MESH

[Samus Aran]

Camelot is a lot more beautiful than Coruscant, that’s for sure. I can’t remember how long it’s been since I saw fields this lush. I’m hoping that in this case, I can judge the book by its cover.

The last time I was here, I killed a dragon and then got knocked out with a hammer. There’s also a lizard running around somewhere that I made.

I really wish it was possible to summon vehicles in this verse, something that won’t turn around and bite me. Just for a moment I form the image in my mind of my beloved ship. Its contours, its thrusters, that cockpit that I must have spent months of my life in. I hold it in my mind …

… And there’s no resistance. What? The last time I was here, I couldn’t even summon a simple speeder bike. Just what happened? Has summoning changed? Has the verse changed? Just when I felt like I was starting to get a grip on the weird rules of this place, they go ahead and change on me. This is disconcerting. Perhaps it’s because I’ve grown more powerful, and I’m able to override the ‘rules’. The moment I get the opportunity, I’ll have to check this with another prime. Actually, I could do that when I arrive at Minas Tirith.

No wasting time, then. I continue to think of the ship. It takes a while, I don’t know how long; I’m almost afraid to open my eyes. But I do so and it’s there. And I smile for the first time today. I hug it despite myself before hopping up and getting in. “Sorry about getting you blown up,” I say as I get seated in the cockpit.

And without another moment’s delay, I blast off towards Minas Tirith.

[Smith]

Hidden beneath a cloak of invisibility, and the foliage of a stand of small saplings, the Stalker watched as the Hunter took off in her grotesque excuse for a ship. It had been no mean feat tracking Aran to this place. The Hunter had thought herself clever. After her explosive actions in Coruscants, the Bounty Hunter had laid low and it was likely the Stalker wouldn’t have been able to find her again if it had not been for her involvement in that tournament. It seemed that, unlike itself, the Hunter preferred to make a scene of herself.

The Hunter had escaped from it once before, in Coruscant. It had been overeager then and had taken the first opportunity to strike that arose. Doing so was a mistake; the Stalker could see that now. The next time the creature attacked, there would be no escape for Aran. Yet, a troublesome thought occurred to it. When the Hunter had entered into Dante’s Abyss, the Stalker had watched her every move via the vid screens that were broadcasting the action. It had seen her die, yet it was undoubtedly her who had just zipped away in her ship. It seemed that death was a temporary inconvenience in this Omniverse. Without the finality of the endless sleep, how would the Stalker be able to rid itself of Aran?

Until now, the Stalker had done its best to avoid the locals; to focus entirely on the hunt. But it seemed it would soon need to learn more of this place it had found itself in. Ignorance galled the Space Pirate. Perhaps it was time to reveal itself to someone here and to become better acquainted with the rules and idiosyncrasies that governed this world. So that, when the opportune moment arose, the Stalker would be able to end Aran once and for all.

[Samus Aran]

As the ship travels I kill time by surfing the Dataverse. I’m surprised to find an email from Mickey. It seems both he and Blues are safe. I’m glad.

The reason I’ve come to Camelot is to establish a connection with the leader of the Kingdom. King Aragorn. My alliance has been a long time coming but it was Adam that finally made the push. In truth it’s not something I would be able to do myself. I’m a soldier, not a general. Adam, on the other hand, is perfect for the task. And I’ve kept him caged up too long. Selfishly.

The boredom is real. I’ve flown thousands of light years before, so I’m used to it. Used to the long periods of loneliness. But as I get older I find myself less at ease with it. Something creeps at the back of my mind. I don’t know what it is. I’m sure I’m doing the right thing.

I read to pass the time. Kitsch stories of love and adventure. Nothing like the reality of being a soldier, but that’s exactly their appeal. Friends surrounded by allies, enemies that make their falsehoods true. Vindication. Justice. Perhaps one day that’s what MESH will become.

Some hours later, as the sky turns orange and then black, I reach my destination. Minas Tirith is a shadow, a black outline lit dimly by torchlight. I park my ship some way away and begin my walk.

