It didn’t take long for the ship to begin moving. Most of the crew generally paid me no mind, but Jori was happy to help me settle in, and even gave me the rundown on the crewmates she kept close to.

The Nahrrimurn Family, mercenaries from the Republic to the west. Presiding over them is Neien, their elderly mother. Didn’t have Sal til she was almost 50 and just recently crossed 80. Nobody here ever heard her speak, save for her own children years prior.

Eldest is Sal, the cat I encountered in the showers. Best shot on board; doesn’t seem like he’d need to be so built for that, but I imagine a physique like that can’t hurt.

Youngest, I’d wager younger than myself, is Rohka. Hides himself in that oversize coat; even his voice is modulated by the Faigani chloronaut mask he sports. Gives off the sense of someone scrawny but is apparently an absolute terror up close.

Dahlia, the crew’s head engineer. Honorably discharged from naval service after losing her right arm and leg, but she returned as a supervisory officer to the privateering armada after designing herself suitable prosthetics. She was one of the few that greeted me personally. She seems kind.

Tsing, the captain; born, raised, and aberrated in Dominion lands. A cheetah who looks to be mostly prosthetics at this point; long digitigrade stilts in place of her legs, and wide circular rims at the synthetic shoulder joints, feeding thick cables to two arms each. The less known about her, the better, so I hear.

And then there’s Nym, whom Yhana had mentioned by name before. In all my time people-watching with Jori, we never did see him. He seldom comes out of his quarters, and the rest of the crew prefers it that way. In actuality, he is second son of the Empress, but he left his cushioned life voluntarily to pursue eternal youth, which he found in undeath. He could have gotten any role on any ship he desired, but his choice to join this one keeps him well out of the way of his older brother, the inheritor and grand admiral.

Lastly, Yhana herself. Tried to enlist with the navy about ten years back, after the last of her immediate family passed away, but her own health complications precluded her from that. Instead, she’s here with the other unregulated expendables.

“What about yourself?” I eventually ask, “I know about Leonov, but I still haven’t heard your story.”

The human shrugs at that, taking a seat on the rail. Leonov looks like he wants to follow suit, but hesitates, likely out of fear of bending the metal under his weight.
“Well, mine’s a revenge story,” she begins. “I was young when it happened. After the Empress placed a limit on the establishment of hospitals outside of the capital, the Prelature took it as a personal affront. It was supposed to be; the decree was made with the intention of removing them from our borders, but they didn’t go peacefully.”

She turns her head to face me, but her eyes look right through me. “Have you ever seen what a vivicalligraphic healing specialist can do when they want to hurt you instead? Once the delirium of rapid onset fever takes hold, you’re powerless to stop them from doing the rest.” Her pupils refocus, locking with mine. “They only spared me because I was a child. Still waiting on teeth to come in; no magic, no threat. My mother and father didn’t linger, and there was nobody to help them. Anyone with an arcane proficiency for healing got a quicker death, just to make sure of that.”

The expression on my face is one of shock and yet all Jori does is smile at me.

“That was a mistake,” she continued. “You don’t do something like that to me and expect me to forgive and forget. As long as this war is going on, I’ll use it to show them just how bad a mistake it was.”

After all, what if surviving the experience left them feeling vengeful?

“Jori…” My tone has to be enough to convey my sympathy. I truly don’t have the words.

Her smile still doesn’t waver. “It’s fine, Merion. It’s not like I’m alone anymore.” She looks to her aberration; he smushes his elongated leather face with his enormous, clawed hands, contorting the zigzag cut in the mask into a smile.

I can’t help but softly chuckle at that. “I’m glad you have him. I guess they made another mistake, didn’t they?”

“Yes, I suppose they did. Threw him away like nothing. But it’s how I got my best friend in the whole world.”

Leonov kneels to come face to face, nosing into her as if giving her a brief kiss on the cheek. He stands again, lifting her from the rails and allowing her to climb onto his back.

“I’ve killed enough time, I think,” she says. “I should see if Dahlia needs help.”

“Alright then. Thanks for introducing me to everyone. Well… even if it really was one-way, for the most part.”

“Ah, don’t you worry. You may get your chance, but if not, not a soul will blame you.”

From my spot on the rail, I watch her and Leonov return the hatch. What nice people, truly. They deserve better.

“She is an interesting one.”

I jolt a bit at the sudden speech from off to my left. I guess the theme of the day is people weirdly sidling up behind me; if Yhana set the trend, Suraokh is following it.

