Quest Abandoner

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Itxaro's face flushed at her commander's comment but it was hardly noticeable, her skin still tinged pink after hauling the massive fish from the uplands. Zey invited Silbermine and his retinue to join their little get-together, which was now dwindling with his arrival, and Itxaro was tempted to join those who fled. Anytime this jackass is around, things get sketchy. She was about finished with all the politicking between the Ascendency and Mythadia; it seems like the two nations had long been looming near the brink of war, and there was little she could do to stop it.

As if she needed another reason to flee, Dr. Lambert also arrived. Oh great, here comes our very own mad scientist. Really the makings of a great party. Arriving to test the food, and hopefully not splice their genes with the Tekeri. As Zey's voice echoed through the camp on personal comms systems, Itxaro saw her opportunity to absquatulate and seized it the best she could.

"I can go stomp around in the swamp if you need me, commander. I've already got my sea legs. Kanth-Aremek legs? Sea legs sounds better," Itxaro said to Zey with a shrug. "I know what to look for, what's important, and hell, I haven't even unpacked from my last hike. We could just throw some beacons on the gear and have the drones pick it up." She paused to consider the logistics. "Might take them multiple trips for each crate, but it beats us slogging through the mud, no?"

Itxaro never considered if it was necessary for her to make the trip; she just wanted to. Once she set her mind to something, she'd rarely steer from the course. The engineer was stubborn like that. Zhao might not like it, Itxaro thought with a flicker of a smile, but what's she gonna do? Fire me?

All she needed now, in her mind, was a partner to go along with her. Itxaro would prefer a native, someone who would know the land, or at least the creatures that trod it, but she'd settle for one of the Norwegian rockers at this point just to get out of the party she helped create. Always thinking two steps ahead, even midstride.

"Shirik might be sick of me by now, but I can play well with others," Itxaro said as she rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms as if preparing for another strenuous hike. "Our shapeshifting friends come to mind. Maybe they could turn into a pack mule if I showed them a picture. Or something better?"

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Itxaro hopped aboard the Jotunheim to make herself something approaching presentable, shaking the sand out of her hair and boots, and throwing on a clean jumpsuit. She still looked a little wild as she returned to the makeshift commons area outside the ship. They’d dragged together a variety of crates and other detritus from the crash to create something approximating a long dining table. No five-star accommodations to be sure, but the view wasn’t too bad.

As the mixed crowd of humans and aliens gathered to take a slab off the massive roasting fish, Itxaro noticed several other dishes appearing alongside. Simple fare, mostly forage from the surrounding region along with whatever rations the locals had brought with them on their trip.

A regular Thanksgiving feast. Hope this doesn’t have the same second act.

Itxaro caught a glance at Zey, who beckoned her over. Curious about their catch.

“Thanks, but it about caught me,” Itxaro replied to Zey. “If Shirik hadn’t been there, you’d probably be down an engineer. Or I’d be very wet, at least.”

Itxaro turned towards the mountains and gestured with a knifehand that followed the path they’d taken. “Shirik showed me a huge lake up there to the south. Past the foothills, there’s a valley where the water gathers; you can just barely see the other bank if you squint. Runoff from the mountains feeds it, cold as hell and crystal clear.” She turned back to Zey. “Like nothing back on Earth. If we have any anglers aboard, they'll want to see it. Mallory seems the type.” Probably more detail than Zey wanted, Itxaro considered, but she’d been excited to share her discovery. A crack in the façade.

Itxaro took her leave to join the festivities but looked back to the commander. “The fish isn’t too bad, either. Hasn’t killed me yet, anyways, though not for lack of trying. I’ll save you some, commander.” A faint smile on her lips as she left.

---

For Itxaro, it’d been a good day so far. A day to shape the days upon. She’d taken her seat at the long table, feeling like a disciple at the last supper save for the strange company. Human crew and Ascendency strangers, all intermingled in this peculiar convergence. A mosaic of shapes and forms, clothes and faces. Tentative conversation at first made more difficult by the translators, each individual grasping out for connection across the expanse of unfamiliar worlds and experiences, but common ground was soon established. Family, food, home. Comforting human voices and laughs interspersed with crow-like croaking and cackles.

The first real step in interspecies diplomacy in Itxaro’s eyes, a fleeting moment of communion and a fragile harmony amid the chaos.

Then she saw a familiar equine silhouette in the distance.

“Oh, goddamn it.”

As if in response to her expletive, many of the Ascendency citizens and soldiers stood up abruptly and took their leave together like the Red Death had just arrived at the abbey doors. He’s going artifact hunting.

Though the feast was far from over, Itxaro stood up and sought out Zey.

“What’s the move?” she asked in a hushed tone, her mind racing with possibilities. “I don’t have an inventory on hand, but there’s a lot in the shuttle bay we can’t let them find. We'd lose leverage and gear. No way we could outpace them on foot, and they know the land. I guess we can either get the Ascendency's help, or work with Silbermine.”

Itxaro paused, returning to the first thought she'd had upon seeing the Glenn.

“Think they'd let us ride them?”

Star Wars: Jedi Academy

A pang of shame ran through Reni, sharp and swift.