As I make my way towards the massive entrance to the city, I realise that with my current appearance I may cause serious alarm to the guards and citizens. Everything that I’ve learned about the Kingdom leaves me unsure as to how the locals will truly react. Some call Camelot a welcoming place, others xenophobic. As most of the opinions come from outside of Camelot, it’s difficult to truly say. The only locals I met in my last visit were the sky-knights whom with I fought the Rathalos. They weren’t overly surprised by my appearance, but then I wasn’t the only outsider in attendance, and it was hardly a tea party. Now that I’m truly entering this alien world — not as a bounty hunter, but as a representative — my stomach coils and twists. I have no idea how to talk to a King. He’s supposedly one of the very strongest primes in the Omniverse. If I say something to offend, will I be banished? Captured and put to torture in the very darkest depths of their dungeons? No, they are humane. So I’ve been told.

But I still feel as though I should try not to stand out. And so, as a measure of good faith, I disapparate my suit. I feel very naked without it. But it wouldn’t be the first time. In its place I begin to summon something more appropriate. Fuck a dress; I’m not going to a ball. I summon something plain, leather armour of the like that I’ve seen in medieval fiction. A simple shirt tunic that tied with string at the collar, covered with a brown leather coat and matching pants. A cloak to go over it all and a feathered cap to hide my face. It feels incredibly uncomfortable and unwieldy. I just hope that I can be quick to whip it off if I need to summon my suit.

Finally I make my way to the gate. Four guards stand watch, with more above. I introduce myself as a prime.

“I was hoping for an audience with the King. I come as a representative of a new organisation called MESH.”

The guards look unsure. The senior one seems in his sixties, with grey hair and weathered eyes, and he speaks for the group. “King Aragorn don’t see just any prime. But you’re welcome to try. In the morning.”

As much I expected. But I hope that my reputation may precede me when I choose to reveal myself. I nod. “Would I be able to get accommodations for the night?”

“You’re welcome to try one of the inns. You seem respectful enough, so I’m letting you in, but don’t cause any trouble.”

I nod and enter through the gate.

Most of the city sleeps but there is yet night activity. I pass a drunk sleeping in an alley and recall that there are some constants wherever you go to. With haste I make my way to something approaching a nice-looking inn and lock down for the night. The bed is cold and itchy, and I summon something more familiar to sleep on. With every voice, every bump I find the muscles in my body tensed up, ready to fight. I’ve always been a vigilant person but I don’t think I will ever fully recover from the events of Dante’s Abyss. It has changed me and my sleep is restless. Whenever I begin to fall asleep I find myself snap awake, my cannon appearing on my arm in a flash. But every time, there is nothing.

Finally dawn arrives and I leave early. The palace may not yet be open but I feel safer on the move. I purchase some cheese from an early stand and nibble it beneath the shadow of a church. The bell tolls. Five. Six. Seven. And light shines at last on the palace, at the peak of the city. For a moment its magnificence makes me forget where I am for a moment and simply appreciate its majesty. Like a beacon. I feel inexplicably drawn towards it.

Once again I am gated by guards, their spears crossed. Their armour differs and they seem different somehow; as though bolstered by some inhuman confidence. Even I, despite a voice of dismissive disdain within myself, feel slightly intimidated. But I steel myself.

“My name is Samus Aran,” I say. “I’m here to see King Aragorn.”

[Samus Aran]

The two knights share a glance, the movement of their heads almost imperceptible. One of them steps up. “Wait here,” he says, placing a hand firmly in front of me. The other seems to be operating something that I can’t quite see.

I nod and am patient. Yet it only takes a minute or so for the guard to stand aside and the doorway to open. Inside there are more guards wearing the same black armour with their eyes hidden deep in shadow. One of them leads me deeper into the palace while the others watch from the sides. I’d known that the King had to be well protected, but somehow I hadn’t expected it to be so … oppressive-feeling. My feeling of nakedness without my armour is amplified like I’m under a spotlight.

