“Ah!” Atlas clutched his pounding chest. He spun around to face the speaker too quickly and lost his balance, falling back onto the sand.

The woman glowered down at him, short chestnut braids framing a freckled face and a furrowed brow. Atlas’ heart skipped another beat as he looked up at her, while she looked singularly unimpressed. The otter he’d seen before pranced from her side to nuzzle him wetly on the foot.

“Figures.” The woman pinched the bridge of her nose. “Another city boy thinks he’ll strike it rich with karkino roe. Do you have any idea how lucky you are that I saw you?”

“Uh… Sorry?” Great. His first ever words and he already sounded like an idiot.

“Did you think they were just going to let you take it? Or that you were going to fight them with that little dagger of yours?” The woman shook her head. “I’m amazed you even survived long enough for me to get down here. I was expecting to find your corpse.”

“Are... you some kind of lifeguard?” Atlas peered up and down the beach. Where had she been watching from?

She snorted. “Do I look like a guardsman? I just don’t want unburied on my doorstep.”

“Well I-” Atlas was interrupted by his stomach letting out a long gurgle. He wasn’t doing well at this conversation thing. He pressed a hand to his waist to try and silence it.

The woman rolled her eyes and held out her hand. “Come on, get up before that kark comes back. Maybe you’ll live long enough to grow some sense. What’s your name?”

“Ah… Atlas.” Atlas took her hand, his white skin and black gauntlet a stark contrast against her flesh. She hauled him to his feet in one smooth motion.

“Sparks you’re skinny. When’s the last time you ate?”

“I… don’t remember.” Atlas replied honestly. She hadn’t commented on his abnormal skin tone so maybe humans were a bit more variable than his brain was telling him, but he was pretty sure ‘I didn’t have a mouth this morning’ wouldn’t go down well.

“You didn’t even pack any supplies?” The woman shook her head and turned away. “Come on, we need to get out of here before dark. Karks aren’t the worst thing you’ll find down here.” She beckoned for him to follow her towards the same cliff face he’d crawled from. Myriad caves dotted its surface.

Atlas swallowed drily.

“I had a pack.” He tapped the button to recall his knife and raised his bracer surreptitiously. He had no idea what messing with the buttons would do when he was holding something. “I guess I lost it?”

It hadn’t been part of his new outfit, after all.

“Boots too?” The woman sounded skeptical.

Atlas tapped the scan button, ready to run as the green beam flashed over the woman’s leg. She showed no sign of noticing.

HUMAN

NEW CODE ACQUIRED [N/A: CODE LOCKED]

NEW FORM VARIANT DETECTED

UPDATE FORM Y/N?

Atlas sighed with relief. Human after all. He quickly pressed the second button to decline the change. He was in no particular rush to alter his current genital configuration, or incinerate his rescuer for that matter. But what was that about a locked code?

Wait, she’d asked him a question.

“Um… There was… a… cave?”

The woman stopped so suddenly Atlas almost walked into her.

“Did you...” She shook her head and resumed walking with a brusque “Forget it.”

So they walked in silence, save for when the otter scampered away to investigate a small seashell in the sand and she let out a shrill whistle to call it back.

Atlas didn’t mind. He couldn’t think of anything to say anyway, and it gave him time to think as he stared at her from behind. She was wearing a tan coat over a pale blue dress that stretched down to her ankles, with laced leather boots that extended somewhere up beyond that. Not exactly helpful in figuring out what kind of place this was. Was the coat machine stitched? He couldn’t tell. All he knew so far was that they didn’t have lifeguards and liked crab eggs.

And why couldn’t he stop staring at her? Atlas forced his eyes away. They were close enough now that he could see a knotted rope dangling from a ledge halfway up the cliff face. At least there were no caves nearby.

The woman stopped at the base of the cliff and smoothed down her dress, giving him a pointed glance.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“You first.”

