Galaxy Ensnared

Galaxy Ensnared

Ben Fernwey

Galaxy Ensnared

Copyright 2018 Ben Fernwey 

All Rights Reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact: 

Ben Fernwey 

benfernwey@gmail.com 

Cover background image credit: Enea Antonicelli.

For more of Enea’s amazing work, visit: www.eneography.com

First Edition 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is purely coincidental. 

For J.

Galaxy Ensnared

By Ben Fernwey

1. Above a Fading Sky

A beam cut through the bulkhead, splitting the console. Sparks poured out from the lobotomized machine. Damn. He didn't have much control to begin with and no room to maneuver. Now the raptor was an oversized cargo canister, careening through the cluttered utility bay.

Gunmetal storage chests and the blurred figures of men in oversized space suits running for cover sped past the vessel on either side. The raptor shredded through a small floor suite, spraying the architecture in a slow-motion eruption of debris as it barreled down the diminishing corridor.

Ahead, a wall of multiluminous lights and antennae sparkled as they rushed forward to meet Koken's ship. This’ll hurt.

He closed his eyes and pulled back with all his remaining faculties. His body lurched forward pressing into the restraints as he slowed the ship. But to stop the massive drop ship, it was too much. It was too big, too fast and he was entirely too tired.

His eyes opened in time to meet the communications wall right outside the cockpit. Felt the nose of the ship crumple, tilt downward, and melt into the surface before him. The rushing force of the rest of the ship aggressing against the wall, snapping, shouting and descending around him.

The restraints held him hostage to a malignancy of mass pressing into him. There was nothing to see. Even with his Hierkalanon abilities, all before him was a whirl of chaos and pain. And then darkness. Sublime stillness. No sound. And the profound rest of a dream-state.

It didn't last.

In suffocating darkness, he opened his eyes with a start. A glaring alarm light spun above him somewhere, washing the place in an alien red.

He tried to lift his head. Searing pain. It pressed against his chest. With great effort he pulled up, but just as quickly succumbed to the pain. His head hung upside down, with barely an arms-length between it and the distorted ground.

Koken knew it wasn't ground. It was some inner section of the Justicar he'd plowed into. The leviathan artillery ship was as ripe a target as any and he'd basically strolled through the front door. Although the door was certainly not meant for the size of a raptor drop ship. And it wasn't quite open when he entered either.

His eyes stung. An acrid smell filled his nose. He needed to get out of here. But first, he needed to summon some strength. The smoke grew thicker. Coughing, he pressed his eyes shut and focused. Find where it's coming from.

There. And there. He sensed dozens of small fires. Even in a massive compartmentalized ship like this, fire in space was not good. He imagined a breath. The pull-push of oxygen. The droning pumping lungs of the ship's ventilation system. Easy enough. Now breathing out, he sheparded the smoke away from this place, from him.

He felt the breeze, lightly on the back of his neck at first. This would buy him some time. But it'll stoke the flames beyond. The thought followed grimly. It clinked forward into an awareness cluttered by other, useless thoughts. All the while the waves pulled about him.

He opened his eyes. His head pounding. Need to concentrate. Unclip and find a way out. But as he fussed with the restraints' clips - his entire body weight pressed against them - he sensed something else move. He let his arms drop and stayed still a moment.

There. Again! Something was moving on the ground, within the debris in front of him. It was an orb...no, a head. The strange thing was caked in soot. It's smooth features below only hinted at in the dim red light. But it was moving. Twisting and turning from a neck somewhere below it.

In a sputter - a sneeze? - an eye opened. A bright yellow disk.

The feck?

Koken tried the restraints again. No luck. The yellow eye blinked as small showers of dust cascaded down the face from the head's movement. Then it found him.

An Ana, he realized. Breathing a sigh of relief he addressed the machine.

You there? Koken said to the head.

The eye blinked curiously at him. Another sputtering sound. The other eye opened, a black pupil on this one. This, more human eye, disturbed Koken more than the clearly mechanized telescopic one.

