“I—” Amelia tried to respond, but her head was bowing closer to the ground, her thoughts scattering.

“And that’s how you’ll sound if I let ya. Questions! Questions! Questions! Let’s try and look at this conundrum one screw at a time,” Rick interjected, his tone both commanding and oddly comforting.

“Initiating wellness analysis: Gender: Female. Heart rate: elevated. Potential concussion detected, though no significant wounds present. Height: approximately 1.88 meters. Weight: approximately 75 kilograms. Skeletal and facial structures are consistent with data documented five years ago. Scent detected: body odor and feces, originating from a mix of species—Ignorpa, dog, Crestfish, human, and unknown. Confirmed identity: Amelia Woltwork. Age: 23. New status: alive and healthy,” Roy’s metallic voice rang out loudly, the clinical assessment echoing in the small space.

Rick turned toward Roy, a look of visible disappointment on his face, though a trace of satisfaction flickered in his eyes at the thoroughness of Roy’s analysis.

“Add pissed to that. You didn’t have to squeeze my nose, you know. Back in the Conkle Mines, pranks like that got you killed—or worse,” Amelia grumbled under her breath, her eyes closing as she drifted into a daze once more.

“Little Crowny, you’re still royalty—not just some Quadrant Seven Yardrat. I had to check if you were awake or even capable of wakin’ up,” Rick replied, a hint of irritation in his voice. “Understand that the jaw we pried you from was one of no return. Ain’t never seen a beast like that,” he added, lowering his gaze toward Amelia, who was struggling to even open her eyes all the way, let alone distinguish left from right.

“I heard everything you and…whatever that is next to you were saying! You—” Amelia began, trying to gather her thoughts.

“No, ya’ didn’t! Because if ya’ did, ya’ wouldn’t have yelled ‘Assault,’ ‘Thief,’ ‘Mugger’ as loud as the cosmos would allow,” Rick retorted. “Got a kick and ‘arrest me’ sign somewhere in your Yardrat overalls?”

“No, but I got a knife if I can’t figure your goals in the next ten seconds. I-I don’t know what’s happening or who you are. Or—” Amelia rambled, her voice trembling as she made a shaky attempt to stand. “Or if I’m even alive or will live for the next five minutes! All I remember is a hole. Some falling. Being eaten… and now my head hurts.”

“Oi! Girl, listen. Tiptoe now, we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I would’ve gladly thrown you off my airship two seconds ago if I wanted you dead, but now—” Rick attempted to explain.

“Not advised,” Roy added innocently.

“But now, here’s the mercy: just focus on gettin’ better and not makin’ me or Roy spill steam from a bucket. And I promise I’ll explain everything,” Rick continued, brushing off Roy’s interruption.

“I—” Amelia began, her brow furrowing in thought.

“Little Crowny, stop! I can see the rounds of yer’ eyes spinnin’ like an evenin’ after too much to drink! You’ve barely gathered the strength to see what’s two inches in front of you,” Rick added, a mix of concern and admiration in his voice for Amelia’s fighting spirit. “Just take a rest! Fresh yourself over a breath or two! I’ve got bread—freshly baked—and it’s yours if ya’ make the wise choice and use your rattled brain to wait and listen!”

“Where am I?” Amelia’s voice cut through the air, her fingers brushing against her temple in confusion.

“That’s a better question. Welcome aboard the Pappy Long Legs!” Rick announced proudly, his words pulling Amelia from her daze. “Need a tour and a drink? I designed and built this beauty of an airship to be manageable for someone like Roy here, but still accessible for regular folks with two capable arms. I’d bet it’s a vast improvement over the standard and boring New Dwardian Akiyoma—whatever version they’re on. This ship’s my own.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Amelia shook her head gently. “Not necessary.”

Rick’s expression fell slightly. “Too bad. Roy would have loved to show you around. Roy’s more than just an automaton—a creation like no other.”

“This is my primary purpose here, Ms. Amelia,” Roy chimed in, his metallic voice tinged with eagerness. “I aim to LEARN and to quote Rick, ‘have a good time,’ but I am to protect you secondarily.”

