{"id":100,"date":"2008-10-12T00:01:24","date_gmt":"2008-10-12T04:01:24","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.spacewesterns.com\/?p=100"},"modified":"2022-11-28T19:06:09","modified_gmt":"2022-11-29T00:06:09","slug":"kin","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.spacewesterns.com\/articles\/kin\/","title":{"rendered":"Kin"},"content":{"rendered":"

T<\/strong><\/span>he alien and the boy, who was twelve, sat in the windowless room high above the city that afternoon. The boy talked and the alien listened.<\/p>\n

The boy was ordinary\u2014the genes of three continents in his features, his clothes cut in the style of all boys in the vast housing project called LAX. The alien was something else, awful to behold; and though the boy knew it was rude, he did not look up as he talked.<\/p>\n

He wanted the alien to kill a man, he said. It was that simple.<\/p>\n

As the boy spoke, the alien sat upright and still on the one piece of furniture that could hold him. Eyes averted, the boy sat on the stool, the one by the terminal where he did his schoolwork each day. It made him uneasy that the alien was on his bed, though he understood why. It made him uneasy that the creature\u2019s strange knee was so near his in the tiny room, and he was glad when the creature, as if aware, too, shifted its leg away.<\/p>\n

He did not have to look up to see the Antalou\u2019s features. That one glance in the doorway had been enough, and it came back to him whether he wanted it to or not. It was not that he was scared, the boy told himself. It was just the idea\u2014that such a thing could stand in a doorway built for humans, in a human housing project where generations had been born and died, and probably would forever. It did not seem possible.<\/p>\n

He wondered how it seemed to the Antalou.<\/p>\n

Closing his eyes, the boy could see the black synthetic skin the alien wore as protection against alien atmospheres. Under that suit ropes of muscles and tendons coiled and uncoiled, rippling even when the alien was still. In the doorway the long neck had not been extended, but he knew what it could do. When it telescoped forward\u2014as it could instantly\u2014the head tipped up in reflex and the jaws opened.<\/p>\n

Nor had the long talons\u2014which the boy knew sat in the claws and even along the elbows and toes\u2014been unsheathed. But he imagined them sheathing and unsheathing as he explained what he wanted, his eyes on the floor.<\/p>\n

When the alien finally spoke, the voice was inhuman\u2014filtered through the translating mesh that covered half its face. The face came back: The tremendous skull, the immense eyes that could see so many kinds of light and make their way in nearly every kind of darkness. The heavy welts\u2014the auxiliary gills\u2014inside the breathing globe. The dripping ducts below them, ready to release their jets of acid.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho is it…that you wish to have killed?\u201d the voice asked, and the boy almost looked up. It was only a voice\u2014mechanical, snake-like, halting\u2014he reminded himself. By itself it could not kill him.<\/p>\n

\u201cA man named James Ortega-Mambay,\u201d the boy answered.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d The word hissed in the stale apartment air.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe is going to kill my sister.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know this…how?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI just do.\u201d<\/p>\n

The alien said nothing, and the boy heard the long, whispering pull of its lungs.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy,\u201d it said at last, \u201cdid you think…I would agree to it?\u201d<\/p>\n

The boy was slow to answer.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause you\u2019re a killer.\u201d<\/p>\n

The alien was again silent.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo all Antalou,\u201d the voice grated, \u201care professional killers?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, no,\u201d the boy said, looking up and trying not to look away.<\/p>\n

\u201cI mean….\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf not…then how…did you choose me?\u201d<\/p>\n

The boy had walked up to the creature at the great fountain by the Cliffs of Monica\u2014a landmark any visitor to Earth would take in, if only because it appeared on the sanctioned itineraries\u2014and had handed him a written message in crude Antalouan. \u201cI know what you are and what you do,\u201d the message read. \u201cI need your services. LAX cell 873-2345-2657 at 1100 tomorrow morning. I am Kim.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAntalou are well known for their skills, Sir,\u201d the boy said respectfully. \u201cWe\u2019ve read about the Noh campaign, and what happened on Hoggun II when your people were betrayed, and what one company of your mercenaries were able to do against the Gar-Betties.\u201d The boy paused. \u201cI had to give out ninety-eight notes, Sir, before I found you. You were the only one who answered….\u201d<\/p>\n

The hideous head tilted while the long arms remained perfectly still, and the boy found he could not take his eyes from them.<\/p>\n

