Blake followed Eland deeper into the ship, the corridors narrowing as they wound their way past dimly lit compartments and alcoves filled with equipment he couldn't begin to identify. The hum of the ship's systems filled the air, punctuated by the occasional chirp or chime from unseen machinery.

They entered a room that reminded Blake of a cross between an engine room and a server farm. Eland moved to a console covered in holographic displays and began tapping commands with deft fingers. Symbols and diagrams flashed across the screens, too fast for Blake to follow.

"Zeph, run a full diagnostic," Eland said. "I want to know exactly what that suit did to my ship."

"Running diagnostic now," a disembodied voice replied, smooth and androgynous.

Blake watched as more data streamed across the displays. Eland's brow furrowed, his expression darkening with each passing second.

"What's wrong?" Blake asked.

Eland shook his head. "The damage is more extensive than I thought. That suit drew full power from the ship's core during your... upgrade."

Blake frowned. "I don't understand. What does that mean?"

Eland turned to face him, his eyes troubled. "It means that the changes you underwent, the enhancements to your physiology, they're not normally possible with the basic med-bay I have on board. Frankly I still don't have a clear idea how it did what it did to you."

He ran his hand over his porpoise-like face and took a breath before continuing. "The suit pulled in a massive amount of power to achieve it, far more than the couplings in the bay were meant to manage as throughput at any given time. And it kept pulling. We're down to barely more than reserve power, and we've got hundreds of meters of internal wiring that are half-melted which all need to be replaced."

A cold weight dropped through Blake's gut. "So, I did this? I damaged your ship?"

Eland's jaw tightened. A flicker crossed the alien's eyes - something raw and fierce - but vanished before Blake could pin it down. The weariness that followed draped across Eland's shoulders, pulling them down like a heavy cloak.

"You didn't do anything, Blake. The suit did. But yes, the ship is in worse shape than before."

Blake stared down at his hands, the power surging through his veins both exhilarating and terrifying. His fingers flexed, muscles coiling with an unnatural vitality. The apology felt hollow on his tongue as he met Eland's gaze. "I'm sorry, Eland. I never meant for this to happen."

Eland sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I know. It's not your fault. We'll figure it out."

He straightened, a look of determination crossing his features. "Come on, let's head to the canteen. We need to start putting together a new salvage list. If we're going to get off this rock, we'll need to find some very specific parts.

----------------------------------------

The pair returned to the awkwardly askew common area. Eland walked to one of the wall units and pressed his palm against a panel. The unit hummed to life, and a drawer slid out with a soft hiss. He retrieved two metallic pouches and placed them on a heating pad.

"Not quite home cooking, but it'll do," Eland said.

The pouches expanded as they heated, filling the air with an aroma that reminded Blake of roasted vegetables and herbs. When Eland opened them, steam carried the scent of something like saffron.

Blake peered into his bowl, studying the unfamiliar meal with a soldier's MRE-tempered caution. The contents looked like purple rice mixed with chunks of what could have been meat, though the color was off - more blue than red, with subtle iridescent streaks catching the light.

He took a careful bite, letting the flavors settle on his tongue before committing to a full mouthful. The texture yielded between his teeth, tender and satisfying. Flavors danced across his tongue - beef, almost, but shifted sideways, like goat wearing a cow costume.

The grin of delight stretched across Eland's alien features as Blake took another bite. The archaeologist's nostril slits flared slightly, catching the lingering aroma from the dish between them.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Better than you were expecting then?"

"Eland," Blake smiled back, the complex blend of spices coating his tongue. "If you had ever had to eat the pre-packaged war crime they dared to call a 'Veggie Omelet,' you'd know better than to even ask." The dreaded beige packages surfaced in his mind - soldiers bargaining, begging, doing anything to avoid that particular meal. Each new bite of the current dish sparkled against the backdrop of those military rations. "This? This is wonderful."

After swallowing another bite, he continued.

"The flavors remind me of a dish I had years ago," Blake said, savoring another spoonful. "This old Afghani woman — must have been ninety if she was a day - she'd made this incredible pilaf with lamb. Qabeli palaw, it was called. I swore I'd learn to make it myself one day. Never quiet got around to it."