She had joked with her apprentice, mocking the temple, the stern statues, and the dour atmosphere, as they often did. But here and now, she regretted it. The planet, Reni reminded herself, was practically vibrating with the Force. All she had to do was open herself to it. Her thoughts on the temple as a monument aside, it had stood for thousands of years as a sanctuary for generations of Jedi. To mock it, she decided, was to mock those that had come before her. She might not like the unnatural building, the grandiosity of it all, but those that walked this hall before deserved her respect.

Her guilt became even more stinging when she thought of Mala.

Mala, one of the few remaining Jedi from the old Order. A woman who lived through the slaughter of thousands of Jedi, and was just now seeing the order's nascent resurgence, an order to which she had dedicated her life. Surely, Reni thought, this was not a joking matter for her, but a time that called for solemnity and reflection. At the very least, Reni decided, she could keep her thoughts to herself.

Reni was drawn back into the present when a familiar fruit bar was tossed her way. A gloved hand flew from her robe and caught it before disappearing again. She smiled and nodded to Toryn in thanks, but redirected the conversation, ending their game of back-and-forth. Reni sensed some tension in her apprentice, both through the Force and what she could read in his body language. Toryn, as he frequently was, seemed like a coiled viper ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Whether this was a trait typical of all Mandalorians or just combat veterans Reni was unsure; she certainly had to fight the instinct to constantly scan for threats herself sometimes.

The war had taken a toll on many of the Jedi in the room.

“The Force is strong on this planet. Stronger than what you’re used to. Let it in, if you can,” Reni encouraged him, knowing that if he just made an effort, the young Mandalorian could find some measure of peace here as she had for the first time six years ago.

---

The temple’s stone walls warded off the worst of Ilum’s sub-zero climate, shielding them from the harsh winds that ripped through robes like a lightsaber through paper, but it was still far from comfortable for most of the Jedi. Especially, say, one who had spent most of their life onboard climate-controlled starships.

Reni smiled sympathetically at Nova, bundled in several thick layers of cloth as her fellow apprentice kept her from tottering over. “I’ll teach you that little trick soon, Nova,” she said, referring to the tapas technique. “Once I figure it out myself.” If her research in the archives was correct, Reni had only scratched the surface of the ability; warding off a little wind was nothing compared to preserving one’s body in the cold vacuum of space. It had taken her many hours just to achieve her small accomplishment, and she was still far from being able to train another. “Don’t worry, it will be warmer in the tunnels,” Reni assured her, then paused to reconsider. “Wait. No. It will be colder.”

Nova often confused Reni.

By all accounts, she was an excellent apprentice, on track to become an excellent Jedi. The girl possessed innate talent, was optimistic, and most importantly, Reni never sensed the slightest bit of anger from her. But that was just it.

Even the greatest Jedi faced these challenging emotions, wrestled with them as they sought their own inner peace. But Nova seemed to have already mastered this internal battle. It was how Jedi grew, by accepting these emotions but learning to let them go, not allow them to dominate their spirit. Perhaps, Reni had considered, she simply wasn’t pushing Nova hard enough, not challenging her. But Nova was keeping up with the other apprentices, growing at about the same rate one would expect. There were some issues, of course. Reni thought the young woman was reckless, willing to throw herself into unnecessary danger, and lacked patience, but these were typical of an apprentice, Master Skywalker had told her. Patience and caution could be taught.

It troubled the Jedi knight all the same.

Still, the Mirialan was proud of her apprentices, especially now, on the cusp of their first real milestone within the Order. Reni didn’t care for the Jedi’s near worship of the lightsaber, but she understood its importance in this moment as a rite of passage. Not wanting to delay any longer, Reni stood before the gathered Jedi and led them to the next chamber.

---

As she pushed open the unassuming stone door, Reni thought of Toryn’s words. "Because only the Jedi could ever build something so big, yet so very bland."

She wished she could see the look on his face as he entered the next room.

Where the initial chamber was stark and narrow, made of chiseled stone and little else, here, the immense circular cavern they entered was rough and wild. From their high vantage point at the door, they looked down upon massive incandescent crystals that blossomed from the ground like jagged and brilliant flowers, some stretching to the cave's ceiling 40 meters above them where yet more crystals hung like glowing stalactites of every imaginable color. There was a small circular window carved out in the rock roof from which both pale light and white snow fell. The snow turned to rain halfway to the cavern's floor, its journey ending at a pool filled with bright blue water in the grotto's center from which a small stream both flowed into and out of. Steam rose off the surface of the water. It was warm within this place, approaching room temperature, the heat surging from hot springs in an adjacent cavern which fed into the underground lake. The walls were studded with even more crystals of various shapes, jutting out in every direction. Birds and small furry mammals roosted in these high places, watching the Jedi with large eyes as if they had anticipated their arrival. By the light of the crystals they could make out the mouths of several tunnels that led deeper into the cave system where the apprentices would find their translucent kyber crystals, should one call out to them. Several rough paths were carved out in the damp moss, but this was the only sign the cavern had ever been encountered by sentient beings.

Maybe the old Jedi knew what they were doing. Nothing they could build would compare to this.

