Date Point: 14y2d AV
Planet Akyawentuo, Unclaimed Space, Near 3Kpc Arm
Julian Etsicitty
Beep.
“Uh…Fuck. God, I don’t know what to say. I don’t…there ain’t much time.”
That really wasn’t an understatement. Julian could hear stones falling and clattering down the scree as the remaining majority of the Abrogators, according to the satellites, picked their way over the mountains rather than through the pass. Even if the JETS team had had explosives left, dropping any more rocks on their enemy wasn’t an option this time.
He took a deep breath, gulped, and forced himself to keep talking to a blank camera lens, trying to imagine the faces beyond it and not the tears. If the girls ever saw this, then…
“Uh…The Abrogators are comin’. We know where their weak spots are, we know we can take them down…but there’s a lotta them. And I, uh…I hope I get to delete this. But if you’re watching, then…”
He looked away, grimaced against the itching at the corner of his eyes.
“…I love you both. Look after each other. I’ll…try and look out for you, if I can. I’m…sorry.”
He knew what else he wanted to say. It was just one big word, an important one: ‘Goodbye.’ But he didn’t dare. That felt too much like giving up and accepting that he was definitely going to die here, and he wasn’t ready. He’d face it…but he wasn’t ready to accept it.
So instead he stared into the camera for a second or two longer, then kissed his fingertips, pressed them to the camera, and stopped recording with no idea if or how the message might reach them.
He cleansed himself with a breath through the nose, put the phone away, corrected his hold on his hunting rifle. It wasn’t anything like good enough for this fight—in fact, he doubted that the HEAT team’s own weapons would tip the balance that much—but it was better than spears and knives, which was what the People had brought. To take on p lasma weapons.
They were all far braver men than him.
He was at the back, high up in a tree where his rifle was probably at its best…and this time he was doing it without Vemet. That hurt. He hadn’t yet had time to grieve properly, and he’d thoroughly liked and respected the stoic cavemonkey, and his sharp, dry wit. It had shone through language and cultural barriers, and even Allison had described him as “Old Man Charming.”
Gone, now.
Everyone mourned him, but especially Yan. And Vemik, who had his tail firmly around Julian’s waist, holding them both securely to the tree.
And as grief-stricken as he was, Sky-Thinker never missed a trick. “…You miss them,” he said.
“I love them.” Julian gave him a helpless shrug. “I don’t want them to hurt.”
Vemik nodded and squeezed his tail a little tighter. The People treated that like a particularly close hug and it was strangely comforting. Julian hugged him back, putting as much of his now considerable strength into it as he could to try and communicate his gratitude. His hard-earned muscle meant that even a tough human would have been left gasping for breath—Julian had learned that the hard way with his friends—but Ten’Gewek were damn near made of teak, and Vemik had spent over a year beating on iron and making bows. A semi-arboreal lifestyle on a supergravity planet put the kind of solid mass on their bones that a human could only achieve through a lifetime of rugged living and hard work…or through whatever broscience bullshit they did in the SOR.
Julian grit his teeth and squeezed even harder, and managed to earn the slightest happy grunt of discomfort from Vemik. Oddly cheering, that.
“They safe in ship,” he said without any difficulty, despite Julian’s hardest efforts. “No matter what, they safe.”
“They’ll live,” Julian agreed and let go, slightly disappointed and shaking out his arms. And bummed out. “That ain’t the same thing as safe. We kinda…need each other, man.”
Vemik nodded. “I know. Yan know, too. He worries. Wawsh worries, Heff worries. We all worry.”
Julian looked up at the sound of urgent conversation up ahead. Walsh had rushed to Coombes’ side and the pair had their heads together.
“Guess we won’t worry much longer,” he muttered. “…Sky-Thinker. It’s been…”
“Tell me later,” Vemik interrupted him, and dredged up a grin from somewhere under his own fatigue and sorrow. “When you too tired of fucking to think straight.”
Julian snorted.
“Hey…” he said instead. “…Some humans think if you die in battle, you go to a huge feast where there’s all the best food and fighting and singing.”
“And women?”
Julian chuckled despite himself. “And women.”
“I think Yan dream of that.”
“He ain’t wrong. Anyway…If I see you there, I’ll introduce you to something called beer.”
