It happened between the beats of his heart, the pain was there - and then it was not.

"What... is this?" he marveled as he felt the bones knitting together, re-forged whole again.

"My lady, this humble blacksmith thanks you," he says to Kaqir, bowing his head when she's finished.

"I offer my thanks to you two, as well," he adds, climbing carefully down from his cart to stand on his own feet to face Kareet and Shirik, placing his right arm on his broad chest as a salute. "I...."

Kareet, who had been paying Kaqir, was now looking past her, at... What was that?

"My friend, is this your work?" he asks Shirik just before the loudest clap of thunder peeled over the village and beyond.

"Sky stone?" he wondered. It was big - was a mountain of sky stone about to hit this village?

---

"Captain! We were too deep in the gravity well, I don't think we cleared atmosphere," Jack reported, training kicking in as he began reading his panel. "We must have hugged the Earth during that jump! Radar shows we're above some rough terrain...."

The radio was eerily silent, just the faint hiss of the universe in his ears.

"Captain, we've lost comms!" the executive officer reported, checking and rechecking the panel. "No... wait... this doesn't make sense! Radio is working, but nobody's talking out there? Did the pulse of the jump knock everyone off the air?"

Without GPS, they'd have to do terrain mapping and hope they'd get a match from the AI...

Eva's bots immediately began moving as the ship shifted suddenly, rising and anchoring themselves as the ship rocked. After the explosive struck and it was clear the worst was not over, Eva's Rover dove to collide with the man who stumbled into her, attempting to stand over him as the contents of the bay shifted alongside them. The spiders did the same for the second man, clambering over him and holding them down so they didn't move as the ship rocked violently and flame eyed them hungrily. Eva didn't dare stand up until everything went frighteningly quiet, and her bots moved off their respective charges. The Rover looked down at the solder with his cut and emitted a quiet beep, shaking it's side to bring attention to the basic medical supplies it held on a pouch.

"Look at that, I was exactly right. Don't get up too fast, a second volley could hit at any moment... good news though, we aren't dead. If you're still obsessed about our death the doors should open for you now that we aren't actively being shot at." Eva rose, snatching up the rifle the man had attempted to point at her. "Though I'll be keeping this, you like pointing it at things way too much. If you have problems with that ask my other three drones about it, Otherwise move on to the bridge and keep any sidearms put away." Eva sighed, the sudden quiet bothered her greatly, but they were alive and that was about all she could ask for.

They did have SAMs. Lady Luck had been standing somewhere else this entire day. Apparently they didn’t want the ship intact after all, so what the fuck were they? Religious extremists claiming FTL went against God’s plan? Of course the pilot did what pilots do and seemingly did everything except turn the ship so the active shield segments were facing the threat, evidenced by a bang and the sound of shearing metal. Some of the missiles hit the shield after all and as soon as they did, the reactor output readout completely lost its marbles. She recalled one salvage job where the ship in question had power problems and was unable to scram their reactor, so they turned on everything that could draw power and blacked out their ship, causing the reactor scram to initiate automatically. If the FTL drive was ‘running away’ then robbing it of its power should do the same as long as they didn’t trip the reactors as well. Sitting at the shield control console, Vigdis entered the command to power up the remaining shield segments.


Of course the ship was designed to prevent this. A smart thing to do under any other circumstance except here. She would find the computer geek who thought this error window only needed an ‘OK’ button and not an ‘ignore’ option alongside it and smack some sense into him when this was over. When the noise kept rising, something in her mind went ‘Yeah, this is beyond hope.’ and she gave up attempting to handle the situation and instead strapped in for the fallout. Crap, where was the Jackal? Did she secure it when she disarmed herself or did she just leave it lying around somewhere? A glance confirmed the sling was tied around the frame of a machine beside the door. Good.

Then, an idea. Primitive and straight out of the ‘Geriatric’s Manual of Computer Repair’, but an idea nonetheless. “Breakers!” Vigdis yelled, figuring whatever damage would be caused by physically cutting the connection between the FTL drive and the ship’s power grid would be limited to the drive itself and wouldn’t hamper their escape attempts, but not even hoping there was enough time for it.

---

The unholy noise reached its peak and the room flooded with unnaturally bright light before turning into pandemonium. It seemed like half of the Really Bad Lights and their accompanying bells and whistles came on at the same time. The machine behind her seat crapped out a shower of sparks and some more alarms sounded. As Vigdis grabbed one of the three kilogram powder fire extinguishers affixed by the console to address that latest problem, the rest of the room didn’t seem to be faring much better. It was getting hot and she could see some of the cables were straining against their mountings as the current flowing through them created magnetic fields strong enough to move them. Something vile assaulted her nostrils. “Charred insulation. Smells like a failing grade to me.”

Having put out the closest fire, she returned the empty extinguisher back into the bracket and returned her attention to her assigned station, fielding a sea of warnings and errors - electrical resistance in the shield cabling reading infinite, voltage zero, temperature just below melting point. “Chief, we’ve lost the shields. Looks like melted or severed conduits.” Vigdis reported, anxiously waiting for a similar report on propulsion.

Gesith Silbermine’s journey through the marches to the east of Mythadia was only supposed to take a week in total. His retinue had packed light and sent scouts ahead to trace a path through the marshy plains that skirted the southern edge of Lake Núr. They’d planned to ride hard and reach the ruins of Falag-Núr in plenty of time to consult with the Mendicant Seers while the Moon was still new. His father had believed they could see the future, and with their insight he went on to win The Running against all the odds. Silbermine was anxious to repeat this feat before he became too old and lame.

But it seemed the gods were intent on testing his resolve ahead of the Glen’s twice-a-decade choosing of Mythadia’s leader. At least that's how Silbermine had interpreted it. First, the bridge over the river which formed Mythadia’s eastern border was destroyed by a flood stemming from torrential rain on the night they set off from Silbermine’s fortress. Heading south to cross at Ertiseda would have taken too long, so instead they waited a day and then forded it while the water was still quite high. One of the load bearers broke a leg and went under; they never saw the boy again.