"Maybe now you'll have time. I think that good food is universal," Eland said. He adjusted his position on the bench, his massive frame making the furniture look almost comically small. "Though I must admit, after all these years of travel, I still miss my mother's cooking."

Blake nodded, recognizing a universal truth in those words. Nostalgia was a powerful thing. "What was her specialty?"

"A fermented root dish. Sounds terrible, I know, but the process created such delightfully complex flavors." Eland's eyes took on a distant look. "Three months to prepare properly. She'd start it at the beginning of our cold season."

"Sounds like sauerkraut. German dish, fermented cabbage." Blake scraped the last bits from his bowl. "Though three months is ambitious. Most folks I knew would get impatient after three weeks."

The pair talked while they ate, with Blake finding himself more comfortable in the alien's presence than he would have thought. Eventually, however, the reason for the impromptu dinner break had to come up.

Blake set his spoon down, finally ready to get back to serious business. "Let's get back to what you mentioned before. About improved energy flows. What exactly did you mean?"

Eland wiped his mouth with a delicate motion that seemed too precise for such a simple act. "Ah yes. I imagine cultivation practices don't properly exist on your world."

"Cultivation?" Blake frowned. "Like growing crops?"

"Not precisely." Eland's long fingers drew abstract shapes in the water beading on his glass, each movement deliberate and graceful. "It's about mastering and refining the natural energies that flow through all living things. Picture your body as a vessel. Most beings are like leaky cups - energy simply passes through without purpose or control."

"So cultivators plug the leaks?" Blake asked, trying to wrap his mind around the concept.

"They do something far more sophisticated. They learn to guide the flow. To shape it with intention." Eland raised his hand, and Blake's eyes widened as something flickered above the alien's palm - not unlike the distortion above hot pavement on a summer day, but with distinct patterns that seemed almost alive. "The symbiotic suit has modified your body's natural pathways. Made them more... conducive to energy manipulation."

"Okay, but what energy exactly? The only natural energies my people know of are gravity, electromagnetism, the weak nuclear force, and the strong nuclear force."

"There's another. Aether." Eland gestured at the space around them. "Some call it Cosmic energy, Primordial Essence, Divine Investiture - different cultures have different names. But it's as real as gravity or magnetism."

Blake took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "And this energy, which has somehow eluded scientific discovery entirely — you can control it?"

"With practice and discipline, yes. Though the methods vary widely between traditions." Eland's expression brightened. "The suit seems to have given you a foundation that would typically take years to develop naturally. Your channels are already beginning to stabilize."

"Channels?" Blake asked.

"Pathways through which energy flows in your body. Like... blood vessels, but for spiritual energy." Eland paused, considering his words. "On your world, your channels atrophied, you never even developed a mana core. The ambient energy levels are too low. But here?" He gestured at the ship around them. "The universe is saturated with power."

"Mana core? And how do you know about energy levels on my planet?"

"Right, so much to cover," Eland sighed. "Let's start with that second half, and we can circle back to Aether and Mana in a bit.

You are not the first Human I've met, Blake. There are trillions of humans scattered across the factions of known reality. I know that your planet didn't have access to any meaningful amount of energy because I could literally sense how underdeveloped your energy system was. Your scientists have never found Aether because it's being kept from them very purposefully by whichever human faction owns that particular part of your galaxy."

Blake's hands clenched into fists. "Kept from us? Are you kidding me?"

"Veil worlds are relatively popular among certain factions," Eland continued. "Most of them aren't completely cut off from magic like your planet, but even that isn't unheard of if a faction wants to see what comes from a planet that has to innovate without Mana or the System."

Bile rose in Blake's throat. "You're saying my people were an experiment."

"In effect, yes. Congratulations for escaping the lab, at least."

Blake considered the strange symbiote, this body that might not even be his own, and just how little he understood about anything anymore.

"I didn't get out on my own, Eland. Someone took me out. I'm still just a rat in a cage."