“Is there some way you can announce yourself, or… something?” I request not so gently, but as expected the kangaroo doll seems to deflect it.

“I spoke, that should suffice.”

“I swear, I’m going to put a bell around your neck.”

“That is undesirable. Do not.”

“Ugh. It probably wouldn’t do much good as it is.” My ears twitch as my train of thought finds rails once again. “Hey, while I have you here, what exactly is the plan, once we arrive wherever it is we’re going?”

“We are going to Iyakamraa,” he explains. “We can hide there comfortably. Until the time is right.”

“Yeah, I already know we’re going to the capital,” I express. “I mean where in it? And right for what?”

The doll pulls himself through the rails with total disregard for his spine, his spine in turn exhibiting total disregard for how bones work, before setting itself back in place with a sound I could live happily with never hearing again.
“That is unimportant for now.”

“Actually, I would like to know…” I assert, pulling myself off the rails as well to face him properly. “I can’t just keep following you blindly.”

“You are not following me. I am doing the following. I go where you go.”

I roll my eyes a bit. “Right, right. So nice of you to join me in Yhana’s stomach all day, then.”

“Yhana is ‘who’, not ‘where’. I have my limits too,” he reasons.

“Mm, sure, s-- We’re missing the point here. What am I supposed to do in Iyakamraa?”

“I have some contacts there.”

I wait several moments, expecting Suraokh to continue. I feel a slight twinge of irritation; that’s the second time today I’ve fallen for this. “...Yeah, you mentioned. Well, what’s the significance of these contacts?”

“They know what to do.”

“But… you know what to do too, don’t you?”

“I do not know this. This is why we go.”

The sound that exits me is one that might have been destined to be a Derisive Laugh, but on its way out the door got stuck listening to the good news of the day from Empty-Mouthed Spit-Take and its neonate friend, That Sound A Horse Makes Sometimes.

“So, we’re just bumbling along and hoping that whatever this is just works out?”

“That about describes it, yes.”

“Forgive me, but I’m still just a tiiiny little bit worried about what all this means, considering so far we’ve, you know, done some messing around in ancient ruins and stole power from gods. Having done all that I’m just a little bit apprehensive about what might be next on our agenda.”

“The hard part is over.”

“...It is?”

“No more pain or injury. Provided the plan is followed.”

“We don’t have a plan.”

“Our contacts have a plan.”

“Well, what am I getting out of this?”

“I am glad you asked. A transaction will be made. Your assistance, our contact’s resources. Want to leave Paliputra behind?”

I pause at the proposition. “Well, not… alone, you know, but… you mean I could actually get offworld?”

“Yes, you and your family. If they are still alive. Perhaps they could be located?” Suraokh attempts a smile, but his is decidedly less charming than Leonov’s.

My suspicion is far from gone, but anything even remotely like frustration vanishes at the suggestion. “And you’re sure your associates are actually going to assist us?”

“They have the means to. I am a good negotiator.”

I had to concede that. He was already winning me over, and that’s not an easy feat. “Fine. I’ll stay on board for now. But I’d still like to hear these details from whoever’s got the plan, when we get to it.”

“Oh, I promise you will.”

Interesting that he can treat “oh” as a proper word in his count of five. As I ponder that, it helps me remember something.
“Weren’t you on your way to the surgeon to see about a new lexicon module?”

“I go where you go,” the doll reiterates. “Come with me, would you?”

The frustration returns. Looks like Jori was right; I’d get my chance to meet everyone. I guess I’m starting with the surgeon.

Again, I feel like a trespasser on the laminated wood below deck. If the engineering crew comes through here, I wonder how they keep it so clean. I suppose I shouldn’t worry about sullying it so much; it must be easy to maintain, with that in mind. As I traipse through, I find the door of Nymraylu Tsereiro Nayre marked clearly. Beyond it, loud, old music; a song I recognized, but distorted by volume and the limitations of the machine from which it played. Skeptical that I’ll be heard, I raise a fist to knock on the door, but before I can even make contact, the door swings open.

A lanky, shirtless fox pokes his head out, lenses supported on controllable cords extending from his silvery spinal apparatus, positioning them in front of his face like spectacles. He seems unappreciative of being disturbed at first, but he practically lights up at seeing Suraokh, throwing the door wide open and motioning us to join him in the room. There were words too, but they were completely drowned out by the eardrum-damaging volume he favors his music at.

