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It’s your fourth tour of the day, and the last one before you get to stash your pert Tour Leader beret in your locker and hustle to the hoverport so you don’t miss your shuttle back to Human Kingdom. You scan the small crowd that’s milling around your “Queue Here for Next Tour” sign. The sunny afternoon has brought out the populace. Your guests today include a couple of human families, three high-school-age trolls with their teacher, and a pair of carapacians who photograph every curiosity they see. You mentally rewind your script. All right, let’s give these good people some culture.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to—” you begin the talk you’ve given a hundred times, but pause as two young men jog up to the back of the tour group, somewhat out of breath. Curiously, both are dressed in period garb from the previous millennium, down to the old-fashioned dark glasses one of them, a tall blond human, is wearing. “Sorry we’re late,” he says. “Did we miss the good stuff?”
“Not at all, we were just getting started,” you say magnanimously. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Hive of the Knighted Companions. We’ll be touring the hive today, but before we begin, I do want to remind you that this is a Protected Site on our Registry of Historic Places. Please stay within the marked areas of the tour, do not enter rooms or take the stairs without me, and note that no relic or other object pertaining to this Protected Site may be removed, relocated, or defaced for any purpose. All right?” You smile brightly at the nods and murmured assents of the group, and continue. “This is a wonderful, fascinating site, full of stories, and I invite you to ask questions at any time during the tour.”
You lead the tourists down the flagstone path to the entryway of the hive. Facing the group, you begin. “Based on our research, we believe the Hive of the Knighted Companions was originally built about 1,000 years ago, when the Creators returned to Earthsee after an absence of some five millennia. It is said to be modeled on a typical troll residence from the lost continent of Alternia. Today we see only the drab clay that formed its original walls, but, if you can, imagine it painted in a riot of colors, with colorful awnings shading its many terraces.”
The other latecomer scoffs audibly. He’s a stocky troll with diminutive horns and intense red and gold eyes. In his black turtleneck sweater bearing the dual circle-and-arc glyph, he seems to be doing his best to re-enact one of the original Creators. “One, it’s not a continent, it’s a planet. Two, we never painted the hive, where did you get that lame idea?”
“It most certainly was painted,” you say cheerfully. “Our scientists have detected and studied traces of paint all over the exterior of the hive.”
“That was a one-time thing,” begins the troll re-enactor, but his human friend stops him. “Let her talk, Kar. She’s the expert.” The troll grumbles something about blind girls with paint guns.
“Thank you,” you say to the human. “Let’s continue through this doorway and see what life was like in the hive.”
The tourists file into the first room. One of the human children is tugging at the tall blond’s long red cloak. (You’d like to get a closer look at it yourself. It’s covered in fine stitched patterns of gears and clockwork. From what you’ve studied of Creator fashion of the 5000s, it’s actually a pretty faithful replica.)
“Why you dressed like that?” says the child.
“Like what?”
“In the old-time clothes. With the Strider gears on.”
The human re-enactor shrugs. “They were a gift. Got ‘em when I went god tier. They’re comfy as fu—as heck.” He leans closer to the kid. “And guess what? They never need washing. Cleaner than Bob Saget on AFV.” He pauses. “Man, that was obscure, even for me.”
You clear your throat and several pairs of eyes turn to you. Good. “We’re standing in the Social Salon, which was a feature of virtually all homes on Earthsee at the start of the 6th millennium. It was a lively, busy room, where the Creators entertained guests and consumed the media of the day.” You gesture to the roped-off area where the Creators’ threadbare carpet and fragile sofa are on display. “It is said that these furnishings came with the Creators on the meteor they piloted to Earthsee at the beginning of—sir! No!” You leap to pull back the arm of the human re-enactor, who has reached out to pet the sofa’s crumbling velvet. “I’m sorry, I must insist that you not touch the relics, they are very precious and cannot be replaced.”
He retracts his arm but does not otherwise acknowledge you. “If these cushions could talk,” he says, and shoots his troll friend a look you cannot interpret.
“I can’t believe they preserved this crap, Dev,” says the troll. “It seriously belongs in Jaid’s woodpile.”
One of the troll students puts up his hand. “Miss, is it true that Creator Strider composed his album ‘Beat Swole and Jelly Heft’ in this room?”
“Oh, sweet,” says the human, Dev. “I’ve gotta get that recording studio set up.”
“We believe that is the case,” you tell the student. “If not this room, then certainly one of the others on this level of the hive. Let’s continue to the food preparation zone.”
The stagers for this part of the tour have set a table with typical place settings of the era. The carapacians take pictures of mundane domestic curiosities: a spoon, a coffeemaker, the refrigerated box. You resume your script. “As the Creators residing here included trolls and humans, the cuisine of the region developed with characteristics of both. From the humans, seasoned corn chips and pressed fruit juices were common additions to the table. From the trolls, of course, we have Sixty-Three Ways to Cook Grubloaf, a cooking manual still found in many homes today.”
