To the end of his days, Lynk insisted that he did not save the universe. Further,
he maintained that to credit him with saving the universe would be wholly missing the point.

​

The story could start at any of several critical events. Should it start when Sirko
jilted Shadow or when a young man was given a dagger that changed his life. Does the story start when an immortal wizard was assassinated or when a geckoman chose a dog ranch for his home? All these things had to happen for Lynk to not save the universe, but most people mark the beginning of the story at the day that Lynk’s father finally died.

​

Who was Lynk? He was a full-blooded plains huminant, and he was twenty-five
years old, barely mature enough to be an acknowledged adult. In all those twenty-five years, Lynk lived and worked on his father’s dog-ranch near the outer wall of Eggles City. Lynk’s father Leon, Sr. ran the ranch, and he trained his oldest son, Lynk’s only sibling, to succeed him. Leon, Jr. bought supplies and maintained the books. Lynk socialized the dogs, trained them and sold them. Groggo, the resident geckoman, fed the dogs and cleaned up after them.

The market niche of the dog ranch was guard dogs, primarily trained as
protection for those who ventured Outside the city walls. 

 

Lynk was a competent trainer,
but what he liked to do most, and what he did best, was customer interaction. The customers were almost always travelers, and for hours, Lynk could listen to them talk about life on the Outside. He grew so conversant in the ways of Outside survival that it was often assumed that he was himself a seasoned traveler.

​

Naturally, beside the local language of Eggles City, Lynk was fluent in
“Universal”, the Universal Language of the United Races. Universal was spoken by travelers and by those who interacted (including traded) with travelers. Plus, it was the language of inter-city diplomacy. Generally, anyone who was formally educated, or wanted to appear formally educated, could speak some Universal.

​

Lynk’s success with the customers undermined his brother’s dominion of the
business. And it aligned the conditions necessary to launch Lynk on his trajectory that ended in his not saving the universe.

​

Leon (now no longer “Leon, Jr.”) assumed legal ownership of the business.
From years of rumination, however, he had concluded that ownership in name is not ownership in fact. Leon had trained to inherit the business one day, and he knew that if the business were to ever be truly his, he could not share it with Lynk.

​

Leon was decisive; he wasted no time in expelling Lynk from the business and
from the house.

​

Lynk wasn’t entirely surprised, but, regardless, his excision stung. He
suppressed his hurt, though, to focus on the urgency with which he was forced to depart. He sorted his belongings, deciding in instants what he might need, or might regret leaving. He packed in a hurry and lugged the sack, the sack containing everything he owned, downstairs. He hesitated in the foyer, on the precipice. Leaving the house now, he would be leaving it forever. Leon was resolute.

​

“Leon,” Lynk began.

​

In a gesture like his father’s, Leon held up a hand. “This is the way it has to be,”
he declared. Leon was the son of their father; Lynk was the son of their mother.

​

Lynk saw his mother in the back doorway. “Mom, talk to him, please.”

​

She seemed to shrink back in the door. She said, in explanation, “He has the
right, Lynk.”

​

A clank distracted the three huminants. Groggo lurched into the room from the
kennels. He dragged a bulging sack and wore an awkward backpack.

​

Leon, for the first time, showed distress. “What are you doing, Groggo? You
don’t think you’re going away with Lynk, do you?”

​

Groggo was dim, unmotivated, and taciturn, like all geckomen. Or so it was
commonly held. He had been working at the ranch for decades, though he was still a
youngster. When Groggo stood up straight, he rose to the intimidating height of 7’, but he could only do that in the kennels, or on the roof. The low ceilings of Lynk’s (soon to be ex-) house forced Groggo to hunch over. Or go on all fours. But just now, he stood tall. Well, as tall as possible.

​

The room was frozen. Finally, Lynk smiled. It was a smile of relief and of
welcome. Lynk had a great smile that looked like all his teeth were big white incisors. In fact, as a male, Lynk had canines, but they were just as big and white as his incisors. “Are you? Coming with me?”

​

Groggo nodded once and stepped toward Lynk and the door.

​

Leon stepped forward, initially to put himself between Groggo and Lynk, but he
only made it one step. “You can’t. You’re not Lynk’s. You’re mine. You stay here.”
Leon’s tail waved hesitantly.

​

For the first time, Lynk felt an anger, a deep anger, towards Leon, and Lynk’s tail
snapped from side to side. “Groggo isn’t yours. He doesn’t belong to you. He belongs to himself.”

​

Leon couldn’t argue the legalities, because Lynk was right. Gekkonidae seemed
to stay in the same places through dumb loyalty or ingrained habit. They rarely
changed their lives, unless they had to. Legalities weren’t necessary to retain a
geckoman.

​

“Goodbye, Leon. Good luck.” Lynk went out the door and held it for Groggo.
Groggo came out and stretched to his full height. Lynk closed the door. Then, for no particular reason, Lynk bashed his head against it. The door shuddered satisfyingly. Lynk stepped back and gave it a proper, full-body head-butt. That felt good.

​

Lynk was a young adult, but his horns were fully formed, curling manfully over his
head and beside his eyes. Lynk slammed it again. The door yielded. A crack split it from top to bottom. Lynk smiled sadly and wiped the splinters off his head. He picked up his sack.

​

“Let’s go, Groggo,” he said. The unlikely pair walked together out of the alley
and into the square.

​

​

Lynk sighed. He had a good sum of money, but he didn’t want to waste it on a
room. It would have to last. He considered his future. The most logical direction would be to find a job, maybe get taken on by a craftsman. And Groggo, too? Lynk looked up at his companion.

​

“What now, Groggo?” he asked, half to himself.

​

Groggo turned an eye toward Lynk. Groggo’s left eye had a wide vertical scar
that crossed it, though the eye itself was unaffected by the injury. Despite the scar, Groggo favored the eye. He spoke. “Owpschibe,” he pronounced.

​

“Outside? You mean outside the city?”

​

It wasn’t the first time they’d discussed it. Lynk had sold a lot of guard dogs to
people going Outside. Growing up, Lynk had often confided to his friend, “Someday, I’m going out there. I’m gonna be somebody. That’s where the freedom is.” He had heard the stories, and he had met the heroes. But he was only peripherally connected, looking out from the inside.

​

Lynk thought out loud. “We’d need armor, of course, and weapons. And
supplies.” Lynk added it up. It was all expensive. Too expensive. They would have to save up. Get a job and save every copper. “I don’t know,” he said doubtfully.

​

Groggo spoke again. “Ip mop mow, hem.”

​

Lynk grinned a big white grin. “Indeed. Let’s do it.”