He continued to speak, but my puzzled look and Suraokh’s visible discomfort clued him in that perhaps the environment wasn’t quite right for it. He leaps into a backwards skid, hastily pushing down a sliding scale on the large, wooden-framed speaker in the back corner of the room, until even the ringing in our ears can drown out its whisper.

“Yhana’s new plaything, I take it,” Nym repeats for I don’t know, the third time, perhaps.

“I’d prefer not to be labeled as such, but yes,” I confess.

“And this would be your… what role does this one fill?” he asks, moving dangerously close to Suraokh, inspecting every seam.

“Travel companion,” I say simply.

“Interesting choice…” He stands again, backing up just far enough to extend his hand in an invitation to clasp wrists with the doll. “We… haven’t met, have we?”

“We can meet here now.”

He grins wide at that, repeating the gesture once again. “Weeell then, a pleasure, truly.”

“Lexicon modules. Are they here?” Suraokh inquires, completely ignoring the hand.

Nym withdraws, appearing genuinely sad at the rejection. “Ah, yes, yes. Always glad to assist my brethren in undeath, especially ones so… gracefully sewn.”

The fox moves to a chest in the back, picking up a leather apron off the workbench built against the adjacent wall, tying it on and adjusting the seam of his fur-lined trousers. It feels a little redundant; he’s already wearing a smaller, knee-length apron from his waist, a traditional piece embroidered in colorful patterns. Swearing quietly as he rummages through the chest, he emits a soft squeal of victory as he plucks a cube-shaped contraption from its depths. A literal voice-box.

“Come closer, would you?” he instructs as he moves to the workbench, pushing tools and papers aplenty aside in favor of a small stand with several dials.

“Who, me?” I ask, tentatively approaching.

“Both of you. Never got your names, by the way.”

“Merion,” I respond.

“You may call me Suraokh,” Suraokh permits.

“That just sounds like a mouth sound to me,” Nym mutters. “Did you name him?”

“It is,” Suraokh confirms, seemingly and hopefully unoffended, “they did not.”

The fox shrugs a bit before flipping a few switches on the stand, eliciting a lasting, monotone “aaaaaaaaa” from the box, tweaking its pitch and inflection with the dials before looking to the kangaroo again.

“How did I do? Does it sound enough like you?”

Suraokh and I seem to be in agreement, as he nods in a rare display of body language. “It will more than suffice.”

“Great!” Nym claps his hands together, rubbing them in a manner akin to a fly cleaning itself. “Let’s open you up then.”

“I am apprehensive about this,” Suraokh says. “I will install it myself.”

“Oh… Are you quite certain? I promise you I’m as good as they co—”

“I will install it myself,” he asserts one last time. This time, he extends his hands, not for formality, but to take the lexicon module. Nym begrudgingly hands it over, but seems otherwise content to watch Suraokh work on himself.

The kangaroo unzips one of the compartments on the side of his chest, feeling around before removing another piece, cylindrical and slightly rusted; presumably his old module. The box goes in next, and he unzips the other side to reach into himself and place wires where they are needed. At this point, both Nym and I are holding our breath with anticipation.

“Oh, that’s quite a bit better,” Suraokh sighs, zipping himself back up. It’s almost uncanny, not only hearing him break his pattern, but speak in a manner other than deadpan serious. “Nym, may I have that for a moment? I wish to thank you properly.”

He points to a heavy condensate battery on the desk, which the fox hands over. Gripping its electrodes, Suraokh shuts his fabric eyelids, and a ripple travels across his sky-gray fur. Seconds later, a single diode turns on, but it’s enough to send the surgeon springing to his feet, wringing his hands again.

“You really are something special, aren’t you?” he grins, taking the tank back gingerly.

“What, what did he do?” I ask, slightly puzzled.

“I produced an amount of physically stable radiance worth a substantial stash of condensate. In effect, I synthesized a shade tear,” the doll explains.

“And made me the richest person on this ship,” Nym beams, hugging the container. “Ah, I wonder what I’ll do with this…”

“And you can just do that on a whim?” I ask, eyes on the tank.

“To an extent. A rare ability, and one which has served me well.”

“Can you do that for me?” I ask, reaching for my battery.

“I must recharge.”

“Ah…” I sigh, putting it back just as quickly as I brought it out.