A small tight mouth writhed from the ash mask covering the face.

Feck, you're ugly, Koken decided.

The eyes blinked rapidly, and you're a bad pilot.

Koken grunted. It'd do. Maybe it could help him.

You ever think you'd survive a space wreck only to die from a man sitting on your head? Koken toyed with the clips again.

The Ana let out a searing release of pressure, engulfing the small space between them in dust.

What the...why? Koken choked.

The Anamatron shook its head again, clearing off the remaining soot. Thus cleansed, it looked almost normal, for an Ana. The large yellow eye remained but the smooth features of a human face masked the processors below. A seared section of what should have been cheek-bone gleaned porcelain white with small circuitries spread across.

Rubbing his eyes, Koken guessed at the machine's status. A fully formed head. That was something at least.

How much of you is there?

The head tilted, is that a philosophical question? The voice was a deep baritone, droll.

No. A practical one.

Without knowing your intent, practicality can only be guessed at.

With an answer like that, there's probably not much else of you.

Now you're guessing, one side of the lips pulled back and up.

Are you trying to smile? Koken asked.

A far off boom sent a reverberation through the space, shook the strange compartment he shared with the machine. The lip moved higher.

You're misreading this social...nevermind. Do you have a body? Koken asked.

No. The lip fell.

Aside from a head, what else do you have?

A fully formed spine. One shoulder and arm ligamentation attached to it. There was pride in the voice.

So it's on its way to a body.

What's your function?

My primary utility is air/space deconfliction but I have an assortment of modifications.

Give me the one with your highest level of certification.

Kinetics.

Could be useful.

You help me out and I'll give you another arm, and much faster than the swindlers you're currently working for would, Koken said.

I already earned my other, the Ana said, it was to be attached within the next week cycle.

Is he bartering with me? Koken rarely interacted with Ana's. This was why. Still, a small part of him was impressed.

Fine, he said, his head pounding urgently now, I'll give you a whole damn body, just help me out.

You sound desperate, the face tried smiling again.

Use that arm of yours and unclip me, I'll brace so I don't fall right on you, Koken said.

Sounds dangerous to me, as you pointed out earlier. I don't want to be...sat on.

Look, you little deformed melon, I don't... Another boom and the scene lurched, rocking Koken's dangling body.

Do it! He screamed.

Koken couldn't believe how tired he was. Not a full day cycle since he was planetside flexing his Hierkalanon powers. Now he couldn't undo a seatbelt. He must be wounded. The thought annoyed him.

I would help, the Ana closed its eyes, but I cannot engage my arm. It is stuck below.

Great. How did you intend to help me then? Koken gritted his teeth.

By advising. There's a piece of metal hanging above you. Take it and cut your straps. It's sharp enough that you'll not have to apply too much pressure.

Koken grasped blindly above him with both arms. He found the object. Sharp pain warmed his palm, echoing down the length of his arm. Grabbing the smoother end, he plucked the shrapnel from above with a quick tug. Immediately he started at sawing one of the restraint straps.

Ensure you do not... The Ana didn't finish.

Koken rushed down in a sudden snap and fell on the head.

/

It's a dead end, the Ana said.

You told me to go this way! Koken shuffled into a small alcove to stop. For not even half a body, the Ana was heavy. Koken deposited the machine on the ground. The mismatched eyes looked up at him.

It is the right way. We just need to improvise once we get there.

Heavy footfalls down the corridor. They’re getting closer. Improvise, like that is some sort of plan. Koken growled. At himself as much as at the Ana.

Fine. He snatched the Ana by the skeletal neck and hefted the thing back up. Alternating between a slow jog and staggered hobble, Koken made his way down the path advised to him, dragging the Ana's power source along the ground behind.

You'll expend less energy if you just pick it up, the Ana said, clear annoyance in its voice.

Shut up. We're here anyway, Koken touched the wall ahead. He knelt, setting the machine down.