"No one knows," Reni answered Zelt as she took in the chamber's beauty. "Perhaps the tunnels were mapped out once, but that's long since been forgotten." She turned to Zelt with a slight smile. "My advice? Don't get lost." If anyone could tell them more, it would be Mala, who might have more knowledge from before the fall of the Jedi Order, but even then Reni was doubtful.

Reni considered launching into a speech about the importance of kyber crystals to the Jedi, the tradition, the power of the Force here on Ilum, the purpose of the Jedi, but it simply wasn't her style. Besides, Reni figured the apprentices all knew what they were here for. However, she wouldn't stop the other knights from lecturing; some of the apprentices might benefit from a reminder, after all.

All the same, Reni entered the cavern and headed towards the lake, beckoning her two apprentices to follow. "Don't worry about the Gorgodons," Reni said as they walked. "They are aggressive, but also... Dumb. And their vision is poor. If you do see one, outsmart it, don't fight it. And do not try to use a blaster on them. It has been tried, and it will not work." She made sure to lock her eyes to Toryn’s visor when referring to the blaster’s ineffectiveness. This was not the knight’s pacifistic worldview coloring her judgment; this was fact.

Reni spoke softly now as they stood by the lake, as if her words were not for the world's ears, but their ears only. "Trust yourself. Trust eachother. Trust the Force. If you let it guide you in this place, you will not lose your way. You may not believe me, but you will feel your crystal call out to you." She watched as a slate-colored mammal glided across the length of the cavern from one crevasse to another, and spoke again. Now with levity in her voice. "And that tunnel," Reni said with a ghost of a smile, nodding at the wide mouth into which the stream ran down, "will be warmer."

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Itxaro was growing increasingly exasperated with the conflict between Silbermine and the rest. Alone, she might have dealt with both parties, but Silbermine had made the excellent decision to crash their party and send the discussion spiraling out of control. Itxaro’s face was beginning to flush with frustration, and a touch of anger tinged her otherwise cool voice, not that the translator would pick up on this. She turned to the Castigator, again turning the volume on the device low so that only she might hear it.
“If a war isn’t what you want, then work with us here; let Silbermine have his little champions, and he’ll go home with his armies. And, come on, borders? What borders?” Itxaro said, looking around. “Is there a wall I missed? Picket guards? Hell, have your cartographers even established a border in this territory?” Itxaro sincerely doubted it; one look at the surrounding area and she could tell it was “unproductive” land, unable to be farmed or civilized. Medieval borders were fluid at best, especially where there was nothing worth claiming.

That had probably been the case here, until the Jotunheim landed.

“Humans aren’t dumb. We can use Silbermine, just like he tries to use us.”

More insults were exchanged, and Silbermine gave a brief explanation of The Running; nothing concrete, nor particularly useful. Itxaro would have pressed for further information, but she received a notice on her comms from Mallory. She felt a twinge of panic rush through her blood like burning ice.
“Hey, uh, Castigator Nellara. Bad news. Some Tekeri hunters just arrived, and they’re not too pleased with our equipment up on the hill. Anything you could do to calm them down?” Itxaro discreetly notified the other aliens in their party, hoping they might be able to resolve it.

---

The situation continued to break down, and Itxaro turned her translator off completely as the commander arrived. She’d heard enough. “Commander. Just in the nick of time. Have fun with this lot, I’m gonna see what I can do about that” Itxaro said, pointing to the ship’s flashing beacon. A warning to return, probably because of the hunters.

Itxaro executed a graceful bow to the bickering aliens, and slowly drew back. She spoke quickly to her two fellow engineers. “Well, that’s it for me, I’m done with this shitshow. Hungry?” Itxaro tossed the green bread to Barbiero with a little smile. “Its no focaccia, but not too bad.” The doctor considered faking a wretch, but figured that was a little inappropriate for the current moment. She tapped at her wristpad quickly and opened up a channel with Mallory.

“Dr. Ibarra here. Told the Castigator about our new arrivals, but she’s a little busy wrangling our warlord here. Think I should recruit some of the locals to deal with the comms tower situation? I’m thinking J’eon, Kerchek, and our two on the scene might make a nice little welcoming party.” Itxaro wasn’t particularly keen on dealing with this new situation up the mountain, but she knew that the comms tower was vital for the Jotunheim’s crew; without it, they’d be severely limited in their operating range. That, and as Shirik’s rasping voice rose to chilling shout, she was ready to be anywhere but here. She looked up to the ridgeline, lined with black little evergreens that must have sprouted after some cataclysmic fire, and saw the comms tower in the distance.

Star Wars: Jedi Academy

The shuttle touched down on Ilum’s pristine white surface. A miniature blizzard erupted on the landing pad like a whirling snow globe as the silver craft’s thrusters whined to a stop, leaving the ancient Jedi temple as quiet as it had been for the past 20 years. Only the ping of cooling engines and wind running through eternal pines remained.

The silence was broken again as the shuttle’s hydraulics hissed, sending cautious and wide-eyed wildlife onlookers scrambling back into the protection of tall green trees. The cargo ramp opened and several figures strode forth, looking like shapeless djinn in the snowstorm or wardens of some dim sect with their flowing robes that snapped in the wind like rifle fire, sent forth to proselytize among the beasts of the land. Reni was among the first off the shuttle, ever-eager to escape the metal belly of any spacefaring craft. She carried with her a ragged satchel under one arm and thick boots in the other, her bare feet padding quickly down the metal ramp as if across hot coals before sinking into the snow of Ilum, where she paused for a moment. Her eyes closed.