I must admit, I’m rather impressed. At least I know money won’t be an issue as long as I’m with him for the most part. Or all-purpose energy, for that matter. Aether is tricky to work with; fluxeaders can extract it from the void for a few moments at a time, it’s where they get their time-bending abilities from, but the stable stuff is even more potent. …And radioactive. To call it stable is a relative term, that said.

“You’ve got a fine… travel companion,” the surgeon praises. “How did you happen across him?”

“It’s a long story,” I say. About five chapters long, in fact. Too much for me to want to recap again. “In short, he found me and took a liking to me.”

“You’re a fortunate soul, you are.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say that. One thing just happened to go my way.”

“One thing is all it takes sometimes, reaper.”

I fidget nervously. It’s going to get tiresome to have to keep making excuses for that. “I’m really not one though.”

“Mm, it hardly matters if you are,” he concedes. “Your exact nature is of little consequence to me as long as you’re nice.”

“I prefer it that way.”

“Fewer questions, yes? Oh… I suppose I made that into a question just then, didn’t I?” He pauses on that, before chuckling, clearly amused by himself.

Partly out of courtesy, I laugh a bit as well, but honestly he amuses me too. “You know, they made you out to be kind of avoidant but you’re actually a delight.”

“Well, they like their space and I’ve learned to like mine. They leave me alone unless they have injuries to be treated.”

“Honestly, I expected something a little more…” I trail off, trying to find the words.

“I understand.” The fox leans back in his swiveling chair, propping his feet on the pristine slab in the middle of the room. I didn’t notice before, but his legs are digitigrade. Even more striking are the rails grafted into them, circular rims held in a manner that seemed to indicate they could be deployed to allow skating.

After a long stretch, he lets out a pacified groan and continues his response. “Undead doctor, bad reputation, I know what kind of mental image that evokes. I’ve been that too though, self-surgery is messy business.”

“I don’t doubt it. Is there nobody who’d help you with it though? Jori seems more than competent.”

“Even that’s underselling her” Nym praises. “She is one of the few people on this ship I wish I didn’t put off.”

“She didn’t seem to dislike you when she was talking with me. All she said was that you’re eccentric.”

The fox cackles at that, cutting himself short with a cough and a couple of taps to his chest. “Well, I can’t say she’s wrong. You heard the story, no doubt; left my life of power and comfort behind to, well… work on myself. But that’s what puts them off you know, not the experimental body; Captain’s even more kitted out. How would you feel having the guy who was almost your emperor trying to have a chat on deck?”

“I guess you have a point.”

“Sometimes I wish I’d just stuck to the plan, but… well, that job has a way of aging you, you know?” He spreads his arms out in a lazy stretch; his chest and abdomen don’t have many changes to them, but his throat is guarded by a polymer cover in the front, seamless with his flesh.

“What purpose does that serve?” I ask, pointing to my own neck, right above the collarbones.

“Chemical weapons,” he replies, tapping the patch lightly. “Ports in my spine let me load up on various fluids, which I then aerosolize. Makes me useful in enclosed spaces, so I’ve no doubt they’ll call me out on our salvage trip here in a bit.”

“Salvage trip?”

“Oh, nobody mentioned it to you? Our navy ran a Prelature battleship aground and blasted it good not so long ago. We’ll be stopping by to pick through whatever’s left for valuables.”

“That could be dangerous, if anybody is still there. Or if they’ve already sent reinforcements.”

“Hence they send us. Springing ambushes is kind of our thing, government-sanctioned pirates and all that. If you’re worried for yourself and your friend here, don’t be. We’re not new to this.”

“Mm, if you’re sure,” I concede. “Everyone does seem pretty tough around here.”

Another laugh, this time it’s softer as he leans forward to prop his elbows on his thighs. “Oh yes. Captain’s the toughest of them all, but for your sake I’d keep out of her way.”

“What’s her story anyway? Jori seemed to avoid saying too much.”

“That’s the thing. Can’t tell you what we don’t know. All we’re certain of is that she’s been undead for a while, and you won’t find anyone more loyal to the nation than her. And I almost was the nation. She’s one of the few people I’ve ever met who doesn’t still treat me like it, which I prefer. It’s why I was so adamant about joining this crew.”

“Sounds like there are worse people to be taking orders from.”

Almost as if summoned, who I would have to assume is the aforementioned captain clears her throat through the loudspeakers throughout the ship. “All personnel, you have half an hour to prepare to board. If you expect to claim anything for yourselves, I expect you to be ready well in advance.”

