The Adventures of Willoby pt.1

Posted on Sun Oct 12th, 2025 @ 8:04am by Fleet Captain Quinton Beck

2,324 words; about a 12 minute read

-Start-

MX Second Star- {Personal Quarters of Kas/Avor/Inia Family}

2050 Ship Time 30NOV

Zala ran into the bedroom she shared with two big sisters, afraid that they had started without her. Inside the well appointed but rather spartan wardroom, two room were intended for the adults and the children. The Childrens room was of course way more fun and also not “Off Limits.” Bounding into the bedroom, she took a mighty leap to make the top of the bed in a single attempt.

She had called for her other sisters, Kee and Tor to “Wait!” but they hadn’t even settled in yet. Fortunately, the discussion was ongoing as to where they had left off. The dog-eared page of an honest to goodness paper book was a traditional marker of where the story last ended, but what if there were three of them? The well kept book still had its edges, albeit with a few scuffs and a page that got wet during an especially raucous bathtime.
A soup stain on page three was from when their mother Kas was young, along with the perfect penmanship in the name line, “Kas Shar’Zhen.” That was the part all three girls loved, thinking of their mom just like them reading the book with her siblings.

“Not yet, I’m getting the Jumja!”

When the children gathered for their nightly rituals before bed the night before, Zala had grabbed “The Adventures of Willoby,” an age appropriate tale of a migration of mammoths and a poor baby left behind not realizing it would be her obsession over the next few days. They had been told to get ready and be in bed for their nighttime story, so their mother Kas or Inia could tuck them in properly with a kiss to seal the charm.
This classic tale for Andorian youth contained all the hallmarks such stories should carry, adventure of course, but also comedy, wonder, familial love, and loyal friends. Tor, the oldest was a friend and mentor to her sisters, Kee, the middle child was the one who always watched, missing nothing, while Zala was just old enough to make full sentences, and she was very funny.

“Yes! Zala, ask Momma when she gets here!”

Tor was old enough to understand the baby of the family would get whatever she asked for. The three young ones had all piled into one bed, combining their blankets and pillows into a pile of plush they all could lean against. The room was dark, but didn't have much in it beyond three beds and a chest of drawers for their belongings. Sundry clothing and toys were piled in the corner, but the lights had turned off and it was their bed time.

Her sister, Kee played right along and whispered, “...yeah ask mom to read it daddy Avor doesnt do the voices!”

Tor felt an emotional twist in her stomach, Kee mentioned their father pair, of which one had passed away.

“Daddy-Avor,” and “Daddy-Dure” were a thing of the past. Dure had made a noble sacrifice to save them from certain death long ago, and Avor, Kas, and Inia, were short a bondmate. Avor was a fun loving person but Dure had the gift for children. He was missed daily, by all of them.

Kee tried to correct herself, “I mean Dad is…, it's the hunter he does really…”

Zala was just listening, aware of something unspoken being communicated but not able to understand what. Tor handled the moment with grace, grabbing the book from Zala.

“I’ll read it, and I’ll do it like Daddy Dure did Zala so you know what we are talking about.”

Zala smiled, she was too young to remember her other dad beyond the fuzziest recollections of infancy. Dure had left Inia and the kids to bring Avor and Kas back from their journey. He had died trying, and Inia came to them towing three needy children behind. Zala had very little memory of it, for Tor it had been agonizing to uproot from Andor. Kas and Avor had not wanted to come home, but Inia didn't want to be left behind.

The lights had dimmed everywhere except the bed, and the children circled around the storybook with pictures, pockets and extra props. Zala had only recently begun to remember stories, and this was one of her favorites. Her little feet bobbed up and down in a listless fidget eager to be on with it.

Tor assumed a sober face and upright sitting posture, reading the book from a torchlight lantern hanging above them. She spoke with her deepest, most adult-like voice…

“In our homes and dreams from so long ago…”

Andorian stories often started the same way, as the oral traditions of campfire tales demanded a certain panache. Often the children would dress as the herd with hides stretched across five of them inside, trying to assume the bulk of the creatures.

Kee interrupted, “No we were farther along than that.”

Tor skipped ahead to the marked page, “Oh, so yeah it was here…” She settled back into her narrator's voice.

“The Ancestral paths are walked by all creatures of Andor, but it is the Ice Mammoth who forged them. Digging, pushing, passing one by one through ever widening passages. The most formidable of them could lead the herd for an entire horizon, before giving way to the one behind them and resting.”

It was customary to poke your sibling in the ribs with imaginary tusks at this point, so Zala received a pretend shove from Kee, and pealed in laughter.

The older two had heard this tale a dozen times by now, the point was to have fun. The Andorian people were born to an ice moon and given no mercy. A species enduring great tribulation to achieve their transcendence from terrestrial peoples to explorers in space. Culture, and a love of music and entertainment was a bulwark against the cold. While there was little space for frivolity, the recreation of their oral traditions and past times even so far from their world on a starship was a proof of cultural resilience.

“Their tusks curled long and pale, like frozen crescents of the moons; their fur was thick and silver-white, so that even a blizzard seemed to disappear against them. Their eyes were dark and steady, and they carried themselves with a patience as deep as the ice beneath their feet.”

