The Flesh is (Not) Weak [005-006]

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[005 Bump]

“Who are you?”

“My name is Damon Wight… ma’am.”

The situation was tense, the fight had come to an abrupt end when Damon’s translation system had kicked in. An opportunity Sybil had been ready to use to gut him. Damon could only thank his luck that the companion had shown up and stopped her.

Which had led to a no less awkward situation.

“You could talk.” The hooded Sybil shifted slightly. She was currently straddling his gut, a rather odd choice considering he was naked and covered in blue monster blood. But she appeared unwilling to remove herself from his person, as doing so would move her sword away from Damon’s throat. To him, her presence was more threatening than uncomfortable, as she practically weighed nothing. The hooded woman turned to look over at her companion and then back down at Damon. “I am Sybil.”

“Handrondi.” The companion added. “Why didn’t you stop when we asked you?”

Damon blinked, had that been when they’d been talking gibberish? Could he explain that he couldn't yet understand the language at all? He’d thought they’d been talking amongst themselves. Would that be believable? He defaulted to a more reasonable response. “After the drone hit me with the cannon thing, my ears were left ringing. I could barely hear my own voice.”

That caused a shift, he could practically see the grimace under the hood. “Why is your blood red?” Sybil said.

Questions he could answer, that was good.

“It’s always been red. Is… that odd?”

“Yes.”

The hooded figure leaned back, the gesture moving the cape and revealing a lithe body wearing dark leather armor of some sort. Still straddling his stomach, still holding the blade close to his throat with one hand, she took her left hand and ran it over the sharp end of the sword. Her skin was not like Idina’s, rather than a pale green, Sybil’s was something Damon would’ve expected out of a caucasian.

From the injury, a single drop of green blood made its way onto the surface of her calloused hands. The golden brown eyes had kept looking intently at Damon as his expression turned into a slight frown.

“What are you?” she asked.

“Human,” he said, not looking away from the droplet of green before focusing on her eyes again. “I’m guessing you’re not?”

“I am a vulpes. I have never heard of your species before. Are all humans this tall?”

“I think this is a conversation that is going to need a lot more time. I need pants, a shower, and food. Preferably not in that order.” Damon did his best to relax, to present himself as harmless, as no longer interested in fighting. “Unless I am a prisoner now.”

“If you stop suppressing your hymn, we’ll take you to the village and clear up the misunderstanding.” Handrondi spoke up. “Even this close, it is not apparent. Is it a rare graft?”

“I honestly do not have a clue what-.” Sybil cut his words short, pressing the blade against his throat. Damon froze, raising his chin and swallowing.

“Release your hymn.”

“I’m not from here. I woke up in a cave not too far from here.” Hissing between gritted teeth, he held himself as still as he could. “And I don’t know what this ‘hymn’ thing is. Only hymn I know is a half-assed anthem. I doubt you want me to sing, never been much for choir, which is probably a plus now that I think about it.”

“Do you talk this much nonsense?”

“If I’m nervous? Yeah, lots,” he said, forcing a small chuckle.

She kept looking into his eyes for a long quiet second before pulling back the blade enough it no longer pressed against his neck. She glanced at her partner and then back at Damon. “Nothing. This is going to be harder than expected.”

Damon snorted, laying with his arms wide on the ground. “Understandable. You just chased down a guy who openly surrendered and got the shit kicked in when he defended himself. I mean, not sure what else you want from me, here.”

“You were surrounded.”

Sybil glared at her companion and glanced at Damon. “You yielded?”

“I was on my knees and your damn robot brought out the glowing knives.” He hissed angrily. “Was I also supposed to let it stab me a couple times so it could check if I meant it?”

“It’s a familiar, not a robot, and it does not belong to us.” The companion spoke up. “But there might have been a misunderstanding. You sort of are drenched in monster blood.”

Damon grit his teeth. “Not by choice, I assure you.”

“Sybil, do you think we can trust him?”

She paused, taking another slow look at him. “He could have finished me after his strip attack.” A firm nod. “And his eyes are clear.” Her proclamation was followed by her removing herself from his stomach, sheathing the blade. “The knight might put up a fuss, though.”

“Of course he will. There’s no hymn at all.”

