Non waved to his Dad as he walked up the boat ramp. A walrus boat captain closed the ramp.

  “The time has come,” the walrus said, pushing from the dock. “Settle in for a three hour cruise.”

  ‘A three hour cruise. And why the sea is boiling hot—And whether pigs have wings.’

  “We can’t get on the Athens flight. Reserved for millionaires,” said Lagen. “I could still show you the airship. I heard you might join Cepheid, that would be fine. I’ve always wanted you to be a hero if you think back. Or we could go home if we don’t mind swimming.”

  “I’m not an error measuring expert. I’m with you, sire. Pick a spot and I’ll follow,” said Non.

  Lagen selected the lower decks, devoid of views, chairs, or crowds, with a sloshy floor underfoot. But private. “What do you think about this spot?”

  Non approached a locked door marked PUMP. “Perfect! And I apologize for the saddle. I’m ignorant about the years you spent as a slave. I should have returned home when you regained your freedom.”

  “I told you not to,” said Lagen. “You should read your notifications about all that. Also, the woodpecker we saw at home seems to have followed us here. There on your shoulder.”

  “Right, where are my manners? Dad, this ivory-bill woodpecker on me is Picoid. We’re friends.”

  “Can he talk?” asked Lagen.

  “In my mind, yes,” Non looked into the bird’s eyes. “Can you talk verbally?”

  Picoid made a few pait-pait notes like a melancholy trumpet.

  “Nice to meet you, Picoid. Did you notice my son dismissed what I just said?”

  “I think the tack knowledge fell into a chore category, so I had problems accessing it. Dad, the saddle spooked you. I get it. Punch me if you want. I understand regeneration now,” said Non.

  “Picoid, move to his back. That’s good.” Lagen punched Non’s uninjured shoulder hard, smiling at his son’s surprise. “It’s been a few decades. How did Mama Naga handle your regeneration?”

  “She didn’t. Brother Chyron and Clarissa Miller figured out the shudders, skin crawl and pain. That’s why he’s a healer. When he explained it, I missed you so much. We kept our regen active after that.”

  Lagen hugged hard enough to hurt both shoulders. “Naga doesn’t have regeneration. Back then, she didn’t understand the woes of regeneration disuse through lack of body training.”

  “When you were a slave, did they ever manage to use that against you?”

  The older equitaur scoffed. “They never left me unhurt long enough.”

  “While we’re on that topic, can we clear it up? That’s been between us for a while. Seems I always mess things up and I don’t know why.”

  “We can try... Look through your notifications. Just got one, Mama Naga’s about to foal.”

  “I’m surprised you’re missing it,” said Non, standing by the pump door.

  “The kelpie isn’t mine,” said Lagen.

  “What? The foal’s not yours?” said Non.

  “Surrogate. Rare species. We’re both in Genepool,” said Lagen.

  “In what?” Non got a pop-up.

  “Do we need to have this talk? Are you that far behind?” Lagen sighed. “Naga has good genes for a kelpie character. Priority list. Worthy cause. Girl with cancer. I didn’t have plant genes.”

  “Who did? The Mayor? Grassleaf Lettuce Underhoof?”

  “Part weed. He told me you knew him here and even named him on Earth. Paid well and I hate it.”

  “It’s an anagram. The last refuge of a scoundrel. On Earth, he wanted a name conveying halfling, taur, and plant. This was after he stole my girlfriend, boyfriend, car and money.” Non put up a screen. “And now you’re looking at me like I’m crazy.”

  “Grassleaf Lettuce Underhoof – the last refuge of a scoundrel – is an anagram? How did you–”

  “It’s a talent, sire. A useless talent, but I’m good at it. It’s my demon. So here we are, father and son, out over water. Daedalus and Icarus. What can we do with that sad story?”

  “The lament of Icarus?” Lagen snorted. “It’s often said our planet is too close to galactic center.”

  Non put up a screen with a poem.

  Loutish Cretan fame:

  Utter chaos in flame.

  Final test hour came --

  Macho, tan -- flies true!

  Father - “Um, at ceil, son.”

  Altimeter focus - nah.

  Smile at hot furnace.

  Aloft: “Race me - hit sun!”

  Is feather, can moult.

  Set afire: human colt.

  Culminate: sea-froth.

  Hoist cruel fate, man.

  Locate human strife.

  Mourn that ace’s life.

  “The Lament of Icarus. All lines are anagrams of the title. Stupid magic I can’t get rid of,” said Non.

  “It’s all anagrams? Can you always do this? Do A Princess of Mars.”

  “Ah, no. It seldom works this well. But I check all the time,” said Non.

  “You mean you had this in the can? You led me to this anagram like a lamb to slaughter? That’s underhanded, son. I’m impressed!” said Lagen. “But no one likes wordplay except firms, fans and family. I reached my anagram tolerance when you explained the mayor’s name.”

