A goddess's legacy weighs heavily on the shoulders of a socially-challenged college freshman.
***
Liza Shiel-Smith--so named for an otherworldly ancestor who easily cleaved space with a flick of her finger--wants nothing more than to enjoy college...
With synthetic ropes, industrial-strength pulleys, and much assistance from Harker and his drykon, I guided most of our purchases down into the ship. Looking at the massive pile of supplies in the ship's entrance room, I decided not to waste energy trying to load it onto the hardware-store-esc cart I'd bought. Instead, I called out to Butcher.
He arrived fairly promptly with a rather horrifying new friend. It was mimic-shaped—or rather, it was Ortai-shaped except for the scorpion's tail—but it didn't glow, and no part of it looked like crystage or metal. Its torso was covered in flexible scale mail crafted from a semi-transparent material similar to remipede chitin. Spotted orange flesh was partially visible through the milky white armor, but even that wasn't the most unnerving part of the creature.
Its six limbs were the stuff of nightmares. One upper arm resembled a reaver's--as did the legs-- the other upper arm resembled a bladed whip attached to an insectoid arm, and the lower arms sported clusters of tentacles that looked disturbingly like the facial appendages of rat monsters. To top it all off, the mimic lacked eyes or a nose but had a fanged mouth and a head full of living white 'hair' resembling many small antennae.
The only non-terrifying thing about the mimic was its utility belt, which hung heavy with a variety of decrepit power tools.
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"Greetings!" Ignoring my flinch at its parrot-like voice, the mimic raised a hand—if it could be called that—and wiggled its tentacles. "I am Fretpai. You may refer to me as female, but I am not yet capable of intercourse. Butcher has told me you are in need of assistance. Do you have a name? Most sapients do, but I'm unsure if you're sapient. Are you? I hope so; it's been so long since I've had a good conversation. You see, most avatars prioritized maintaining their shell over repairs to their communication system, and they made the mistake of introducing biological parts to their bodies without the necessary organs to keep those parts alive.
She waved at Butcher's reaver blade. "He has to replace his blade all the time because it can't self-repair. Not to mention, he needs Void crystage to repair himself, yet his blade decays when he goes near the Source—but mine can self-repair because I have a digestive system. Have you heard of the digestive system? It's a clever system that organics possess in order to turn meat and plants into energy!"
I was a bit overwhelmed by her... everything, but I fully intended to entertain her a bit before she continued,
"Oh, you don't seem capable of speech. I'd better take you apart and check your speech centers." She raised her scorpion's tail, and its tip glowed violet.
"No!" Butcher growled, swatting her tail just in time to make a blinding violet beam shoot past my ear. "Not meat."
"Yes, yes, I'll put it back together afterward, I promise."
"There's nothing wrong with my speech centers," I forced out, quivering at the realization that Fretpai didn't have the same dedication to my safety that Butcher did. "Please don't take me apart."