We take a straight line up through the palace and every time I think we’re about to reach the throne room it’s simply another room more grandiose than the last. But finally we reach the summit and he’s there. King Aragorn.

After a moment’s scrutiny he waves the guard aside and steps forward, extending a hand. I take it and shake it, bowing my head customarily. “Sir,” I fumble, “King … sir.”

He actually laughs, squeezing my hand before breaking the handshake. “Your reputation precedes you, Miss Aran.” Yes. “I had not been keeping up on Dante’s Abyss, but I did catch word of your exit from Coruscant. Lively.”

A-am I blushing? While the speaking part of my brain plays catch-up, I nod furiously. What am I doing?

With grace the King fills the silence. “So, do you have business in Camelot?”

I nod. “Yes. That’s why I’m here.” I clear my throat. “I’ve come representing a new organisation, MESH.” Aragorn’s face seemed impassive as I continued. “The aim of the organisation is to be a source of humanitarian aid to the many citizens of the Omniverse.” I struggle to remember what Adam had told me. “That’s … We want to help people. We want to help people who are governments.” I shake my head. “We want to help people in governments … Who are part of governments … Or, I mean, they’re suffering under governments.” An I allowed to mention Coruscant directly? Is that bad form? The tunic itches and I pull at the collar.

I take a deep breath. I put it in my own words. “We’ve seen what happens to people who oppose the Empire. We’ve seen what things are like. I have.” I fix him in the eyes. “First-hand.” I breathe and continue. “And I know things like that are happening in the rest of the Omniverse. I feel like … we can’t do it alone. We need to work together, as a team. And that’s why we’re MESH.” I fold my fingers together and feel silly as I’m doing it. Aragorn catches my embarrassed smile and I see the corner of his lips curl up.

After a moment he speaks. “It is an admirable goal,” he admits. He paces slowly around until his back is to me. Then he turns and looks back over his shoulder. “You have your work cut out for you.”

“Yes,” I say, the words escaping my chest with the realisation I’d been holding my breath. “So … will you help us?”

“Help you how? If it is a question of jurisdiction, I cannot give you that. As noble as your goals are, I do not know you, nor your organisation. You’re new.” He states this as a matter of fact. “I cannot give every prime who walks in here special access and privileges. And believe me,” he says, “You are not the first. The only reason I consented to meet with you is because I know of your reputation. And even that gives me question. For example, why would someone who claims to uphold justice want to represent themselves in a killing competition?” He holds his palms out and again, it’s a simple question, but I feel the weight of his consideration, his opinions, like gravity upon my shoulders.

It’s not an easy question to answer, either. I have my reasons but I don’t think Aragorn will like them. The image of Cindy is burned into my mind and I have to force myself to feel the diplomat, to say something rational. It’s never been my first instinct but I give it a try. “I saw that there were others entering the competition who had … broken laws. My intent was not to enter the competition but to apprehend them while I had the opportunity. It did not go as planned.”

Aragorn shows no outward sign of his opinion but resumes pacing. “Have you reached out to anyone else about this?”

“Not yet. At least, I haven’t personally. I know Adam, the administrator, is in contact with a few other primes. They’re all friends of mine. People we met together, some of them in the competition and some of them before. But we plan to try and reach out to anyone who shares our aims.”

Aragorn moves a finger to and fro, as though envisualising some invisible net. He’s not looking at me. “Yes. That makes sense.” But he still looks cautious.

I wait patiently.

After some time he comes to a conclusion. “I would like to help you. And in fact, I admire your goals. But the fact remains we are acquaintances. Perhaps once you are more established, things can happen. But either way, I am glad you came to see me today.” He extends a hand.

My heart stops. I reach out to take his hand and then stop myself. “What do we need to do to prove ourselves?”

“If you are that determined, I am sure you will find a way.” He smiles. “Are you going to leave a King hanging?”

No. I take his hand and shake it. And a smile crosses my lips. “We’ll be doing business soon,” I say.

He laughs. “Well, I hope you are right. And I hope for the best for your organisation.”

