Our journey east continues, short of a few passengers. Bodies overboard, all except for the captain. When you work in necrotech, you get good at moving cadavers. And under Maxim law, everyone contributes to research, performing one last service even after they’ve drawn their final breath. There is never a shortage of cadavers.

The captain is huddled behind the protective barrier on the deck by the control panel with Suraokh; he ended up sticking her with his needles too, but it didn’t seem to be fatal, thankfully. She’s lost quite a bit of her original fervor though, that’s for sure.

The pod we had used to get this far had been damaged in the grip of the crane, so the somewhat less subtle Prelature raiding boat has to suffice. It’s going to be difficult to explain what we’re doing with it when we dock in Nayre territory, provided they don’t blast us out of the water first.

Before long, I grow tired of sitting around. I spent some time modifying my cudgel a little more and even searing a little pattern onto it once I was satisfied with its shape. But there’s still more that could be done for it.

“Suraokh,” I say, standing up, “I’m going below to look around.”

The doll nods without turning, and then I head for the hatch. Suraokh already rooted out the two extra soldiers who had been hiding down there. I couldn’t convince him not to kill them. There should be more reasons than just precaution. If they hadn’t begged so much after their attempted ambush had gone awry, I might not have thought much about it. Lest we forget even I was absolutely ready to crack heads for a moment, at least until I’d been sliced into. But not even the scar of it remains, now. 

I drop down, not even touching the ladder, and then begin to peruse the shelves with their contents kept bundled by cables and cords. Closest to the hatch, it’s mainly just ammunition and small arms. Confiscated equipment, in all likelihood; the Prelature prefers arrows and flechettes to bullets. Less noise. 

It’s not just weapons among the equipment. On the lowest shelf, there sits a shallow crate containing an assortment of bulky, boxy devices, made of molded metal, inscribed with runes, and bearing several electronic fixtures and ports. Unmistakably condensate batteries, universal Republic models. I check my own, secured in the larger, satchel-like pocket just for it, and sigh. It’s worse for wear, not that I had much on me, but one of the leads is frayed, right behind the clamp.

I turn my attention back to the batteries in the crate. There’s a little bit of charge left in each, but I get an idea with so many of them right here. I check over my shoulder instinctively, but the dead are on their way to the seafloor. I’m not really stealing from them, and these were stolen to begin with anyway.

Fending off any trace of shame, I hook up the leads of one to the nodes of another, transferring the precious phantasmal substance within. In no time at all, they’ve all been connected like this, combining their sum into a single battery, which I pocket, leaving my old one behind in exchange. At least I won’t have to worry about affording the essentials now, and it’s not like anyone else was going to be using it. I still feel a little gross thinking of it that way but if there was ever a time to be pragmatic, it’s now.

My luck doesn’t end on that; in the back there’s a very large weapon strapped to a workbench. Forked, bone-splintering teeth laced into a disk-mounted chain, driven by a hefty-looking engine. I know what you’re thinking and I agree, it’s far too unwieldy for me. No, the object of my interest is its box magazine.

A loading system would feed replacement teeth from it back onto the chain, but I can just as easily take them out for my own use. I pop open the detached magazine to find it still fairly full, plucking out one of the sharp objects inside. It’s in two connected parts, one with a slot, and one with a tab, but I only need the tabbed ones, and begin disassembling them. I set aside a stack, and bring my weapon up onto the bench. It takes me a while, but with a little bit of finagling I’ve got a nice serrated edge to work with, consisting of stiff metal pounded into slots in the wood. Like grandma’s macuahuitl, or half of it, anyway.

It dawns on me only now that it has almost certainly been lost in the storm too. Along with so much else. I meditate on that as I wrap the handle in gauze and electrical tape. I had better take good care of this one, then.

With that done, I return above deck, and instantly I am reminded peril is the default out on the sea. I rush up to Suraokh, not quite understanding why we’re headed directly for the billowing cloud of rising smoke on the horizon.

“What is that?” I ask, pointing at it.

The captain answers me in his stead. “A battle. We were supposed to be reinforcements until we dredged you two up.” She chuckles slightly, raising her head as though to look at me, had she not been blinded. “My crew would have done well if your aberration hadn’t killed them.”

She spits “aberration” with such pejorative intent. It’s the proper, technical term for constructs that repurpose the dead though, and I’m not sure she knows it applies to me too.

I don’t have it in me to gloat at her though; I’m still too unnerved by Suraokh’s brutal efficiency to find any solace in the fact that it’s been used in my favor. It’s odd though, that he has such a cheap lexicon device for his caliber.

“What kind of project did your maker have in mind that they needed a whole life-sized kangaroo doll?” I ask him.

“You would be very surprised,” Suraokh replies.

He is right, I would be. Moving that thought aside for a different time, I address the captain again. “How long has this been going on?”

“Only two days; we used the cover of the storm to gain the upper hand,” she explains. “There is little honor in it, but you Nayrean dregs force our hand.”