It was an eccentricity Reni picked up from a man in the First Recon Battalion. Daranto, a salty, superstitious old smuggler turned rebel warfighter and covered in prison tattoos that wandered like a roadmap across his body, which Reni had always found painfully attractive. It was a grounding technique, he said, picked up from an old Jedi years ago. Every time he landed on a new planet, combat drop or not, Daranto would step onto the grass or the mud or the snow or the rock with his feet bare. It connected him to the Force unique to each planet, he explained, helped him to get a feel for the world and calm his mind before plunging into battle.

Daranto was gone now, like so many others Reni had known, but she carried a little piece of him with her onto this planet as the snow softened underfoot. She wondered with a smile whether or not Daranto had really met a Jedi, or if the “Jedi” had actually been so. Still, there was something to the ritual for Reni. It gave her a moment to pause after a long, agonizing journey and connect with the world. Feel the snow sting her skin. Hear the birds fluttering in the distance on wings that went whoop whoop whoop like a children’s toy. Attune her body to a different wavelength of the Force. Having grown up on a similarly frigid planet, Reni could withstand the cold for a few moments without any discomfort.

Daranto’s trick also gave her an opportunity to try something new.

Tapas, the dusty archives called it. The ability to regulate one’s body temperature through the Force. Reni was dressed sparsely compared to her companions, a simple tunic and trousers. Nowhere near enough to ward off the subzero winds that whipped at her exposed flesh and cut through thin fabric.

As a shiver ran through her body, Reni opened herself to the Force. She abandoned all fear, all worry, all hate. She drew in the life around her, and let it flow over her like a rare warm wind on Miral, channeling the energy throughout her body and pushing it to the very edge of her being. After a moment of concentration, the violent shiver stopped. She was… Comfortable. A smile crept across her pale green lips as Reni opened her eyes and caught up with the others, leaving steaming footprints in the snow like a burning phantom.

---

The temple hadn’t changed much, nor had Reni’s opinion on it.

It was too big, too arrogant, too unnatural. It felt like a world apart from the rest of Ilum, a safe haven from it rather than part of it. No temple to Remi, but a tomb.

Still, as she pulled on her boots and heavy winter robes, Reni couldn’t help but appreciate the age of it all, for it was ancient. Reni ran a gloved hand along the stone wall as she admired the crystalline chandelier suspended in the middle of the chamber that caught the faintest glimmer of light and sent it shining into the vestibule. She wondered how many generations of Jedi had stood where she did now, and felt an unexpected surge of emotion. Which emotion, she could not say.

Reni shook the feeling off and scanned the room to find her apprentice, Toryn, who was not hard to find. He was the only one wearing 40 kilos of Beskar steel.

Many in the Order had been skeptical of training a Mandalorian; the two factions had a long history together, and not one part of it pleasant. There were knights from before the Purge who still held old grudges, and others still who had encountered Mandalorians before and saw them as bloodthirsty mercenaries, not keepers of the peace. “A Jedi stops fighting when everyone is safe,” they would say. “That’s when a Mandalorian starts.”

Still, Reni had taken him on as her apprentice with no apprehension. A lone Mandalorian aligned with the Rebels had saved her life in the backwater swamps of Tagu, and she had seemed just as noble as any Jedi Master to Reni at the time. She’d been intimidated at first by the cold glare of Toryn’s visor and the detached manner he shared with all Mandalorians, but slowly she teased out his true self. It was an ongoing process, true, but Reni felt her apprentice had real potential. Greater than her own, if Toryn could stay on the path.

“Well, Toryn, what do you think? Is it everything you imagined? Perhaps even more?” Reni asked her apprentice. The knight stood ramrod straight, each arm slipped into the opposite sleeve and held across her torso like some kind of monastic straitjacket, head fixed straight ahead. An odd posture for the usually relaxed Mirialan to adopt, unless one noticed it was the exact pose of the massive stone statue right behind her. A small smile crept up the corner of her mouth.

Reni tried to recall her first impression of the temple those five years ago, but failed. She had been a different person then, full of anger and sorrow and grief, and trying to summon those memories from the depths was like trying to recollect a stranger’s private thoughts. Reni vaguely remembered being both awed and disappointed initially though, and wondered if her apprentice felt the same confusing jumble.

If so, Reni knew Toryn’s thoughts would change when he entered the caves.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Is this how all diplomatic relations go on Kanth-Aremek? Hell, is this how all diplomacy goes?

Itxaro listened patiently as the group argued, waiting for her time to interject. Nellara frustrated her most of all; to Itxaro, it seemed the Tekeri wanted to simply sever all ties with Silbermine, end things right there, and run off with their human prize while the two gathering armies clashed right on the border where the Jotunheim sat. Perhaps this was her intention, or maybe the animosity between their nations simply ran this deep. Human history was rife with border disputes used as casus belli, and she doubted things were different here. Maybe the Ascendency thought they had the upper hand now and she decided to plunge them into conflict. Either way, Itxaro wasn’t eager to get caught up in a medieval magic battle. She preferred to read about those, not participate in them.