I bow down on one knee. “It’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance, my lord.”

He nods and the guard comes to take my way.

[Samus Aran]

When I’m safely outside the city walls, I de-summon the period clothing and re-summon my suit before starting my walk back to the ship. I’ve got a new email and the name of the sender makes my eyes light up. It’s Blues. I read over the email several times and for some reason my eyes begin to tickle. Must have picked up a cold in Camelot. I wipe my nose and begin dictating my response to the ship’s computer.

Dear Blues,

Thank you for the very nice email. I’m glad you’re with Mickey, and I hope you’re having fun together.

By the sounds of it you’ve been doing some very great things. You’re courageous well beyond your years, do you know that? Just don’t do anything too dangerous. I know you’re a prime but there are some very bad people out there and they can do things worse than kill you. I know you’re a brave boy so you won’t be scared, and it’s important that you know this. I’ve tried to catch up with you but it seems like you’re always one step ahead of me. Maybe soon we can meet up again, once I’m done here in Camelot.

I haven’t seen Nanoha, nor Harry since the competition. I know Adam has tried to get in touch. Adam is a friend of mine, I’m not sure I ever introduced you two. He’s a computer like you but without a body. He’s very smart and he used to be a military commander. I’m letting him deal with the complicated stuff about this “MESH”. Like you said it’s kind of a web. A network. But only for good people like you and me who can help others. I’ve told Mickey about it so hopefully Tyrande will want to join. I’ve reached out to the King of Camelot, but he’s proving a little difficult, so I have to stay a little longer. By the time I’m done with him he’ll be begging to be a part of our little organisation. Don’t worry, I won’t touch his jaw.

I’m sorry you had to see what you did in that competition. Sometimes bad things happen and we can’t stop them. That’s why it’s important that you stay with Mickey. That’s why MESH is important. There are bad people in the Omniverse and I’m doing my best to stop them. For you. For all the good people.

I’ve gone on too long. I hope soon we’ll get to see each other again. Stay safe.

Samus

I’m still for a while.

[Samus Aran]

“You want to join the army?” He shrugs. “Okay.”

I’m a little surprised, to say the least. My impressions of Camelot, from what I’ve read on the Dataverse and what little I’ve seen, had been that of a fairly, well… backwards society. “Do you get many female soldiers?” I ask, turning my head ever so slightly.

The recruiter smiles mischievously. “Just every once in a while.” He leans his bulk against the wooden counter and studies me. “Tell me one thing … are you a prime?”

I avoid his gaze. I hadn’t been planning on making my status public knowledge, but I also wasn’t in the habit of lying. What the hell, I reason, “Yeah.”

“Hah! I knew it,” he says, taking a triumphant puff on his cigarette.

He says nothing else as I go through the form and sign at the bottom. I push it over and watch him closely for a reaction, but he says nothing. Only a slight squint, perhaps faint recognition – or perhaps my handwriting just isn’t that good. He looks back up and motions with his thumb. “This way.”

The quarters are essentially as I would have expected, or perhaps a little better. It’s grey stone brick, like the rest of Minas Tirith, but I notice how smooth the surface is. Of course, they must have primes to help out and repair with summoning where necessary. It’s cold but not freezing. I’d come prepared for much worse.

As I wander round, the soldiers aren’t shy about looking at me. I stare them straight back in the eye and most of them avert their gaze as soon as I do. I notice that there’s a lot of commotion, a lot of people seem to be suited up despite it being the evening. “What’s happening?” I ask.

The recruiter, whose name I’ve learned is Lunch, answers me: “Today’s the day all the successful recruits get inducted officially. You’ve joined at a good time.”

“Oh?” I try my best to make conversation.

Luckily, Lunch seems happy enough to talk about his responsibilities here at the barracks. “I trained ‘em myself,” he says boastfully. “There was even another prime among them, name of Kyrer or something or other.”