The rain had turned their path into a quagmire. Glen were able to travel very quickly, even in armour, in good conditions. But with the ground boggy underfoot they were reduced to little more than a trot. This slow pace opened them up to being accosted by every fisherman and unfortunate on this godforsaken stretch of shore. Silbermine’s banner was not hard to spot, nor was the Gesith himself in his imperial red barding. They begged him to rid their land of the bandits which had swooped in since their Margrave had been killed without a successor.

Unable to just decline with The Running so close, Silbermine and his men spent three days crisscrossing the plain, raiding camps of vagabonds and scaring them off. None would fight against a score of armoured knights. The ones they captured all seemed to think the routes were becoming too dangerous for them to stay much longer anyway. Silbermine knew not what to make of that - he let them go but kept their plunder.

When they finally got to the ruins of Falag-Núr, nearly a week behind schedule, Silbermine was incensed to learn that the ancient fortress was empty! They must have upped and left in a hurry, his scouts reported when they regrouped. They’d even left some of their meagre belongings behind. After cursing their name and waiting for half a day, Silbermine had reluctantly cut his losses and led his retinue back towards civilisation. With the ground drying, they had made much better time. But it seemed the gods were not done with them yet. On the second night of their return journey, the sky opened and a thunderous clap rolled forth. The march lit up as if it were day, before turning to a half-light.

Silbermine emerged from his tent into the circular camp ringed with fires. His knights were already off the floor and on their feet, weapons in hand. They were looking up, so the Gesith looked up as well. A fireball flew towards them from across Lake Núr. Silbermine rose up onto his hind quarters in excitement, fore legs waggling in the air before landing back down again.

“It is a sign from the gods! Stand your ground - we are being tested!” The Gesith boomed. His face was craggy and scarred, but right now his eyes were young with vigour.

Ezra tumbled to the floor and struggled mightily under the weight of another dog-like drone, but couldn’t get free.

“Aargh! Shit nearly crushed my head!” Darnell hollered as another spider robot clambered all over him. He wriggled around, kicking hopelessly against some cargo webbing which wrapped around his legs.

Everything flashed, like they were heading into a thunderstorm. The boom of the engines, unbearably loud through the rip in the hull, morphed into a steady juddering that mixed in with the whistle of the wind and crackle of multiple fires spreading through the shuttle bay.

“Mask, on. Depressurisation detected.” A rich male voice declared. Small hatches clicked open above the bay’s jump seats and masks with their own oxygen converters popped out. The first airlock door lay open.

Ezra shoved the dog out of his way, got up and his right hand went for his sidearm. The girl was tiny compared to the merc, but very quick, and steady on an uneven deckplate. Nevertheless, that was his weapon.

“Hey! Don’t you fucking dare. Get me out of here, tough guy!” Darnell shouted, reaching out a hand from the floor.

Ezra gritted his teeth, boring holes into the back of Eva’s skull through his mask as she cycled the airlock. Finally, he stalked over to his employer. The floor was moving again - the ship’s nose was beginning to pitch forwards.


“We’re losing all power, Captain! Switching to auxiliary power!” Zhao had one finger pressed against her earbud. The lights flickered in the Engine Room.

“Vigdis, disconnect the shields then reboot the reactor! Varen, put out these fires! I’ll see if I can salvage output from somewhere to stop us crashing!” The lead engineer was rapidly checking through systems.

“Oh god, Kiran’s fucking dead!” Varen stood up from his seat and peered over the console at the dreadlocked engineer who had frisked Vigdis moments before. Kiran lay smoking on the deck next to the FTL drive, where they’d been trying to manually flip the breakers.


Zey received a 3D topographic model of their current flight vector from Wodan and put it up on all consoles. Far below them were mountains. Ahead of them was a large body of water, and beyond that, more mountains. The Jotunheim was still moving at speed, but had noticeably dipped into a downward descent.

“I’ve got nothing. Engines 1 through 3 are dark - auxiliaries are choking. ” Bosko called, flicking overhead switches as bright red lights flashed all around him. Two bright running lights came on like white fingers probing the darkness in front of them.

“Allah kahretsin...ok, I’ve got you. All crew prepare for an emergency landing. Mallory, I need you to find us a safe place to put down.” Zey ordered, pulling up her co-pilot interface. She activated a burst of Deep Work from her chemical gland; it worked to control her adrenaline and allow laser focus on the job at hand.

“Mayday mayday mayday, this is TEC-52-J, we have lost power and are conducting an emergency landing.” Anselm broadcast, activating the Jotunheim’s distress beacon.

---

Darnell and Ezra exited the airlock into absolute pandemonium in the service corridor. People were screaming, pushing each other over to climb upstairs or strap themselves down. Some had fallen, and possessions were starting to slide across the floor towards the Bridge. Medical personnel were struggling with a person on a stretcher.

“Mr Darnell, we need to get strapped in.” Ezra urged. He knew a plane crash when he saw one.

Darnell wasn’t listening though. He turned left, and ran for the ship’s cockpit. The merc followed him.

---

“All passengers, put your mask on and assume the brace position. We are about to make an emergency landing.” Anselm urged. Straps emerged from the back of her seat and secured the comms officer’s neck and arms.

Zey’s eyes widened when she saw the foothills of a vast mountain range zoomed towards them. They were using the aux engines to soften their descent, but they didn’t have enough power to change course. Flames licked over the cockpit windows. Bosko’s bobblehead figurine fell from his console. The entire ship seemed to rattle like a trolley full of shopping. Zeynap started to pray.

“Brace! Brace!” Anselm yelled over the intercom.

---

“Captain! It's the shields!” Darnell gibbered, hammering on the Bridge door.

“Sir!” Ezra snapped, grabbing the burly suited man by the arms and wrestling him back up the steeply pitched deck. He pressed a door button and it opened, revealing a small toilet. Ezra bundled Darnell onto the floor of the tiny room and crouched over him. Darnell grabbed hold of the toilet bowl, screaming incoherently.



Silbermine watched as fragments tumbled away from the falling ball of flames. First came a large beetle shape, which plummeted towards Lake Núr. Dozens of other boxy shapes followed, spinning and fluttering in the night air towards the marshy ground.

The Glen noble covered his eyes with one hand. The bright ball of flame was upon them but none of the Gesith’s retinue flinched. Silbermine clenched every muscle, prepared to meet the gods face to face. The sound was unbearable…and then it passed overhead.