\u201cI see,\u201d the alien said.<\/p>\n

It was translator\u2019s idiom only. \u201cSeeing\u201d was not the same as \u201cunderstanding.\u201d The young human had done what the military and civilian intelligence services of five worlds had been unable to do\u2014identify him as a professional\u2014and it made the alien reflect: Why had he answered the message? Why had he taken it seriously? A human child had delivered it, after all. Was it that he had sensed no danger and simply followed professional reflex, or something else? Somehow the boy had known he would. How?<\/p>\n

\u201cHow much…,\u201d the alien said, curious, \u201care you able to pay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve got two hundred dollars, Sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow…did you acquire them?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI sold things,\u201d the boy said quickly.<\/p>\n

The rooms here were bare. Clearly they boy had nothing to sell. He had stolen the money, the alien was sure.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can get more. I can\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

The alien made a sound that did not translate. The boy jumped.<\/p>\n

The alien was thinking of the 200,000 inters for the vengeance assassination on Hoggun\u2019s third moon, the 100 kilobucks for the renegade contract on the asteroid called Wolfe, and the mineral shares, pharmaceuticals and spacelock craft\u2014worth twice that\u2014which he had in the end received for the three corporate kills on Alama Poy. What could two hundred dollars<\/em> buy? Could it even buy a city rail ticket?<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is not enough,\u201d the alien said. \u201cOf course,\u201d it added, one arm twitching, then still again, \u201cyou may have thought to record…our discussion…and you may threaten to release the recording…to Earth authorities…if I do not do what you ask of me….\u201d<\/p>\n

The boy\u2019s pupils dilated then\u2014like those of the human province official on Diedor, the one he had removed for the Gray Infra there.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, no\u2014,\u201d the boy stammered. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t do that\u2014\u201d The skin of his face had turned red, the alien saw. \u201cI didn\u2019t even think of it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPerhaps….you should have,\u201d the alien said. The arm twitched again, and the boy saw that it was smaller than the others, crooked but strong.<\/p>\n

The boy nodded. Yes, he should have thought of that. \u201cWhy…,\u201d the alien asked then, \u201cdoes a man named….James Ortega-Mambay….wish to kill your sister?\u201d<\/p>\n

When the boy was finished explaining, the alien stared at him again and the boy grew uncomfortable. Then the creature rose, joints falling into place with popping and sucking sounds, legs locking to lift the heavy torso and head, the long arms snaking out as if with a life of their own.<\/p>\n

The boy was up and stepping back.<\/p>\n

\u201cTwo hundred…is not enough for a kill,\u201d the alien said, and was gone, taking the same subterranean path out of the building which the boy had worked out for him.<\/p>\n

W<\/strong><\/span>hen the man named Ortega-Mambay stepped from the bullet elevator to the roof of the federal building, it was sunset and the end of another long but productive day at BuPopCon. In the sun\u2019s final rays the helipad glowed like a perfect little pond\u2014not the chaos of the Pacific Ocean in the distance\u2014and even the mugginess couldn\u2019t ruin the scene. It was, yes, the kind of weather one conventionally took one\u2019s jacket off in; but there was only one place to remove one\u2019s jacket with at least a modicum of dignity, and that was, of course, in the privacy of one\u2019s own FabHome-by-the-Sea. To thwart convention, he was wearing his new triple-weave \u201cgauze\u201d jacket in the pattern called \u201cSummer Shimmer\u201d\u2014handsome, odorless, waterproof, and cool. He would not remove it until he wished to.<\/p>\n

He was the last, as always, to leave the Bureau, and as always he felt the pride. There was nothing sweeter than being the last\u2014than lifting off from the empty pad with the rotor blades singing over him and the setting sun below as he made his way in his earned solitude away from the city up the coast to another, smaller helipad and his FabHome near Oxnard. He had worked hard for such sweetness, <\/em>he reminded himself.<\/p>\n

His heli sat glowing in the sun\u2019s last light\u2014part of the perfect scene\u2014and he took his time walking to it. It was worth a paintbrush painting, or a digital one, or a multimedia poem. Perhaps he would make something to memorialize it this weekend, after the other members of his triad visited for their intimacy session.<\/p>\n

As he reached the pilot\u2019s side and the little door there, a shadow separated itself from the greater shadow cast by the craft, and he nearly screamed.<\/p>\n

The figure was tall and at first he thought it was a costume, a joke played by a colleague, nothing worse.<\/p>\n

But as the figure stepped into the fading light, he saw what it was and nearly screamed again. He had seen such creatures in newscasts, of course, and even at a distance at the shuttleport or at major tourist landmarks in the city, but never like this. So close<\/em>.<\/p>\n