Gasping to catch his breath he turned to the strange face.

Well, what do you suggest? You said improvise. Improvise!

You've lost a considerable amount of blood, the face said looking worried.

Koken glanced down at his stomach. The dark wound in his side gleamed. Still wet. Not good. He could see small dark spots freckling the floorboards the length they'd come.

Just. Just get me in a ship, he wheezed. They must be losing oxygen somewhere. It was getting harder to breath. He didn't realized he'd damaged this ship so badly. Or maybe it wasn't the ship’s oxygen supply that had him out of breath. Touching the wound, he brought a red hand up.

Past this wall. You'll have your ship then. And one with enough room to take me with you, the Ana said.

Fine. Yes. How do we get past this wall? No strength to move it like I'd normally do.

There are two hatch releases, on either side. They're tucked behind...Yes, there. And...there, yes you have it. Pull each. This is a compartment wall, you see. It's meant to be disassembled and reassembled so that variable spaces can be generated or...

Yeah yeah. Now what? Koken said. Both releases done.

Well now we just need a push from the other side, the Ana said happily, almost there.

Koken's face descended from surprise into disbelief, What?!

The other side.

I heard you. How do you think we're going to get help from the other side when...

A red beam sprang between them. It sparked in a ricochet from the wall.

Shit. They found us.

At the far end of the corridor, the bulky shoulders of space suits peeked from behind the corner of the wall. Another beam sizzled past. Koken pressed himself against the side of the wall. The Ana's face smiled plaintively up at him, even as a laser fuzzed right above it, showering sparks atop the machine-face.

Feck, you're dumb for a robot, Koken growled, diving to the ground. He grabbed the Ana and spun it upside down. Another laser scorched past. Koken launched himself at the wall swinging the machine’s spine at it. Slamming the pointed end of the spine into the thin crack where the wall met the ceiling. It stuck. He could feel it.

He swung from the spine, pulling out and back. A laser bored into the ceiling above. Another caught him in the back of the pants.

Koken howled mid-swing, bringing his feet above his head and pushing off from the ceiling. The wall sprang forward. The rotation was so sudden it spilled Koken unceremoniously to the ground along with the head-spine - it's single arm flailing. Did I just get shot in the ass?

The blinding pain of falling on a freshly shot rump would stay with Koken for the rest of his life. Which may not be very much longer, he thought, as a laser glanced off the floor in front of him. Scrambling up and grabbing at the Ana, he hobbled into the new chamber. The wall spinning closed behind.

Please, grab my proper end, the machine said from somewhere behind him as Koken hobbled to gain some distance from the corridor.

He glanced down. He'd grabbed the umbilical that linked the head-spine to its energy pack. The battery and head-spine dragged in a clattering mess behind him.

Hmph. No time! Koken said as he peered into the low light of the open space. Glimmering, almost invisible in the dim hangar light, the dark red viper fighter postured in wait. Finally, a proper machine.

Strange, he thought, normally wouldn't expect a Justicar to moor vipers. Then again, the ship before him looked like more than a simple fighter. Yes, it's bigger. The realization struck Koken. Two large metallic 'hips' were affixed to the rear of the fighter. It's some sort of long-range variant, he guessed.

Sprinting around the back side of the fighter, Koken almost ran into the man standing near the generator hooked to the space craft. The guard hadn't noticed him...yet. He was facing the other way, watching a data screen on the far end of the hangar. Yanking on the umbilical, Koken grabbed the Ana by the neck again and swung the sharp spine into the side of guard's helmet. Stringy viscera ejected from the punctured helm.

The man twitched and crumpled. Koken stepped over the form, ripped out the cords leading from the generator to the ship and sunk a foot into a lower rung hanging from the cockpit.

I'm not a pickaxe, the Ana said.

You are whatever I want you to be, Koken hefted the head-spine into the cockpit above him. The machine's arm grasped frantically over the side of the cockpit.