That got him a smirk from a sharp-eared Hoeff, who was in the next tree over with one of the machine guns.
“Don’t write us off just yet, Playboy,” he said. “My radio just blinked.”
Walsh immediately dived for his pack and was intensely focused on…whatever it was he was doing.
“…What does that mean?” Julian asked.
“It means, keep your ass attached to that fuckin’ tree.”
Vemik gripped the tree with all four hands and nearly crushed the breath from Julian’s body. Hoeff nodded, raised his gun, and the first Abrogator scuttled over the top of the stony rise.
It was immediately staggered back by a six-round burst from one of the machine guns. Coombes’ by the sound of it, probably. Sparks and glass flew from the sensitive sensor cluster on its nose and it half-twisted to present its armor plating to the threat instead. Its scorpion-like tail arced up and the plasma gun mounted therein spat a wash of blue destruction in the vague direction of whatever had wounded it.
Coombes had clearly done a good job of confusing and blinding it, though. The bolt sizzled over his head and blew a Ketta apart as some of the water under the tree’s bark flash-boiled. The burning trunk splintered, cracked, and toppled over.
Spurred into action by pure adrenaline, Julian raised his own rifle, aimed and tried to get a decent bead on the Hierarchy genocide engine’s twisting tail. His finger seemed to squeeze of its own accord and maybe it was instinct, maybe it was pure nervous luck, but the Abrogator didn’t get a second shot off—its cannon spat sparks and then popped in a half-hearted shower of blue plasma.
Vemik fired one of his arrows at it too, one from Yan’s old bow. Julian couldn’t even draw the damn thing—a training goal for later, maybe—and Vemik obviously strained with every pull, but good God could that huge bow throw an arrow. It rammed that arrow—really more a small spear than some light, quick dart—straight through the metal petals on the Abrogator’s “neck” and caused the entire machine to seize up like a man with a cramp. It was far from dead, but it coiled around the damage, staggered and lost its footing on the loose stony ground. Seconds later it was crashing and rolling down the slope, twisting to try and get up even as the awkward fall bent its legs and smashed its carapace. When it reached the bottom its fusion-blade arms flailed uselessly, but it otherwise seemed to be out of the fight.
Vemik looked at Julian like he was more stunned than anyone else.
Hoeff smirked without taking his attention off the Abrogators. “Damn, Vemik. Hulk smash.”
Walsh had jumped down from his tree to presumably find a better lookout, and was talking urgently into his radio in a very dense-sounding military gibberish. Julian didn’t catch one word in twenty, but two stood out: ‘Danger close.’
He’d barely said them before another of the Abrogators reared over the bank ten feet to his right. There was a horrible moment where it looked like the hulking Combat Controller was about to be incinerated on the spot, or maybe slashed in half…but Yan had other plans. He leapt from his tree and landed on its back with enough force to dent the armor.
The Abrogator twisted and writhed like Lovecraft’s answer to a rodeo bull but that hardly deterred the massive Given-Man. He rode it, dug his feet into the metal, grabbed, heaved, and tore.
An armor plate like an oversized toenail clipping spun off the massive machine’s back, followed by a gush of black, shining fluid that sprayed from a thick hose. It caught Yan in the face and slipped under his feet, and even with a Given-Man’s simply ludicrous strength he wasn’t able to keep his grip on the lubricated metal: The next buck threw him off its back. The Abrogator turned, reared…
Julian shot it through the gap in the armor, aiming for where he knew the important stuff lived deep in the machine’s innards. He didn’t get what he was aiming for, but two of the Abrogator’s legs seemed to give up the ghost and its lethal fusion-claw swipe in Yan’s direction missed the Given-Man by a prayer’s width.
Yan, meanwhile, took being thrown like a pro; he tumbled to his feet like he’d meant to fall all along and dashed up another tree so fast it was hard to believe. He might have been brash, and he had a well-earned ego the size of a small planet, but age hadn’t made him stupid.
Hoeff had turned his machine gun on a third Abrogator that had poked its nose up directly in front, while Daar and Coombes were combining their firepower to drive back a fourth Abrogator on the left. Walsh, meanwhile, had darted aside and got a good angle on the damaged one. He unloaded three bursts into the exposed hole in its armor, and this time it went down and stayed down.