When it spoke, the voice was low and mechanical\u2014the work of an Ipoor mesh.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are,\u201d the alien said, \u201cJames Ortega-Mambay…Seventh District Supervisor….BuPopCon?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ortega-Mambay considered denying it, but did not. He knew the reputation of the Antalou as well as anyone did. He knew the uses to which his own race, not to mention the other four races mankind had met among the stars, had put them. The Antalou did not strike him as creatures one lied to without risk.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes…. I am. I am Ortega-Mambay.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy own name,\u201d the Antalou said, \u201cdoes not matter, Ortega-Mambay. You know what I am…. What matters.. .is that you have decreed…the pregnancy of Linda Tuckey-Yatsen illegal…. You have ordered the unborn female sibling…of the boy Kim Tuckey-Yatsen…aborted. Is this true?\u201d<\/p>\n

The alien waited.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt may be,\u201d the man said, fumbling. \u201cI certainly do not have all of our cases memorized. We do not process them by family name\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

He stopped as he saw the absurdity of it. It was outrageous.<\/p>\n

\u201cI really do not see what business this is of yours,\u201d he began. \u201cThis is a Terran city, and an overpopulated one\u2014in an over-populated nation on a overpopulated planet that cannot afford to pay to move its burden offworld. We are faced with a problem and one we are quite happy solving by ourselves. None of this can possibly be any of your affair, Visitor. Do you have standing with your delegation in this city?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do not,\u201d the mesh answered, \u201cand it is indeed…my affair if…the unborn female child of Family Tuckey-Yatsen dies.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do not know what you mean.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe is to live, Ortega-Mambay… Her brother wishes a sibling…. He lives and schools…in three small rooms while his parents work…somewhere in the city…. To him…the female child his mother carries…is already born. He has great feeling for her…in the way of your kind, Ortega-Mambay.\u201d<\/p>\n

This could not be happening, Oretga-Mambay told himself. It was insane, and he could feel rising within him a rage he hadn\u2019t felt since his first job with the government. \u201cHow dare you!\u201d he heard himself say. \u201cYou are standing on the home planet of another race and ordering me, a federal official, to obey not only a child\u2019s wishes, but your own\u2014you, a Visitor and one without official standing among your own kind\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe child,\u201d the alien broke in, \u201cwill not die. If she dies, I will…do what I have been…retained to do.\u201d<\/p>\n

The alien stepped then to the heli and the man\u2019s side, so close they were almost touching. The man did not back up. He would not be intimidated. He would not.<\/em><\/p>\n

The alien raised two of its four arms, and the man heard a snickering sound, then a pop, then another, and something caught in his throat as he watched talons longer and straighter than anything he had ever dreamed of slip one by one through the creature\u2019s black syntheskin.<\/p>\n

Then, using these talons, the creature removed the door from his heli.<\/p>\n

One moment the alloy door was on its hinges; the next it was impaled on the talons, which were, Ortega-Mambay saw now, so much stronger than any nail, bone or other integument of Terran fauna. Giddily he wondered what the creature possibly ate to make them so strong.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet into your vehicle, Ortega-Mambay,\u201d the alien said. \u201cProceed home. Sleep and think….about what you must do…to keep the female sibling alive.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ortega-Mambay could barely work his legs. He was trying to get into the heli, but couldn\u2019t, and for a terrible moment it occurred to him that the alien might try to help him in. But then he was in at last, hands flailing at the dashboard as he tried to do what he\u2019d been asked to do: Think<\/em>.<\/p>\n

T<\/strong><\/span>he alien did not sit on the bed, but remained in the doorway. The boy did not have trouble looking at him this time.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know more about us,\u201d the alien said suddenly, severely, \u201cthan you wished me to understand…. Is this not true?\u201d<\/p>\n

The boy did not answer. The creature\u2019s eyes\u2014huge and catlike\u2014held his.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnswer me,\u201d the alien said.<\/p>\n

When the boy finally spoke, he said only, \u201cDid you do it?\u201d<\/p>\n

The alien ignored him.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you kill him?\u201d the boy said.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnswer me<\/em>,\u201d the alien repeated, perfectly still.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes…\u201d the boy said, looking away at last.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow?<\/em>\u201d the alien asked.<\/p>\n

The boy did not answer. There was, the alien could see, defeat in the way the boy sat on the stool.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou will answer me…or I will..damage this room.\u201d<\/p>\n

