In that moment, | should have been startled. | should have doubted 
my senses, suspected the stranger | was with. Instead | thought of 
the thresholds | had crossed to come to this moment. | left behind 
the poisonous security of my career. Cut my ties to my family. Let 
phone calls and messages from former friends go unanswered for 
months. All to come here, but something was missing. Having 
burned down the effigy that | had pretended to be, what was | now? 
Something held back the answer to that question. 


This was a signal. | was in a truly unknown landscape now, a realm 
where God knows what held sway. | had thought | succeeded in the 
act of tearing down, destroying. But now, | Knew | had the blank 
space in front of me that | had sought. Something else was stirring 
inside me now. The way forward was shining out into the night. 


Roberto's hand remained on my shoulder. | like this town, he said. 
You'll have to show me around tomorrow. 


Stealing Solidarity: Epilogue 


« Stealing Solidarity: Phase 4 | Hub » 


Nanami set her fingers against the grand piano’s keys, and began to 
play. Hisaishi. ‘One Summer’s Day’. She was, for the first time in a 
long time, at peace. The surf came in and went out across the white 
sand. The horizon was pink with evening, fading into a deep 
sapphire blue above as the banded purple giant and its necklace of 
smaller moons sat ready for the nightwatch. The breeze rustled 
against the leathery leaves of the toadstool-trees. A few sailing-wing 
gulls circled above the little bay, calling out to each other with their 
chittery, chipping voices and dragging their little puff-ball tails behind 
them. 


She was alone with the world, away from all the noise and bother, 
away from the plague of troubles that seemed to have been her long 
companion. She was where she belonged, and here all the pent-up 
anger and bitterness and rage could just flow out through her 
fingertips into the old piano, to create something beautiful. It had 
been too long since she had done that — if there had been a Nanami 
less bitter, she couldn’t remember it. But for a moment, she knew, 
she could afford to recapture that spark. 


Everything was right in the world. She was alive. Right here, right at 
this point, she was alive, and so were her sisters, and so was 
Wizard, and they were all here together. 


Let it last, she thought. Let it last forever. 


“Hey, can you play ‘Owen Was Her’ next?” 


Nanami slammed her hands down on the keys in a cacophonous 
peal and glared up her tabby-haired sister. 


“God dammit, Hana!” 


Hana just laughed, and Nanami then laughed with her. Anger had 
no holdings here. 


“Just wanted to check and see how you were doing.” Hana rocked 
back and forth on her feet. “Have you been crying?” 


It was a rhetorical question. 


“I’m allowed.” Nanami put her fingers back on the keys. “But since 
you were kind enough to ask, got any requests that aren’t that 
damnable piece of shlock?” 


“Hmm...Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major?” 
“You got it.” 


The notes sprung up under her fingers, and all was as it should be. 


Hana let the sound of Nanami’s piano fill the background as she 
continued down the tideline. She had taken to walking up and down 
the beach of late, combing it for shells and stones and smooth bits 
of seaglass. She’d take these back to her room at the village 
guesthouse, and put them in a jar. When the jar was full, or when 
their time here was done, she'd take the jar out to the pier and dump 
it all back in the ocean. 


It was a Childish activity. She’d missed things like it. 


Each little piece of glass was a mirror, showing the Hana of now and 
the Hana of then. Side by side and overlaid. Past and present 
hybridized into a possible future. It was a lot to deal with, that 
transition. Trying to patch together the ideal and the real. But she 


was doing it, and she hadn't forgotten the value in childish things. 


She bent down and picked up a wide, flat stone. Hefting it in her 
palm, she slung it out towards the point where the sun had set. One, 
two, three, four, five, six, plop. Six skips, for the six of them. That 
was fitting. 


A great stone statue stuck out of the sand, buried up to its chest and 
continuing upwards for another twenty-twenty five feet. There were 
dozens of the things scattered about, and while Hana had no idea 
what they were, they were excellent waypoints. This one marked a 
decent turning around point. Nanami’s music had long faded out of 
hearing. Hana reached into the pocket of her dress, determined that 
the supply of little objects was both still there and to her liking, and 
began the walk back home. She passed by the piano again, and 
saw that it was empty of its player. The village came into view, with 
all its welcoming fires and the smell of dinner. 


She passed between two of the cap-and-reed houses to see 
Momoko sitting on a pile of cushions by one of the communal 
firepits. She was flanked by a pair of brightly colored and rather 
attractive young men. One pinkish-red with tentacles ringing his 
face, the other one bright blue splashed with banana yellow and fins 
poking out of his silvery anemone hair. Around her feet was a rapt 
semicircle of brightly colored children, a good selection of their older 
siblings, and no small number of their parents and grandparents. 
Momoko’s jumped around with great animation and enthusiasm, and 
she was talking fast enough that the translator was probably 
stuttering something fierce. 


“Enjoying yourself, Momoko?” Hana called out. 


Momoko, without so much as a pause or hiccup in her story, 
grabbed Big Richard from her lap, twirled it around to aim at Hana 
and shouted “BANG!” 