Light sprung from the corridor beyond. Better get moving. Koken swung himself over the side, grunting in pain. This would be tight. The cockpit certainly looked like that of a viper. No slip but a large console with control suite dominated the space. Two small openings for legs hidden underneath the electronics fell from a small seat, also almost hidden amongst the fold-away screens and readouts. Going to be an uncomfortable ride.

Koken sunk himself into the tiny enclosure, ran a hand along the hatch control, summoning the cockpit to seal. Moments later, the ship's black shielding pixilated over the empty space around the seat. A second of high-pitched vacuum sealing and the cockpit was enclosed and pressurized.

The Ana's head lolled disturbingly beside Koken's. The only place to store the damn machine is in that small alcove above and behind the pilot seat. Koken glanced at the gory end of the spin.

The displays within the ship ignited all at once, and all protesting. Lack of fuel. Onboard navigation error, restarting to rectify. Leap drive down. Hull damage. A camera feed showed his pursuers firing at the ship outside.

Need to go, now.

We're being attacked from beyond, the Ana said, notes of concern in the machine's voice, although Koken was sure it still looked a caricature of docility behind him.

I know.

Should we go? Were we not trying to escape?

Shut up, Koken frantically searched the assorted dials and displays.

He pored over the console. Where was it? Had to be...There! He slammed the ignition and pulled the dial all the way. An electric thrum filled the ship. Taking the stick, Koken threw it sideways.

The viper fighter leapt sidelong into the men nearby, scattering them as the ship reoriented, hovering now. And then, in a blink, it was gone. Screaming down the long utility hangar, surging toward the thin opening of the ejection port.

Beyond that port is the rest of the fleet. Koken felt the whirring of the ship around him. But there was no comfort in the familiarity of it. The fleet is probably lying in wait for me. As soon as I'm out in the open, the Armada will be there waiting. Among them, cruisers, frigates and hundreds of regular vipers. And below all of them...Iridesce, the world I destroyed.

2. A Bunker in the Black

I'm just saying, take better care of your things.

I'll kill you.

No you won't.

I will. I'll do it now.

Praxis moved to rub the stress accumulating at his temples. His gloved hands bumped ineffectually off his helmet. Oh yeah. He sighed deeply. There's no need for this, he said.

Shut up, Praxis! the other two said in unison.

What we need is a ship that lasts more than a day cycle, the man grumbled.

Crow, I swear I'll rip that fecking helmet off you right fecking now, the female sprung forward but missed him, floating benignly past.

Keyl! Praxis made a feeble jump to grab her. He missed, tumbling gently into a sprawling mess in the soft ground.

Let her go, Crow frowned, for all I care she can float off this damn moon.

We don't have time for this, Praxis said in a huff, gathering himself. It's a miracle these two haven't gotten me killed with their arguing yet.

In the distance, he saw Keyl land. She paused, then began bounding back.

You think I don't know this? she said. Her words forced between heavy breathing.

They'll find us. We're an easy target now, Crow said.

No, they won't, Keyl said, but in a moment her voice changed. Will they, Prax?

I don't know, he said, dusting himself off. Soft plumes sloughed off him. Ash in the black.

Keyl rejoined them. Her face drawn. The lines etching the corners of her eyes gave her a matronly aspect. The first time Praxis had seen such on her otherwise youthful features. She's tired. We all are. They needed to hide. Needed to rest.

Let's find that settlement, Crow said.

Finally something useful comes out of your mouth, Keyl said.

Crow glanced to Praxis. The large wide face plates allowed for only the eyes to be seen. Even so, Crow's were expressive enough to convey his feelings about Keyl. They'd been fighting nonstop since they escaped the Starlight's ship.

It's not a settlement though. Scans make it look more like a single dwelling. Or a tiny outpost, Praxis said.

Whose outpost? Keyl peered out at the bleak moonscape. Variable shades of gray, stretching out in small hills and valleys, pockmarked by impact craters.

"That is the question," Crow said, following her gaze.