“Oh, I’m not–” I don’t know why I started excusing myself. I’m actually a little thankful when Suraokh interrupts me.

“I find their devotion admirable.” I guess he’d have to, to want to work with them. “Their empress would burn everything. To plant something more interesting. As she has, and does. But they love her, regardless.”

“That’s called learned helplessness,” the captain retorts.

“She acted in their favor. Planted something useful to them. Gave them a better way. Now they behave for her. They learned to tolerate it.”

“They shouldn’t have to.”

The doll shrugs, as he often does.

No more words are spoken for some time, but the tension between the captain and Suraokh practically manifests as audible static. The sound of battle we fast approached is the only thing that can overpower it, most notably the sound of powerful motors propelling more raid boats towards us. These aren’t Prelature vessels; the generous helpings of red and white coloring the hull mark them as Dominion forces. I am almost relieved, until I remember the black, green-striped hull that probably prompted them to come for us in the first place.

“Suraokh, do you have a plan for this?” I shout above the noise. “We could really use one!”

He scratches at the left side of his chest, undoing a zipper set into one of his seams and pulling out a small booklet bound with cracked leather and tosses it to me. I fumble with it as I barely manage to catch it without dropping it. I open it quickly; it’s his verification papers. He’s registered himself as an undead citizen of the Dominion, and has been all the way back from… the middle of last Age. No mistake, his documents are up to date. But I can be amazed about that later.

“Take my papers to them,” he tells me. “They will not kill us.”

“What do I tell them, exactly?” I ask.

“You will have to improvise. They will hear you out.”

I groan in exasperation. Last time he sent me out to meet someone, my guts almost ended up on the deck. Still, I’ve got no idea of how well I could piece myself back together after exploding if I stay here, so I’ll take my chances with evisceration.

The Dominion boats drift around us in semicircles, flanking ours. Several soldiers stand on board, readying spells in their hands with which to bombard us. Clutching the booklet, I run up to the starboard edge of our deck and leap. I’m not the most physically outstanding morph I know, far from it, but the pistons in my legs more than compensate for that now.

Bolts of arcane lightning streak past me to strike our commandeered vessel, causing my fur to stand on end, but not one connects, they’re not aiming for me. I hit the other deck and roll, landing prostrate, one hand over my head and the other stretched out in front of me, holding the booklet. I wince as a boot comes down on my wrist— that’s twice I’ve been stepped on today –and the booklet is taken from me.

“Explain yourself,” the officer demands.

“He’s steering the Prelature boat; we took it over and we just need to get out of here,” I quickly divulge. “We’ve got the captain.”

He lightens up on me just a little, but doesn’t step off quite yet. “Hold your fire!” he bellows, and then gestures at two of the soldiers. “Go check the boat out. If you find this booklet’s owner, return it to him.”

He hands the nearest one the booklet, sends them over, and then steps off of me.

“You’re staying over here,” he states.

“Fine with me,” I respond, sitting up very slowly. “Thank you for not killing me on sight.”

He doesn’t stay long enough to hear me finish expressing my gratitude; the vulpine officer adjusts his red sash and storms off, long white coat whirling around him as he reprimands some of the soldiers that haven’t quite finished slinging spells.

After about a minute, one of the soldiers returns, reporting to the commander and affirming that the boat formerly belonging to the enemy is not a threat.

“We’ll get the survivors on a protected boat,” the officer says. “Everyone has to be evacuated.”

As the soldier moves along, the officer turns to me and walks closer to pull me to my feet. “Reaper, I’ll need your papers too.”

“I… I have none,” I say, not bothering to correct him. “I lost everything in the storm.” I suppose it is better that way; Maxim documents might not have gotten a good response from him either in this trying time, even if our states aren’t on such bad terms anymore.

He glowers at me for a moment, but then sighs. “Fine. Head to the cabin and find yourself a corner. We’ll come get you once we’ve docked.”

“Thank you.” I bow respectfully and head off. 

The interior of the cabin is well-organized, with a few beds to one side and some shelves and benches to the other. I take a seat in one of the corners as instructed and wait until we reach the harbor. I find it a little curious that nobody followed to watch me; I could be going through all their things if I wanted to. I spy a suit of armor among the shelves; a very old model that hasn’t been manufactured in at least an Age. As I inspect it, it shifts slightly and then backs off. Its staggering movements give the impression of either an aberration or someone with a bad hangover. I’m going to play it safe and guess the former. So they do have a security measure after all.

Another soldier opens the door, beckoning me. I stand quickly and follow him out, wobbling on my feet as the boat veers to the right, along the edge of the island with such speed that the words on the signs are a blur. Not that I could read them myself. My spoken Xemba is good enough to get by but I still have to take it slow when reading; historical spellings and unintuitive pronunciations abound throw me off every time.

I’m digressing again. Just looking for something to think about other than the fact that we’re passing through a war zone and could be capsized at any time. But at least that’s unlikely until Prelature raid boats are in sight of us.