“I don’t care what you do so long as I get to clean up, clothes, and food.” Damon said without hesitation. “After that, I’d appreciate information.”

“What kind of information?” Sybil asked, eyes confused as she frowned from under her hood.

“Everything.” Damon responded. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m new around here.”

“If where you come from is so far off we’ve never heard of humans, how did you get here?”

Damon nodded slightly. “That’s something I’d like to know too.”

***

Walking to the village had been, understandably, tense and quiet. The limping cube-bot walked in front, a limping Damon in the middle, Handrondi behind him, and a limping Sybil bringing up the rear. They moved slowly, and Damon was starting to suspect it wasn’t because they were trying to be considerate to his limp. Both of the… soldiers? Fighters? Had been panting something fierce, needing a short break half-way down to the village.

Out of the three injured parties, the robot was the one worse for wear. It moved forward with a rain of sparks from its legs that looked like a serious fire-hazard. The cube dragged the half-dead fourth leg, moving at a pace that snails could have overcome. Not that Damon would complain, his everything hurt, especially the place with the bite-mark from the mutated rat.

“How are you holding up?” Handrondi broke the silent streak.

While Sybil had kept her appearance hidden under her cloak, Handrondi appeared to have taken the opposite approach and had dressed up to draw attention to himself. He wore a set of bright yellow and red leather armor with a scarce few small metal plates placed through his body. The young man with a blond ponytail was another of the silver-eared green-skinned elves, slightly taller than Sybil at five feet, and clearly the same race as the Idina Damon had been chasing.

Though they didn’t call themselves elves, and while Sybil was a ‘Vulpes’, Handrondi was a ‘Sasin’.

Now, with the chance to get a better look out of the man, Damon had realized the metallic-looking ears weren’t just some weird cosmetic. The skin on their ears was actually metallic in appearance. They melded into the skull through silver and copper roots that ran down his neck and met under the jawline. Or he guessed they did. The impressive blond beard Handrondi had was a thick bushy thing, with a slight sheen to it as if made out of actual gold. The same was the case for his hair.

Damon shrugged. “I’m just about ready to collapse.”

“Just how did you get so much blood on you? Did you roll over their corpses or something?”

“I killed one big ugly one with very big teeth that jumped around, and a bunch of the small ugly ones that moved in groups.”

“With your bare hands.”

“I had a sharp rock.”

“And you don’t have grafts.”

“I don’t know what a graft is.”

“Right arm.” Sybil tapped her companion’s shoulder.

Handrondi hesitated. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Might as well.”

Upon her insistence, he stepped forward and raised his right arm. Copper and silver lines ran all the way down from his shoulder to his wrist, enclosing his pale green skin in a zigzag of bright jagged patterns. He clenched his fist and his arm opened with a hiss. Damon jumped slightly back as a black mass emerged from the forearm, covering it in a black goop. After a moment, the goo stretched outwards in the shape of a three foot wide disk attached to his arm.

“This is one of my grafts.” The declaration came with a hint of pride, straightening himself a bit further at the look of surprise on Damon’s face. “My personal ferrous shield.”

“That seems… useful.”

Damon kept from shuddering as Handrondi retracted the black thing back into his arm. His gaze lingered on the limb that had opened like some sort of robotic hydraulic freak-show. Once it was close, it returned to its previous appearance, the metallic edges upon it looking like no more than tattoos.

“Are your ears grafts as well?”

“Technically, they are. But it is a species graft, one all sasins have,” Handrondi glanced at Damon from head to toe. “Perhaps your graft is in your freakishly tall skeleton?”

“I was born with my skeleton.”

“All species grafts are ones you are born with.”

“Han is sensitive about his ears because they are uneven.” Sybil’s voice carried a lilt of humor.

“They are not!”

“So you can get new grafts?” Damon tried to urge the conversation forward, learn more about the crazy place he’d ended up in.

Handrondi huffed. “Sure, at the thalaring ports. So long as you have some graft cores and the right materials to offer to the Goddesses.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have grafts, since you’re already a user.” Sybil claimed.

“A what now?”

“User.” She tapped the back of her head. “You have an axon.”