It wasn't far, a few hundred meters, Keyl said, according to the scans.

It'll be small, Prax said, taking in the dark gray expanse. Probably nothing more than an entrance. It'll mostly be underground. Has to be, to avoid impacts from above. Also, where there may still be some heat.

On the surface, the three of them walked. Upon this system's only moon, the temperature was an icy constant. Out here, running amidst the rim systems space felt even bigger. Lonelier. The immensity of the stakes fell heavy, once again, upon Praxis.

How'd this happen? How'd we get ourselves into this mess? Suddenly he felt the welling anxiety spike into anger. Hate, even. Hate rooted in an existential frustration. Once a liaison for the Mercantile Expanse, he'd had it all. A simple duty. In return, sophisticated living. And a retirement in waiting. Now he was running for survival from the very military he'd once served. Running with a snarky Gnostic and an Andolesian with the temperament of a petulant child. If they think this moon is unforgiving, they don't know our pursuers. The Mercantile Expanse will see us done, one way or another.

The binary suns of the moon's system looked the same as the hundred thousand other stars spread across the firmament - distant, uncaring. The single planet was equally unimpressive, a dark silhouette silently voiding the constellations behind.

They trudged in silence. The in-helm compasses provided direction to the supposed shelter. Crow glanced behind. The Expanse sloop now an angled hull glinting amongst the otherwise faceless terrain.

Let's try bounding, Crow said suddenly.

Jumping you mean? Prax said.

Like jumping, but with more control. We've all got full tanks of propellant.

Keyl glanced down at her suit's forearm jets. Small outlets, no larger than the size of a button, dotted and wrapped around the composite arm pieces.

If it gets us rest sooner, I'm all for it. With that she squatted and launched herself up and out. The altitude she gained almost took her breath away, although she felt little resistance as she climbed. The moon fell away beneath her, the far off hills that dwarfed them on the ground, gave way to reveal further rises and falls beyond.

The quick bursts of propellant from her forearms rotated her around while she continued to gain altitude in the moon's lazy gravity. Below and behind, Praxis and Crow already looked small. Like two lost children, their large helmets and bright torches illuminating the ground around them. They seemed still too, until...one and then the other both disappeared. It took her a moment to regain them as they rapidly arced up, following behind her.

She was falling now. Slowly at first. Now gaining speed. Angling her arms at right angles by her sides, she let the jets breathe against the descent. Her fall continued, but its rate slowed. And in that moment, the landscape below, with its untouched mystery, Keyl felt as if she were in a dream. Everything alien. She'd left her home Iridesce only a few day cycles since and yet felt comforting familiarity all around her.

The men she traveled with - had escaped with - they were relative strangers as well. Praxis, a renegade Expanser, she'd hardly known not a month cycle back. Now she felt a kinship to him that outpaced many of those she'd had for years back on Iridesce.

Crow was something else. There was no comfort there. Trust, maybe. But not kinship. Something more complex. Perhaps it stemmed from his Gnosticism. With him, she endured a sensation approximating indigestion. She'd known him not much longer than the Expanser, but in his orbit she bristled. None of these interactions were lost on Praxis as he considered these strange folk who'd become companions over the last month cycle.

Keyl landed softly, sending small rocks and powder pillowing outward beneath her boots. Now above her, the two men soared downward as well.

The bounding continued this way until Praxis caught a shimmer below.

We should be on top of it. In fact, they'd soared past, Praxis realized. It was easy to see why. Like he'd predicted, the shelter was a small thing, hardly noticeable. Increasing the magnification portion of his helm's visor, he discovered a single airlock rising from the ground, and two orbs nearby. Must be some sort of collection tanks, he reasoned.

He keyed in the mic, It's below us, he said, a little behind.

Huh? came Crow.

I see it! Keyl said excitedly. Praxis saw her far ahead but she was turned, looking back toward him, scanning the ground below.

You got it, Crow? he said.

See it now, Crow said.

