He groaned softly–his wings felt stiff, and fortunately, Claire had moved back to her cot earlier in the night. But, the injuries seemed to already be healing.
And, he also needed to find a bathroom. He thought he’d seen a washroom earlier. He cautiously stretched his wings, feeling joints popping and creaking with much-needed relief.
He nearly stumbled taking his first step, and steadied himself, taking a deep breath and trying to relax. He needed to focus on the most basic of things: walking and keeping balance. Weight on your tiptoes. Or claw tips. This is going to take some getting used to.
Didn’t Telga say that the Kin became the first Aveeran, among other species? I seem to remember things, but…a lot of it is hazy. Half-remembered dreams.
He nearly jumped from the shock and steadied himself again. Sorry, I forgot you were there.
Don’t be. I’ll, uh…try not to pay attention, when you…you know.
He stared blankly into space as Halsey implied something unsettling. Just what exactly do you sense? What are the limitations?
I appear to be tied to your immediate senses. Sight, touch, sound, and other senses unique to Aveeran physiology. Though, I am just an observer. I might be able to notice things you don’t know, or recognize some things. We’ll have to test this later.
I infer that your knowledge as an engineer lends itself to experimentation, deductive reasoning, and various scientific methods, correct?
Let’s start by going to the washroom, Halsey. He took the slow motions that he remembered from Regia’s quick lesson. He found his stride after a few test steps, and opened the doorway to the private room.
There wasn’t much in here. A large bucket of water was present, a sink that was set in a frame, a mirror, a few basic toiletries, and an opening by a three-legged chair that told him one thing:
Indoor plumbing didn’t exist here. He sighed softly and rubbed the crest of his beak. It was similar enough to his stimming when he was working through a problem. This gets worse and worse. Note to self, Halsey, we need to utilize the small river nearby to get civil works a jump start. I’m sure I could come up with something.
I’ll add it to my list. I’ve got about a thousand entries for improvement since I’ve been skimming what thoughts I could in your head. How on earth do you organize this thing? There seems to be an excessive number of memories and clusters of knowledge dealing with procreation. More time should have been spent studying calculus, material science, and–
He physically waved his hand, and grunted. Hey, my brain, my rules. Please don’t go roaming. I have some bad stuff stored in there that I don't feel like reliving. Also, don’t judge my taste in eroque.
This sounds like a topic of fascination, truly.
He couldn’t tell if she was serious or not.
A few minutes later, he grabbed the bar soap and the wash basin, and cleaned his hands. They needed to get a hot water source at some point, but this would suffice for now. The presence of soap indicated they understood the need for cleanliness and its use as a highly effective antibacterial method. But the tech seemed all over the place, now that he thought about it. He took a sniff of the soap out of curiosity, and was surprised: lavender scent.
Well, at least this is some sign of modern hygienics. Now, onto the next steps. Not dying, figuring out these powers, and maybe, find a way to become less feathery.
I'm pretty sure that last one is a futile hope. Look on the bright side, you have wings!
He glanced over his shoulder, where he managed to shrug one without knocking the limb into the wall. It's a small benefit, Halsey. I should be way more bothered by this, except I'm not. I mean I am still a humanoid. Mostly. Damn it, the pinky finger, how am I going to use a keyboard again? He clenched and relaxed his hand gently.
I doubt your grip strength suffered.
There was a lot of ground to cover for the day, and the more time he spent digging out of this bad situation, the less time he had to worry about a mental breakdown from the last day and change. He glanced at the small framed mirror on the wall, and glanced down at himself.
Did he dare to look at the reflection? I could just avoid it, he thought in a slight moment of aversion.
Your curiosity is going to get the better of you. I want to see what you look like, too! I’m not omniscient, you know!
But are you, though? He thought with a raised eyebrow. Though, the musculature didn’t quite translate as well as he thought it might. He rubbed at his beak in contemplation for a second. Alright, the hell with it. If Regia is willing to hit on me, it can’t be that bad.
Was she, though?
Dunno. Considering how we met? Maybe. That said, I have about eighty other priorities first. He took a deep breath and peered into the mirror.