Frowning, Damon imitated the gesture and tapped the back of his head. His steps came to a sudden halt when he felt a lump of metal right at the base of his skull. “What the fuck!?”

“He’s fresh alright.” Handrondi grunted with a chuckle.

“What the fuck!?” Damon’s fingers pressed against the spot, a circular piece of warm metal, the size of his thumb and definitely not something he remembered ever putting on himself. His breathing came in harder, eyes wide. “When… why? HOW!?”

Sybil shared a look with her companion.

“Damon, you need to breathe, or you might startle our escort.”

She raised her empty hands in appeasing gestures. Her palms were covered in a thousand tiny hairlines of golden filaments, their structure an intricate crisscrossing that resembled tree roots.

“Who put this on me!?” Damon’s nails dug into the skin around the lump, a painful jolt followed.

“Damon, this is normal.”

“Maybe here, but not where I come from!” His voice came fast, almost shrill. “People don’t just wake up with a piece of metal shoved into their skulls!”

Sybil and Handrondi shared a glance, then turned forward, past him, their steps slowing down. The cube-robot had stopped, the blades were out, and glowing. The duo had kept their hands up, but their focus had locked on the droid.

“This might feel out of place, but you need to breathe and calm down.” Handrondi spoke with a gentle tone. “The axon is yours. It is under your control. It is nothing more than an extension of yourself. No different from your arms or legs.”

There was a sharp retort Damon wanted to throw at him, but with the hum of the glowing blades, he felt the icy chill that stopped him. They were right, the situation… he grimaced, yanking his hands away from his head, clenching them together and nodding, mostly to himself, mostly for show. Focus. “I… I need food, water, a shower, and clothes.”

Set a goal, orient himself. Move. These were problems he could solve.

The duo waited until the droid’s blades had retracted again. “And you’ll get a chance to rest and eat in the village.”

The group began moving, albeit quietly. The only exception being when Damon had to dismiss the swarm of messages informing him of each individual villager that had entered detection range. Now that he was sure of where the messages were coming from, he was liking his situation less and less.

***

Reception to the village had been chilly. The instant they’d reached the wooden walls, Damon found himself face to face with a man whose expression reminded him of every commanding officer he’d encountered combined. There was just something about the mix of disdain, irritation, and dismissal of the body language and tone that made it impossible to believe it was anything other than training.

“You have no hymn.”

A one-silver-eared sasin, just barely over five feet, with broad shoulders and broader jawline. Grayed thick caterpillar eyebrows imposing themselves over a great deal of his facial features.

“We confirmed this. We suspect his lack of a hymn is because of his species.” Sybil spoke without waiting for the question. “He’s a human.”

“I do not trust this… human.”

Meanwhile, Damon inwardly pretended he was a potted plant. No need to talk or do anything if no one was talking to him directly. It wasn’t like he could really say anything that wouldn’t potentially worsen the situation. His eyes were looking straight ahead, standing at attention, but his brain was running on several frayed lines of thought at the same time. The current primary focus being a continual self-reminder that the murder-cube was resting precisely two meters behind him, blades hot.

“Can you not speak for yourself?”

“You did not ask me a question, sir.”

The only surprise the man showed was in a marginal rise of his eyebrows. “What do you plan to do with my village?”

“Nothing, sir. I only seek food and rest.”

There was a moment of pause, his attention returning to the other two. “If he does anything, it will be your heads on the pikes.” A sharp inhale and a growl, moving his attention back to Damon. “You smell like you crawled out of a gaper’s maw.”

“Can’t say I know what a gaper is, sir.”

“You should, you’re wearing its fur.” Sybil's voice spoke with a covered smile.

“Oh.” Damon glanced down at the dark, blood-stained fur. “Then I did exactly that, sir.”

The sasin’s whole body twitched, fuzzy brows rising ever so lightly, almost enough to allow Damon to see the eyes hidden underneath. The light green skin took a greener shade.

“I’d lock you up in a heartbeat if these two weren’t vouching for you.”

“I am fortunate, sir.”

“I believe, sir knight, that we should take our new friend and give him a good scrub before his smell draws any monsters.” The mocking edge Handrondi used did not go unnoticed.