The boy did nothing for a moment, then got up and moved slowly to the terminal where he studied each day.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve done a lot of work on your star,\u201d the boy said. There was little energy in his voice now.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is more than that,\u201d the alien said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. I\u2019ve studied Antalouan history.\u201d The boy paused and the alien felt the energy rise a little. \u201cFor school, I mean.\u201d There was feeling again\u2014a little\u2014to the boy\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n

The boy hit the keyboard once, then twice, and the screen flickered to life. The alien saw a map of the northern hemisphere of Antalou, the trade routes of the ancient Seventh Empire, the fragmented continent, and the deadly seas that had doomed it.<\/p>\n

\u201cMore than this…I think,\u201d the alien said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d the boy said. \u201cI did a report last year\u2014on my own, not for school\u2014about the fossil record on Antalou. There were a lot of animals that wanted the same food you wanted\u2014that your kind wanted. On Antalou, I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n

Yes<\/em>, the alien thought.<\/p>\n

\u201cI ran across others things, too,\u201d the boy went on, and the alien heard the energy die again, heard in the boy\u2019s voice the suppressive feeling his kind called \u201cdespair.\u201d The boy believed that the man named Ortega-Mambay would still kill his sister, and so the boy \u201cdespaired.\u201d<\/p>\n

Again the boy hit the keyboard. A new diagram appeared. It was familiar, though the alien had not seen one like it\u2014so clinical, detailed and ornate\u2014in half a lifetime.<\/p>\n

It was the Antalouan family cluster, and though the alien could not read them, he knew what the labels described: The \u201ckinship obligation bonds\u201d and their respective \u201cmotivational weights,\u201d the \u201cdefense-need parameters\u201d and \u201cbond-loss consequences\u201d for identity and group membership. There was an inset, too, which gave\u2014in animated three-dimensional display\u2014the survival model human exopsychologists believed could explain all Antalouan behavior.<\/p>\n

The boy hit the keyboard and an iconographic list of the \u201ctotemic bequeaths\u201d and \u201ckinships inheritances\u201d from ancient burial sites near Toloa and Mantok appeared.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou thought you knew,\u201d the alien said, \u201cwhat an Antalou feels.\u201d<\/p>\n

The boy kept his eyes on the floor. \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

The alien did not speak for a moment, but when he did, it was to say:<\/p>\n

\u201cYou were not wrong…Tuckey-Yatsen.\u201d<\/p>\n

The boy looked up, not understanding.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour sister will live,\u201d the Antalou said.<\/p>\n

The boy blinked, but did not believe it.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat I say is true,\u201d the alien said.<\/p>\n

The alien watched as the boy\u2019s body began to straighten, as energy, no longer suppressed in \u201cdespair,\u201d moved through it.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was done,\u201d the alien explained, \u201cwithout the killing…which neither you nor I…could afford.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey will let her live?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are sure?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do not lie…about the work I do.\u201d<\/p>\n

The boy was staring at the alien.<\/p>\n

\u201cI will give you the money,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d the alien said. \u201cThat will not…be necessary.\u201d<\/p>\n

The boy stared for another moment, and then, strangely, began to move.<\/p>\n

The alien watched, curious. The boy was making himself step toward him, though why he would do this the alien did not know. It was a human custom perhaps, a \u201csentimentality,\u201d and the boy, though afraid, thought he must offer it.<\/p>\n

When the boy reached the alien, he put out an unsteady hand, touched the Antalou\u2019s shoulder lightly\u2014once, twice\u2014and then, remarkably, drew his hand down the alien\u2019s damaged arm.<\/p>\n

The alien was astonished. It was an Antalouan gesture, this touch.<\/p>\n

This is no ordinary boy<\/em>, the alien though. It was not simply the boy\u2019s intelligence\u2014however one might measure it\u2014or his understanding of the Antalou. It was something else\u2014something the alien recognized.<\/p>\n

Something any killer needs….<\/em><\/p>\n

The Antalouan gesture the boy had used meant<\/p>\n

\u201cobligation to blood,\u201d though it lacked the slow unsheathing of the demoor. <\/em>The boy had chosen well.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d the boy was saying, and the alien knew he had rehearsed both the touch and the words. It had filled the boy with great fear, the thought of it, but he had rehearsed until fear no longer ruled him.<\/p>\n

As the boy stepped back, shaking now and unable to stop it, he said, \u201cDo you have a family-cluster still?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do not,\u201d the alien answered, not surprised by the question. The boy no longer surprised him. \u201cIt was a decision…made without regrets. Many Antalou have made it. My work…prevents it. You understand….\u201d<\/p>\n