  “Enough of that, then. Let’s go over the blueprints of the Erymanthia,” said Non, putting them on the wall. After a few minutes of explanation, he created a screen dome and began a 3D visualization. They traversed corridors and rooms of the zeppelin as Lagen explained architect coding.

  “Each floor has a weight allowance color code. Piano green, adult yellow, child red.”

  “I see an anthro bias. Piano?”

  “Decided in a meeting a long time ago. Short folk also hate it. What are you looking for?”

  “Familiarity. The Hercules group had a ticket. Does this door lead to the kitchen?”

  “The kitchen floor can’t bear your weight grade. Does the GCC know about the ticket?”

  “I told them. They didn’t know. Maybe I’ll spot something else.”

  “You trust GCC with the asteroid?”

  “More than I trust myself. The zeppelin is a softer target, lower priority.”

  “Soft target? You’re not trusting my engineering?”

  Non took a breath at the flippant question. The last few conversations with Lagen had reached a point like this. Dad was one of the few people he’d screamed at.

  “Ever seen a perfect lock?” asked Non, letting Picoid guide him.

  “Locks? Lots of good locks,” said Lagen, guardedly.

  ‘Other than a giant staff? I left it all at home!’ Then Non realized that wasn’t true. He had his feedbag. Now he knew where everything sat: hoofpick, marlinspike, twelve glockenspiel keys, coins, hoof knife, utility knife, the slim books Portals and Agent Intro, telegram slips, tiny yoke, silver bullet and food.

  The marlinspike opened the door a minute later with a few almost-silent clicks. Another minute and the duo had the pump running better than ever. Non closed the door.

  “Many ways to attack a zeppelin,” conceded Lagen. “What will the bad guys do?”

  “In myth, Hercules captured the Erymanthian boar alive,” said Non, now calmer. “I don’t know if that’s still a theme. I have no idea what they have planned.”

  “This cavity near the secondary mooring isn’t on the official blueprints. Smuggling area. Part of Grassleaf’s dealings, something he talked me into. It kills me how much I like him; I didn’t know he was like that on Earth. Anyways, could potential bad guys be using that? I wouldn’t mention it, but the mayor told me about your smuggling for Lernea. Seems to be a family business,” said Lagen. The look on the younger equitaur’s face showed his mind had drifted elsewhere. “And you’re not listening.”

  Non thought back to a happy time as a colt. Semi-happy, in hiding during the Siege of Pelion, when a bored Dad showed a trick with triangles in the dirt. The altitudes always coincided. The medians always coincided. The angle bisectors always coincided. To celebrate, Lagen lifted young Non upside down and helped his hungry colt self to walk on the cave ceiling.

  “Can you help me to look like an idiot?” said Non, holding Icosian horizontally. Stay.

  “You’re aptly named, Non Sequitur. Something to do with your staff?”

  “I remembered you helped me walk on the ceiling as a colt after a fun triangle lesson,” said Non. “Let me try walking on the ceiling again.”

  As Picoid flew off, Non rolled onto the immobile hovering staff, pressing his hooves to the ceiling. His equine mane went into the wet. Then he slipped off the staff and his back splashed into the water.

  “You didn’t need my help. Plan for higher ceilings in the airship. Maybe tie down your tail. The pump is active, you can avoid the water if you wait a few minutes,” commented Lagen, dryly.

  “Help to steady me. Please?” Non smiled, realizing his silliness.

  “More fun to watch you fall.” Despite his barb, Lagen’s hands returned to his son’s back, helping.

  Non practiced the ceiling hoof brace more. He fell with a mild push from Lagen.

  “Dad!” complained Non, tying his tail as he got to his hooves again. “ But I’m also glad you taught me how to fall. I’m a green-level traceur now. That’s someone that does parkour.” ‘The traceur centaur.’

  “This particular fall would have torn through the floor and ruptured a ballonet, Icarus. Let’s go down to the Cargo Prep room. We’ll be entering there anyway. The fancier entrance is below our weight grade.”

  Non moved the 3D blueprint. “What’s that big box with extra lines and circles?”

  “That’s the freight elevator. Cargo comes up the ramp and is processed in this room on the prep table. They have a wrapping robot that helps, and then the elevator is loaded and sent up to the storage area with the balloons.”

  “Rapping robot?” said Non. ‘Elevator loaded. Balloons get eroded. Then they exploded.’

  “Where is your mind, son? It’s a robot that measures and wraps things.”

  “Oh, right.” Non rolled onto his staff and tried again. And again until he could walk on the ceiling for a minute. His Dad rubbed a hoof on the floor. “The floor is pumped. You can do this without getting wet now. Maybe strap the staff to your body so you stop falling?”

  Thump. Non fell again. It was clear that the repeated impacts had drawn attention... and ire.