Hana clutched at her chest and fell to the sand. The crowd gasped, 
and just as the next breath was to be taken Hana jumped back up to 
her feet and took a bow. The gasp was replaced by cheers and 
laughter, Momoko’s foremost amongst them. 


“Like | told you! Hana’s bulletproof!” 
“Psssh.” Hana waved it off. “You couldn’t hit me.” 


“Don’t tempt me.” Momoko stretched her arms out in front of her, 
yawned. “Excuse me, fellas, gotta hit the ladies’ room.” She stood 
up, grabbed Hana, and dumped her down on the pile of cushions. 


“Here you go,” she said. “Tell stories, make friends, choose good 
decisions and name the bad ones after me.” 


Momoko was satisfied with life. Utterly, absolutely satisfied. There 
was nothing more she needed, nothing more she desired. As had 
Buddha severed himself from worldly desires and reached 
enlightenment, so had Momoko. 


If Buddha was a woman with cat ears and a tail who stood six foot 
seven inches tall, with a flame-patterned bikini and a beach towel 
bearing cute little clownfish tied around her waist, and a huge shank 
of barbequed...something in her hand, and a conceptualization of 
enlightenment based entirely upon enjoyment of earthly desires, 
because they were awesome. 


The comparison had made sense at first, though Momoko admitted 

that it might have gotten away from her. Just call her Epicurus, then. 
She tore at the hunk of meat, wiped sauce off her face with her free 

hand, and wound the long way around back to her group. What was 
the rush? She’d won at life. 


She’d found alien life. She’d made out with the alien life. She’d 
taught the alien life how to play basketball. Anything left to do in life 
was purely ornamental. Gravy. 


On the note of gravy, hot damn this sauce was good. She'd have to 
snag the recipe before their vacation ended. 


She rounded a building, and saw Tomi sitting on a rock, fiddling 


around with a tool kit. Obviously giving Sam and Harry a tune-up. 
Her head bobbed to unheard music. Momoko shot her a ping, and 
the bobbing stopped, though she didn’t look up from her work. 


“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Momoko said around a mouthful of 
meat as she walked up beside Tomi. “We haven't cleared out the 
armories on board the ship yet, but from what I’ve seen, they kinda 
put the old boys to shame.” 

“Mmm. They do. Truce?” 

“Yeah, | think it’s for the best.” 

“The first and the best.” Tomi picked at her nose, as was her way. 
“No less.” 

“Going to kick your ass in Husbando War II, though.” 

“Not on your fucking life, sister.” 

“Shipboard weapons off limits sound fair?” 


“| am disappointed, but also relieved. It’s fair.” 


Momoko extended a sauce-smeared hand. Tomi shook it, and then 
began licking her palm. 


“Get the recipe for this.” 


“Already working on it.” 


After Momoko had left, Tomi sat on her rock and worked on her 
guns. 


When she was done with that, she holstered them, closed her 
toolkit, and then leaned back until she was sliding off the rock. She 
hit the ground gently, her legs propped up against the rock and 


pointing up towards the sky. 


She watched the stars for a while, and then went to sleep. 


Wizard sat on top of the bald, weather-worn head of one of the 
statues just outside the glow of the town. With the parent planet and 
sister moons in the sky, night here was an agreeable thing, never 
darker or gloomier than twilight. 


He felt sick, all achy and tired. It was the best feeling in the world, 
because he knew that all that was the matter was his own body. Not 
Red, not any ancient posthuman spacegods, just the aches and 
pains of everyday life. 


He had experienced something akin to infinity, a short observation of 
the expanse of time and space, and to be quite honest he failed to 
see the appeal. He couldn’t comprehend it anymore, now that he 
was Safely tied back in his body, so the experience was nothing 
more than a dull, awkward affair of memory. Who needed that? He 
flexed his fingers. He didn’t. Didn’t need it at all. He was a man. A 
free man. That was all anyone needed. 


There was a stirring behind him, someone walking up the worn 
stone stairs that curled around. He turned his head to see Boss 
crest the bald pate. She sat down next to him and wordlessly 
handed him a can of beer. Wizard pulled the tab, and took a long 
drink. Neither one said anything, for a while. They watched the sky. 
Boss leaned back, reclined on her elbows, crushed her can in her 
hand. 


She lay back further, flat on her back, her hands under her head. 
Wizard pulled his knees up to his chin, wrapped his arms around his 
legs. 


“) Never seen a bluer sky...” Boss murmured, her voice gentle. “+ 
Yeah, | can feel it reaching out, and moving closer }) There's 


something about blue....” 
Wizard smiled. 


“) Asked myself what it's all for.” His voice quavered at first, but then 
found its strength. “) You know the funny thing about it » | couldn’t 
answer }No, | couldn’t answer... 5” 


Boss sat up, stood up. Her voice grew louder, heavier with soul. She 
grabbed Wizard’s hand, pulled him up to his feet. 