Then there were two more. And two more. Daar threw himself in the dirt a shaved second before another plasma blast came his way, then rolled over desperately beating at the fire in his fur. Walsh grabbed his harness and dragged him back, yelling something. Three more Abrogators mounted the ridge…
And then there was a noise. It filled the whole world, and Julian didn’t hear it with his ears; he heard it with his whole body.
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT
An arrowhead-shaped aircraft blasted overhead, rocked the trees with its thunder, and was gone almost before Julian could recognize the profile of a Firebird. In its wake, the last of the Abrogators that was still remotely intact limped and scratched pathetically at the dirt with its only remaining leg, glaring balefully at them.
Julian shot it right through its sole surviving eye.
The ground was pulverized, absolutely riddled with craters. There was a stench of metal and stone dust, and a moment of relative calm before the second Firebird blasted through, delivering the same kind of fury a few yards further back past the ridge.
The echoes faded, and Julian became aware of a cracking sound at his side: crushed bark falling from Vemik’s fingers as he loosened his grip. The Sky-Thinker looked like he’d just seen an angel in all its glory, and Julian was pretty certain he was right.
“…What…” Vemik managed, then tried again. “…What was…?”
Hoeff breathed out long and slow. He was wearing the biggest, shit-eatingest grin Julian had ever seen. “That, my good friend,” he drawled, “Was a GAU-8/S Equalizer.”
Walsh reloaded, wearing a grin of his own that was only a shadow less satisfied than Hoeff’s. “A little gift of freedom. From A’*murr*ica. You’re welcome.”
Vemik blinked at them, then turned to Julian. “…Means what?”
Julian could only laugh in disbelief.
“Vemik, friend…it means we live.”
Date Point: 14y2d AV
Farthrow Facility, Planet Gao
Lt. Col. Owen “Stainless” Powell
Yulna had been…solemn.
Powell really couldn’t blame her. He’d been there himself, after all, learning the reality of what kind of a power-mad thumb the galaxy was squeezed under but the Gaoians had it worse by a country mile. The Hierarchy had been tugging their strings for generations, well back into their equivalent of the medieval era.
Discovering that the tensest days of the Cold War had been a consequence of Hierarchy action had been tough enough for Powell to chew. How did that compare to learning something similar about the whole of one’s own civilization? As a patriot, that would have rattled him badly.
Of course, patriotism meant something different for Gaoians. But still, he’d just knocked on the foundations of Yulna’s world.
The Mother-Supreme had read the documentation, asked a few insightful questions, reviewed the evidence and her expression had barely changed. An ear moving from here to there, a twitch of the nostrils, a solemn duck-nod before turning the page…little else.
“San Diego,” she said. “Giymuy knew it had to be an enemy of your people, but this—”
“Aye. It goes a long way beyond enemies at this point,” Powell agreed.
“Into what?!” Yulna asked. “What do you have that’s worse than a foe who wants to control the galaxy and will butcher anything that even could undermine its control?”
Powell rested his hands lightly on the table. “I’d go with disease, m’self,” he suggested. “And they bloody well wouldn’t be the first one we’ve wiped out, either. Look up summat called Smallpox sometime.
“The weird thing is,” he added, turning to retrieve a different folder from his desk. “We’ve gamed scenarios not unlike this.”
“You have?”
“Oh aye. We’ve got bloody fertile imaginations, Mother. An’ the thing is, you never know what you might learn about the possible by imaginin’ the impossible.” He put the folder in front of her.
“…I have heard of these *’Zombies,’*” Yulna said. “Sister Shoo frightened the cubs with them once. She thought it was very funny.” The set of her ears said that Yulna hadn’t seen it that way at the time, but was remembering it more fondly nowadays.
“It was funny,” Myun agreed.
“You were just as much of a terror as her,” Yulna replied. “You have…dedicated serious military thought to this scenario?”
“Aye. An’ a lot of the solutions we came up with to that fictional problem are useful here. An’ there’s one thing in particular that might just keep this whole thing from goin’ completely tits-up, an’ that’s your voice.”
Yulna duck-nodded. “The Clanless will just see what I saw,” she reasoned. “Slaughter and mayhem and aliens on our streets.”