The knight scoffed. “He is to remain indoors until repairs to my familiar have finished. Isthatit, come.”

The machine gave a steamy hoot and Damon’s whole body tensed into stone. The machine withdrew its knives, the evil cube dragged itself towards the strongly jawed man and scurried off. Damon didn’t move, waiting for either of his guides to lead the way.

“That went a lot better than expected.” Sybil said, chuckling amusedly. “This way, Damon.”

A soft pat on his shoulder prompted him to follow them to a tiny house near the entrance of the village. The shack had two floors compared to the three the rest of the village had. The building appeared to be in a greater state of disuse than any of the others as well; the paint was chipped off, and the glass panes were muddier than the other houses.

“Did you really crawl out of a gaper’s maw?”

“I’ve had a very long day.” Was his response, then paused. “Does the name ‘Idina’ or ‘Arlen’ ring any bells?”

“Idina’s the daughter of sir knight.”

“Wasn’t Arlen the hagsier merchant that showed up a week ago?” Sybil asked, shaking her head under the hood. “How do you know those names?”

“They were in the cavern I woke up in. The gaper got to Arlen, though.”

Handrondi frowned. “So you wake up in a cave and the first thing you do is chase the first sasin you come across all the way here? No wonder the girl was terrified, having a thing like you, soaked in monster blood, and chasing her for three whole days.”

“I left the cave today.”

“There’s no gaper den within just a day’s travel from here.” The golden-bearded man laughed. “Maybe we missed one? We’ll have to check and update the map.”

“I suspect we are going to want to ask Damon just as many questions as he will want to ask us.” Sybil opened the door, leading them inside. “Though we all need a rest. Han, bath?”

“Right, this way.”

Ducking under the door-frame, Damon moved deeper into the house.

“Do you prefer hot water or cold?” Handrondi asked.

Damon’s shoulders slumped. “At this point, I’ll take whatever gets rid of this blue gunk fastest.”

“Cold it is.”

[006 Bath]

Damon stepped into the shower-room and looked around. It was a simple thing. A large stone bathtub with a drain at the center and a showerhead hanging above. Light red wood surrounded the room, light blue ceramic covered the floor outside the bathtub, having its own drain. With no windows, the only source of illumination were two white lights housed at either side of the room and contained behind murky pieces of glass.

“Do you want someone to help you wash?” Handrondi offered a pumice stone. “It’s really hard to remove once it dries. You don’t want to miss a spot. Few things drive them angrier than seeing or smelling monster blood.”

Damon stared at the dark rock. “I can handle it.”

“I’ll be at the door if you need help. Water’s that lever.”

“Is there temperature control?”

“Not in a village this far from everything.” Handrondi shook his head. “Warm water takes an hour to get ready. Hot an hour and a half.”

“Thank you.”

Handrondi moved to leave, but paused for a second.

“You might be new, but users stick together.”

Damon wasn’t sure how to take that, so he didn’t respond. The door closed, and only his thoughts remained as company. He took off the fur that was his sole piece of clothing and hopped into the tub. The lever on the wall appeared to work as a simple mechanism to regulate how much flow he’d get out of the water.

And the water was frigid.

Damon cursed several times before he got himself under control. He had to bite the bullet now that he’d asked for this. He shivered as he started rubbing the pumice against his skin. The blue blood had caked in along with dirt and sweat, and exactly as Handrondi had promised, it had proven difficult to remove. His injuries only made it worse. He felt like he was covered from head to toe in bruises, scrapes, cuts, and a couple of burns. Everything was minor, nothing too serious, but there was enough for him to wonder if he wouldn’t turn black and blue by tomorrow.

The cleaning came to a pause when his fingers brushed against the metal nub at the base of his cranium, he felt his whole body go rigid at the contact. Without thought, his nails dug into the skin, a painful stab shooting through him before he pulled his hands away.

The shower sputtered to a halt. Damon glanced upwards. There was a dull throb in the back of his head, one that warned him he’d lost track of time under the shower. A sense of defeat washed over him.

“Handrondi?”

“Need anything?”

“The water stopped.”

“It probably ran out. Oh. I forgot to mention plugging the bath, didn’t I?” A long awkward silence followed. “I’ll get a bucket.”