Silbermine looked up, and round, as the ball of flames screamed into the side of a hill to the south. It bounced, rolled and slid up the side, a firestorm spreading around it to engulf the woodlands on either side. A rolling peal of thunder erupted once more, and then all was quiet. Silbermine raised both gauntleted hands and uttered a braying roar - his knights joined in.

“We are the chosen!”

Kareet could have possibly believed this was some form of magic, until it started drawing closer. It started to slow noticeably as it drew nearer to the mountains, and the flames dimmed, at least slightly. It was still bright, but a Tekeri’s eyes could just make out…something within. Something more than flame, and it did not look to be stone either. Though, she had few guesses on what this could be, aside from a new mystery.

The fireball disappeared behind the mountains to the northeast. While it had been in the sky, the night had lit up almost like day, though darkness fell once again as soon as it went out of sight. Among the townsfolk, shock had seemingly kept a blanket of silence over the town around them for a few, brief moments. Once it seemed to become clear that the fireball was not going to bring an imminent death, though, that silence broke quickly. Everything from awe and amazement, to fear, to relief, could be heard in the chattering of the villagers around them. Kareet heard them talk of everything from magic to divine omens, but she did not concern herself with the speculations of the peasants, nor was she going to make baseless claims of her own. There would be only one way to find the truth here.

Kareet gave a quick look over to Shirik. She felt sure that had been no product of Heat magic. It was something solid, even if it had been covered in flames. Prior to this moment, she would have felt that there would have been little that could pry her away from her investigation into the strange Iriad…but it seemed she had just found it. Whatever this was, it was most certainly a mystery more interesting than anything Shirik could offer. She did not even want to waste time talking or speculating; depending on exactly where and across what terrain it had come down, it could take a day or two in order to make the hike out to it. She hoped it would not be that far. “The coin was sufficient, yes? If there is nothing more that anyone needs of me, I will be going. Whatever that thing was, I must reach it.”

"I've never seen so large a piece of sky metal," the Glen staring intently in awe as he pointed at the fireball. "Usually it's small chunks, but they hit the ground so very hard! I do not know what will happen when such a large rock hits. It may shatter or bury itself deep in the ground."

J'eon turned towards the others.

"This will be a story long told among the clans."

---

Jack swallows. A safe place to put down?

"Captain, we've got mountains, a lake, and more mountains," the X.O. reports. "My respects to the pilot, but if we can't do a soft landing, we need to aim for the lake."

"We're likely to flood, so we'll need to get everyone off the ship and to shore as quickly as possible. It'll be tight in the lifepods, but a very short distance."

But...

"Only thing is, I can't reach anyone on the radio. If we stay in the water, we're likely to lose the Jo' before rescue arrives. Our best bet to save the ship is to keep the drive going and skim for the shoreline. If we can push enough of ourselves out of the water, we should be okay."

And at least a year or more in repair yards, Jack scowls, and testifying in front of boards and committees about what we should have done and questioning everything. Then another year to get the Jo' recertified. Assuming whoever was behind the attack on them didn't try again. Two years, maybe more, wasted!

Fuck, Kiran was dead. Died near the breakers. The breakers she’d mentioned a second or two before the jump. No, no, she couldn’t think about it like that. He would’ve done it anyway. Guy was a lot smarter than the dreadlocked beach bro one might write him off as at first glance, else he wouldn’t have been there in the first place.

“Yes ma’am.” Vigdis confirmed chief Zhao’s order as she switched off the shield system, salvaging what little power the still-intact control circuits were drawing before getting on the reactors. Undoing her straps, she moved over to Kiran’s former station and strapped in there. First thing she did was access diagnostics to figure out just what the hell the problem was. Whatever happened, it wrought havoc on power control, with Unit 2 scrammed and Unit 1 reeling from the experience. A short investigation quickly uncovered the culprit: the shields, and to a certain extent the FTL drive, simply demanded so much they robbed the number two reactor of the power its magnetic containment and fuel feed systems required to keep it running, but the reactor itself was undamaged. Normally that wasn’t supposed to be possible, but whatever caused the FTL anomaly might’ve been a software bug that could’ve also affected power distribution. The first reactor encountered a similar problem on a smaller scale, the fuel supply fluctuating within limits and slowly recovering. Next she opened the reactor relight menu, comparing what she was seeing to what the reactor and power guys had told her between beers.

Fusion reactors required a lot of power to start up, meaning one could be started either by another reactor or by a big capacitor. That was why safety regulations mandated ships with multiple reactors never bring any of them below five percent. Well now one of theirs was dead and she didn’t dare try jumping it with the other one for fear of something important dying on them as a result, which left option two: A battery dedicated to starting the reactors, enough to jump one. One last hail mary. If that failed, they’d be in trouble as charging it would take hours if one reactor was running well and the auxiliary wasn’t anywhere close. Fuel: Check. Containment magnets: Check. Preheat: Check. The reactor had fortunately been down for such a short period of time that going back up to operating temperature only took a few seconds. “Unit 2 relight in six seconds.” Hopefully, but she didn’t say that out loud. Urged by Anselm’s warnings, Vigdis rechecked her seatbelts, started the relight sequence and braced.

Just three seconds after she did, the high-pitched whine returned to the formerly silent reactor, the engine tune had changed into a more familiar, continuous screech and the whole ship shifted upwards as if a massive hand grabbed it and gave it a boost from below. Any jubilation lasted about five seconds before being ended by an impact. The noise was horrible, the ship might have rolled, or it might’ve been just her imagination, she couldn’t tell. Four years in space, she’d never been in an actual on board emergency, save minor ones. Vigdis couldn’t tell how long it lasted, probably no more than 30 seconds, but it felt like an eternity. As soon as her head stopped spinning, she undid the straps and patted herself down to verify nothing was broken. Checking the manufacturer label on the seat, she made a mental note to purchase Martin-Baker stock once back home and stood up, stumbling before catching herself due to the floor’s unexpected tilt. “You guys intact?”

Kolvar Stilmyst

He opened his eyes when he noticed that he was not dead. Letting out a sigh of relief. He looked around he could see the trail of fire leading toward the crash site. Slowly making his way toward the area of the crash site, using his life magic to turn into a bird like creature.