There’s an almost unnatural pause between each of her words, almost like the verbal equivalent of writing one letter per box on a legal document. Her own lexicon module’s quirk, and an indication of previously destroyed vocal anatomy.

“Already? We got here fast,” I remark.

“Enemy lines have crept up north of the equator, you know,” Nym says with a shrug. He stands up, and begins to sort through his equipment. “Just be glad we’re in shape to take passengers at all, at this point.”

“Right. So what should I do while the rest of you are… pillaging?”

“We’re technically not supposed to call it that.” He rises back up above the slab, hefting more than a gun, but not quite a cannon, onto it.

“What would you prefer I call it then?” I ask, looking over the weapon. I’ve never seen one quite like it; the whole make is very broad and I can’t imagine what it uses for ammunition. Numerous valves connect canisters of propellant, in turn secured to the stock by tape and cables.

“Pillaging. Guidelines are for bureaucrats,” Nym chuckles again; I don’t imagine he gets bored often. “Though that doesn’t answer your question. You can just sit tight here with Mom Nahrrimurn, keep her and the security systems company.”

“Right. She sounds nice enough, from what little I’ve heard.”

“Sweet as can be! She absolutely will spend the whole time grooming that mess on your head though.”

I reflexively touch the thick mane that runs between my ears and down the back of my neck. “Is it that bad?”

“It’s…. in style somewhere on this planet, I’m sure. But it doesn’t matter, she just has a thing about cleaning people up.” 

“There are worse fates, I suppose.”

Nym finishes fastening minimal leather armor to his midsection, leaving his shoulders and upwards unguarded. The piece features numerous pockets, packed with canisters for his armament and syringes for himself, so it’s likely more for storage than protection even with its rune-etched trim. I follow him out, and with a single motion of his hand, he causes several locks to engage on the other side of his door.

“Important to keep prying eyes out, you understand,” he says, indicating what I assume must be Yhana with a sideways gesture of his head in the direction of her quarters. “Not everyone here is as well-versed in the ways of privacy.”

“Don’t I know it,” I concur. “I think I’m going to go pry about those prying eyes myself.”

“Take care. I’ll be moseying on deck until we get there, if you need me.”

He passes me as we walk in the same direction, heading to the hatch, while I stop at Yhana’s door. I hesitate before knocking, looking to Suraokh.

“You’ve got me this time, right?” I ask.

He says something intoned like an excuse but I’m not sure what it was; instead, fear grips me as the door swings open and Yhana leans out, the speed of it all causing me to jump.

“This time what?” she asks.

“Nothing! Why are you wearing a cape?” I ask quickly. If I had yet to mention she was wearing a cape along with her sleek body armor, there it is.

“It makes me feel tough,” the taller jackal says, striking a pose and causing the scarlet raiment to flutter. “Plus, I can throw it on my enemies and stab them while they’re wrapped up in it.”

“How often does that plan work?”

“Every time.”

“Go through a lot of capes that way?”

“Oh yeah. It’s not financially tenable at all but I stand by it.”

There’s an uneasy silence, but I break it with a shrug. “Well, whatever works.”

“Feels good to be understood,” she says, dragging me close for an unexpected hug.

I try to analyze the moment, but all I can focus on is how much faster my heart is beating than hers. “…Why are we hugging?”

“In case one of us dies while I’m gone. Suraokh, do you want one too?”

“Touch me, and I will end you where you stand,” he declines flatly, already putting that new model to excellent use.

“…Not a hugger. Right.” She lets off of me, sliding past. “Well, make yourself at home. Mom Nahrrimurn will be around if you need anything.”

“Not that she’ll do anything but brush my hair,” I interject.

“Ah, so you’ve heard. I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ve got books, so if you get bored, you can… you can read Jesh Akhurai, yes?”

“Jesh and Ku,” I reply.

“Didn’t ask about the other, showoff, but cool. Be gentle with them.” And with that, she heads upstairs among the uneven line of other privateers leaving their quarters.

Not entirely trusting of her invitation, I enter the tiny room, finally taking up her offer to rest in the hammock. I haven’t been able to get cozy for a while now, so I’ll enjoy it while it lasts. As I pull it loose from the tether keeping it out of the way, it unfurls down, but just as I lean to flop over onto it, my momentum is transferred into the wall instead. I clutch my newly bruised head, my focus returning slowly and locking firmly onto the sound of alarms screeching throughout the ship. Something just struck the hull.

Trouble isn’t done with me yet after all.