Waterstrider

???, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Thirdmonth, 1634 PTS

I groaned, emerging to consciousness with a massive migraine. Pain throbbed across my body, and my meridians ached at the touch of my internal energy. A quick inspection revealed no cracks in my dantians, and I relaxed back into the bed, relieved.

If the damage was only this bad, a week of rest would be enough to recover. That thought caused me to realize the issue. Where was I, and would I be able to have such a week? I sat up, inspecting my surroundings.

I was in a small bedroom. It was not the kind you might find at a cheap inn, but more so that of an older house in poor condition. The room was empty except for the bed and bedside table, though some lines on the wall hinted at the possible presence of an enclosed closet. The walls were composed of ceramic composite, like many buildings in Staiven space habitats, but the room remained the same generic off-white color that it had likely been ever since construction.

I could remember little after my dive off the tower and the flash of yellow light. I might have simply collapsed then and there, if Rachel had spoken truly to me about the teleportation.

Ignoring the sharp pains in my chest and legs, I slid to the side of my bed, tottering onto my feet. That was when I realized that the only clothing I wore were my undergarments.

Standing up, however, I could see a small pile of clothing sitting at the end of the bed next to my sword. I quickly dressed myself, keeping it within arm's reach. I could not be too cautious under the circumstances.

The clothing I had been given was an odd set of robes. It seemed like the sort of thing a scholar or a monk would wear, almost like a tunic or a dress, but was undeniably fitted for a man roughly of my size and stature. It would do.

I quietly walked to the door, careful to make as little noise as possible. The room was sealed with a hatch, but it silently slid open after receiving a soft tap.

I found myself in a small hallway, with a room to the side and across from me. Further down the hallway I could see a hint of furniture as it expanded into a larger area. I padded my way down to inspect it.

The living room bore an assortment of tasteful black furniture and a host of bookshelves. The more advanced races, I had heard, generally lacked much interest in collecting books, content to read through tablets and implants. This matter I knew little of. I had grown up learning much that I knew from the sect’s library. Whoever owned this house it seemed, was either similar or an extreme hobbyist.

On a coffee table in the center of the room sat the glowing form of the conduit, beside which rested the sack within which I had stored my ill-gotten gains.

Moments after I started inspecting the room, the body of Rachel appeared in an instant, lounging on a long couch in a comfortable position. There were no mist-like effects that I knew as the hallmark of illusion techniques, merely one instant nothing, and then there she was. As before, there was no hint to my spiritual senses that she might be present at all.

Today she was wearing a white sundress, her limbs adorned in silver jewelry bearing blue stones. Her appearance seemed almost too elegant for the ratty surroundings.

I got the feeling she was presenting herself in such a way on purpose. She smiled up at me.

“Good afternoon, Mister Yu. Glad of you to join us.”

Her tone was as mocking as ever, but I paid little attention, more concerned with where I was.

“What happened after I passed out?” I asked.

Rachel’s expression became more serious.

“I talked someone who was… conveniently available into giving you a room to sleep in,” she said.

My expression froze as I contemplated her motives. I had initially refused her offer, yet here she was, helping me out for no clear personal gain. But despite that, she still had not trusted me with the presence of her true body.

Something gave me pause, some element my subconscious had noticed but I remained unaware of. I remembered the sound of her desperate pleas back in the warehouse. Why had she been so desperate? I cast the thoughts aside to focus once more on the present.

“Whose house is-'' my words were cut off by the sense of someone entering my sphere of awareness from behind. I whirled, gathering a view of the man as he shambled awkwardly out of one of the rooms and into the hallway.

My first impression of the man was that he was skinny.

It was not the slenderness of a toned physique but rather that of a man who might never have worked a day of physical labor in his life, and certainly had spent years of little exercise. A pair of fine-rimmed golden spectacles adorned his dark eyes, which were draped with the heavy bags of many a sleepless night. He wore black and purple robes of a similar style to those I was wearing. His height was slightly taller than mine, and he had the black hair and grayish skin of a Jobu.

Upon this realization my guard came up, and I found myself instinctively settling into my first stance. The man flinched back, hands flying up in a haphazard effort at defense. I heard Rachel’s voice from behind.

“He’s not with the Heirs, Cyrus. Hestky is a fugitive of the Epon. He wouldn’t work with their vassals.”

I did not recognize the term, but filed the information away for later retrieval. The man, Hestky, looked nervous, failing to meet my eyes. The senses of my soul inspected his own, and it was muted and weak, emanating only the sputtering gasps of a mortal with some exposure to miasma. I had never seen such a skinny Jobu before. Perhaps he had some sort of disease. I filed the thought away for later.

“I… excuse me,” said Hestky, walking around me into the living room and to the room beyond. He spoke seiyin well, though he bore a thick Celan accent. As he passed by Rachel, I could see him glaring at her. I wondered what she had meant by ‘talked him into assisting.’

I gave her a pointed look and moved into the living room proper, sitting myself down on one of the chairs to regard her. I had something more important to focus on.

“What exactly is it you’re wanting from me?” I asked. Rachel shrugged.

“What else? Protection. I want to keep the conduit safe until someone arrives to pick it up.”

“And you’re wanting me to do it?”

“You have no stake here, Cyrus. No ties that can be tugged on your loyalties. Moreover, you’re strong enough to be useful. If you need, I can do favors for you in exchange. Find you information or help you escape if you end up in a pinch again.” She shrugged again. “We can discuss the details later, if you wish. I just think we can make use of one another.” I met her gaze.

“Back in the warehouse you asked me to help you escape, but the body I see here is not you. An illusion.”