Wanting to know more about the flying ship. Keeping behind the tall trees, he wanted to avoid being seen by anyone. Following the trail, taking the form of a local aviary creature. Flying between the trees towards the crash site. Soon arriving at the crash site. Keeping his distance from the crash site, and sitting on a tree branch.

Watching from a safe distance, observing whoever had survived the landing. Kolvar was curious about what kind of magic could make a ship fly. “It must be some really powerful magic.” He was in utter shock at the method used to make the ship fly. He was also curious about what kind of information the flying ship contained.

He assumed they would have quite a lot of useful information. His plan would be to sneak into the ship and try to find any records or information about these species. However, he was not sure if these foreigners were hostile or not. A small part of him was scared that they would be like the S’tor. There was also a strong possibility they want to conquer Kanth-Amerek.

Kolvar moved a little closer toward the ship, landing on the ground near some trees. He was trying to figure out how to gain access to the magical ship. “Perhaps Master Knoll would know how to gain access to this ship?” He thought to himself. Sitting in the back of the ship before heading toward the front. It was similar to a puzzle piece but nothing was too difficult for a Kriliteran.

[Stavanger Interplanetary Spaceport]

---

Mierda, this fucking place is cold.

Dr. Itxaro Ibarra knew it was a ridiculous thought. Of course it was cold; they were practically in the Arctic Circle. But did it have to be cold inside too? Already, Itxaro was bundled in so many layers she felt like she was wearing a bulky, old-fashioned EVA suit. Even still she shivered, arms clutched to her chest. Fuck it. Nothing to be done. She hurried down the stark white and grey concourse, bulging canvas sea bag rustling on her back. And there's another thing. Why is everything so damn sterile? Isn't it white enough outside? Accustomed to the vibrant colors and neo-Aztec architecture popular throughout the USASR, the bare nordic design was yet another reminder to Dr. Ibarra she was an interloper. She supposed the ship, the Jotunheim, would be more of the same. Oh well, at least I'll only be on it for the foreseeable future, Itxaro thought ruefully.

Truth be told, she didn't want to be here. Not in Norway, not with the Jotunheim. But what choice did she have? Continue to pick through the scraps of Yenge tech? Or work on a functioning faster-than-light drive, and bring that knowledge home? The choice was painfully obvious to her, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Frankly, it was a miracle she was here at all; the previous FTL specialist had disappeared, likely kidnapped by rival factions seeking to reverse-engineer the already imitated FTL drive. Dr. Ibarra was Tamerlane's second-stringer, and would receive on-the-job training before their first dry run. She'd had the opportunity to review very abbreviated specs of the drive, but Tamerlane was protective of their proprietary FTL technology, so she possessed only a working knowledge of it.

Itxaro pulled on her chunky headphones to quiet her racing mind, and the world around her fell silent for a moment. Then, the sound of shuffling feet and tinny overhead announcements were drowned out by her playlist. Dr. Ibarra tugged her fur-lined hood over her head and pulled the drawstrings shut, narrowing her field of vision to a pinhole but trapping body heat. Not like there's much to see in this shithole anyways. The spaceport around her faded away, her only link to it a single eye peering out while her mind wandered to more pleasant pastures.

Itxaro's daydreams of French knights and English archers clashing on the fields of Agincourt to the score of Andean synths were interrupted when several people sprinted past her in a frenzy. Huh, flight must be leaving early or something, she reasoned. Then, through her tiny porthole to the world, Dr. Ibarra saw red flashing lights switch on from various sirens on the wall; her headphones blocked out the noise, but she knew something was wrong. Some ship malfunctioned, maybe a fire somewhere. Still calm, Itxaro quickened her pace.

It wasn't until her right leg collapsed under her that Dr. Ibarra decided something was up. Her headphones slipped off as she fell hard to the ground, and suddenly her ears were no longer filled with music but screams, alarms, and the cracking of gunfire. Some distant, some dangerously close. Dr. Ibarra tore off her hood and examined her leg. Blood flowed freely from her upper thigh, the fabric and flesh ripped by the stray round. A graze, but a damn good one. She looked behind her down the long concourse and saw spaceport security as they fended off an unseen foe; they were being torn apart. Itxaro felt her heart pound into her throat and the pain in her leg dull as adrenaline flushed through her body. Acting on instinct, she regained her footing and half ran, half hobbled to the Jotunheim's hangar bay, high-powered rounds shattering the ceramic tiles under her feet.

Even with her brain pumped full of fight-or-flight chemicals, Itxaro had a pretty good idea of what was happening. Corpo thugs, some nation's special forces, or fucking terrorists were gunning people down, and they were here for the Jotunheim. What else could it be? Why she chose to head straight for their objective, Itxaro didn't know. She could have just hidden in a bathroom and been fine, but something in her monkey brain tolde her ship equals safety. Maybe she already thought of it as home. Dr. Ibarra stumbled into the hangar bay, now filled with thick smoke, the smell of cordite, and the roar of engines and frantic gunfire. Fuck it. Itxaro could barely even the silhouette of the ship, but charged ahead anyways, ducking low for all the good that would do.

[The Jotunheim]

---

Dr. Ibarra surged onto the ship when the doors opened, propped up by the press of bystanders caught in the firefight who also sought safety in the Jotunheim's metal womb. She was unceremoniously thrown to the floor when the crowd entered the ship and fanned out, bouncing her head off the deck and wrenching her bad leg. Several frantic refugees trampled the wounded engineer, their footfalls cushioned by her heavy sea bag. Itxaro scrambled back to her feet, head reeling, and was corralled with the rest of the civilians to the ship's living quarters. She flung herself into the first room she could, a bedroom of some kind. Itxaro didn't spend much time appreciating the ship's interior design, instead shrugging her bag off and propping herself against a cold bulkhead to examine her injury. The bullet had grazed her, but the wound was deep, located on her inner thigh four inches down. It looked less like a gunshot wound, and more like she'd been slashed with a serrated blade, the flesh and skin viciously splayed open. She remembered one of her comrades suffering from a similar injury, and remembered watching him bleed out in zero-g within minutes as she helplessly clutched her mangled arm.