The sun had set by the time they had climbed to the ledge and followed it on a long winding path to the top of the cliff. Atlas spent the time in silence, trying, and failing, to find a way to walk without aggravating his damaged feet as he went, while the woman trudged along ahead of him, pausing now and then to look out across the beach. It wasn’t until they reached the top that she said a word, though not to Atlas.

“Finally.” She walked over to a crude bench facing the beach and flopped down on it. The otter hopped up onto her lap as she leant forward to adjust her boots. “Not the way I wanted to spend my evening.”

Atlas shifted uncomfortably. While his saviour wasn’t particularly friendly, he would probably have still been down on the beach right now, possibly posthumously.

“I’m sorry to have troubled you. Thank you very much for helping me, Miss.”

“It’s Mrs Damastes to you, thank you very much.” The woman looked up at him. “But I see you’ve some manners after all. I suppose you don’t have any coin on you either?”

Atlas winced. “No, sorry. I don’t have anything.”

“Alright, I’ll let you stay a night in my inn, no charge.” Mrs Damastes snorted. “Or you can try your luck walking to the city in the dark, your choice.”

“Really?” Atlas stared at her wide-eyed. Considering how things had been going for him most of the day Mrs Damastes was turning out to be something of a miracle.

The woman busied herself with the strap of her boot, finally pulling it off giving it a shake. A pebble pattered onto the ground. “Well, we’d normally be full with the harvest and all, but with the war on we’ve got a lot of empty rooms. Consider it a reward for not being dead when I found you.”

Atlas beamed and thanked her but Mrs Damastes waved it off, She yanked her boot on once more and led Atlas up a dirt path towards a small cluster of buildings. One, presumably the inn, was the largest, and the only one with lighted windows. No electricity then? There certainly didn’t seem to be any wires.

As though reading his mind, Mrs Damastes spoke up. “I don’t know what kind of gadgets you’re used to in the city, but not many end up out here in New Astros, and I won’t have that sort of thing in my inn, so make do.”

Atlas nodded mutely, still looking from house to house as they walked. Most were wooden, while a few like the inn were made of the same grey stone as the cliffs. All of them had glass windows, while all but the inn had a thatched roof.

There was clearly some kind of schizo tech situation going on here. Maybe the city Mrs Damastes had mentioned had more people like him? Someone had to make the bracers, after all, not to mention himself.

“Sanda, I’m back.” Mrs Damastes called out as she pushed open the thick oak door of the inn. The otter slipped under her legs to vanish inside.

Inside the inn was a dim room with a few bearded men sat at tables lit by thick tallow candles eating from porcelain plates with metal forks. They stared at Atlas for a few moments as he walked in before going back to their meal, their low conversation beyond hearing. At the back of the room a woman with tanned skin and sun-bleached hair poked her head out of a doorway. Probably the kitchen, given the smell.

Atlas’ stomach growled again. He clamped his hand down on it with a grimace.

“Welcome back, boss.” The younger woman, Sanda, smiled. “You’ve been gone longer than usual today.”

Mrs Damastes snorted, pulling off her jacket and throwing it onto a nearby coat stand. “Found this whelp hurt down on the beach.” All eyes but hers turned to Atlas once more. He gave a sheepish grin and a little wave. “Why don’t you take him to a room?”

“Sure thing, boss!” Sanda gave a cheery smile and sauntered out of the kitchen. “Got a name, handsome?”

“Atlas.” Sanda couldn’t have been more different from her employer if she’d tried.

“Well, ‘Atlas’, let’s get you upstairs then.” She winked, grabbing a key from behind a small counter before leading him up to a small room on the second floor before sauntering off, only to appear a short time later with a tray of bread and a thick meaty soup.

Atlas thanked her and settled on his bed, breathing in the delicious aroma of his first meal. He was starving, not to mention parched. He’d have to think of some way to pay Mrs Damastes back for her generosity somehow. He picked up the bread to dip it in the soup.

MATERIAL LOGGED

“... Shit.”