Itxaro lowered both her voice and the volume on the translator to speak in some manner of privacy to Nellara. “Listen Nellara, I don’t know what is going on here, I admit that. I don’t know your plan, or Silbermine’s intentions, but there is a way to get out of this without bloodshed. There’s two armies on their way, which means war; whatever we have to offer you isn’t worth that. We have to work with Silbermine, or people will die. Just trust me on this, or at least go along and then decide, alright?” Of course, she did suspect Silbermine's intentions. But it was best not to say that within earshot of the Glen.

Vigdis wasn’t winning much favor in the doctor’s eyes either. Itxaro figured that if they had landed in 14th century Earth somehow, they’d have been burned at the stake as witches by now. Vigdis was dumping some serious heresy on Silbermine, and though they hadn’t started lighting the pyres yet, Itxaro feared that suggesting their gods weren’t actually hanging out in the sky wouldn’t go well for them. She treated the whole situation flippantly in Itxaro's eyes, as if lives, both theirs and the inhabitants of two nations, weren’t on the line right now. Itxaro strained against a scowl creeping onto her face but kept her composure. It all threatened to crack when one of Silbermine's knights cut Kerchak down with their tongue. If we were back home, your noble ass would be thrown against a wall and shot. The doctor’s blood was up.

The Running was their way out. It spanned weeks, giving them time to establish relations with all the players in the region, earn favor, and above all avert war between the Ascendency and Mythadia. They could repair the ship in the meantime, as well. She considered even accepting Silbermine’s offer to move their ship, if such a thing was even possible, but that wouldn’t be seen favorably by the Ascendency. Perhaps it was fortunate they landed right on a disputed border.

Itxaro stepped forward to accept the offered bread and spoke to Silbermine. “What my companion here means is that, well, Venurwreth’s domain in the sky is vast; incomprehensibly so, as I’m sure you know. They have not made themselves known to us. Maybe Venurwreth intends for you to serve as their envoy to us, Lord Silbermine?” Itxaro looked sidelong to Vigdis, as if to say for the love of God, don’t insult their gods. "We look forward to learning more about Venurwreth.” Weak, she knew, but it was something.

Itxaro waited for their host to eat the strange loaf first. She studied the bread and smelled it. Well, I ate Norwegian food before ending up here, and that didn’t kill me. Itxaro took a small bite of the mossy bread; tough, earthy, and incredibly salty. She’d had worse. Itxaro nodded to the Glen, as if in approval or gratitude. Hope the salt kills anything that might kill me.

After she finished chewing, Itxaro responded. “What interests me most right now is The Running. It sounds like a grand and noble tradition,” she began earnestly, as the tournament had intrigued her. Tournaments on Earth had been for money, glory, and favor, but never actual power. As far as backward societies went, not the worst tradition. “I can’t speak for our leader, but I'd like to learn about our potential role in it as your champions. What sort of competitions are held? Is there bloodshed? No coin is necessary for us, but maybe some bargain could be made that will benefit us all.” Itxaro hoped her plea was heard by both Silbermine, Nellara, and the humans among the fray.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Itxaro listened intently to Kareet and Shirik’s brief history lesson. 350 years of magic. She wondered how human society would have evolved if similar Awakenings had struck the population, say, in the 14th century. She couldn't imagine the path mankind might have taken, but knew it would involve exponentially more bloodshed, and likely less focus on tangible fields of science. Itxaro made a note that, perhaps this is what was happening on Kanth-Aremek; stagnating scientific studies, but rapid societal evolution through magic thanks to these Awakenings. She’d have to learn more before drawing any conclusions, and silently wished she’d devoted more of her time to sociological research. Then again, I don’t think they’d want an anthropologist on an interstellar space ship.

She couldn’t stop herself from cocking an eyebrow at Shirik though. 1000 years of walking the earth. I’ll be lucky if I hit 40 at this rate. Itxaro got the impression that this type of longevity wasn’t typical of his species, along with his smoldering body, and wondered if the strange creature was lonely in his possibly eternal wandering.

Her musings were cut short when a familiar face trotted up to the encampment.

“Ah, fuck.” The translator picked up her obscenity and spat out a rough approximation, something akin to "mating". They’d forgotten, or intentionally omitted, Silbermine from the new conversation, and now he was here. Probably watching us. Smart.

If the Glen had been expecting a royal's welcome, he was sorely mistaken. As insult after insult piled upon Silbermine, Itxaro sank deeper and deeper into the soft grass until she was practically flat on the ground. She wished the earth would swallow her up whole, wincing after every slight Nellara delivered with her sharp tongue. Their previous interaction had been hostile, but with the translation program now running, she fully grasped the scope of their shared animosity. Shirik’s insults and truly demented laugh didn’t help matters either.

Itxaro contemplated staying cloistered away in the tall grass. But, neither the commander nor the X.O. were anywhere to be seen, Barberio was just getting over the initial shock of first contact, and Vigdis seemed more interested in scientific endeavors rather than preventing a charging army of Glen from cutting them down. So, Itxaro felt the responsibility fall on her shoulders yet again.