Zala was transfixed, waiting for more, Tor continued,

“The mammoths were wanderers of Andoria’s long valleys. They did not wander at random, but with purpose. For scattered across that frozen moon were places the cold could not conquer. Precious, hidden gifts of warmth beneath the surface. Pools of steaming water, green grasses, moss that clung green and stubborn to the rocks, low trees that twisted like old bones yet offered shade and bark, and even, if one pressed close enough, the faint perfume of flowers. These sporadic havens were called Ice Oases. They were the heartbeats of the world, where herds gathered to drink, to graze, and to bring forth new life before the time came to march on once more.”

Tor remembered the Volcanic valley-town before they had left, the warmth made for a greenbelt and steam fed caves. It was comfortable and warm, but the cold wasn’t so bad either. A walk outside in such a place could be done with nothing but a simple shirt and shorts on a sunny day. Once the ancient Andorians learned to access the geothermal warmth and caves, small cities like her home abounded. Transiting between them, and evacuating in the face of global storm systems had enabled them to thrive despite the intensity of their winters.

“Times change, and the seasons bring different challenges. Their current home was due to be frozen over in the slowly approaching winter storms. The last long march had seen their herd split. Willoby’s father had led the other group, a desperate decision in a split path where the odds had been against them. Another Oasis was known, only a week away, smaller but protected from the winds and piling snow. It was to such a place the herd was moving when our story begins.
The old ones had lifted their trunks to the wind and declared that the snow smelled of a severe long lasting storm. Such skill was innate after so many seasons and experienced storms. The sky, too, had taken on that flat, steel-blue color which means a week’s march will be hard, with little to eat along the way. They stripped the branches with the most leaves, doomed to the coming storms anyways and walked with what they could carry. The largest among them layered the branches like a blanket across their backs, holding the weight of a week's worth of food for their herd. The amounts were less than they hoped, and it was only proper to leave something for the others who might walk this trail later. So they set out early, knowing that hesitation meant hunger.”

All three girls took in a breath of excitement as the door chimed, and their Momma walked through. Kas was a prime example of Andorian excellence, intelligent, skilled, serious. Her emotions however were also apparent. Kas gladly took their energy and hugs when they came running, and Kee asked right away, “What’s wrong Momma?”

Kas was clearly in deep thoughts, and had a certain “spooked” quality. To her credit she insulated the children from such worries, determining as always her work life wasn’t going to affect their home life.

She answered, “A hard day Kee. Probably going to be hard tomorrow too, and on for a bit. Just adult stuff.”

Zala was oblivious and remained wrapped around Kas’ leg. Tor however asked, “Is everyone ok?”

The poor girl saw the opportunity of death in every crisis, a trauma from losing her daddy to such dangers.

“No, just some lost, missing, something… we don’t really know and it takes half a day to get to where we can start asking more questions.”

“Who is missing?” Tor asked in earnest, as though she could help.

Kas tried to smile, “Uncle Quinton, and Lady Fala, they have not contacted us, and it seems they have gone into hiding from… something, I don't know yet. Part of why I’m upset dear, I just don't have answers.”

Kee understood as well as Tor, Momma only came home if the day was done, the lists completed. If she was here, with an item not checked off she wouldn’t sleep until it was, so she asked Momma, “We were just reading before bed, did you come to tuck us in?”

She was the second in command and wrote the duty rooster fresh each day. Avor often worked the fourth shift as overtime, the pay was worth it, and kept Inia from having to work. Kas nodded, “ Yes, Daddy is still working. What are we reading?”

Zala announced gleefully from Kas’ ankles, “Willoby!”

Kas smiled again, her kids helping reduce the burden a bit. Though she had read this a hundred times, and in her youth heard it a hundred times more, their reactions were always unique.

“Ok, settle in, let’s go, time to snuggle in munchkins.” She knew they were too excited for bed, but it was nearing 2100 and way past time for them to be getting to sleep. She ushered them back to their rooms.

Kas picked up the book and pulled a chair over to a central point for all three beds to see her, looking at them shuffle with amusement.
“Ok, nestle in Ice Mice, flutter your tail to make a spot.” She quoted from memory a line her mother said to her. She loved they still were amused by her pet names, but it also served to remind them of home.

The girls had settled in, Tor was helping Zala arrange the stuffed animals, and Kee was set up and ready for the action.

Their narrator cracked open the book, Kas stopping immediately in confusion, “I remember we were much further along than this-”

Zala interrupted, remembering her part, “Oh I thought you could start over, I want to hear the voices, please do the voices!”

Zala had so much energy and it was so late, Kas mildly admonished her “Shhh, settle down, sleepy time remember…I’ll do some of the voices.” Kas emphasized “some” as Avor and Dure had set the bar far too high for a weekday night.

Kee scoffed, “But Daddy Avor doesn't do all of them, we just wanted Zala to hear what it should sound like.”

Kas rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Doing the voices” was a lot of effort to maintain and occasionally hard when multiple characters are in a scene together. This wasn’t a talent of hers, yet here she was being asked to perform the roles.

“Ok! That's fair.” She used the classic squeaky voice of the Ice Mouse “Tikkit,” and Zala squealed in her glee.
The girls were under their covers, plush and down stuffed fluffiness abounded.

Kas cracked open the book, its tell tale age told in the creaking of the spine. Nostalgia came with a release of the familiar smells the well worn volume had taken on. Details of remembrances like scuffs she remembered putting there as a child, a stain of a soup, the bath time splash which had given it a crinkled page. All of them hallmarks of the passage of time, and a testament to the long distances they had traveled to be here.

‘This is a privilege’, Kas reminded herself. Dure had given his life so moments like this could happen, she could read her kids a story, and keep memories alive.

She began to read…
“In our homes and dreams from so long ago…”

TBC

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