Itxaro pushed the memory from her mind as she set to work, feeling the ship vibrate to life under her. "It missed the femoral artery. If it didn't, I'd be dead," she soothed herself aloud. In a distant part of her brain, Itxaro knew the ship was moving, but as the adrenaline wore off and blood loss-induced lethargy set in, she didn't really care. Dr. Ibarra futilely tugged at her pant leg with her right hand when she realized she had a fucking robot arm, which she used to roughly tear the tattered fabric off her throbbing leg. Perhaps a bit too roughly, as pain spiked up and down her body and her vision was blurred with tears of pain and frustration. She tightly bound the bleeding wound in her own garment, absently noting the new fashion trend she had inadvertently created: the half short, half pant. She'd workshop the name later, maybe sell the patent to a corpo. Make billions.

Through her ringing ears and the ship's engine, Itxaro detected a faint voice speaking. "Puedo sentir la gravedad en mi pie-" Dr. Ibarra tore the headphones from around her neck, still piping out music, and threw them across the room to her sea bag as she unleashed a flurry of curses. In response, the Jotunheim began accelerating, sending the sea bag and headphones sliding across the floor back to her. Itxaro stowed them in a floor compartment, eager to avoid any more flying missiles, and took a moment to compose herself.

The bleeding seemed to have stopped, for now. She was safe, for now. Dr. Ibarra half-expected soldiers to burst in through the airlock, firing down the tight corridors of the ship; she'd seen this once before, and the memory sent a sickening chill down her spine. Now the ship was really gaining speed, and she realized they were taking off. She remembered seeing the runway filled with taxiing spacecraft. Fucking pilot better know what they're doing, or the thugs outside are the least of our worries.

Itxaro drunkenly staggered out of the room, unsure if her dizziness was from blood loss, an adrenaline hangover, or a possible concussion. She started navigating towards engineering, the only place she could make much of a difference, though in her condition it was doubtful. She stumbled down the stairs, taking no notice of the red smear she left on the wall she leaned against as she walked, nor the warm blood filling her boot.

“Passengers, strap yourselves in for a bumpy ride. We are attempting to exit the fjords.”

Itxaro instinctively flung herself through an airlock in response, and felt her stomach drop when her eyes focused and began scanning the room. An escape pod. With a sickening feeling of deja vu, Dr. Ibarra tore a first aid kit from the wall and fell into a crash couch, frantically strapping herself in. The ship was suddenly rocked by an explosion. Breaching pod, Itxaro thought nonsensically, knowing that wasn't even possible in atmosphere. She opened the small red box and found exactly what she needed, an aerosol coagulant and sealant. Itxaro removed the makeshift bandage, mopped up the excess blood with a grunt, and hosed down the wound, which formed a sickly yellow coat over the area; the bleeding did stop though. Itxaro started searching for her next item when the ship began a new cacophony of booms, as if the engine were stalling; but this wasn't like any thrust drive she'd heard before. Oh god, did they fire up the FTL drive?

"BRACE! BRACE!”

A familiar weightlessness washed over Itxaro before gravity returned. Freefall. Apparently the FTL drive hadn’t powered up after all, which was good; there’s no telling what kind of havoc an FTL drive could wreak on a ship while in atmosphere if the vessel wasn't designed for it. But also, bad. Because they were now falling back toward the Earth. Dr. Ibarra laughed bitterly. She’d narrowly avoided death in that cramped escape shuttle all those years ago, but it seemed fate had caught up with her. What happened next was a blur. She clung to the medkit with a death grip as her body was whipped around in the crash couch, caught in an invisible maelstrom.

When the ship finally came to a shuddering halt and the emergency lights flickered on, Dr. Ibarra took a few deep, shaky breaths. So she didn’t die. Fuck you, fate. Never believed in it anyways. With a fumbling hand, Ixaro rummaged through the contents of the medical bag until she located the emergency stimulant injector. Dr. Ibarra carefully shot the syringe into her good leg and depressed the plunger. She felt a pleasant thrumming in her head as her blurry world came into sharp focus. She unstrapped herself and stood up, pleased she hadn't sustained any more injuries in the crash aside from what would soon be pretty purple bruises.

Itxaro limped towards engineering medical kit in hand, knowing it was too late to do any real good, but she could still shut down systems, administer first aid, or extinguish fires. She pulled open the door with her prosthetic hand and was met with an engineering room in ruins. Itxaro considered saying something real funny, maybe, Wow, she runs smooth, doesn’t she? Dr. Ibarra held her tongue, though, when she spotted the charred and contorted body of an engineer on the grated deck. Shame and sadness shot through her simultaneously. She tore her eyes away from the crumpled body and directed her sharp eyes toward the others. Did they even know her? Had the company supplied them with her file? She supposed it didn’t really matter right now. Her words were shaky but calm, accompanied by a flowing Cuban accent. “I'm Dr. Itxaro Ibarra, the new FTL specialist. What can I do to help?”

Kareet, for a moment, looked out over the horizon, though the mountains around them were limiting to her view. Now that the fireball had reached the ground, the darkness of night had settled back over the land. Although, even from where they were, a faint orange glow seemed to be visible from behind the mountain. Either the object itself was still ablaze, or it had sparked a forest fire. Either way, a heat mage would be useful to her. Fortunately, Shirik had already expressed their desire to investigate this event as well. For now, it seemed they would be sticking together.

“That was not a mere fireball, it was…artificial. A foreign weapon…or some other machine? But who would be able to create a thing of such size?” Kareet muttered, mostly to herself. “We must hurry. Who knows what those fires may be destroying? There is no point in wasting time here.” She remarked. Admittedly, if this object was truly in danger from the flames, it would be wishful thinking that they would be able to reach it in time to do anything about it. Depending on where it fell, it could be a day or two before they even reached it. Nevertheless, Kareet was intent on setting out immediately.

After looking like they might ditch violently in the lake as Mallory had recommended, a last minute surge of power gifted by Zhao allowed the pilots to soften their descent, pulling up from a death spiral.