Interesting. I can’t think of anything else to say so I stay silent until he’s done. When he finishes the brief tour, he rounds on me. “So what you think? Will this live up to what you’re used to?”

I make no change of facial expression. “It’ll be fine.”

He smirks. “Well then. Training starts dawn tomorrow. ‘Til then, why not watch the ceremony? It’s probably starting soon.” He glances up at the stone ceiling, looking for a sun that isn’t there.

I smirk before realising I don’t have my helmet, and quickly cough. I’ll have to watch that.

* * * * *

Hundreds of soldiers are piled into the ceremony room, which is impressive considering the cramped nature of the city and its barracks. Just how many soldiers come through here? Is it enough to match the might of the Empire? What are swords and steel against guns?

… Is what my logic says. But my experience thus far in the Omniverse has told me not to rely on traditional logic. After all, I used a sword in Dante's Abyss, and-

A painful flash of memory surges through me and I double over, feeling it all over again. The sword of lightning piercing my heart. Killing me. The most painful thing I’ve ever experienced.

I catch myself and stand hastily back up. A few people have glanced around to look at me, but I’m less concerned with what they think than I am about my sudden loss of control. I temper my frustration and push the memory back to wherever it came from. I don’t need that right now.

In the crowd, I notice a woman, and as I look across she somehow glances my way and we catch eyes. Or at least I think we do — it’s hard to tell from this distance. I want to ask for her advice. There must be so much she could tell me. I make a mental note to find her after the ceremony.

But I never do.

[Samus Aran]

Lying in this straw bed listening to the wind buffet these stone walls is my oddest Omniverse experience so far. It’s as if I’ve gone back in time. I’ve been on rural planets before — hell, I was born on a colony that most in my universe would liken to a backwards farmstead — but to think that the technology of the Omniverse is so advanced, yet they all still live like this. I supposed to them it’s all magic, not technology, that runs the place. I suppose magic, at the end of the day, is like any other technology, with its own rules and logic, but … it’s so far-fetched. One of these days I expect to wake up in my ship and find this has all been the longest, most bizarre dream. Any day now.

But the mere fact I’m here in Camelot suggests that worlds in which there are magic and unicorns are just as real as my own. To them, I’m the unbelievable one, and my suit is just as unfathomable as their sorcery. I chuckle silently. Actually, that’s not that far from the truth.

* * * * *

I wake up to the prickly sensation in my back, immediately remembering where I am and what I’m doing. There’s a clanging and I hear movement about. The lady in the bunk above me stirs and I see her long leg drape down over my field of vision. “Time to get up innit,” she states in what I can only assume to be some local dialect. The denizens of the Omniverse might all seem speak the same language, but in his ‘wisdom’ the one named Omni hadn’t sought to unify the accents. There was a brain-boggler that I don’t think I would have been able to wrap my head around even if I was fully awake.

Across from me there’s a girl with short, curly hair and a vacant expression. Her name is Angel, I think. What a girl like her is doing in this army I have no idea — but then, I suppose appearances can be deceiving.

The girl with the long legs is called R’cheev, at least that’s what it sounds like. I have no idea how it’s spelt, or even if it’s spelt with the alphabet I’m familiar with. She has a thick head of bright red hair and rises even taller than me at what has to be at least six foot one. Her lanky frame hides a set of wiry muscles — I wouldn’t want to tangle with her without my suit. Then again, maybe I’ll have to.

The final girl, on the bunk above Angel, has blue hair — I’ve no idea if it’s dyed or natural, but I would assume Camelot isn’t big on the hair products yet. Maybe I’m wrong. I’ve not seen her speak yet so I don’t know her name. Aside from the hair she’s plain in all other features. If I had to say anything about her then I would say she was slightly plumper than the average cadet — but not enough to call thick or even husky.

Breakfast is apples and porridge. Could do worse, but I’m half-tempted to summon up a platter of something a bit more bright. Of course, it’s not like I want to flaunt my prime powers, so I reserve it for now. The point of this is not to prove myself more powerful. I could easily do that – and they would resent me for it. The point is to get to know this world better. Prove that I’m able to understand this culture and these people, the plights they face. If I’m not able to do that, I’ve failed in my duty to MESH, the Omniverse, and myself.