“Shirik, why do I keep getting diplomatic duties?” Itxaro groaned to her companion. She produced the armlet Silbermine had given her from a jumpsuit pocket and slid the golden ring onto her bicep before emerging from her hiding place “He’s the one who needs to watch out for me,” Itxaro replied to Shirik with a wry grin. She’d spent years developing a calm, neutral persona, able to mask her anger and intentions, and it was time to put it to work. She hoped it wouldn't crack. Itxaro felt calmer now, as the situation was becoming less fluid and the language barrier was mostly resolved.

---

Silbermine was thrown off guard by the translators, which was good for Itxaro. She slid between the feuding parties, as if her physical presence would block any more harsh words thrown by Vigdis or Nellara.

“Good morning, Lord Silbermine,” Itxaro began with a bow, “We’re pleased by the timing of your arrival; we were just about to send an envoy to request your presence.” Itxaro glanced to Vigdis, attempting to somehow convey for the love of God, back me up with her eyes.

Itxaro realized no one had explained the translator to him, judging from his bewildered expression. “We’ve been working with a representative of the Inquisitor’s Guild to learn your language, and our blacksmiths have developed this device,” she said, gesturing to the translator. “Think of it as a small golem, capable of taking our words and translating them.” She had no clue if this explanation would work, but it was worth a shot. It would be easier to describe their technology through a KA lens, rather than explain it in human terms.

“What my companion here," she said, nodding to Vigdis, "is trying to say is we’re unfamiliar with your custom of The Running; however, we would be glad to discuss it and our potential involvement further with you and break bread. In fact, one of our leaders is on our way right now,” Itxaro finished with a smile, quickly tapping out on her datapad a message to both Zey and Mallory.

>Silbermine here. Negotiating. Need guidance.

Of course, Itxaro didn’t need guidance; a plan was already formulating in her mind, something she’d been loosely developing as she scrambled through the Jotunheim’s hull. Really, Itxaro just needed permission. Now that it sounded like Silbermine needed their help to save his house, they had the upper hand. This "Running" seemed like a good way to resolve all their problems with one decisive move. Their alien companions had warned them against it, but Itxaro decided to weigh all the options before making her move. At worst, she would simply buy the humans some time.

She eyed the bread produced by Silbermine’s Glen-at-arms and already decided she would eat it when offered, and just hope it wouldn't prove toxic to human biology. If it did, then the good doctor could just pump her stomach. Besides, she hadn’t had fresh(ish) bread in a while.

Itxaro looked to Nellara, who seemed to be fuming, and hastily added,"Maybe it would be best if we held our meeting outside this encampment? Neutral ground?"

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Itxaro listened attentively to Shirik, enraptured by the Iriad’s history. The endless forests of Myriad captured her imagination in particular; the woodlands of Earth sounded like paltry scraps of land in comparison. She felt herself longing to run through the dark forest of the Iriad's homeland under a dense canopy of leaves like some pre-historic human. Shirik seemed nostalgic for his people's home, but hadn’t been there in… over one hundred years? She cocked an eyebrow at this figure in disbelief, but the Iriad went on. Itxaro reminded herself that trees lived far longer than anything in the animal kingdom, and that it was entirely possible whatever Shirik was shared that longevity. Trees don’t walk around and shoot fire though.

“Wow. I’m 35, and I feel ancient sometimes. But traveling around your world sounds nice right about now after being stuck in the Jotunheim. Any grand cities in the Myriad? I think I’d like to go just for the forests, they sound beautiful. We kind of ruined ours back home,” Itxaro asked eagerly. It sounded like Shirik got a front-row seat to witness his world’s leap into a sort of renaissance, so perhaps this was a particularly exciting time for him. This sent her mind wandering down another path, and she couldn’t stop herself from drilling Shirik with questions. She didn’t notice he asked nothing from her, a momentary lapse in awareness on her part.

“So, the magic; new development around here, or is that something that’s always been possible?”

---

“That’s right,” Itxaro replied to Kareet, “No magic needed. But it isn’t easy. It took humans a long time to figure it out, and even longer to use it properly. There were a lot of things we had to learn first.” She tensed visibly in her seated position when Kareet summoned a ball of lighting between her hands with ease. That’ll take some getting used to. Itxaro supposed that the human’s technology must be just as baffling and threatening to the aliens as their magic was to her, so she tried to relax and trust Kareet wouldn’t lose control and send 100 million volts directly into her face.

“Yeah, that’s electricity alright,” Itxaro said, eying the sparking orb. “We don’t really use lightning though, there’re other ways to generate the same power from it. You can burn wood or coal to generate electricity if you know how, but it isn’t nearly as efficient or strong. Seems like you’ve got a leg up on us there.” She wondered how much faster human technology would have developed if they had the ability to draw a potentially endless source of energy from the ether, using nothing but their hands. Could have probably saved the environment a lot of pain with that trick. Sorry about that, Mother Nature.