“Lift your big ass!” The bearded Serbian pilot boomed as the auxiliary thrusters protested under the strain of slowing their blistering speed. The Jotunheim’s landing lights picked out some boggy lowlands full of lichen-covered ponds and scraggly trees in the distance. But they were still coming in at too big an angle now to put down there without blowing up. Instead both Zey and Bosko wrestled with the controls to try and level them out. The lights settled on a range of low hills.

Zey’s hyper-focused mind noted that the auxiliary engines spluttered into life and then died nearly a dozen times during the last minute of their approach - one side of the ship and then the other. Though she didn’t really register it, she was communicating quickly with Bosko as they desperately tried to keep their ship straight. Ultimately it was an impossible task.

The Jo smashed into the hillside twenty three degrees off centre at around a hundred miles per hour. The screech of rending metal filled every nook and cranny of Zey’s mind. G-force threw the command crew forward against their seat restraints as the ship’s front right aux thruster sheared clean off against the stone. Mallory’s flight cap flew across the bridge and covered Zey’s face until she could scrape it off and throw it. The hull rolled round and up the rocky slope. Once, twice, then a quarter turn back the other way until it got caught on an outcropping.

Every alarm that could still blare inside the Bridge was going off. Thin wisps of smoke puffed from some of the equipment and gathered on the ceiling. Zey could smell burning, and hear it somewhere too - not just outside on the windscreen.

“Everyone ok? Give me your status. Wodan, damage report please.” Zey ordered, manually releasing her restraints and clambering to her feet. The deck sloped off slightly to the left. She attempted to get in touch with Engineering.

“Engineering - how are you doing back there?”

---

Zhao’s wrinkled, grimy hands gingerly touched the big gash across her forehead. She let out a groan and a curse.

“It's just…a scratch. Something…hit me.”

Danny Varen unclipped a fire extinguisher from under his chair, yelping as fire licked across both kneecaps.

“I’m on fire - back feels a little funny too.” The engineer called as he sprayed carbon dioxide all over himself and the interface in front. With his body no longer in immediate danger, Danny could look around quickly as the airlock doors cycled open and a woman walked in.

“Who the fuck are you?”

When she responded, he laughed.

“You’re only five minutes late. Go check the chief - she’s hurt.”

The sudden stop that pushed Jack against the seatbelts knocked the air out of his lungs, leaving him gasping for a few moments before he managed to inhale as he shuddered in his seat from the effort. His hand found the release and the straps slitter away, and he leaned over the console, breathing raggedly while wincing at the pain in his chest. When he felt his breathing return to normal, he sat up and grabbing the mic for the ship's intercom, switching it to the general circuit.

"All departments, make a casualty and damage assessment and report in," he drawls, trying to sound reassuringly calm, as if this had just been another routine landing. "Uh, all passengers, report any emergency to the crew members in your area. Please avoid moving from your current compartment until further notice."

Well, that's it for the Jo, Jack scowled. There's no way the certification board will allow her to fly again. They're going to have to start from scratch.

---

Having a recently graduated Castigator be assigned to a major city, while very uncommon, wasn't exactly unheard of. In the end, it all depended on the skill and knowledge of the Castigator and if they were deemed as capable of shouldering the burden of being assigned as the Castigator of a major city. While it was general knowledge that minor cities had more frequent 'issues' that might require the presence of a Castigator, the truth behind those was that most issues were rather simple and would normally be solved by common soldiers in bigger cities. On the other hand, whenever a situation appeared where a Castigator’s presence was required in a major city though, normally that meant it was an issue that the soldiers and the local authorities of the entire city weren't capable of dealing with by themselves. In these moments, was where the skill and knowledge of a true Castigator was needed, where they had to show if they were worthy of the honor of being assigned to a major city. In Nellara's case, that major city was Lenkik.

While not nearly as old, historic and big as Arcaeda, Lenkik is still an impressively well built and established city. Behind its tall protective walls, a homage to Arcaeda’s own, famous walls, lies an equally solid and well built city. Taking inspiration from Arcaeda, many aspects of Lenkik mirrors the capital city, such as having a ground, middle, high districts and to some degree, even the overall architecture and design of the city. Due to its size and wealth compared to other minor settlements, the authorities on Lenkik were effective enough to maintain public order to a very satisfactory degree. Thanks to that, the interference of a Castigator wasn’t always required in their nightly… and daily, routines.
Despíte that, Nellara still enjoyed keeping a tight and strict routine herself. Waking up every day the moment the sun begins going down, Nellara’s night often began with her making sure her armor and appearance were as impeccable as her status and position required it to be. From the gold dye decorating her feathers, the golden lines on her claws and even making sure her armor was immaculately clean and polished. Immediately after that, she would go to the training grounds for a session of training and sparring with the soldiers followed by a walk through the ground and middle districts, or ‘patrolling’, as Nellara herself liked to call.

Other than the occasional patrols through the most busy districts of Lenkik through the night and even one during the day, Nellara had most of the remaining time to herself after she was done with her routine. Most of this time was spent at her home, a cozy, medium house in the middle district. Unlike some high-officials, which decided to move to the high district as soon as their position allowed them to do so, Nellara was strictly against the idea of doing so herself. Her reasons were not only that she was ill-suited to a life of luxury, but also because it helped her to remind that despite her position of power, she was just another person, much like all the others who went on with their lives and their jobs, keeping the ground and middle districts of Lenkik always busy and moving.

Thanks to the free time Nellara had, she often tried new hobbies, to pass time. Many of them were forgotten after only a week though. The exceptions to that were reading and, surprisingly enough… cooking. On that particular night, after a harsh training session with the (un)lucky soldiers that were on the training grounds, Nellara decided to try her hand at cooking for herself for the first time. The dish of choice wasn’t a particularly complex one, mainly consisting of roasted roots and a rare steak, well seasoned salt and herbs. Thanks to the detailed instructions that were written in the cooking book she bought, preparing and cooking the meat, until it was perfectly cooked, wasn't difficult at all. On the other hand, it was a bit more complicated to know the exact time when to take out the roots. If they were taken out too soon, they would still be soft and wouldn’t have that delicious, crispy outside. If they were left even for a minute longer in the oven than they needed to be, they would start getting burned, which would ruin their taste. It was exactly at that delicate time, where precise timing, absolute attention and concentration were required that a strange light coming from the outside suddenly interrupted Nellara’s cooking. Immediately running to the window, Nellara saw, shocked as a huge fireball cut through the night sky, followed by the sound of a distant explosion.

