~*~*~ OOTU ~*~*~

  Ootu had memorized the maintenance manuals for each of the twenty-one artificial components in his body. However, those manuals failed to cover, in rather spectacular fashion, how to perform repairs when stranded in a post-catastrophe alien landscape with nothing but detritus and determination.

  He had already learned this the hard way over his many years on frontier worlds, usually while cursing, bleeding, or sparking. Sometimes all three at once.

  Jabbing a slender twig into the joint’s central housing, he attempted to realign the primary servo, which had been knocked loose during their escape from the wanderfibers. The makeshift tool slipped, stabbing into an exposed nerve junction, and he swallowed a yelp that threatened to emerge as a full-throated howl.

  “By all the hells of Salar’s Reach,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Fine-tuned calibration with shrubbery…what could possibly go wrong?”

  “Do you need help with that?” Sister Pathsong called from where she was sitting with Brother Stellaroak.

  “No!” The word shot out sharper than he’d intended. He cleared his throat and looked back at her. “Thank you, Sister, but I’m quite capable.” He returned his attention to his knee, hunching protectively over its exposed mechanics.

  If he had to fall apart, damned if he would do it with an audience.

  After three more attempts, the servo finally clicked back into place with a satisfying snap. Ootu cautiously flexed the joint. It would hold, though the grinding sensation promised painful consequences for later.

  Okay. Now for the eye.

  He reached up and gently pressed around the orbital socket, feeling for the release mechanism. The unit disengaged with a wet . He examined the sophisticated optical device in his palm, its dull green iris contracting and expanding erratically as it tried to register the light. A hairline crack ran along the casing, not deep enough to damage the internal components, but certainly enough to disrupt the alignment thingies.

  “No wonder you’ve been showing me my own frontal lobe,” he muttered to the eye. After cleaning it on the least filthy part of his shirt, he carefully reinserted the unit. It settled back into place with an uncomfortable squelch. The world swam into fractured focus, split into three wavering, overlapping circles. One showed the normal color spectrum, another displayed in infrared, and the third cycled through his top ten analytical filters.

  “Oh, that’s just lovely,” Ootu muttered, blinking rapidly as his brain attempted to process the competing visual feeds. “At least I’m getting some interesting data about Kabus’s post-tidal composition. Silver linings, I suppose.”

  With a few more blinks and a sharp tap to his temple, the circles reluctantly merged back into a single view, though with occasional flickers of infrared that gave Sister Pathsong and Brother Stellaroak a rather stunning glow.

  That left the sensor array in his lower back, which couldn’t seem to decide if he was experiencing frostbite or fire. Unfortunately, that particular component was impossible to reach without assistance…something he wasn’t yet desperate enough to request. The little blips of pain would have to get a lot more irritating before he let anyone touch him down there.

  Rising to his feet, Ootu tested his repaired knee. The joint complained with a grinding noise, but held his weight. Frontier medicine at its finest: functional, not elegant. He limped over to join his two companions.

  Stellaroak acknowledged his approach with a solemn nod. “We must continue our search,” he said, his gaze sweeping across the reshaped landscape. “Our Brothers and Sisters could still be out there.”

  “We’ve been searching since first light,” said Pathsong. “We should consider the possibility that Kabus has claimed them.”

  “Then we shall honor their sacrifice by completing what they began.” Stellaroak raised his chin. “Our Passage shall continue.”

  “Brother, without our Vanguard, there can be no Passage. Our tradition is clear. When the Vanguard falls, we must return to give thanks.”

  Stellaroak’s brow furrowed, creating deep lines across his weathered face. “Starcarver may yet live.”

  “He may,” said Pathsong. “But until we find him, wisdom guides us back to the Hub.”

  Ootu observed their exchange with interest. Stellaroak’s too-straight posture and subtly widened stance told a story his words didn’t: here stood a man who believed himself ready to take on the Vanguard’s mantle.

  But, perhaps not today.

  “I agree with Sister Pathsong,” said Ootu. “Hub-ward is the sensible direction. I, for one, need to reach civilization or my parts will start detaching. We can search for survivors along the way.”

  Stellaroak was already drawing himself up, preparing what would undoubtedly become a spiritually profound objection, when they heard a distant sound.