  “What is going on down here?” shouted the walrus captain. “Are you two wrestling? Cut it out!”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Non got up as the walrus captain stomped away. The squawks of birds both big and small could be heard, alongside a familiar, mildly stressed chirruping.

  “How did you know I was falling?” asked Non.

  “Not enough bracing. You forget that I’m both a Father and an engineer. You died in the engine room.”

  “The brave die but once. Over-planners die a thousand times.”

  “Welcome back, Picoid.” Lagen stroked the woodpecker’s back.

  Non felt his injured shoulder, still twitchy. ‘What’s bothering me now? Yesterday the apothecary pulled out a bullet. Today I was squeezed hard enough to hurt and then fell on my back a dozen times. Hmm... Question answered? At least I saved Picoid from that entanglement duty. Ah, that’s it.’

  “Your bird went still,” said Lagen.

  “Sire, I need to talk to my friend. Would you like a book?”

  Lagen looked from the bird to his son. Oddly. “Sure. What do you have?”

  Non shared a screen. “You have access to my library. Tap the screen for filtering.”

  Non settled his body on the floor, away from his father. He pulled a carrot from his feedbag.

  “What’s up?” He looked at the woodpecker on his shoulder.

  Non felt wounded. “I know.”

  Picoid showed a notification with a date from his colthood.

  Thousands of identical notifications followed. Just the date changed. Non’s eyes went wide. Had he been so neglectful? A portion of his Earthself felt a deep, deep shame.

  “Stop! Can we stop?” said Non, feeling like Alex in A Clockwork Orange. Closing his eyes didn’t help.

  “I can’t look at these!” Breathing harder, he half wished for blissful issue dismissal and half felt nonplussed to be Non’s add-on part. Stronger combined, he brought out the truth.

  “I had a chance to message Dad when he’d been found. But I missed it. It took him months to get home. Then six weeks until a telegram from him. I thought he was still missing. I couldn’t bear to check.”

  The woodpeckerish shoulder-angel wing-slapped the equitaur.

  “Trapped with Dad in the siege cave. Learned triangles as a colt. He said he’d let me know when he solved that Hero triangle.”

  “I loved getting notifications, then,” Non recalled.

  Picoid showed a Hero triangle diagram with a date from his father’s slavery.

  “I could have saved Dad early?” Non thought the stain had been washed out, but part of himself cringed, eyes filling with tears while joining the zenith of equitaur iniquity.

  Picoid showed a series of unread triangle diagrams with pleas for help spanning years.

  “At least he knows now,” said Lagen, from across the room. “Send a notification if you need me. I’m going to read a book now. Peck on him, Picoid.”

  Non pressed his head to the metal deck as Picoid’s beak jabbed him. He sighed at how bad he felt, wishing to pat himself on the back as he sobbed. The extra brutality may have helped.

  Picoid’s wing slapped him again. That triggered a new notification.

  Non pulled his head off the floor. “Ostrich fallacy? Dammit. Explain what you want to do.”

  “Wait, your number was balanced ternary?”

  “An aeon focus? Picoid, I’d envy an attention span lasting a few hours. You have my permission to perform this cleavage if you want to do it. You can activate those items.”

  “It’s fine. I’ve dealt with Attention Deficit Disorder all my life. My first memory is my first day on Ritalin. That day, I suddenly talked in complete sentences, had a memory that lasted to this day, learned to dress and tie my shoes. One pill was like Flowers for Algernon for my parents. I was an extreme case in early medical papers. I definitely have more focus now than I did when off my meds .”

  Lagen leaned in with perked ears. “Any flaw fits a fallacy. You’ve unwittingly outwitted yourself. It must sting. Self-assessment usually does.” He paused, softening his gaze. “But remember, learning from our mistakes is the path to wisdom. Each error is just another step on that journey.”

  Non nodded, swallowing hard. “Tycho, before I err more, could you categorize my notifications?”

  “Now I see why isolation felt so lonely. Did I mention this hurts? Flash notifications, please.”

  ?? tweaked his agent page, then dragged in files for two active cases, Boltysh Impact Event and Lernea Murder. He sent a note to Fetlock that he’d visit. “I see upgrades for Picoid and Icosian. Get both.”

  Here. A dark gray metal disk with a bold ?? summoned to Non’s hand. Technical Agent. Galactic Core Corps.

  “Have fun with these, guys. This hockey puck badge is nice. Tungsten carbide, 1kg, 1cm thick, 9cm across. Buckle attachment. Hey, Dad, How do I look?” Non activated his badge screen and posed.

  Lagen gave him a thumbs up.

  “Tycho, Show the last Genepool query.”

  “That many? I just mentioned isolation. Please show the recommended monthly subscriptions.”