“…”

For a shower, it wasn't as relaxing as he’d hoped it would be.

Damon waited until the sasin came back with the promised bucket of chilly water. The bearded man had stripped down to a set of white briefs. This time, he didn’t ask whether Damon needed help and just barged in, and it would have been a challenge to stop the man.

Handrondi was built like a brick house, his arms thick with the sort of muscle one didn’t get from just lifting weights. Covering his arms was the crisscrossing straight silver, gold, and copper lines marking the grafts, the lines flowed and converged in the center of his chest like a massive tattoo. One Damon knew had far more utility than looks.

“To use the shower, you need to plug the bath, get some water, scrub, drain, plug again, and get some more water. Repeat until clean, then get a plunge to rinse.” Handrondi explained as he rubbed the pumice down Damon’s spine. There had been blue blood there, too. “We’ll also get you an antidote after this.”

Seated at the edge of the tub, Damon stiffened. “Is this stuff poisonous?”

“Wouldn’t suggest eating it, but it’s only really bad if it gets in your bloodstream. With your scrapes, you probably only have enough in you to slow down your healing and make you feel worse for wear. You’d need a lot more for it to be dangerous.” Handrondi dipped the pumice in the bucket, pausing. “Though you’re a big guy, if two darts from Sybil didn’t put you down, I doubt you'd have anything to worry over monster blood. Just what did they feed you to get you this big?”

“Whatever they had at hand.”

“I believe you.” He let out a slight chuckle. “That bite on your leg looks shallow, but I can help.”

“If you’re sure it’ll work.”

“Then stay still for a moment.”

Leaning over, Handrondi moved his left arm close to Damon’s leg. The palm glowed with a soft light. There was a hissing sound, and a purple mist as he pressed the cold damp skin against his own. There was a numbing sensation and instant relief, the pain gone in a snap.

“That’s another graft?” Damon stared at his leg closely, the bite-mark had lost the angry red edges. The lacerations were even slightly smaller than a moment ago.

“Yes, I can create some medicine that helps heal injuries. But it’ll-.”

He stopped as he glanced at Damon, taking a step back.

“Something wrong?”

“No, just…” Handrondi leaned closer, passing his thumb over Damon’s elbow. “It seems my medicine is a bit more effective on humans than I thought.”

Damon sat up a little, looking himself over. The aches from earlier had numbed, and a couple of the shallow cuts were entirely gone. “That’s… this stuff seems powerful.”

“It usually takes a full dose to cover that much.” Handrondi shook his head. “Well, it’s better this way, I guess.” He noticed Damon’s gaze lingering on his gold-covered palms. “You shouldn’t touch it.”

“What?”

“Your axon.”

Damon’s hand recoiled away from the back of his head, not having noticed it was there.

“Take it from me, it’s not something you want to make a habit out of.”

Handrondi turned away and reached behind his head. Raising his hair revealed a circular bronze colored piece of metal the size of a thumbnail. Small scars littered the skin surrounding the metal, they were scratch-marks from long ago.

“You… did that?”

“Partially.” He tossed the pumice stone back at Damon. “Some enders tried to take my key, knocked me out, I was lucky, came back right as they’d started poking around. Nasty fight, but I made it out. I kind of kept checking if it was still there after it was over, though. Took a while before I stopped.”

“What’s an ender?”

“Users that kill other users.” The expression darkened. “An axon is an expensive thing. Some people are desperate enough to pay the worst kind of people out there to get their hands on one.” There was a quiet fury in his words.

“What happens if…?”

“If they remove your axon? You may survive if they do it right, but those that have had theirs taken often wish they hadn’t. Grafts just don’t work quite how they did, and their role doesn’t come back either.” He shook his head. “That was wrong of me. This must be terrifying for someone new like you.” A slight sigh. “Very few users are attacked for their axon. Guilds are thorough when it comes to hunting enders down. Not that you’d have much to worry about.”

“What makes you say that?”

“If you killed a gaper with your bare hands, I doubt many would pose a serious threat to you.” Handrondi laughed, the darkness in his eyes gone like smoke in the wind.