“Exactly. So they won’t trust us. Which means they won’t listen to our advisory broadcasts. We need a voice of the resistance, Mother. I can’t think of anybody better suited.”
Yulna duck-nodded again, more slowly.
“I need…to sleep,” she declared, after a moment. “Just a few hours. And then I will record whatever message they need to hear.”
“Fair and done,” Powell promised. It was no kind of a concession, anyway—they didn’t have the infrastructure for civilian broadcast yet, and given that their whole strategy revolved around devastating the existing infrastructure they were going to need to build their own in short order. “Take as long as you need. Oh, and…Sister Myun?””
Myun perked up and gave him her full attention.
“Good work. Here.” He handed her a dose of Crue-D, then reconsidered and handed her a double dose. One was a minimum therapeutic dose for a human, and would normally be a solid shot of the stuff by Gaoian standards…Myun, though, was the feminine answer to Daar and in her own way just as exceptional. “Regenerative medicine. Won’t grow owt back or stop that wound from scarring, but you should feel better for it. Come back in a few hours and have my Protectors give you a lookover.”
Myun took it between two claws, gratefully. “Thank you, sir.”
“You keep doin’ what you’re doin’,” Powell told her. “And we’ll handle the rest.”
He cleaned the endless field of maps and tablets on his operations table after they had left, returned the tablets to a neat stack on the corner, skimmed the latest reports, swigged the remaining half of a coffee that was slightly on the warm side of completely stone-cold, and was pondering whether he might be able to grab an hour or two of shut-eye himself when one of the communications specialists got his attention.
“Sir! We’re receiving a short-wave radio communication on the ALE address used by *Caledonia*’s lifeboats.”
Powell’s heart jumped in his chest at the first bit of genuinely good news he’d had since his boots had first hit the ground. He’d been teetering on the edge of giving up hope for his techs. Now, suddenly, it was rekindled.
“It’s about fookin’ time!” he exclaimed, turning away from his desk. “What kept ‘em?”
“All the nukes and energy discharges in orbit played hell with the upper atmosphere and SATCOM is struggling to stay up for ten minutes at a time…” The communications specialist turned and offered him a headset. “The callsign is JOCKEY, sir.”
Jockey. That was Kovač’s callsign, gifted to her by the Lads in typically irreverent fashion—She wasn’t exactly a tall lass by any reckoning, and of course jockeys rode horses…
Relief and hope managed to soothe some of his worst jangling nerves as he strode across the command center, grabbed the headset and clamped it snugly around his ears. “Jockey, this is Stainless,” he said, adjusting the microphone as he spoke. “You had us worried. What’s your status?”
Kovač’s voice was distorted, flattened and tinny but by God it was definitely her voice right down to that tiny remnant of a Georgia twang that she’d never quite managed to lose, and he’d never been more glad to hear it. “We’re on the wrong landmass, sir. About three thousand klicks due west of Lavmuy. Caledonia escape pods are scattered over a two hundred kilometer line, all surrounded by enemy forces. Number of survivors unknown. We have wounded, several with life-threatening injuries and our supplies are limited.”
None of that was an unexpected development, frankly. In fact, it could have been a lot worse. First things first. “Who is in command?”
“That would be me right now, sir.”
A grimace shot across Powell’s face. That was far from ideal news. No sense in griping about it though. The important part was to work with what they had.
“What do you have for combat armsmen?”
“Five royal marines in my lifeboat. Otherwise not yet known. I’m trying to establish contact with the other boats.”
…Well that was just bloody wonderful.
“Aye,” Powell said out loud. “Your orders are to establish command, consolidate and dig in. No idea when we can get relief to you but it could be a few days.”
“Wilco. Some of the wounded don’t have a few days.”
“…Aye. Then I’d give and encourage your Marines wide latitude to obtain what they need from wherever they are. Who is the senior Marine?”
“That’s Corporal Wilde.”
“I know him. He’s a good lad, level-headed. Listen to him. My advice would be to delegate combat items to his purview as much as possible. I’m also field promoting you to Lieutenant under the AEC brevet arrangement. You are in command until such time as you’re relieved by a commissioned officer, Jockey.”
Kovač, to her credit, barely paused. “…Yes, sir. I’ll keep us alive.”