“My steak and roasted roots...” Nellara said with a sigh, turning off the oven before immediately running outside.

In less than 30 minutes, Nellara was already heading to the docks, after requesting a small team of five soldiers to investigate the location where the fireball had landed. According to the position it was heading to, the fastest way for them to get there would be to take a barge and go up the river.

“Do not lower your guards until further orders are given. I will dispatch one soldier from my division to deliver a report about the situation as soon as possible. I want a preliminary report about the situation being made and a messenger ready to be dispatched to Arcaeda once my report arrives in Lenkik!” Nellara ordered, her voice loud enough for all the soldiers around them to hear, both the ones from her own team and those who would stay guarding the city.

“Yes, Castigator Nellara!” the soldiers replied in unison as they began assuming defensive positions.

As Nellara boarded the barge, she kept her eyes fixed on the horizon where the fireball was last seen. While its distance meant that it wasn’t an immediate threat to the city of Lenkik, the fact that it had happened close enough for them not only to see, but hear the fireball meant that it was indeed close enough to warrant further investigation from their part. Whether it was the result of magic, some type of weapon or even a natural disaster, Nellara would deal with it accordingly before sending a detailed report to the city of Arcaeda.

While Kareet might have disliked climbing, traveling with the others was illuminating on exactly how much easier it was for Tekeri. Their strength coupled with their lightweight bodies made navigating uneven or steep terrain comparatively effortless. Watching her companions, though, they just felt…heavy, with every step they took. On flat ground, Glen could easily move faster than any of the other species, either in a sprint or over time. Back when they were fighting Kolodon, one of the major advantages they held was with how well their armies could outmaneuver the S’tor. Up here in the mountains, though, Kareet had to avoid letting on to any irritation on how much they were slowing her down. They could still be useful. It had been a while since she had seen signs of the fires that the impact had certainly sparked, but that did not mean she would not need a heat mage.

“I am not so sure about that.” Kareet remarked. They had stopped momentarily in a clear space of relatively flat ground on a mountainside. Another rest. She stood atop a nearby boulder so she could observe the area from the highest point in the vicinity; granted, visibility was rather good regardless. This part of the mountain was not forested, so it had a clear view of the valley below them. There was no sign of the impact on this side of the mountain, but with how far they had traveled, they had to be getting close. By Kareet’s estimation, the impact site would likely be on the other side of either this mountain range, or the next beyond it. “Ertiseda is the closest settlement to here. I don’t think anyone else from that village would take the risk to come out here. Though, I’ll admit, a purely Tekeri group could easily outpace us. There could also be some small Tekeri tribes up in these mountains, but I doubt they would pose any threat to us.”

After a moment, Kareet tilted her head towards Shirik. “Still, I agree with your conclusion. If possible, we should observe from stealth when we find it. Best gather as much information as possible before making any decisions. Perhaps you should stay back and allow me to do so? You are…” She paused, giving a look up and down Shirik’s smoldering body. “…luminous.”

“Our long range comms array is disabled. 95% of external sensors are now offline. Kinetic barriers have experienced catastrophic damage. I have detected three hull breaches, including one in the shuttle bay which has now lost pressurisation. The reactors are being rebooted - the ship is operating on auxiliary power. Forward starboard thruster is missing. Engines 1 through 3 are…"

Zey winced, staggering slightly on the uneven deck. She grabbed the back of her chair as a high pitched whining noise rang out inside her head. The Captain pinched the bridge of her nose and stopped glanding Deep Work. She’d evidently made it too strong in her haste. Eventually the whining stopped, and she could hear again. She ached all over.

“Ok. Anselm, make sure we’re transmitting our location and distress in any way we can. Mallory, I need to know where we are and whether it's safe to evacuate the ship. I also need a roll call on all crew who made it aboard.”

Zey raised her communicator to her lips as she exited into the service corridor.

“Dr Feng, What is the status of your team and the civilians? Do we have casualties?”

---

The Human crew’s first night on Kanth-Amerek passed in the blink of an eye.

Zey’s first task was to deal with the two stowaways that Eva had inexplicably let on board. One of them was armed, heavily armoured and appeared to be working for the other man, a suited executive who seemed to have suffered a head injury in the crash. He managed to present her with a Tamerlane ID badge which alleged his name was Tyreese Darnell before throwing up in the toilet he was sat next to. It took all of the diplomacy Zey possessed (and the appearance of Wodan’s two bipedal droids) to relieve the soldier of their weapons; she then promised them an update as soon as possible while directing them to Medical.

The shipboard comms system was patchy at best, so Zey ended up going department by department to piece together a picture of her crew, passengers and status. Engineering was all kinds of fucked up - nobody could find their life support & cryo engineer and their all-rounder Kiran was dead, burned to a crisp trying to throw some breakers. She assigned one of the droids to assist with whatever they needed.

The med bay and the long top deck corridor was like a warzone, with civilians clutching broken limbs and crowding round her to ask questions. The medical team was close to being overrun, so Zey tasked the second droid to help out there. She’d told the civilians to remain calm and wait in the mess hall if they weren’t hurt about fifteen times when she found out on the radio they may not be in Kansas anymore.

Apparently the atmosphere outside was similar to Earth’s, but richer in oxygen. Instead of the regular 21%, Wodan’s damaged sensors were picking up something more like 23.6% - breathable, but not advisable for long periods. As if that wasn’t enough - there had been no response to their distress beacon and they could detect no signatures on the Jotunheim’s IFF at all. Zey immediately ordered the distribution of masks to everyone. With a catastrophic follow-up explosion averted (for now) and their new AI able to monitor systems remotely, she decided to call a quick crew meeting in the conference room.

They all crammed into the cramped space. All seats were taken, with others standing around the sides of the room. Zey stood by the end chair opposite the door and loomed over the table. Somehow, six hours had already passed since they landed, and Zey saw a lot of drained and scared faces looking at her. She took a deep breath, then began, making eye contact with different people throughout.

