Nobody's Servant, Act 1

Chaos

Our journey east continues, short of a few passengers. Bodies overboard, all except for the captain. When you work in necrotech, you get good at moving cadavers. And under Maxim law, everyone contributes to research, performing one last service even after they've drawn their final breath. There is never a shortage of cadavers.

The captain is huddled behind the protective barrier on the deck by the control panel with Suraokh; he ended up sticking her with his needles too, but it didn't seem to be fatal, thankfully. She's lost quite a bit of her original fervor though, that's for sure.

The pod we had used to get this far had been damaged in the grip of the crane, so the somewhat less subtle Prelature raiding boat has to suffice. It's going to be difficult to explain what we're doing with it when we dock in Nayre territory, provided they don't blast us out of the water first.

Before long, I grow tired of sitting around. I spent some time modifying my cudgel a little more and even searing a little pattern onto it once I was satisfied with its shape. But there's still more that could be done for it.

"Suraokh," I say, standing up, "I'm going below to look around."

The doll nods without turning, and then I head for the hatch. Suraokh already rooted out the two extra soldiers who had been hiding down there. I couldn't convince him not to kill them. There should be more reasons than just precaution. If they hadn't begged so much after their attempted ambush had gone awry, I might not have thought much about it. Lest we forget even I was absolutely ready to crack heads for a moment, at least until I'd been sliced into. But not even the scar of it remains, now.

I drop down, not even touching the ladder, and then begin to peruse the shelves with their contents kept bundled by cables and cords. Closest to the hatch, it's mainly just ammunition and small arms. Confiscated equipment, in all likelihood; the Prelature prefers arrows and flechettes to bullets. Less noise.

It's not just weapons among the equipment. On the lowest shelf, there sits a shallow crate containing an assortment of bulky, boxy devices, made of molded metal, inscribed with runes, and bearing several electronic fixtures and ports. Unmistakably condensate batteries, universal Republic models. I check my own, secured in the larger, satchel-like pocket just for it, and sigh. It's worse for wear, not that I had much on me, but one of the leads is frayed, right behind the clamp.

I turn my attention back to the batteries in the crate. There's a little bit of charge left in each, but I get an idea with so many of them right here. I check over my shoulder instinctively, but the dead are on their way to the seafloor. I'm not really stealing from them, and these were stolen to begin with anyway.

Fending off any trace of shame, I hook up the leads of one to the nodes of another, transferring the precious phantasmal substance within. In no time at all, they've all been connected like this, combining their sum into a single battery, which I pocket, leaving my old one behind in exchange. At least I won't have to worry about affording the essentials now, and it's not like anyone else was going to be using it. I still feel a little gross thinking of it that way but if there was ever a time to be pragmatic, it's now.

My luck doesn't end on that; in the back there's a very large weapon strapped to a workbench. Forked, bone-splintering teeth laced into a disk-mounted chain, driven by a hefty-looking engine. I know what you're thinking and I agree, it's far too unwieldy for me. No, the object of my interest is its box magazine.

A loading system would feed replacement teeth from it back onto the chain, but I can just as easily take them out for my own use. I pop open the detached magazine to find it still fairly full, plucking out one of the sharp objects inside. It's in two connected parts, one with a slot, and one with a tab, but I only need the tabbed ones, and begin disassembling them. I set aside a stack, and bring my weapon up onto the bench. It takes me a while, but with a little bit of finagling I've got a nice serrated edge to work with, consisting of stiff metal pounded into slots in the wood. Like grandma's macuahuitl, or half of it, anyway.