That was classic Enlisted can-do attitude right there. Good stuff, but not appropriate for once. Her thinking was going to have to change, and fast. “First bit of advice, lieutenant? Never promise something you aren’t sure you can deliver. Just do the mission as best you can.”
“…Understood, sir. Any further advice?”
“You would do well to establish a command post, consolidate to some defensible location, and bring as many of our men back as you can. Diplomacy, too. You’ll be taking food and medicine from the locals, so try not to make them too upset. Use every tool at your disposal to get the mission done wi’out causin’ an ecological disaster while you’re at it. Trust Corporal Wilde but don’t be afraid to take him down a peg, he needs a firm hand. You’re in charge, not him; don’t let him forget it.” He let some encouragement warm his voice. “Should be an easy first command, aye? Any questions?”
“Not at this time, Stainless. I’ll…do everything in my power.”
Powell grinned, which was a rare enough expression to cross his face even on good days. “You’re learning,” he said. “I want regular updates, and will update you in turn…Do us proud, lieutenant. Stainless out.”
Laying a responsibility like that on her without warning wasn’t how Powell had wanted to reconnect with the techs, but things really could have been infinitely worse. Kovač was already on the short-list for Master Sergeant anyway, and usually had the Lads wrapped around her finger, so somehow he suspected she’d turn out to be good at it. It wasn’t what she’d signed up for, but Powell would eat his beret if she didn’t rise to the occasion.
There was no sense in leaving her stuck in her trial-by-fire any longer than necessary, however.
“Get their location and status up to the FIC,” he ordered. “I wanna know when we can relieve them an’ what else has to happen first. And get Master Sergeant Vandenberg in here.”
His chance at some shut-eye was just going to have to wait.
Date Point: 14y2d AV
Planet Akyawentuo, Near 3Kpc Arm
Vemik Sky-Thinker
These new ships reminded Vemik of spearheads, or a good stone knife. They were smaller than Misfit or Drunk on Turkey had been, and while they had the same sharpness of line as Drunk On Turkey, they moved more gracefully. Daar’s ship had thumped sullenly to the ground like it couldn’t wait to get out of the air. These new ones touched the world gently and reluctantly, as if they were promising not to stay for long.
Jooyun had perked up immensely since their arrival. Now, though, he was staring. “Christ. Is that who I think it is?”
“Yup. Good nose art, ain’t it?”
Vemik followed Walsh’s pointing finger and squinted at the complicated patch of bright colors toward the ship’s front, trying to make sense of it.
“I don’t…understand,” he confessed. It looked vaguely like a human woman thrusting a spear toward something, except that what looked like a vicious hook-beaked bird made of flame was coiling around the spear’s shaft and screaming at the unseen enemy.
“…Your tribe is war-like,” he decided. Even if he didn’t fully understand what he was looking at, the meaning was clear.
“Nah, bruh. If we had our way, peace would rule. But we got a saying: ‘If you desire peace, prepare for war’.”
Vemik tried to mull that over, but was interrupted by a sharp hissing sound from the landed ship, followed by the sounds of its parts moving. The black shiny round bit on top popped slightly upwards and then back and up and away to make room for the two humans shielded behind it to clamber out. They dropped to the ground carefully and wobbled a bit on their feet, before stepping forward carefully.
“Heavy gravity!” one of them commented.
“You get used to it,” Coombes commented. “Your timing’s perfect, ma’am.”
“Yeah, well. It ain’t all good news.”
The newcomer reached up and undid part of her…Vemik needed a second to remember the word. Helmet. The black shiny plate on the front slid up while another bit came off entirely, and she hooked it onto something on her shoulder.
Her skin was about the same dark brown as Coombes’ and she had kind eyes. The moment they alighted on Jooyun she beamed a huge dazzling smile and gave him a hug. “Your girls are worried,” she said.
Jooyun was obviously delighted to see her and Vemik could tell even through his best efforts to seem calm. “They’re okay?!”
“Angry. Frustrated. Scared. I don’t blame them though, I’d have started breaking shit by now if I got sidelined like that so they’re handling it pretty well. Anyway…where’s Daar? He’d better still be alive.”