“Hi everyone, let me start by saying how glad I am that you’re alive. I won’t lie to you, we’re dinged up pretty bad. I can see some of you are injured, and I'm sad to say that Kiran gave his life trying to protect this ship. We have other people in critical condition. Sara and Richard are tending to them now - thank you Duncan we won’t keep you long.”

Zey paused, searching for the right words.

“I wanted to call this meeting because we’re all thinking the same thing. When are we going to be rescued? I wanted to assure you that we’re doing everything we can to make contact, but as you know, these things can take time. We got a basic scan of the area before we hit the dirt -”
Zey pinched the map data on her tablet and chucked it out onto the table - it expanded out to form a blue-grey 3D topographic map, with a small flashing model of the Jotunheim near the middle. It was relatively basic, with a large lake to the north, mountains to the south and rivers to the west and east.

“Wodan is crunching the data, but so far we can’t get our bearings. We’ve also found out that the atmosphere is oxygen-enriched, so you need masks on you in case of total depressurisation. I don’t need to remind you that an oxygen-enriched site makes everything a lot more flammable. The elevation we hit is currently ablaze; we need to stop that from internalising at all costs.

Zey paused again and read the room. There were a few dazed and confused faces, so she decided to make things really clear.

“For the avoidance of doubt, here are my orders. Engineering team, you will assist Wodan with compiling a comprehensive damage assessment and prioritised repair plan.”

Zey then looked at Eva and Fret, who had been patched up after they’d determined the bullet had just grazed him.

“Survey team, get set for an EVA as soon as the fires start to die down. I need you to assess the stability of our landing site and free Wodan’s repair bots from their housings in the hull - they’re stuck right now. Then try to put out any fires that are threatening the ship.”

Lastly, she picked out Duncan Feng from the crowd. "Dr Feng, patch everyone up then give me a summary of injuries."

Zey took a deep breath and looked around one more time. “Any questions?”

She found Mallory in the crowd and locked eyes with him.

“Or anything the Command crew would like to add?”

“You’re only five minutes late. Go check the chief - she’s hurt.”

"Sorry, I got held up in customs," Dr. Ibarra replied, the attempt at humor half-hearted and hollow. She hefted up her medical bag, apparently christened as the ship's new medic, and set to patching the chief engineer's bleeding head.

---

The next several hours were a blur. Dr. Ibarra and the rest of the engineering department scrambled around the broken ship repairing whatever systems were currently threatening to kill all the passengers. By the time they were no longer in immediate danger, Itxaro was covered in blood, soot, and sweat. The emergency stimulant she'd taken had long since worn off, and Dr. Ibarra barely made it to the medical bay to receive proper treatment for her wound. The floor was slick with blood, the room crowded with wounded crew and civilians seeking some kind of aid from the overburdened medical staff, but she was lucky enough to get a proper stitch job on her leg by a droid. Not the best bedside manner though.

Itxaro escaped it into the rec room and collapsed onto an empty couch next to a hot tub - a fucking hot tub, she simply couldn't believe the decadence of these corporations - and rested her exhausted body for some time, but her mind continued to race. She felt equal parts horror and relief at the mission's failure, and the relief only made her feel sick to her stomach. The ship was trashed, the FTL drive seemingly a failure, and she could soon return home. Disappointed, yes, with only a fraction of the knowledge she'd set out to obtain, but home nonetheless. She'd gotten to know the surviving engineering crew by name only during the frantic repair, but they all seemed brilliant in their own fashion. Wish we had the chance to work on a USASR ship together instead of this fucking death trap. She was silently fuming about the hack job the Tamerlane Corporation had done, splicing alien warp drives onto a human vessel, and she assumed with a dramatically shortened project timeline that left little room to prevent accidents like this. Don't know what I expected from capitalists, but certainly not this level of incompetence, she thought bitterly as she closed her eyes.

---

Itxaro barely had a chance to rest before a call for all ship personnel was made. She cursed and hauled herself to the conference room, squeezing between crew into the dimly lit and hazy space. Itxaro was surrounded by faces only known to her through minimalist Tamerlane dossiers, but she quickly focused her attention on Kadıoğlu as she began to speak; the woman had a commanding presence, that much was sure.

As Kadıoğlu's speech continued, Dr. Ibarra felt a sinking feeling that she wouldn't be seeing Cuba anytime soon. She didn't claim to be a great read, but Itxaro believed the commander was hiding something from them. Why bother with repairs when we should just be evacuating, waiting for a rescue? Shouldn't someone have arrived by now? Whether this deception was intentional or not, Itxaro understood. Sometimes the truth hurt. Itxaro wouldn't make her suspicion known - not now, anyway. However, something had been gnawing at her since she'd boarded the ship, and when the commander opened the floor to questions she was the first to step up, quickly introducing herself before addressing Kadıoğlu.

"Commander, whoever attacked the Jotunheim is well-organized; do we have a contingency plan in place if they arrive before help comes?" Dr. Ibarra, normally confident and boisterous, felt self-conscious addressing the crowd of strangers, though she tried not to let it show. Of the three languages in which she was fluent, English was the weakest, and she was unaccustomed to the formal and rigid command structure she assumed the Jotunheim's adhered to. That, and ship-bound firefights had haunted her dreams for the past ten years. Not exactly an easy topic to talk to a crowd about. "I'd like to suggest some kind of defense perimeter with armed guards, whoever is able. Maybe we can rig up a simple security system if resources allow." How much an impromptu militia would help against the vicious fighting force she encountered at the airport would help Dr. Ibarra didn't know. At the very least they might be able to alert the others since most of their sensors were down.

Zey eyed her first questioner carefully. It was Dr Ibarra, a late addition to the Jotunheim’s crew after their first FTL specialist went missing. Brilliant, but ambitious. Her file said she had a potential problem with authority; something to keep an eye on.

“A good question, Dr Ibarra. We have security measures onboard and an armoury with some of the latest hardware. As soon as the fires are under control, we’ll set a perimeter and keep watch until the Jo’s longer range sensors are back online. We have a lot of veterans on board who know their way around a weapon - we’ll be fine until backup arrives.”

Zey nodded to herself, then looked around again. “What other questions or suggestions do people have? I’m all ears.”