The three adjusted their jets and revectored themselves. Crow and Praxis were able to orient their falls to land nearby the airlock. Keyl had to land and make another small bound to backtrack.

When she arrived, landing a few meters behind Crow and Praxis, the two men were standing still, transfixed by something in the distance.

What are we staring at boys? She strode between them to catch their lines of sight.

That, Praxis said, raising a gloved hand to the strange object floating at eye-level beyond.

Oh.

Above the airlock, a body hovered horizontally, as if it were sleeping. The spindly arms and legs floated lazily from the torso. It looked suspended, as if it were floating in water. Small jets fired from the body suit's, keeping the individual aloft and oriented just so.

Should we help him? Keyl asked, quietly.

Does he need help? Crow started to walk slowly toward the body. Is it even a 'he?'

As Praxis followed his companions, the two orbs he'd seen from above revealed themselves as a set of small vehicles. Each orb had a dozen ionic polymetal legs sprouting from its sides. Some sort of jumping machines? He briefly wondered. Whatever they were, they looked jury-rigged. Bits of unresolved metal and loose wiring crowned the vehicles.

But the hovering body dominated his, and the others', attention. The suit was of a different, higher quality than the threads they had on. Instead of the bulky white, utilitarian suits they'd found in the Expanse sloop, this one was form-fitting, black with small neon orange inlays lit around the musculature.

Little did any of this matter to the clearly dead individual within it. Strange, that a suit of that size could keep a body afloat this long, Praxis thought. But how long? How big was this suit's propellant supply? Not long, he decided.

Gotta be recent, Crow said, following Praxis's line of thought.

Agreed, Keyl went up to the body, softly leapt up onto the airlock and grabbed one of the arms. Slowly, she descended with the body.

She oriented the helm to look into the visor.

It's shielded. Can't see the eyes.

Let's get inside, Crow grabbed a lever clipped to the side of the airlock's mount and pulled.

A brief rumble. The hiss of depressurization and the mechanism sprung open, the horizontal teeth uncoiling back into synthetic gums. The space revealed a stark white holding chamber below.

A moment later, with Keyl, Praxis, Crow and the body inside, the airlock above slithered shut.

This thing's jet's won't shut off! Keyl pulled the floating body toward the holding chamber floor, away from the airlock's closing teeth above.

The controls should be in the helmet, Crow grabbed either side and waited, just in case. A series of notes filled the chamber and then the other airlock in front of them, opened. Pressurization complete.

Crow clenched the sides of the helmet and twisted. With a pop, he pulled the helmet back to reveal a male face.

Dark, greasy hair spilled across the emaciated features of the man. Most surprising, however, were the eyes. Slightly open, rolling around.

He's alive! Praxis grabbed the shoulder of the body. Crow nodded and ran a finger along the inside of the helm. The jets on the body suit ceased.

Guys! Keyl stammered as the body crumpled onto her.

They dragged the man into the opened compartment below. Behind them the second airlock sealed.

Keyl moved toward a white metal table and brushed the assorted mugs, half-eaten food scraps and papers off with her arm. Praxis and Crow followed close behind, depositing the body there. The three twisted and pulled off their own helmets and gloves.

Unburdened by the helms, their surroundings took shape. The few other furnishings in the white room were similarly cluttered. Various wall monitors speckled with scrawled notes. Charts hung or taped across every conceivable surface. The place was a complete mess, rife with competing aromas of body odor, mildew and something at the edge of rotten.

Praxis blinked at the hovel. Keyl put a hand to her nose and Crow covered his with a glove. They returned to the man on the table.

He's breathing, Praxis held his head near the man's mouth and watched the chest slowly rise and fall. Doesn't sound like he's choking.

Is he having some sort of attack? Keyl wondered, back on Iridesce there was a little guy who would go into uncontrolled spasms when he became stressed.

Crow shook his head. I don't think so. He glanced at the cutlery on the floor. Amongst it were blackened stubs. Plucking one from the ground, he rose, holding the short smoke between his thumb and forefinger.