  “Buy the last two.” Behind his back, Non replaced the buckle of his surcingle with his badge, then tested to see how well it aligned with his center of gravity. After practice with the mixed vector abilities of his staff and badge, he could stand with all four hooves slightly off the floor. His map filled out more, with pages of options he could peruse later. An old notification from the previous millennia appeared.

  Curiously, he followed the Genepool link and saw a page on his young teen self. Then the page aged him forward thirty years and activated. ‘Yikes. But I have more important things to do.’

  Lagen had sent one message a week while in captivity, each with a triangle on a map.

  The errant son read three years of desperate messages. It hurt. How had he made a mistake this colossal? He wiped away tears as he saw his Dad give up on him. He could have stopped a slave harvesting ring, but chose not to listen. Brutal. But not a colt any more. He could accept the Woe of Know.

  “Add apology letter to ToDo list.” He pondered stopping there.

  “Show me the high priority ability choices.”

  As Non considered, he saw a new Hero triangle had arrived. Lagen smiled at him. ‘Hero triangles could have saved him. He wanted me to be a Hero.’

  “You’ve watched this whole time, Sire?” Non wanted to thump his head on the wall.

  “I thought you didn’t care, Non. We all have our demons. Losing me broke you.”

  Non felt the shame lessen as he embraced the programmer’s joy: bug identified and corrected. “You kept the creepy crawlies away, sire. I idolized you. I missed you every minute. Every notice, every ping, was just a reminder that you were out there suffering. And then, it was like I never got you back. I knew I’d messed up, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

  “I thought you knew how bad it was,” said Lagen, getting up. “I should have been harder on you.”

  “In level-k thinking, I thought I was level 2 and you thought I was level 1. I was actually level 0.”

  “Son, I forgave you long ago and forgive you more now.”

  “I’m sorry that–” Non stopped as Lagen squeezed his shoulder. ‘Dad is still bigger.’

  “Enough. The boil is pierced.” Lagen said. ‘Tilted head. Embarrassed nicker. Ears twitching. He’s choosing his words. Now what did I do?’ “We need to discuss Genepool.”

  “It was a pop-up! I screwed that up, too?”

  “Set yourself as restricted, gene-compatible, local, eyes-on contacts only. Otherwise, it gets weird. As a new member, you have a 24-hour window before it goes public. You haven’t conquered your fear of notifications just yet. As a rare species, I’m amazed you’ve kept out of it this long.”

  “I thought equitaurs weren’t rare anymore?”

  “For getting local government assistance, yes. For this site, no.”

  With Dad’s help, Non set up a much more restricted profile, including links to his family tree.

  Lagen frowned. “Brother Psykter’s still gray in the system. If he’s alive, he could help you. He’s a strategy fanatic. My advice is to focus on movement. Gish Gallop could work well for you.”

  If Dad had advice, he’d take it. “Icosian. I’ll get that talent now.”

  Picoid waved a wing to Non to catch his attention.

  “Dad?” started Non, remembering Fichet’s story. “Sagittario will visit us soon.”

  “Now? Here?” Lagen pushed his mane back. “Comb your mane back. Stand up straight. Don’t talk to the black hole. Don’t get too close to it,” warned Lagen.

  The air vibrated around a black point, then a black sphere with an accretion disk unfolded.

  Non could see and feel the avatar’s accretion tendrils caressing Picoid, Icosian and his own body. A small white orb solidified near the black sphere. He felt the warp of strangely changing lagrangian vectors.

  The galactic core avatar shrank and vanished with the white orb. The metal deck underneath groaned but remained warped and slightly twisted. ‘Maybe the captain won’t notice that.’ The air felt thin. The balance hairs of his ear still gave danger warnings.

  Lagen laughed. “We met the big guy. Picoid, what’s it like to have a shorter attention span?”

  “A piece of my mind for peace of mind? Good.” Non could stop being so guarded now. He could be sillier. “Dad, it’s time to get lamented.” Non nickered, his head tilted as his ears twitched.

  Lagen gave up waiting for his son’s follow-up. “We have about an hour to dock. Aren’t you an agent now? Did you get training material?”

  “I did. Agent Intro has 120 short chapters. Each heading is an idiom.” Non read some of them.

  “Avoid stupidity?” said Lagen, interrupting. “My word, Non, if I’d only known that! Avoid stupidity! I can feel my whole life changing right now!”

  Non rolled his eyes, amused. “13. Pract–”

  “Practice, practice, practice? Nyah, that’s ingenious! It’s a whole paradigm shift epiphany!”

  Non giggled. “Are you making fun of my book, Dad?”

  “A bit. Has sort of a Sun Tzu, Art of War feel, with a touch of Machiavelli.”

  “Both are listed as references in the back.” ‘This is fun.’

  Lagen pointed to the plastic bag Non had set aside. “Also, plastic is valuable here. No oil reserves here to squander. When we’re done with these books, wrap them up so they don’t get wet.”

  Non complied and let Dad be Dad for a few hours.