“He got his fur singed in that party you broke up,” Walsh said. “And he’s taking a well-earned nap and recovering on the last of his Crude. Why?”
“Big Hotel hit Gao and the Swarm-of-Swarms is probably on its way already. A lotta folks are dead, including Stoneback’s Champion-in-Stead. Shit, the only reason I’m here is because he’s needed at home, like, now.”
“…I’ll get him,” Walsh said, and stormed off toward the tents.
Vemik looked toward Yan, who had been lumbering over with a happy look on his face. He sensed the mood, though, and picked up his pace.
The new Humans stepped back slightly as Yan approached. Funny, to think they had just unleashed destruction like nothing the People could even have dreamt about but the sight of Yan swaggering over in a good mood made them jumpy.
Yan stopped a respectable distance away. “You save us?”
Coombes made introductions. “Colonel Jackson, this is Yan Given-Man. He’s friendly, I promise.”
Yan knocked a fist against his chest. It was a gesture of respect that he usually reserved for fellow Given-Men. “Your tribe has fierce women!” he said, and grinned at Jackson. “I like!”
The tension seemed to blow away, and Jackson smiled in return. “You have good taste, big guy. Hello.”
“And this is Vemik,” Coombes continued. “They call him Sky-Thinker, he’s…kinda the ideas man. Cavemonkey scientist, inventor, engineer, all-round [geek].”
“…Geek.” Vemik liked the sound of that. The word fit comfortably in his mouth, but he decided to ask about it later. “Thank you.”
“Ask too many question,” Yan grumbled affectionately. “But…you bring bad news, yes?”
Jackson nodded. “The…” she paused and addressed Coombes. “How much do they know?”
“It’s bad news,” Coombes explained. “Daar’s people are older than us. They know even more than we do. The Enemy can’t just…swagger down there and destroy them like they tried to do with you. If they decided to strike now, they must think they’ve already won.”
Yan sat on his tail like he did when there was Big Thinking to be done. “Daar Stone-Back is friend to my tribe. His tribe in trouble, need help. And…we not able to help Sky-Friends.”
“Yan, my friend…” Daar’s voice joined them, followed closely by the man himself. He was limping some and his fur had definitely seen better days, never mind that the plasma seemed to have taken off the very tip of his ear. But he was upright and strong anyway. “You’re a Cousin to me, but fuck that. Help me by rebuildin’. That’s all I want.”
“Is not enough,” Yan replied.
“No,” Daar shook his head, then repeated himself. “But it’s all I want from you. Protect yourself, and provide for your children. It’s what my Clan does.”
He turned to Jackson. “Tiny gave me the short version,” he said. “How bad is it?”
“…Bad. The last update I heard was that Tyal is dead, the commune at Wi Kao was massacred and nobody knows where Champion Genshi is.”
Daar hung his head. “…Fiin?” he asked.
“He’s Champion-in-Stead. They need you, Daar.”
Daar shook his pelt vigorously, and rose to his feet. “Then they’ll have me. Tiny, y’got anything more? I need ‘ta get fixed up in a hurry.”
Walsh gave him a long, miserable look and then produced a pair of strange bright blue little pouches from his pocket.
“…This is my very last hit, bro. Full dose. You better fuckin’ save the day, got it?”
Daar duck-nodded and took them, then headed back towards his hut as fast as he could manage. Jackson nodded sharply before gesturing back toward her ship. “We have jump codes for your field array, and there’s a supply package waiting to come back the other way. As for us, we hit Big Hotel’s bunker with an RFG, but there’s a lotta continent out there. We’re gonna make sure it’s all safe for you. After that, you sit tight. Sorry Julian, but your reunion’s gonna have to wait.”
“Can I send them a message at least?”
“Definitely. Record some video. All of you, it’ll be good for the war effort. DEEP RELIC has been made public.”
“…Fuck.” Hoeff breathed.
“Yeah. The war’s officially on, gentlemen. Welcome to the main event.”
“We help?” Vemik asked.
“Help make that video. We need…do you know what [public affairs] means?”
“Not know words. But…make people see? Know?”
Jackson gave him an unmistakably impressed look before turning to Jooyun. “…Christ, you’re right. He’s smart as hell.”