“) Things have turned a deeper shade of blue SAnd images that 
might be real 5 May be illusion ) Keep flashing off and on... ” 


She took his hands in hers, and they danced. 
“) Freeeeeeee! }” Boss’s voice rang out clear as the sky above. 


“) Wanna be freeeeeeeeeeeeee! )” Wizard answered as best he 
could. 


“) Gonna be freeeeeeeeeeeeee! ” Boss swung him around, kept 
herself positioned just so in case he should lose his balance. 


“) And move among the stars...+” 

“) You know they really aren't so far! 5” 
“) Feels so freeeeeeeeeeee! }” 

“) I'm so freeeeeeeeee! b” 


“) No black and white in the blue...)” Wizard’s voice trailed off, and 
the dance came to an end. Boss pulled him in and held him close. 


“We did it, Wizard”, she said. “We goddamn did it.” 


[Eight minutes pass] 
Dr. Heiden: Nothing new, D-31415? 
D-31415: No! 


Dr. Heiden: Terminating experiment and returning 
D-31415 to quarters. 


LEVEL 4 EYES ONLY: D-31415 was taken into custody 
after killing an Agent in self-defense during an attempted 
emergency commandeering of the subject's vehicle. 
Agent attempted to commandeer D-31415's 
vehicle during a severe containment breach of SCP- , 
causing its release into a nearby town. D-31415 was a 
licensed firearms carrier and fired three rounds into 
Agent 's chest, killing instantly. D-31415 was 
apprehended shortly afterwards, and Agent 's 
remains were recovered. 


« SCP-942 | SCP-943 | SCP-944 » 


Stealing Solidarity: Phase 1 


None of the members of the Black Rabbit Company 
were terribly fond of boxes... 


Boss looked down at the unconscious man sprawled out on her bed. 
Horribly uncomfortable thing, that bed: the mattress was thin, and 
they refused to give her a pad for it when she asked. 


The half-dressed researcher splayed out on that uncomfortable 
mattress struck Boss with a moment of pity. He was an average, sad 
inhabitant of that lonely, mid-life crisis bracket: Stress and isolation 
had built up into a desperate need to find some sort of validation in 
his life, to combat the looming menace of receding hair and flabby 
stomach. She didn’t know his name. He might have been a decent 
man, maybe. Just a guy who wasn't strong-willed enough or smart 
enough to avoid a massive mistake. 


She'd leave it at that. Just a little bit of sympathy. He was, after all, 
one of the orchestrators of her misery, and the misery of her sisters. 


Boss had learned years ago that she had to make do with what she 
had available. Tools were just that. Take them away and she still 
had herself. Pose and voice. Flicks of the tail. A playful purr. A sway 
of the hips. Subtle, surgical weapons. Just enough to worm into his 
brain. Just enough to stick there. Just enough to help him make a 
massive mistake. 


It had taken three months for him to make the mistake, though. Boss 
was a patient woman (she had to be, to manage her sisters), but her 
patience had waned enough to allow her desire for action to be 
whetted deadly sharp. 


The Black Rabbit Company was going to escape. She would see 
her sisters again. She would see Wizard again. They were going to 
get out. 


Boss emptied the researcher’s pockets. He had claimed that there 
would be a full fifteen minutes before security knew something was 
up. Boss gave herself five. She’d take those odds. Couldn’t be 
harder than herding cats. 


A condom, forty-seven cents in change, the wrapper from a Twix 
bar, a watch, ID card, and a smart phone. 


New sparks of activity shot up in regions of Boss’ cyberbrain that 
had long remained dark. 


"Ey, ukhnem..." 

Ba-dum-pap 

The rubber ball bounced against the concrete wall. 
"Ey, ukhnem..." 

Ba-dum-pap 

The rubber ball bounced against the concrete wall. 
"Yeshcho razik, yeshcho da raz..." 

Ba-dum-pap 


Nanami stared blankly at some spot on the wall. Her arm moved 
automatically. 


"Ey, ukhnem..." 
Ba-dum-pap 


The ball followed the same pattern every time. Hand to floor, floor to 
wall, wall to hand, over and over and over. 


"Ey, ukhnem..." 


Ba-dum-pap 


She had thought she was going mad, back when she still cared to 
think. 


"Yeshcho razik, yeshcho da raz..." 
Ba-dum-pap 


The ball landed back in her hand and stayed there. She stood up, 
and the dull glass of her eyes faded slightly. She stretched out her 
arms, and her voice grew from low murmur to the full force of a well- 
trained diaphragm. 


Maybe, if she sang loud enough, the song would carry her away 
from this place. 


"Razovyom my beryozu! Razovyom my kudryavu! Ai-da, da ai-da, 
Ai-da, da ai-da! Razovyom my kudryavu!" 


Her voice crumpled against the walls. It could not escape this cage, 
and neither could she. She slumped onto her bed, and the glassy 
look returned. Perhaps she would just stare at her outstretched hand 
for hours until she fell asleep, and dreamt of staring at her hand for 
hours. It would be a change of pace from dreaming about bouncing 
a ball against the wall. 


And so she stared.