It wasn’t as bad as he thought. He knew he was taller, now, probably closer to two meters than his one-seventy centimeters. He still had the same glacial blue eyes, but they were shaped differently, now–like a bird of prey’s eyes. His eyes also took up a slightly larger proportion of the face. When he blinked slowly, he felt a third membrane slide into place–something he hadn’t noticed before. It was similar to the nictitating membrane of a cat.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
He also felt the shape of his beak with his fingers–slightly hooked, like an eagle, and colored a dull yellow. It didn’t protrude as far as it might on a bird of prey, and he hinged it open slightly to see his tongue was narrower, and slightly longer. The inside of the beak was serrated, presumably to grip and crush food.
Meal time was going to be interesting, to put it mildly. He didn’t even know what he was supposed to eat, or capable of eating. Likely, a diet of meat, and possible plant matter. He patted his beak after a moment, testing how remarkably hard it was–and it made a slightly hollow sound. He ground it tightly, trying to look intimidating, and watched his expression in the mirror. It surprised him that the musculature and small facial features were not all that dissimilar to a human–to who he was, before.
He looked down, taking a quick breath. No. I’m alright. This could have been worse. I could have died right there, on the spot. I’m not human, but I didn’t lose my humanity. No one’s taking that from me.
He gazed upwards and noted the large, feathery ‘crest’ of green and white feathers that accented his head. Almost like a blue jay, even. The feathers formed a pattern on his face, like the markings on a tabby cat or a Bengal tiger. He tried to smile and noticed the beak wasn’t as rigid as he thought. Halsey, do you know Aveeran aesthetics?
A little. Maybe. I’ve been thinking about that one. You would be…quite the catch, as they say. Easy on the eyes.
I won't let that notion get to my head. He examined a fine-toothed comb on the stand; after a moment of hesitation, he brushed a few errant feathers back into position. He emptied the small basin into a wastewater bucket, afterward. Alright then. We need to figure out what we’re up against–
The growl of his stomach got his attention, and he rubbed uneasily at his torso. Then again, let’s see if anyone else is up, first.
It turned out that the veteran blacksmith had camped out in the apothecary, along with the mottled brown and white head healer, glancing at him with curiosity behind a pair of spectacles that rested on the bridge of his beak. “Well, you’re up early. Especially after an mild round of Etteria burnout. How do you feel?”
“I feel…okay, doc.” he rubbed at one wing errantly, unsure of what to say. Telga was also at the table, quietly talking to Varrick, with a globule of light illuminating the area dimly above their heads. One that didn't appear to be generated by her. “So, I think we all can agree that my uh…circumstances… should stay on a need-to-know basis, doctor…”
“Chakra,” the brown and white feathered avian announced, peering at him intensely. Shawn noted the low-profile glasses with a black frame tucked onto his ear crests. “You are in decent shape for being blown out of orbit. But you must take a day or two of low-key activities. And not using your abilities further, if you can help it.”
“I agree. More research is required to understand just what the Etteria did to you,” Telga murmured, glancing his way. “I’ve been laying out what happened on Secturas sanctuary with Varrick. We’ll address the town leadership in a little while. Pull up a seat.”
“Uh…okay.” he sat on the plain, but well-carved wooden chair, and felt his claws click audibly against the wood plank floor. Small slots on the back of the chair had some thin padding. He glanced back at his wings and wondered–
Oh. They have that relief, so I can rest my wings on something. It didn’t take him long to figure out, and he sat down stiffly. His feathered tail was protruding, and sitting on it was uncomfortable. The chair, too, had a small relief to accommodate that; he felt his tail feathers just barely touch the ground.
I have a tail, and it’s still the thing that bothers me the least. He saw Chakra holding a bowl of what looked–and smelled–like oatmeal, next to Telga.
The head healer noticed his gaze, and handed him a still-steaming bowl of the grains, and a simple wooden spoon. “I presume this is edible for me?” Shawn asked.