As I’m thinking this, R’cheev waves her spoon in my face. “So Samus, where exactly are you from?”

I’d been so busy thinking about duty, my plans to meet Aragorn, and all the people who were relying on me, that I’m flummoxed by such a simple question. My roommates stare at me with intensity as I imitate a goldfish. “Well … well … I guess I’m from a world where …” I struggle to put the million things I’d considered saying into one easy-to-understand sentence. “We have guns, not swords. Space travel is a normal thing there.”

“Space travel? Like through the cosmos? Wow, so are you some kinda … alien?”

I squirm. “Not … really, no.” Why hadn’t I just made up some kind of clever cover story? “I’m just … human.” Okay, so not entirely true. But they don’t need to know that I’m genetically modified to be some kind of bird-jellyfish-human hybrid. Something tells me that would be a bit much for the first day.

The girl with the blue hair watches with interest as the conversation progresses. I can’t help but notice that her expression remains unchanged, unlike the others. R’cheev is sitting forward in her seat and Angel’s mouth hangs open, seemingly unaware of the porridge dripping off her spoon.

I quickly change the subject. “Where are you from, R’cheev?”

“Down south,” the redhead replies proudly. “Mam and dad owns a farm, me brother was part of the war in the Moors, y’know. Said as soon as I was eighteen I’d be up here, and so I am. Got another brother and two sisters, but I’m the oldest left now.”

There’s only the faintest glimmer of sadness in her eyes. She seems determined, more than anything else. I nod as my eyes cross over to the other two.

“I’m from Minas Tirith,” says Angel. Her voice is like her namesake; she must be eighteen or more to be here but I could have mistaken her for myself at a younger age. So bright, so … ill-fit for war. She seems shy to even be talking about herself. I think about pressing her but stop. It would be rude to ask so brazenly.

“How about you, blue?” R’cheev asks the final girl. “I don’t even know your name yet.”

I turn to look as the un-named woman sinks her spoon into her porridge. She lifts it deliberately, eyes fixated on the meal before finally making eye contact with R’cheev and responding.

“You don’t need to know my name.”

R’cheev raises an eyebrow. “Okaaay. I take it you’re not from around here?”

The girl with blue hair doesn’t even respond. Exasperatedly, R’cheev rolls her eyes and turns to me. “So Samus, why are you here?”

I stir my porridge. Another tough question. “To prove myself to the Kingdom and establish ties with the leader of Camelot.” Perhaps not. “Just curious, I guess. I want to learn about more cultures and learn their fighting styles. Didn’t seem to be any better way than enlisting with the Kingdom.”

R’cheev nods vigorously and clenches a fist. “We’ll show you how good a good sword can be in the right hands!”

I smile and try not to show that a feeling of cold lead has just dropped into my stomach. In my home world it would have been hard not to smirk, but here … here I don’t know what I’m up against.

But that’s also why you’re here, Samus, I remind myself. And the trembling in my stomach slows to a cold shiver. I shut my eyes and steel myself.

“Breakfast’s over, ladies and girls!” Lunch yells to the room at large. “Recruits, you’re with me!”

I stand up before any of the others. It’s time to go.

[Samus Aran]

Standard drill is everything I’ve heard before. The first few days are about separating the strong from the weak. It’s not a challenge. I’ve kept in excellent physical shape ever since I arrived in the Omniverse. With the small exception of my death.

Melee training is a bit different.

“Every soldier is expected to be able to hold their own in melee,” Lunch says, his arms folded behind his back. “Even the archers.”

I can hold my own in basic hand-to-hand but never did any real melee weapons training. Then again, how hard could it be? Stick the pointy end.

“Now some of you might be thinking,” Lunch continued, “It’s as simple as ‘stick the pointy end’.”

Drat.