Dev bursts out laughing. “Aw, no, don’t tell me that thing still lives.”
“Sir,” you say sternly. “Please be respectful. There are others on this tour who want to know about the history of this landmark and the people who lived here.”
“But there’s no way,” he says. His friend, Kar, is shaking his head in disbelief. “We were kidding. It was a gag.”
“Excuse me, folks.” You gesture to the two young men to step aside with you. You rise to your full height (such as it is, for a pawn-carapacian), put on your most don’t-mess-with-me expression, and drop your voice to a growl.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at, showing up here in replicated garb and acting like you know more than the historians do, but you’re taking your re-enactor act too far,” you say. “If you thought it would be funny to come here and disrupt my tour, then ha ha, that sure is a thing you have done. Now, if you please, either find a way to be more respectful, or leave the premises.”
“You can’t kick us out of our own home,” says Kar.
“Sir, I am quite serious about the re-enactment act,” you say, but the human Dev intervenes. “Bro, let it go, it was a long time ago, for them.” He’s practically shoosh-papping the troll—wow, he’s even doing it in the ancient manner, with four fingertips stroking the cheek, instead of the mid-air wave everyone does nowadays. You’re annoyed but also impressed with his commitment to the game. He must have done crazy amounts of research.
“Will you behave or will you leave?” You will brook no nonsense from these pranksters. Not a rivulet of nonsense. Not a trickle.
“Sorry, miss.”
The three of you rejoin the group, and you continue. “Private dwelling areas were on the next floor up. Let’s have a look. Single file please, the stairs are narrow.” You lead the tourists to the second floor and show them a grand, spacious room with a velvet cord across the doorway.
“From what we can tell, this was the sleeping quarters of the Knighted Companions. I can’t let you enter, but if you look, you can see the beautiful view they had of the lake and the western hills through the twelve-paned windows. This was truly a room worthy of Creators.” One of the carapacians fits a long zoom lens to her camera and leans in carefully for the distance shot.
“Miss,” says an adult from one of the human families. “We know the Companions were of different races, a human and a troll. If it’s not too forward a question... how did they sleep? Did they share a recuperacoon or a bed?” The adult blushes a little.
“Actually, we think we know the answer to that one,” you say. “The scientists did some of their best work in this area. There wasn’t a trace of a recuperacoon or any sopor slime in the entire hive. We think they may not have had access to such things on their journey on the meteor. It’s atypical but not impossible that the troll acclimated himself to a human bed or platform. But perhaps our re-enactors can add some wisdom from their research,” you say, turning toward them. But they aren’t there at all. You count heads, you look in a couple of rooms, but they’ve simply wandered off.
“Miss, they took the downstairs when we took the upstairs,” volunteers a helpful troll student. Oh, you are going to have very strong words with them when you find them. You warned them about stairs.
You gesture for the tourists to follow you back outside to the entryway. “Please enjoy the Harley Gardens, there are many lovely areas to sit and enjoy the view. I will return to you in just a moment.”
You hurry down the stairs to the hive’s cellar. Voices are coming from the mural room, which is being restored and is strictly off-limits to visitors. You stop short and listen.
“So after you painted Geromy, I added a little secret message.”
“No, you didn’t, really?”
“Put on the shades, see for yourself. If the years haven’t obliterated it.”
You peek. Kar the troll gives Dev the human a pair of dark glasses with hearts for eyes. Dev puts them on and looks at the massive Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff murals that cover the walls. “Oh my god, Karkat. Oh. That is. Thank you. That is so sweet.” He steps closer to the wall and traces something with a fingertip.
“Is it still there?” says the troll.
The human turns toward him and removes the glasses. He has strange ruby eyes that shine with—tears? “It’s there.” He steps forward and puts his arms around the troll.
“It’s from Canto 5958.”
“I know.”
“‘It was said their love went beyond the four quadrants.’”
“Uh huh.”
“I love you, Dave.”
“Oh my god, Karkat, I love you so much.”
You’re overcome with awe. The Creators embrace, and then Dave Strider looks up and sees you.
“Sorry, miss. We’ll get out of your hair.”
“We had some unfinished business,” adds Karkat Vantas.
“No—I—I mean—it’s an honor—” That’s the best you can stammer out, with your knees shaking so badly.
“Let’s rev up the timetables and get out of here,” says Karkat. “Apparently you have an album to compose.”
Dave takes his hand and they walk up the stairs. “Exit through the gift shop?”
“What the fuck do you want, a Dave Strider bobblehead?”
“Sure. Or one of those pens that you tilt to see the nudie picture. Maybe they have one of you.”
“Just, no, Dave. No.”