“A hologram,” she insisted. I gave her a flat look in response.

“Call it what you will. There is no soul inside of it. You’re not a person, are you?”

Rachel’s face contorted at the assertion, as if I had hurt some deep part of her, but she was trying to maintain control of herself. A strained smile replaced itself on her pale lips.

“What could I be, if not a person? This body is not real, that’s true, but I am merely projecting it from elsewhere.” I shook my head.

“I initially believed that, but that doesn’t explain how you were acting.” I pointed at the conduit, still glowing with flashes of red and purple light where it lay on the coffee table. “That’s you, isn’t it? The real you. You’re some sort of construct. A thinking machine, a Shade. ”

Rachel’s jaw contorted, her eyes filled with anger. It was as if I had touched a nerve, but I believed I was right.

“I would prefer not to be referred to as a machine,” she said, glaring at me as she stressed the word. I shrugged, not particularly caring about the matter.

“If you prefer. Perhaps it’s true that we can be of use to one another, but I need to know more before I can trust you.” Rachel bit her lip, as if deep in consideration.

I couldn’t help but find myself reading into her body language, even knowing that it was fake, created solely for my own benefit. Or perhaps to manipulate me. The body I saw was merely a fake, an illusion or perhaps a hologram, as she insisted on calling it. I had never heard the term before. Before she finished her musings, a voice from what was probably the kitchen called out to us.

“Breakfast is ready. I prepared some food that should be edible for a Seiyal,” said Hestky, peeking around the corner. His dark eyes watched me with a blank expression, clearly viewing my presence as an annoyance.

I was cautious around the man, but I couldn’t imagine why he would poison me after he let me spend the night at his house. More importantly, I would need plenty of food if I wished to fully recover. I accepted his hospitality, rising to join him.

The kitchen was small and humble, the type that was left in most housing units just to satisfy the tastes of the ‘less developed’ races as the Staiven called us. I personally found fault with that, coming as it were from a race that acquired their nutrients by bathing in pools of them.

Hestky picked up a pair of plates, setting them on a small glass table on one side of the room. The food on each plate was a different color, as our races had different nutritional requirements. As we sat, Rachel joined us, summoning with the wave of a hand her own illusionary plate of food. I chose not to comment on the matter, turning towards the other man.

“Hestky, was it?” I asked. He nodded, so I continued. “Why did you let me stay the night?”

He scratched his head and paused a moment before responding.

“The Shade threatened to expose my identity to the Heirs. I decided it was better to house you for some days than be forced to flee the station.”

I gave Rachel’s illusionary body a sidelong glance. She had a smug look on her face as she continued eating what looked like fried strips of some sort of meat.

“I see. I apologize for that,” I said.

In truth, I had few qualms with the matter. But I had certainly learned the advantages of being polite. The Heirs were undoubtedly searching for me, and it was best if I kept him on at least relatively good terms with myself until the time came for me to leave.

“Oh, it’s no big deal,” he said. Despite claiming such, he made no attempt to guise his disdain. He reached over to the center of the table, where a few empty cups rested. “Would you like some water?”

“I’m fine, thank you. By the way,” I asked, “where is this place located?”

“Fifth district.” Rachel had finished swallowing a bite of meat to answer my question. I could have sworn that she had swallowed it faster than would be possible for a real person, as if it had simply disappeared from her mouth.

“Isn’t that still inside of their territory?”

Hestky shook his head in response, poking a finger into an empty cup and swirling it around the rim.

“It is, but it should be as safe a place as any. You’re a Seiyal, so they would have expected you to head for Canvas Town. I imagine they’ll be searching there and the docks, primarily. They don’t have enough forces to brute force search the whole city.”

His logic was sound, so I relaxed again.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” said Rachel. I turned to look at her. She was staring off at the wall, appearing to not be looking anywhere in particular. It was as if she was seeing something invisible to my eyes.

Hestky just continued his meal. I had noticed that the man had never once spoken directly to her, interacting exclusively with myself. He seemed almost fearful of her in some way, but also disdainful. I could understand his position. I turned to Rachel, biting her bait.

“What is interesting?”

“It's not just the Heirs searching for us. The Hadal Clan is doing so as well,” she continued. I frowned.

“Are they trying to avoid taking the blame for it?”

Rachel simply shook her head in response.

“Rather, I think they wish to recruit you. The matriarch’s personal aide is heading the search himself.”

I paused to consider the idea. Hestky pulled out one of the metal tablets covered in shifting glyphs that the Celans tended to prefer over light displays, flicking through it casually.

“Are the docks being guarded?”

“Of course they are. They don’t intend to let us get out scot-free.”

Not for the first time, I got the impression that Rachel was using some sort of translator. Some of the words she spoke had not been seiyin at all, nor any language I recognized, and occasionally she would use very odd turns of phrase. She continued to speak.

“So access to the docks is under heavy attention by not just the Heirs and the Hadal Clan, but several other groups as well. It would be best to lay low for a time if you intend to leave the station now. Which brings up an important question.” Rachel’s expression shifted once more, grinning as if impatient and excited before settling down into a serious expression.

“Why don’t we talk about what you want to do next?”

Shades: [Rather than a specific race, Shade is a term of Celan provenance that refers to thinking machines. The word’s origin is unknown, but it likely originated in the days after the fall of Epon Celah. Their existence is banned in the Pantheon’s territory as part of a treaty with the Sheneth-Ari Council. There is a standing reward for information leading to the eradication of one. It is rumored that a vast society of Shades might exist hidden somewhere inside the largely unexplored Frontier territory.]