Look at his lips, Crow suggested.

They're flecked! With some sort of silver, Keyl said. The head rolled to one side. She backed away.

Silvr, Crow corrected.

You mean he's...

That's right. High, Crow said.

I didn't think Silvr was that potent, Praxis said, taking the stub from Crow to inspect it further.

Not inhaled, Crow allowed, But cooked. Eaten raw. Injected. Long-term skin contact too. All can give a more powerful experience, Crow said.

Keyl eyed him carefully.

And you know this, how?

He shrugged, then smiled. Pursuit of knowledge.

Hmph. Let's pursue finding what this place has in it to help us, she said, sneering at the filthy habitation surrounding her.

What about our addict here? Praxis asked, patting the man's chest.

Crow approached a data screen on a nearby wall and read its contents, All he needs is time. I say we give it to him. And during his nap, we'll just take a peek...

A hand shot up, grabbing the stub from Praxis's fingers. The ex-Expanse liaison jumped back.

He! He's awake!

The man was mumbling something. Eyes clenched closed, his brows furrowed together in a grimace. Part worry, part pain.

Crow stepped to the man and gingerly laid a hand on each shoulder.

What's he saying? Keyl said, leaning over.

I don't know, Crow shook his head. But the mumbling grew louder, more enunciated. The man cradled the stub between two hands like some precious egg, too important to leave to the elements, too fragile to not protect.

I think he wants to light it, Praxis pulled at his beard, thoughtfully.

Yes, light. Gimme a light, the man grumbled softly, rolling side to side on the small table. Crow laughed.

Man, we found ourselves a real lurker here. But his grin dissolved into concern when the man's arm suddenly snatched Crow's belt buckle and summoned him closer, violently, into the table. Another second and the other arm swung down, bringing the hand with the stub briefly against the rough metal of Crow's buckle.

A sweet aroma filled the compartment. The lighted stub glowed an incandescent silver at its terminus, sprouting from the mouth of the man on the table. His hand relaxed, a small stone of flint fell from it.

He...lit it, Crow gaped at the man on the table. These suits aren’t supposed to spark…

Ahh yes, his eyes were open now. Wild things. Never resting in a single spot. Bouncing from one face to another and back again.

"What have we hear? Some sort of visitors? Troglodytes! All of them! All of you!" He pushed himself upright, heaving with breath. Mouth contorting. Almost chewing the stub. He sniffed, coughed, collapsed back onto the table.

Where is he? Curse him! He writhed on the table as some supreme discomfort afflicted him.

Praxis glanced at Crow.

Who? Praxis asked.

Who? The man levied a brief, wild stare at the ex-Expanser.

"You said he. Who is he?" Keyl put her hands on her hips.

Huh? Whoa! Not a he. A...a...a depth. A well. I must have him.

Crow raised an eyebrow, "so your well is a he?"

The man ignored the question. Sprung off the table, pushing between Praxis and Crow and began scattering the assorted paperwork and minutiae from the counters to the floor. All the while shuttering against buffets of coughing.

Damn him, where could he...ah. Ah yes, he said, almost sadly. Rising from the mess, he raised the bottle overhead, cradling it in both hands. And then, very ceremoniously, he wheeled the cap off and took a deep breath from above the opening.

Just a beat, this gets me to normal, he said, eyeing the three stunned strangers before he flung his ragged head back, took a protracted draw from the vial, and tossed it against a wall, almost in a single motion.

Damn you. Never enough, his head sunk low. The energy seemed to drain from him in an instant.

He looked up. Why did you wake me again?

You were on the surface, unconscious, Praxis said, moving slowly to the man's side. If he turns out to be dangerous, we’ll have him on all sides.

That's called sleeping to some, the man found a scooped chair and slumped in it. A light orb pulled itself from a ceiling sensor and floated above the chair. Surprised by this automation, he tumbled backwards,