“But you can’t just shoot lightning into a hunk of metal and expect it to fly across space. The first thing we did with electricity was heat up a little piece of metal, and used it like a candle. You’d need a capacitor to store the electricity, to save it, so you can use a little bit of it at a time.” Itxaro felt like she was putting the cart before the horse. She doubted they had steam power, let alone gas light, so explaining electricity felt beyond what she suspected they could comprehend or even utilize. The urge to explore, to see the cities of this world and what level of development they’d reached, was becoming almost unbearable. “I’ll see if I can find some books about it for you that can explain it better and get a translation going. Also, speaking of books, the ones I gave you? Highly flammable on this planet. Careful with that.” She gave Kareet and apologetic shrug. “Wouldn’t take any notes in that unless you’re ready to see them go up in flames.” She made a mental note to come up with some sort of paper alternative that would be used to share knowledge with the locals that wouldn't smolder immediately; perhaps the natives had some fire-resistant plant they used.

---

Itxaro spotted Barberio, the pale machinist, escape from the Jotunheim’s belly for what just might have been the first time since crashing, and he was greeted almost instantly by Kerchak, another eager scholar from what she gathered. An idea quickly formed in her mind, and not wanting to interrupt the machinist’s lively conversation, she opted to send him a message through the ship’s extranet using her tablet.

>Hey Barberio, the locals are real interested in electricity. If we get the reactors working, any chance you could fabricate a couple models for them? Maybe a little ac generator, steam engine, all that fun stuff?

Itxaro looked over to Vigdis and Nellara, and quickly picked up on the engineer’s plan. “Looks like they’re gonna see just how much juice is in your magic, Kareet. Might wanna watch this!”

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

After scanning beyond the scorched crash zone, Itxaro spotted her tree friend, sitting beneath a tree. Fitting. As she approached Shirik, the doctor hesitated; he seemed to be resting, if the Iriad was capable of such, or perhaps meditating. Either way, Itxaro wasn't eager to disturb him. Just as she was turning to leave, Itxaro heard his rumbling voice, which was also picked up by her translation program. She couldn't help but chuckle as the translator repeated his words in English, utilizing her own voice she'd just installed. Gonna have to tweak that.

Itxaro strode over and sat down in the soft grass, still damp with morning dew, across from the Iriad. She leaned back for a moment and stretched her sore limbs, leg still aching from the graze a week ago, and let the alien sun warm her face through the tree's branches. After being cooped up in engineering for so long, Itxaro didn't particularly care if she was getting a healthy dose of radiation from the star or not.

"Thanks, Shirik. And yeah, that's what they tell me anyways," Itxaro replied, looking back to the Iriad. "Think of it like a little Gar'Tan, but dumber, and not as scary-looking." Itxaro was amused, hearing the program spit her own words back out in a totally foreign language.

"So, how's that? Make any sense at all or just gibberish?"

Itxaro took a moment to tweak the translation software on her datapad, removing her own voice for incoming translations. She paused for a moment and glanced at Shirik as her finger hovered over the "masculine" and "feminine" default voice options before selecting the former. She wondered if the Iriad even had a gender, but figured the deeper of the two would be appropriate. Itxaro briefly toyed with the idea of uploading famous human voices for the program to use, but decided it was best to stick to the basics for now. Still, her mind tore through several humans to use that would best represent Shirik and the others.

The Iriad spoke of home, Earth, and Itxaro turned his words over in her head. "Well," she replied after a moment, "it's definitely farther than I thought we'd make it. I'll be honest, I didn't have much faith in that heap of scrap over there. Guess my gut was only half-right." She looked over to the Jotunheim's wreck, contemplating her own words. It wasn't exactly the ship, which was a sound piece of engineering, but everything surrounding it. Alien technology, corporate oversight, untested AI, the lot of it. Too many moving parts.

"And if I'm being honest, we don't even know how far we went. Hell, on the cosmic scale, our worlds could be neighbors." Even as she said it, Itxaro knew it couldn't be true. 200 years of scanning planets light years from Earth hadn't revealed anything like the garden world they crashed on, let alone a rock remotely capable of hosting complex life. No, they were far. "Nah, I'm not homesick yet. We knew what we signed up for. Well, most of us, anyways," she finished, thinking of the stowaways who had definitely not volunteered for an interstellar road trip. She supposed it was better than being gunned down by shadowy mercenaries. Her leg throbbed involuntarily at the thought.

"What about you? Where's home for Shirik? I'm guessing you don't vibe with the Ascendency, and definitely not with our good friend Silbermine. Tell me about where you're from," Itxaro asked with a gentle smile, genuinely curious.

Shirik intrigued Itxaro on multiple levels. The first, obviously, purely physical. A sentient burning torch. Who wouldn't be curious? But beyond that and the magic, he seemed less... Frantic, somehow, than the other aliens. The Iriad wasn't constantly plying her with questions, eager to get something from them, desperate to learn, for which she couldn't blame them. Perhaps Shirik was simply playing it cool, looking at the long game, or maybe this was just his disposition.

---

As if to provide a counter for Shirik, Kareet approached the two, and Itxaro waved them over. This one, on the other hand... Very curious. The Tekeri dove beak-first into the new technology, and Itxaro grinned. She was pleased Kareet still had the books and pen she'd gifted to her, but then remembered with a twinge of panic just how flammable the paper was in this atmosphere. "Well, hello to you too, Kareet! Come on, join us," Itxaro said in response to the Tekeri's loaded question, an attempt to buy herself some time. Golems? Really? Am I in the Talmud? Itxaro decided to save her questions for later, and answer the one at hand.

