, as it stands, | find deportation unnecessary, 
Director. Simple revocation of access to items and area restrictions 
will be sufficient.” 


The Director scowled, looking even more than ever like Irdi. He was 
around the same age, too. 


“| will be honest, here: | am not impressed with your researchers.” 


“oy 


What the Empress gives, one receives without complaint.’ It is a 
lesson we teach to our children, Director. We are who you have 
been given, be it good or ill. Itis up to you to deal with them. Will you 
throw it away, or make good out of it? These two have committed a 
grievous fault, | will not deny that, but in circumstances such as 
these, there is a place for forgiveness.” 


The director was quiet for some time. 


“Very well. These two are to be confined to the residential wing until 
further notice." 


"Ten thousand thanks, Sister." Trighit said, watching the guards 
walk down the hall to escort him and Pokum to their room. "I don't 
think | could have lived with the shame of returning empty-handed." 


"Keep your hands on what you are supposed to from now on. Have 
you provided a funerary writ to the man's wife or mother yet?" 


"As far as | know, he has neither. They cut their ties when they walk 
through the doors." 


A memory flashed in Lucrezen's vision alongside another pulse of 


pain, a small girl with braided hair, standing in front of a two 
magnificent gild doors, engraved with the image of the First 
Empress, striking down Sanak Thiuh, surrounded by a circle of the 
First Watchers, their hands raised in supplication. Her cheeks were 
stained with tears, but she had to be strong, for the Empress had 
chosen her. 


"A pity." 
"Aye." 


Lucrezen lingered in the hallway for a moment after the guards had 
taken them down the hall. She walked in the opposite direction, 
bowed and bent. She had meditations to finish, and a lecture to 
prepare. 


« Hub » 


Impressions 


Tyhja fidgeted. Everything here made him feel uncomfortable for 
some reason, maybe it was the simplicity of the unadorned, 
unremarkable buildings, maybe it was the feel of the ground that 
seemed almost too hollow, maybe it was the language that he had 
needed to learn... 


He had spent hours rehearsing conversations in his head before the 
journey here, carefully practicing the pronunciation and making an 
effort to pack plainer, dully-colored clothes. More than anything, 
Tyhja hated feeling uncomfortable in the presence of others, but 
nevertheless it seemed he was constantly embarrassing himself 
here. 


Just now, he had been so relieved to see a decorative item inside 
the building that he had blurted with reckless abandon something 
inane about how nice it was even though it was just a vase of 
flowers, and probably imitation flowers, at that. His guide had looked 
at him oddly, thanked him politely, and continued on towards 
whatever interesting specimen Tyhja had been assigned to take a 
look at. 


All the while, Tyhja wished he could just melt into the floor and 
disappear. It was enough that everyone looked and acted so 
different; still he stood out so much that sometimes the people here 
would turn away, would whisper to themselves about him, his 
companions, their tasks, their work. Antarctica. Empire. Emissaries. 
Secrets. Antarctica. 


He could both hear and understand them, but he wasn’t sure if he 
should let them know. 


Tyhja squinted at the green, no, gray mass of butterflies, and 
attempted once more to draw a rough outline of their wings. He 
looked at his notebook quickly to make sure he wouldn't run out of 


space, and when he looked back there was some sort of furry gray 
creature sitting in the midst of the fluttering insects. 


He blinked, then tried sketching it as well. It was eating something 
vaguely oval-shaped. 


The door to the aviary opened, and Tyhja turned to see who had 
entered. It was a female human, holding a large container of a clear 
liquid. The person looked at him, raised one hand and moved it side 
to side in greeting, and proceeded to pour the liquid into waiting 
receptacles, which were soon swarmed by shimmering wings. 


Looking back towards the gray creatures, Tyhja realized that a tree 
had somehow sprouted in the middle of the aviary without him 
noticing. Confused, he instinctively began drawing the outline of the 
trunk as the human finished filling the feeding containers. 


“Hello, erm, Tai-ja? Dr. Kiryu would like to meet you.” 


Tyhja looked up. That wasn’t how his name was pronounced, but 
the human was smiling, if a little nervously, and gesturing towards 
the door. Most of the humans he met didn’t pay him much attention, 
they just walked by and let him sketch, sometimes still talking as if 
he wasn't there. Tyhja looked back at the tree, which was now gone. 
The human laughed. “They do that. You’re new, and sometimes 
they like playing tricks on people.” 


“...L see. Where can | find this doctor?” Tyhja began packing up his 
drawing materials as the woman opened the door. 


The researcher led Tyhja through a confusing series of hallways 
(they all looked alike, were all lit alike, and even almost all sounded 
alike, it was disorienting) to a door that seemed quite like the other 
hundred or so he must have passed. “He’s running some 
experiments there, feel free to wait inside, just make sure you don’t 
touch anything.” She smiled, patted Tyhja on the shoulder, and 
walked off. 


“Don’t touch tha—oh. Hello.” 


Tyhja flinched slightly, and abandoned his drawing of a series of 
strange glass objects, some containing oddly-colored liquids. His 
eyes met those of a man wearing a long white coat and an 
expression that seemed to be a mix of curiosity and surprise. 


“Dr. Mark Kiryu, pleased to meet you.” The man removed some sort 
of plastic covering from his hands, then extended one hand to Tyhja, 
who for a moment stared at it and then quickly shook it. “I’m Tyhja, 
from...” 


“Antarctica, right? My sister mentioned you.” Kiryu busied himself 
carrying away the tray of glassware Tyhja had been drawing. 


“Sister?” Tyhja wondered out loud. 


“She’s seen you a few times today, yes.” Kiryu dragged a chair with 
wheels on its legs from somewhere and sat on it, looking 
speculatively at Tyhja. The artist avoided the doctor’s gaze, staring 
at the too clean, too plain floor. 


Kiryu cleared his throat. “Homesick?” Tyhja looked up, shrugged, 
and nodded faintly. The doctor smiled. “Sometimes all we need is a 
quick meal to cheer us up.” 


“Here we are. | hope you don’t mind eating in a testing room? I’m 
afraid it’s the only available place, at the moment.” Kiryu led Tyhja to 
a small, bare room, furnished with only a table and chair, both made 
of some stark white material. The doctor was carrying a sizeable 
bowl, empty, and a metal utensil, a spoon, Tyhja noted. 


“| don’t mind. | prefer quiet places.” Tyhja stated, glancing around. 


Kiryu chuckled, then his eyes went wide. “Spider!” he shouted, and 
stomped on Tyhja’s foot. 


Tyhja muffled a cry of pain and staggered backwards slightly. Had 
he said something wrong? Was that some sort of obscure human 
joke? 


The doctor glanced wildly around the room. “Oh, I’m sorry. Um, 
spiders... they’re little creatures that sometimes bite people. The 


dangerous ones can be poisonous. | thought | saw one. Is your foot 
alright?” 


Lifting the foot in question gingerly, Tyhja nodded. “It stings a little, 
but | think Ill be fine.” 


The doctor had placed the bowl and spoon on the table. “Good, 
good... well, there you go! Just leave these in the room when you're 
finished. Oh, and if you don’t mind, I'd appreciate knowing what sort 
of meal it prepared for you... I'll be waiting outside.” Kiryu smiled, 
then closed the door. 


Tyhja was perplexed. How could he eat from an empty bowl? He 
walked towards the table, then took a few steps back.