  An unmistakably human cry.

  As one, they turned toward its source.

  “Hello?” The voice was faint but unmistakably human. “Is anyone there? Help!”

  Brother Stellaroak sprang to his feet. “A survivor! Let us rush to their aid!”

  “Wait.” Ootu held up a cautioning hand. “Be careful, the ground might still be unstable.”

  “A Torcher abandons no one in need,” said Stellaroak, already heading toward the sound.

  Pathsong glanced at Ootu, nodded, then followed the Brother. With a resigned sigh, Ootu trailed after them, his temperamental knee creaking on each step. They found the source of the cries in a depression formed by two colliding folds of biomass. There, lying prone inside a tangle of vegetation, lay a familiar figure.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  “Unna?” Pathsong dropped to her knees beside her.

  The young woman’s face was contorted with pain, and her breathing came in labored gasps. “Sister Pathsong,” she wheezed. “Thank...the worlds.”

  Ootu hung back, unwilling to rush forward. There was something off about the scene. The vegetation across the young woman’s lower body seemed deliberately arranged rather than randomly fallen. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, her hand was casually positioned, not splayed in genuine pain.

  “We need to free her.” Stellaroak was already pulling at the plants.

  “Wait,” Ootu said, unease growing. “Something’s not—”

  Unna suddenly spasmed and rolled to the side, whipping a sleek device from behind her back. A palm-sized Fulsar H2. Very expensive. Very deadly. Very illegal on Mosogon’s moons.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly,” she said with a smile.

  There came a whisper of movement behind them as Vanguard Starcarver emerged from behind the fold, also armed.

  “Doctor Ootu,” he called pleasantly. “How fortunate that you survived.”

  “Vanguard?” Brother Stellaroak straightened, dismayed disbelief washing over his features. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “This,” said Starcarver, “is where your Passage ends, Brother.”

  He raised his weapon and fired. It discharged with a tiny blip that struck Stellaroak squarely in the chest, enveloping him in a flickering white halo. For bout two seconds, his expression registered shock and pain, then he was gone, leaving nothing but a faint shimmer.

  “No!” Pathsong cried.

  “W…what...” Ootu stammered, still staring at the empty space where Stellaroak had existed just moments before. “You...you just...”

  “You didn’t have to do that!” Pathsong lunged towards Starcarver, but he calmly turned his weapon on her.

  “Compose yourself, Sister,” he said. “Your usefulness extends beyond his, but don’t test me.”

  “You’re no Torcher,” she hissed.

  “I assure you, I am,” Starcarver corrected her. “Or was, until I discovered more lucrative applications for the wisdom gathered through Passages.” His gaze hardened. “Now, you will both accompany us, for your particular expertise is required. After you, Doctor Ootu…let us satisfy your curiosity.”

  ?

  Starcarver and his ‘novices’ had come prepared.

  Their camp, hidden nearby, was an impeccably designed and very expensive collapsible structure that could be easily moved and deployed. Ootu stopped to gape, earning an impatient shove from Unna that made his damaged knee give out. He stumbled over the threshold, sprawling onto the mesh-covered floor.

  His left eye clicked and flashed as he looked around. This was more sophisticated than anything he had ever dreamed of. Scanning arrays, holographic displays, communication equipment, portable power cells…all those goodies only the well-funded could enjoy.

  “Do be careful, Doctor,” Starcarver entered behind him, guiding Sister Pathsong with the gentle pressure of his weapon against her back. “We need you functional.”

  “Why?” Ootu said, leaning against a crate to take the weight off his knee. “With equipment like this, I’m surprised you’d need someone held together with tape and questionable workarounds.”

  “Yes, we are well-kitted out.” Starcarver smiled. “Fortunately, with the right container and the right trajectory, even Kabus’s most sophisticated sensors read ‘meteorite impact’ rather than ‘gear drop’. No, what we require of you is expertise.” He gestured towards the far end of the tent. “But first, over there, please.”

  Over there was Jacon, lying on a field cot, his face was bloodied, his clothes torn, and his right leg bent at an unnatural angle. The bone visibly protruded through the skin and his breathing was shallow and rapid.