“It’s not as fancy as what they have in Valtiria Prime, but…it's a homely meal, in a pinch,” he offered with a smile. Shawn glanced down and noted it did look like oatmeal, and Charka had added something like brown sugar on top.
Unfortunately, it was a bit of trial and error to eat using the spoon, and he grunted as he had to wipe a gob of oatmeal with a cloth from his beak. “Forgive my manners. This is um…gonna take a bit to get used to.”
He finally managed to get a bite in, and it slid down his throat effortlessly. Well, I’ll be damned, it is oatmeal. Mom, thank you for making me eat this every day to save money and make me not hate it, he thought with surprise. In the meantime, he listened to the discussion between Telga and Varrick.
What he did know, was that these two had known each other a while. The way they talked without hesitation with each other, how Telga’s ingrained dread, etched on her face ever since she saw that wraith of her brother appear, had faded a little since. Varrick had a slight accent, almost Scottish, but Telga’s accent was clean, even slightly British. They spoke about her spending the last month holed up on the orbital platform, and how bad the situation was.
“We don’t have that fallback now, Varrick,” Telga concluded. “Revarik was willing to sacrifice heavy hitters to get to me, casualties be damned. I’m hoping he thinks we all perished.”
“You can’t out-reason crazy, Telga.” Like Regia and Garrett, Varrick didn’t call her by her full title–something he’d noticed from earlier. “We told you, this son of a bitch can only be dealt with one way: by killing him. I know he’s family, but that didn’t mean a thing to him when he ordered your death. I am not letting you take any more risks like that again.” He stared intensely at Telga, and she refused to blink.
“Varrick, we’re in an untenable position. Unconventional actions are required to win this, now. And rest assured, If killing him is the only way…” she scrunched her face, and stared right back at him, “Then that’s what we’ll have to do. For the sake of everyone in Valtiria, and beyond.”
This seemed to satisfy the smith, who nodded in response. “Who else did we lose? We finally got in touch with the second away platform–they made it ground-side in one piece, and are informing our counterparts in Belgradi. They got away clean, and burned their teleport pad so it couldn’t be traced."
Telga wrung her hands gently. “I don’t know. Garrett told me the third platform never activated…” She hung her head low, her wings drooped in tandem, and dug her clawed hand deep into the wooden table. “I had power. I wasted it on a futile hope.”
“You still have power. People have faith in you, Telga.” Varrick turned his attention to Shawn, head tilted in curiosity. “Dunno how you got pulled into this mess, though. What’s your story, Shawn?”
“Long story made short? Life is filled with fateful encounters. I’ve got someone to find on this planet, and I will. No jacked-up god is getting in my way,” he declared adamantly. Varrick looked mildly surprised.
“And you plan on doing that, how?”
“The way I know best: study, plan, design, and put the biggest piece of ordinance I can build, squarely between the eyes of our shared adversary.” he took another bite of oatmeal like it was routine. “Easy, really.”
“Is he full of shit?” Varrick directed to Telga. She let out a slight whistle that he didn’t know how to interpret, until she spoke a second later.
“Probably not. He slew several of Revarik’s men before we escaped. I’m more curious about your powers, I was not able to properly observe them.”
“First, I need to know what we have on hand, the lay of the land, and more importantly, are you guys ready to endure some hardship?” He set the bowl down and glanced at the two of them. Chakra was still busy on a small stove, and loading in a wood cord. “Because there is going to be some pain ahead.”
“To do what?” Telga asked.
“To give us a fighting chance against your brother, in a fight we set on our terms,” he answered. “Get me up to speed.”
“Me, too.” All heads turned to Claire, looking more determined–and still a slight mess, considering the hand-me-down garments were a little oversized. But, they were fitted for a human. “Shawn and I have skills. If we’re sheltering here, I’m not gonna be deadweight. I’ll help with whatever I can.”
“Then let’s take a tour of town,” Varrick replied. “It’s a decent place to start.”
“Good. It’ll be an opportunity to stretch my legs. And wings," Shawn affirmed.
Shawn has plans. Plans that involve turning this town into a bastion of advanced tech.
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