“Enemies sighted!” someone shouts, no sooner than I finish that thought. I wonder what I did to upset the gods today. It was probably the fact that a demonic body pillow told me to steal a blessing and I actually did it. What was I thinking? All these tails make me think of Isammet; as if getting on one person’s bad side was bad enough I could be looking at answering to an entire plural system of divines.

The sable boats arrive bringing flame and smoke in their wake, hiding them from the eyes of the casters around me until they are able to come right alongside us. The boat rocks as a synchronized pulse of force from many casters struck, nearly tipping us over. I hastily dash for the side of the cabin, grabbing onto one of the many belaying hooks. Several of the crew do the same, but thankfully the precaution turned out to be unneeded; the deck sways level again without any loss of personnel.

Suraokh’s boat comes up on our port side to take the lead, with a triangular Nayrean crest freshly burned into the green of the hull to differentiate it from the attackers. At the same time, the enemy boat to the starboard of us peels away. I don’t even get a moment to wonder why, before another from its unit sacrifices itself by accelerating and slamming into the docks just ahead of Suraokh and his surprise crew. 

For a brief moment, I believe we’re all going to crash, but then everything shrinks into a single point of light and color, before expanding outwards again, and as it does, I find we’ve left the crashed enemy vessel in our wake. The rest of the crew seems just as dumbfounded as I am by this; an absurd expenditure of power would be needed to not only teleport two boats, but the crews of each as well. It had to be Suraokh, I don’t believe any of the soldiers could have done this.

My pulse races even as we leave the obstructing boat behind. The last minute has filled me with greater panic than… actually no, I’m not sure where I was going with that. I’ve been panicking this whole time.

There is, however, some relief to be felt when a large, armored craft appears in the distance, several people in the process of boarding it. The dismay returns all at once as I realize that they are scrambling, the soldiers already aboard firing rounds into the crowd at the advance of sword-wielding assailants clad in green and gray; elite forces just like our captive captain. While a sword does, no matter how many thousands of times it’s been folded, seem like a poor choice of weapon to bring against a force that carries rifles, it’s difficult to compete with at bringing down the unarmed at close range. 

Spell and shot bounce off the rippling walls of force conjured by the final attacker’s free hand, the others having succumbed already to the rain of serrated shots that carved out their insides. He’s burning a lot of radiance to do this, incoming volleys starting to slip through as the last of his fuel for casting fizzles out. He doesn’t run. All sights are on him but he continues to cut down those that flee. Bit by bit, the crowd sinks closer and closer to total silence before multiple shots rip through the air, through his armor, and into his chest, causing him to drop to the asphalt with all the grace of a soaked bath towel. He got far though. They weren’t the elite for nothing. But in the end, status alone won’t spare you if you’re that eager to die for glory. To the Prelature, civilians are fair game; after all, what if surviving the experience left them feeling vengeful?

Our boat rounds the bend to the barge, soldiers leaping onto land and taking defensive positions. Suraokh’s boat stays out of view, probably for the best, and everyone disembarks from there, sprinting towards the barge. The officer I traveled with steps forward to Suraokh as he approaches, his expression becoming one of confusion as he notices for the first time that the kangaroo from the picture, while lifelike enough in a photograph, is assembled from fabric and thread. I half-expected him to make a remark on it, but he dismissed any thoughts and simply got down to business.

“I have to insist that you turn your captive over to me,” he demands.

The kangaroo nods, guiding her forward by the arm. “I have a single request. Do not harm her unnecessarily.”

“But of course,” the officer agrees. “She’s got a trial to look forward to.” Pretty words, but I think everyone present knows she’s getting the box.

“Very well, I relinquish her.” Suraokh does nothing else but step away, give the fox a nod, and walk towards the barge.

“Wait a moment,” the fox says, taking a single stomping step toward him. “What exactly are you?” I guess his thoughts didn’t really go anywhere; they merely waited their turn.

“I am a legal citizen,” Suraokh replies, stopping in his tracks. “The documents should show this.”

“Your age really doesn’t show…”

“Skin has served its purpose. Textiles are easier to source. I take care of myself. I brush my fabric often. I keep my eyes shiny. These things are very important.”

He doesn’t seem as put off by that as I had expected, but then again, he’s a battle-hardened soldier, isn’t he? He’s probably seen worse than Suraokh. “I… have no further questions. As far as I can tell, you’re not sided with the Prelature; in fact you’ve even shown heroism today, and that’s good enough for me. Travel safe.”

“Thank you, captain, I will.” On that note, the kangaroo doll ends their little interaction and continues walking in my direction. As he passes by, he gives me a little nod. “Let us leave this place.”

“Of course,” I say, still yet to catch my breath. “I’ve only just gotten here and already I’ve had enough.”

Hurrying after him, we take our place on the barge, amidst the masses, who are even more shaken up than we are, some even crying in the aftermath of what very well might have been the worst experience of their lives. I tune it out over minutes until the barge begins to carry us off, while I stare at the gray sea, and towards the colorful stars of distant worlds that begin to show themselves in the evening sky.

And, if I’m not forgetting anything, I believe that brings us to now.