Damon nodded and turned his focus back to his body, scrubbing away at the gunk with the help of the water from the bucket. The process was tedious, but Handrondi had insisted on the need for thoroughness. So it had taken several more buckets before he was declared fully clean.

“Do you have soap?”

“Never carry any. The last thing you need is making it easier for the monsters to hunt you down.” He twirled the black pumice. “Griff egg is the better option, it gets rid of all the scents.”

“I guess that’s fine. What about the fur?”

He got a laugh out of Handrondi. “You’ll get to clean your stuff after we get some food in you.” The word made Damon’s stomach grumble loudly, and the blond laughed harder. “With how tall you are, I’m afraid to ask how much you’ll eat.”

***

“There’s no way he’s still hungry.”

Damon put down the now empty wooden plate. “I’ll take more if you can spare it.”

“You’ve eaten ten whole servings. If I ate that much in a single sitting, I’d explode.” Handrondi spoke in awe.

“The plate is small.” It was really the only answer Damon could give. He’d eaten the equivalent of three normal servings. Considering the day he’d had, he definitely could go for one more if they could spare it.

Ideally, he’d also have a cold beer. The first image that came to mind was a bar and trying his luck with some pretty woman, but that consideration would definitely have to wait.

“How are you feeling?” Sybil asked from under her hood.

“I’m ok, all things considered. Do you cover your face all the time?”

“Don’t mind her. She’s more timid than she looks, it’ll take her a while to warm up.”

Damon shot a blank look at the duo that sat across from him. “She tried to stab me.”

“And you broke some ribs. I consider we’re even.” She declared with a frown and crossed her arms. “This is unnerving.”

“What is?”

“It’s like you’re not there.” Her arm gestured at him. “I’ve been trying to listen, but there’s not been so much as a peep. No one can hide their hymn like that without some very special grafts.”

“Well, he doesn’t bleed blue, at least.”

“I still don’t know what a ‘hymn’ is.” Damon pointed out.

The two shared a look. Handrondi grimaced. “I’m not good with this sort of explanation, you’re the expert.” Sybil shot Handrondi a look that made the sasin quickly lean away and raise his hands. “Hey, you know I don’t mean anything by that.”

“Something… wrong?”

“No, just something personal.” Sybil’s shoulders slumped as she sighed. “Imagine that. As I speak to you, I have a second voice. One that makes sounds that are… colorful.”

“Colorful… sounds.”

Damon looked at them blankly, he’d heard of synesthesia, but this didn’t seem like it was that.

“It is a complicated matter to explain a sense using the remaining ones. Could you explain eyesight through your sense of smell?” Sybil shook her head. “The hymn, the… sound and colors of this second voice. It gives intent to the words I say. It’s the first thing anyone notices when talking to someone else. They pay attention to how well the hymn harmonizes with the person’s surroundings, whether someone is screaming when everyone’s whispering, or if they are blueing while the others are red.”

“I was pretty blue just a couple of hours ago.”

“Got you there.” Handrondi chuckled.

“I did not expect colors to become a verb, but I’m curious to see where this goes.”

She huffed at them. “I have never had to explain this to someone else. It is a challenge I never expected to have, I am no wordsmith.” Her hand gestured at the door. “If I walk out and through the village, I’d be able to hear the hymn of each of them. I’d know if any of them need help or want me to go away.”

“So this hymn is like having a billboard telling others what you want out of them?”

“In a sense. My hymn speaks of my emotions, my expectations.” Sybil pressed her hand against her hood. “I can conceal it, to a point, but…”

“To quiet your hymn is akin to putting on a mask to avoid people from reading your expression.” Handrondi nodded. “And it takes skill to fake it.”

“Exactly!” She nodded, pausing as she met Damon’s quietly quirked brow. She stiffened at that, hazel eyes lowering to the table and the hood, hiding her expression.

“Considering things have gotten a bit out of track, I’d like to ask the big question and get it out of the way now that we can.” Stroking his golden beard, Handrondi leaned forward. “Where do you come from, Damon?”

“Planet Earth. United States, Texas, from a place called East Bernard, but everyone will say I’m from Houston. Got a lot of humans, and only humans.” He shook his head. “Anything sound familiar?”