Yan wasn’t happy, however. Before Jooyun could reply, he stepped in. “We owe our lives. All the People, dead except you stop it. And you want us…just tell stories? Is not right!” he smacked a fist against his belly. “You give, give, give to us! Never take!”
“We are taking, Given-Man.”
The whole group turned. Daniel Hurt gave them a weary and mud-coated half-smile. Behind him, the line of children, women and old men were beginning to spread out back to their tents, light the fires, get the village working again.
He was leaning heavily on Daar, who flicked an ear at them and wasn’t limping anymore. “Look who I found,” he growled.
“Doctor Hurt, I presume,” Jackson said, and shook Daniel’s hand.
“Professor Hurt,” Daniel said it with a smile. “And far from lost in the woods, as you can see.”
“You look like it,” Julian commented. “What happened?”
“Slipped in the mud,” Daniel explained. “And thank God that was the worst of it.”
“Take what?!” Yan exploded, reclaiming their attention. “You not even let us feed you!”
“We are learning more about ourselves by observing you than you will ever know,” Daniel told him. “What we are taking from you…is a chance at redemption.”
Yan stared blankly at him for a second, then sighed hugely and gave up. “Sky-Thinking strangeness…” he grumbled. “No. You take something else. Daar!” he spun, stormed up to the huge Gaoian and ripped his knife from his belt. It was the good one, the damascus that rippled like flowing water. The third one Vemik had ever made, with Jooyun’s guidance.
“Yours now,” he said firmly. “No bring back, this is me Giving. You refuse or give back, insult me and the gods.”
Daar looked at it, swallowed, and duck-nodded furiously. “And I will Take it, Cousin.”
“Good.” Yan sagged. “Is not much. I know this. Is just a good knife. You make holes in the sky, fight enemy with star fire and other things. But a good knife save life. Maybe save yours. Is enough for balance.”
Daar took it. It fit perfectly in his enormous hand-like paws and he swiped it skillfully at the evening breeze, testing it. “…Heavy, but that’s useful. And sharp. Thank you, Yan. It is a good knife.”
“Not good Giving if I give you bad knife,” Yan grumbled.
“I know, Cousin.” Daar stooped and hugged him, trying and failing to lift him from the ground. “Hnngh, you keep young Vemik in line while I’m gone, ‘kay?”
Yan trilled, and hoisted him off the ground easily. “Nothing I do work, but will try harder,” he promised and set Daar back on his feet.
Daar smoothed his fur out, then plucked a flat black parcel out from behind his working harness. He tore its side off with a claw, pulled out the contents and flapped them in the wind to unfurl them. Vemik blinked—his eyes refused to settle on the whatever-it-was that Daar had just produced. It was as though the thing he was holding had no edge, it just…was there, and then it was not there, but nowhere did it stop.
“What—?!” he gawped at it.
Daar pant-grinned at him as he began to…yes, to put it on, like a cloak for his whole body. Just like the ‘clothes’ that humans seemed so confused about. ”Big magic, young Vemik. Magic I’ll need.” He wriggled into the suit and stood with his arms and legs as wide as he could go, and the suit…somehow closed itself up his back!
Even Walsh gawped at that. “Damn Tiggs, you brought a HEAT suit? You’ve been holdin’ out on me!”
Daar, for his part, cringed a bit and flattened his huge ears. “I didn’t mean to Cousin, but I didn’t wanna break this out until I needed it. I gotta spend some time gettin’ [re-acclimated] while I’m [doped up] on the Crude…”
Yan stepped back cautiously but respectfully. Somehow, it was obvious that the magic-thing Daar was inside of was a very powerful tool of Taking. That impression grew stronger when Daar popped his claws through the gloves on his hands and feet, and then extended them. Vemik hadn’t seen Daar do that before—his claws were huge, even bigger than he’d already seen.
“…What you do now, Daar Stone-Back?” Yan asked.
Daar flipped the last part of the suit up and over, a hard ‘helmet’ to protect his head. “Right now?” he asked, tucking his ears carefully inside it, “Rest. This suit takes some gettin’ used to. So first, I’m gonna eat. Then, I’m gonna sleep, really hard. And then…”
He pulled his helmet down with a loud click and spoke through a speaking-rock on the side.
“…I’m gonna kill a lot of people.”