  “We haven’t got all day,” Unna said, administering another prod to his shoulder. “The medkit’s beside the cot.”

  As Ootu limped forward, he noticed something behind the cot. A bulky thermal blanket. Its edge had slipped, revealing a stain of dried blood beneath. Beside it lay a cracked helmet, tangled strands of coppery hair visible through the fracture.

  “That’s Aysa,” he said abruptly. “But I thought she die.”

  “Your powers of observation remain impressive, Doctor,” Starcarver replied. “Unfortunately, she did suffer a fatal accident during the tidal event. A pity…she was quite talented. However, we do have you two now instead. Now, about your current patient—”

  “I feel compelled to clarify yet again,” said Ootu, “that I’m not actually a doctor. Field medicine at best, and mostly practiced on myself. I have absolutely no training in complex emergency surgery.”

  “Just shut up and fix him,” Unna snapped, shoving Pathsong hard to her knees with a crack that made Ootu wince. She held the weapon in front of the Sister’s eye. “Or I’ll demonstrate what partial disintegration does to the human face. Fancy the taste of cooked eyeball?”

  “No! Please...” Ootu turned to Starcarver. “Don’t hurt her. I'll do whatever you say.”

  “Don't worry about me,” Pathsong said calmly, “My faith has prepared me for whatever comes.”

  “Doctor,” said Starcarver. “Stay calm. What my overly enthusiastic associate is saying is that your expertise on Kabus makes you irreplaceable. The Sister has no such protection.”

  “What about Matteus?” Pathsong asked. “Was his death another one of your performances? Or did you actually sacrifice one of your own?”

  “I think you should need to stay quiet,” said Starcarver. “Doctor, focus on what’s in front of you. Time is of considerable essence.”

  Ootu opened the medical kit, relieved to find that it was as sophisticated as the rest of their gear. At least he wouldn’t have to get inventive. He gave Jacon a pain blocker and began cleaning the wound.

  “Why pretend to be Torchers?” he asked. “Why the elaborate charade with Sixflame?”

  Unna’s expression hardened. “No questions.”

  Ootu’s hands gained steadiness as he worked. “The tide wasn’t part of your plan, I take it?”

  A sharp crack as Unna struck Sister Pathsong across the face.

  “I said no questions,” she snarled.

  “Now, now,” said Starcarver. “There’s no need for such methods, Unna. The good doctor is simply curious. It’s in his nature. We must indulge these childish inquiries.” He smiled at Ootu. “Consider it a professional courtesy between intellects. Our predictions concerning the tide were subject to a slight miscalculation. The scale was...unexpected, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”

  Ootu concentrated on Jacon’s leg, letting his silence speak for him. The tension in the tent stretched thin as he cleaned around the protruding bone and prepared a splint.

  A communications device on the console suddenly chirped, shattering the tense quiet. Starcarver turned to the screen, jabbing at the controls.

  “Report,” he said.

  “In position,” came a male voice. Matteus, Ootu realized with a jolt. “I’ve made contact. She’s been incapacitated, but is still of use.”

  “Good,” Starcarver replied. “The window is closing faster than anticipated. We need the coordinates within 18 hours.”

  “Understood.”

  The communication ended, and Starcarver turned to Ootu, studying him with renewed interest. “Tell me, how much do you know about the structure Kabus?”

  Ootu continued dressing the wound. “I study surface ecology. The subsurface, though fascinating, is beyond my expertise.”

  “Don’t insult my intelligence,” Starcarver growled. “You’ve been publishing under a pseudonym. Research on energy pattern anomalies. Quite thorough, or so I am told.”

  Ootu’s hands stilled. “That was a decade ago. How did you—”

  “We have good sources. And we know you’ve mapped the nexus points, even if you don’t call them that.”

  Ootu shook his head. “I’ve noted down some interesting observations, nothing more. Those papers were just speculative ramblings based on incomplete data. To be frank, I’m embarrassed by them.”

  Jacon groaned beneath his hands, shifting as consciousness began to return. Ootu administered another dose of painkiller.

  “You should not be so dismissive of your work,” said Starcarver. “You weren’t wrong, you just didn’t have the picture. Something ancient lies within this moon.” He paused, then said quietly, almost to himself, “Something of immense value.”