“I can do that myself,” Amelia replied softly, her attention drawn to the intricate machinery surrounding her. “Are…are we still in Quadrant Seven?”

“Yes, just outside your little mineshaft in Little Creek. We’ve been hovering here since your…incident,” Rick explained, a note of concern creeping into his voice. “Which we’ll clarify once you stop reachin’ for your knife.”

“If we meant harm, I have a practical function in my chest that could incinerate—” Roy began, his concern palpable.

“Roy!” Rick interrupted quickly. “Roy was built with the body of a repurposed mining bot. Once you’re fully bright and shining, you’ll see he’s quite harmless despite his appearance,” he explained, gesturing for Roy to retract the sharp objects slowly emerging from his body.

After a moment of hesitation and a scornful look, Amelia reluctantly agreed. With a deep breath, she released her grip on her knife, letting it clatter to the floor. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against a metallic fence nearby, drawn to the comforting scent of distant, freshly baked bread. With a weary sigh, she tucked her knees to her chest and stared distantly at the metallic orange of the ground.

“Get the damn girl some bread, Roy,” Rick instructed, and Roy moved in perfect unison, their voices blending seamlessly in the air.

“Roy, I’m…somewhat impressed with your initiative,” Rick sighed. “But mimicry doesn’t always equal flattery! Like looking in a mirror isn’t always excitin’. Right? Sometimes, too much bread goes right to the hammies,” Rick warned almost frantically.

“I see. Does a HUMAN heart allow the metal in my body to gain weight?” Roy inquired with a touch of curiosity.

“Yes! But only in places you can’t see,” Rick replied in a rush. “Never mind that now! Roy, finish fetchin’ me some Morsha bread from the hatches and help me wake the girl’s senses—and ease my travelin’ stomach.”

Amelia curled up against the fence behind her. She looked down at her ankles and saw scuff marks, scratches, and two patched-up gashes. Her hands, once blurred, came into focus—dirty, riddled with dried blood, and covered in strange ash-like dust.

“What happened to me? And why do you smell familiar? I can’t see you quite yet, but…” questioned Amelia, her voice tinged with uncertainty, as if an authority figure had just reprimanded her.

“Calm your mind. Focus on breathing. I’ll do the rest,” Rick responded gently.

“You get eaten, almost killed, then kidnapped! Then tell me to calm down!” Amelia raged, her chest heaving as panic set in. “Until a couple of seconds ago, I couldn’t even see my hands!” Her voice wavered with the onset of tears.

“The name’s Rick. I’m a damn good baker, an engineer, and now an airship pilot! Not just any airship pilot, but the pilot of the Pappy Long Legs! That combination is uniquely mine while Roy, well…, better you see him then meet just open my mouth.” Explained Rick.

“You might find it surprising, but according to Rick, ‘I am not HUMAN, but uniquely human,’” Roy remarked, his tone almost contemplative. “You’ll see what he means once you’re more awake.”

“Right you are, metal man,” Rick chimed in with a hint of playful agreement. “Anyway, I used to cook for you and your brothers when you were young Crownies. Things looked a bit different back then—no mustache, fewer metal limbs, and…well…I didn’t have this blasted affliction. As Roy said, you’ll understand once your sight clears up,” Rick explained, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

“I’m sorry… but I don’t know a Rick,” Amelia confessed softly. “Or a Roy. Never did.”

“Then you damn well know Tammersmith,” Rick replied, his voice carrying a note of certainty.

Amelia’s eyes flew open as if waking from a deep slumber, the sudden realization hitting her. To Rick’s surprise, she leaped up from the ground with a burst of energy, landing in a shaky crouch.

“You’re… You’re Tammersmith!? From the Primarian Royale! The capital! But… how…?” Amelia stammered in disbelief. “You’re not supposed to be here! You’re not supposed to be talking to me, looking at me, caring for me! You… you’re… changed?” she added, her emotions swirling. “What affliction!?”

“Could ya’ have picked a better word?” Rick retorted teasingly. “Disabled is one of ’em that goes around.”

“I… I…” Amelia sighed, at a loss for words. “Wha—what happened?”