The boy nodded, a gesture which meant that he did.<\/p>\n

And then the boy said it:<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is it like to kill?\u201d<\/p>\n

It was, the alien knew, the question the boy had most wanted to ask. There was excitement in the voice, but still no fear.<\/p>\n

When the alien answered, it was to say simply:<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is both… more and less…than what one…imagines it will be.\u201d<\/p>\n

T<\/strong><\/span>he boy named Kim Tuckey-Yatsen stood in the doorway of the small room where he slept and schooled, and listened as the man spoke to his mother and father. The man never looked at his mother\u2019s swollen belly. He said simply, \u201cYou have been granted an exception, Family Tuckey-Yatsen. You have permission to proceed with the delivery of the unborn female. You will be receiving confirmation of a 4-Member Family Waiver within three workweeks. All questions should be referred to BuPopCon, 7th District, at the netnumber on this card.\u201d<\/p>\n

When the man was gone, his mother cried in happiness and his father held her. When the boy stepped up to them, they embraced him, too. There were three of them now, hugging, and soon there would be four. That was what mattered. His parents were good people. They had taken a chance for him, and he loved them. That mattered too, he knew.<\/p>\n

That night he dreamed of her again. Her name would be Kiara. In the dream she looked a little like Siddo\u2019s sister two floors down, but also like his mother. Daughters should look like their mothers, shouldn\u2019t they? In his dream the four of them were hugging and there were more rooms, and the rooms were bigger.<\/p>\n

W<\/strong><\/span>hen the boy was seventeen and his sister five, sharing a single room as well as siblings can, the trunk arrived from Romah, one of the war-scarred worlds of the Pleiades. Pressurized and dented, the small alloy container bore the customs stamps of four spacelocks, had been opened at least seven times in its passage, and smelled. It had been disinfected, yes, the USPUS carrier who delivered it explained. It had been kept in quarantine for a year and had nearly not gotten through, given the circumstances.<\/p>\n

The boy did not know what the carrier meant.<\/p>\n

The trunk held many things, the woman explained. The small polished skull of a carnivore not from Earth. A piece of space metal fused like the blossom of a flower. Two rings of polished stone which tingled to the touch. An ancient device which the boy would later discover was a third-generation airless communicator used by the Gar-Betties. A coil made of animal hair and pitch, which he would learn was a rare musical instrument from Hoggun VI. And many smaller things, among them the postcard of the Pacific Fountain the boy had given the alien.<\/p>\n

Only later did the family receive official word of the 300,000 inters deposited in the boy\u2019s name in the neutral banking station of HiVerks; of the cache of specialized weapons few would understand that had been placed in perpetual care on Titan, also in his name; and of the offworld travel voucher purchased for the boy to use when he was old enough to use it.<\/p>\n

Though it read like no will ever written on Earth, it was indeed a will, one that the Antalou called a \u201cbequeathing cantation.\u201d That it had been recorded in a spacelock lobby shortly before the alien\u2019s violent death on a world called Glory did not diminish its legal authority.<\/p>\n

Although the boy tried to explain it to them, his parents did not understand; and before long it did not matter. The money bought them five rooms in the northeast sector of the city, a better job for his mother, better care for his father\u2019s autoimmunities, more technical education for the boy, and all the food and clothes they needed; and for the time being (though only that) these things mattered more to him than Saturn\u2019s great moon and the marvelous weapons waiting patiently for him there.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A young boy contacts an alien gun-for-hire in the hopes of saving his sister’s life. “Kin” has an impressive pedigree: dedicated to Harry Harrison, originally appearing in the February 2006 issue of Asimov’ Science Fiction Magazine<\/em>, chosen by Gardner Dozois to appear in The Year’s Best Science Fiction: Twenty-fourth Annual Collection<\/em>, and nominated for a Hugo Award in 2007.— ed, N.E. Lilly<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":60,"featured_media":522,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[3,5],"tags":[139],"media":[299],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.spacewesterns.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/100"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.spacewesterns.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.spacewesterns.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.spacewesterns.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/60"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.spacewesterns.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=100"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.spacewesterns.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/100\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1119,"href":"https:\/\/www.spacewesterns.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/100\/revisions\/1119"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.spacewesterns.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/522"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.spacewesterns.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=100"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.spacewesterns.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=100"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.spacewesterns.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=100"},{"taxonomy":"media","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.spacewesterns.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?post=100"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}