I’m facing off against R’cheev. She seems as excited as I am not. Even with this leather armour they’ve strapped me into, I don’t anticipate the thought of her walloping me with one of those training swords.

I look down at the weapon in my hand and I’m only glad there’s no blade attached to it.

“Begin!”

She comes at me with an roundward sweep. I easily back out of its range. Teeth grit, the barbarian woman closes in with another flurry of sweeps.

“Come on, Aran,” drawls Lunch. “This isn’t dodge practice. Hit her!”

I grunt disappreciatively. The next blow I block by holding up my sword to cross hers; then I step in with my right hand and sock her in the face.

A whistle blows as R’cheev staggers back holding her nose. “Aran,” calls Lunch. “As impressed as I am with that sucker punch, we’re here to train swords, not fisticuffs.

“What the hell?” R’cheev is not best pleased; as she draws her hand away I see that her nose is gushing with blood.

“Shit,” I swear. “That was accidental. I just …”

“Just accidentally broke my fucking nose?!”

“DiMornere, get to the infirmary.” Lunch waves her away with a hand before turning back to me. “Since you think you’re hot shit, prime, why don’t you face me? No fists this time. If I get hit by anything that’s not that sword, you’re doing laps around the facility until nightfall. Is that understood?”

A few of the onlookers have stopped their training to watch; I hear a few stifled snickers in the crowd. Already I’m being singled out. I try to keep the blood in my veins cool. It’s not that I don’t want to use the sword, it’s that …

“BEGIN!”

He lunges at me without warning. That portly physique hides some serious speed. I move just in time to put my sword between his and my stomach. I feel suddenly sick and fall backwards.

Lunch steps backward. “On your feet, Aran. Start again.”

I try but my legs are like jelly.

The recruiter-cum-sergeant frowns at me as though he realises something’s wrong. But if he does it doesn’t temper his insults. “What’s the matter, no good without your suit?”

I don’t even have the presence of mind to hit back. I grit my teeth, raise my sword, and challenge him with my eyes.

“Begin!”

This time I’m able to block a few hits. But as he comes towards me I’m forced backwards. That sword has to be kept out of range. Before long I’m practically running a circle around the field. I can see Lunch getting visibly winded. That’s one area in which I have him beat, at least.

Finally he throws down his sword arm. I can see by this point he’s actually angry. He raises his voice. “Recess!” he yells.

As the field clears out, he crosses over to me. “Let’s talk in private,” he says.

My heart sinks and I follow him.

* * * * *

We step into his recruitment office. “Shut the door,” he says, before lighting a cigarette.

He takes a deep puff and stares me down before speaking. “Look, Aran, I can see you’re playing to your strengths. That’s fine. But I thought you came here to learn. Or was it just a play to gain the favour of our king? If this is all just a front to you, then say it now. I can fast track you through with a certificate or whatever you need, but don’t waste my time.”

He’s right in a way. Part of my brain lights up, eager to accept the offer and move on. But that’s not why I couldn’t fight him on the field, and he knows it. I’m not going to get away without giving him an answer.

I sigh, and meet his eyes warily.

“Have you ever died, Lunch?”

He cocks his head.

“Didn’t think so.” I continue, after a pause. “I’ve been close. Many, many times. But never once, until that competition, and then it changed everything.”

I can see he has nothing to say to this. “I’m not dodging your questions, Lunch. But I need time.”

He takes a long drag on his cigarette. “I can see that.” He shifts his weight from the desk he’s been leaning against. “But it’s not gonna help you to run from the problem.”

“I know,” I say, and a wave of nausea rises momentarily. I know.

He steps towards the door. “Then you better find a way of figuring it out.” He steps through before turning back. “Oh, and apologise to R’cheev.”

I need a breather.

* * * * *

It’s not too difficult to get out of the facility without being noticed. I move quickly and once I’m out, I run. I’m not sure where I’m running to. But my suit forms around me and I feel safer in its cold, metallic enclosure. More whole. I slump down next to a tree and check on my usual data feeds.

It’s strange how small a world this Omniverse is.