"Not magic, no; it just seems like it. In about 600 years or so, your people will probably figure out how to do this yourselves. Well, if you follow humanity's path anyways." Itxaro thought for a moment, considering how best to describe a computer to both an alien and someone completely unfamiliar with electricity. Teaching quantum mechanics to a first-year student would probably be easier.

"Well, I guess it starts with power. Think of how lightning strikes in a storm. We're able to harness the dominant influence within lightning, which we call electricity. We generate it, make it small, and use it, like how you channel a river to turn a watermill, which uses the energy to saw wood. We send the electricity through metal and sand, and through some complicated math that even I'm not sure about, we can make it do what we want. We can store information with it like a book, use it to solve math problems for us like a giant abbicus, or help us send ships flying across space and into the dirt. And it works much faster than our minds can, but it only does what we tell it to," Itxaro said. She didn't bother bringing up the AI they had on board, which would only complicate matters even further.

"But it isn't magic, and it isn't sentient, just like how rain or wind isn't intelligent. The process is more like... Smithing. I couldn't figure out how to make a nail from a lump of iron, but J'eon, who knows all about it, could make a suit of armor in his sleep. It seems impossible to me, but not to him." Itxaro searched the Tekeri's eyes for understanding. It was much to take in, perhaps too much; she'd need hours upon hours to fully explain it to her, but Itxaro hoped the simple answer would suffice for now.

---

"Hey, did you say, uh, golems?" Itxaro asked in disbelief before she was cut off by a voice coming over her comms system. Barberio, the quiet, work-oriented machinist Itxaro had barely spoken to over the hectic week.

Itxaro let out a deep sigh and pushed down her annoyance before responding. A machinist, she thought, probably shouldn't be tinkering with nuclear reactors. I sure as hell wouldn't put my hands anywhere near his CNC machine. Would probably tear my other arm off. Then again, Itxaro considered, it was hypocritical to complain about Barberio working on a reactor when she was out here playing diplomat, something totally beyond her own skillset. "Nowhere near enough juice to get the reactors fired up, so we're just taking a break, chatting with our new friends here. Why don't you join us?" Itxaro asked, in part because she wasn't sure if the machinist had stepped outside since they crashed judging from his complexion, but also to pull him away from the reactors. Recalling his dossier, Itxaro remembered the man was a polyglot with a penchant for writing code, so she figured the lure of a native language and translation program would be a sufficient draw.

"Sorry about that," Itxaro said to her two companions. "Coworkers. You know how it is."

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Seven days.

A full week spent on an alien planet, filled with unique life and sentient creatures.

And I’ve spent most of that time in this fucking tomb, Itxaro mused bitterly as she crawled through the Jotunheim’s guts, covered in hydraulic fluid, grease, and sweat. The air was beginning to grow stale onboard the Jo, recycled atmosphere mixed with the smell of unwashed bodies. The lower decks were even worse, the cramped spaces and dim lighting making her feel as if she was trapped in a metal coffin.

Itxaro had spent several years working aboard spacecraft, but they were nothing like the Jotunheim’s submarine-like configuration. Both the USASR’s design philosophy and Itxaro’s need for space to house massive FTL drives she created meant that the ships she’d grown used to completely dwarfed the Jotunheim. Itxaro could bounce around in zero-g on those behemoths for weeks and never feel the slightest twinge of claustrophobia. On the Jotunheim, however, it was growing oppressive after just a few days of hard labor.

The doctor was currently sawing away at the lifeboats, cannibalizing the tiny crafts for whatever parts they could use. The miniscule capacitors onboard the escape pod and the shattered solar panels that fed the life support system wouldn’t be enough to jumpstart the reactors, but they might get the kitchen running again.

She hadn’t even bothered with the alien Alcubierre drive yet; there was no sense in it. Until the ship could exit the planet’s atmosphere, the device that got them here in the first place, and their only hope of returning home, would just have to wait.

The first humans on an alien world and we’re trying to get the hell off it.

It occurred to Itxaro that she’d been here an entire week, yet she’d only seen a square mile of the planet’s surface. She hadn’t even spoken to their new friends since the last tense meeting outside the Jotunheim’s cargo bay, the frantic repairs keeping her away. Deciding it was time to change that, Itxaro wiped her face with a rag and climbed out of her dungeon.

---

Itxaro was eager to test the new translation software now installed in her datapad; she loathed the artificial intelligence that created it, but had to admit even a team of human linguists wouldn’t have been nearly as quick. The doctor fed some of her own speech into the program, recorded lectures she’d found saved on her tablet. With some tinkering, Itxaro managed to have the translator speak in her own voice. Well, an approximation. It was stiff and flat, but still better than the droning monotone of the program’s default voice. Armed with her new tool, she stepped out of the dark ship, into the bright light of an alien sun, and sought out her first target.

The doctor knew she should probably find Nellara and drill the diplomat/soldier for as much lifesaving information as she could, but instead, Itxaro started searching the burned mountainside for a familiar, craggy, smoldering silhouette.