“Everything you said sounded like gibberish. I guess we would have to ask whether the Irsi continent, Demna Kingdom, and Sky Bridge city are names you’ve heard before.”

“Nope.”

“And… you don’t know how you got here.”

“Woke up in the cave, fought the monster, passed out, and you know the rest. I hope the Idina woman might know something. No offense, but as colorful as this place is, I’d rather go back. Lot less monsters there.”

“What about your user guide?” Sybil asked.

“What about it?”

“You dismissed messages when we were approaching the village.” She made a gesture with her hand, as if swiping at the air. “It may have useful information.”

“I asked for it and it just pointed me back to the cave. Called it a Janus entry point.”

It took Damon a moment to realize his answer had caused a reaction out of the two. Or rather, Handrondi had become tense, his focus shifting towards Sybil. The hooded woman had become still, eyes wide. Her hood shifted slightly and her gaze focused on him like a laser. “Could you go into detail?”

“It called it a Janus Entry Point and a number. That’s it. Oh!” Damon perked up. “It also said it was missing information and that it needed a thalaring.”

“The nearest thalaring temple is in Sky Bridge.” Sybil leaned forward, hands flat on the table. “Tell me what you saw in that cave. Exactly. Did you spot any symbols? Drawings? Strange formations?”

“You should calm down.”

“No.” She shot a look at her companion. “This is important.”

“Important how?” Damon asked.

“A place of power of the God Janus.” She spoke with a slight hitch in her voice.

Damon hesitated, remembering the logo and the slogan. Janus was a God now? With a company motto? “What would you be able to do with a place of power? Anything about sending people to other worlds?”

“Places of power for Janus are of spiritual importance. They are where he left his mark on before he ascended.” There was no mistaking the edge of reverence in her words. “We may find some answers to why you are here.”

Damon hid his grimace. He’d already asked the system why he was there, and he hadn’t liked the answer. But he kept his mouth shut, he was missing too much context to speak up. Perhaps there was a different answer to be found.

He hoped there was one, at least.

***

Deep in space, Emilie was happily enjoying the purified hot water washing over her chitin body protections. Scout vessels did not come with showers, and the installation had come out of her own pocket. Well worth it, it was the kind of amenity that made her work more… amenable. But when the artificial gravity system in the ship shut down, Emilie found herself just about ready to panic.

Now, there are many reasons why artificial gravity systems might shut down while the warp was engaged, but none of them were good reasons.

She reached out to the emergency-dry button. Hot air blasted from above and a strong sucking came from the metal grid under her feet. The sound was deafening, and she had to cover her ear gaps to protect herself from the noise. Thirty seconds later, she floated out and fished for her boots and gloves.

The lights flickered.

Emilie quickly reconsidered, bouncing her way towards her EVA undersuit and clambering into the thing as best she could while having no gravity to assist her. The composite material clung to her still slightly damp chitin and Emilie let out a string of curses. Boots came on after, and she maneuvered her way towards the cockpit. Several lights were flashing in warning, though the fact that the main screen was offline meant it was either something minor, or something really really bad.

Strapping herself to the pilot chair, she began bringing up the alert prompts. The first wave of relief was that they hadn’t suddenly encountered something with enough mass to deform their trajectory. The second was that the warp bubble was still intact, though had it collapsed, she wouldn’t be alive right now.

The issue had come from the generator, the output had dropped, and the initial diagnostics wasn’t pinpointing the cause. The system had decided that the gravity field, which both sustained the warp bubble and the ship’s artificial gravity, would only focus on the warp bubble. The proper choice in case anything happened that might strain the system further.

And it had also turned off the water filters.

“Fuck.”

To fix the issue, Emilie would need to switch to auxiliary power and use advanced diagnostics on the main generator, which would turn off the warp bubble. Which would mean delays, which would mean she’d have a lot less saved up after this trip. Emilie ran the number in her head. She could juggle around the other life-support systems if she spent the rest of the trip fully geared in her EVA suit.

All she’d have to do would be to point the ship in the right direction once she entered the system's heliosphere, give it some inertia, and turn on the auxiliary generator so she could begin the repair work.

“It’s just a little bump, nothing to worry over.”

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