“How do you feel... Olaf?” Ratcatcher asked carefully, checking the papers to make sure she got the name right.

The strongest trainee of the Akebia Group lay on a comfortable bed in the Titan’s medical bay, covered by two thick blankets. Despite the warmth, the boy shivered and closed his eyes tightly. Ratcatcher had already written his condition off the display next to his bed, but it felt wrong to just leave without saying a word. The boy raised his hand, making an ‘OK’ sign without fully joining his thumb and forefinger.

“I’ll take it as so-so.” She smiled.

“More on the side of bad so than good so,” the boy said. “Because of a certain someone, I have shat myself. Blood vessels in my eyes got popped. I have been the first to get damaged in the training and have managed to overexert myself to the point of getting cold. Also, I have ruined a perfectly nice complex.”

“Don’t sweat about it. Esmeralda is really sorry about what happened.” Ratcatcher held out her arm. “Name’s Ratcatcher, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“The girl who insists on being called by a nickname? The feeling is mutual,” the boy laughed, finding her hand. “Shitting myself is the least of my troubles. Tell Esmeralda that there are no hard feelings between us; I should have learned how to deal with mental intrusion. It’s just... Eliza, I’m studying to be a person who discovers and preserves ancient history. Not the one who vaporizes it.”

Am I the only one who doesn’t know the names of others? Ratcatcher wanted to smack herself over the head with her own terminal out of embarrassment. Of course, everyone had learned each other’s names before the mission, or at least looked them up on the student roster. Why is she always the dumb one who can’t figure out the most obvious solutions? Wait, what did he just say? Nickname? Is this how the other students view me? Am I a weirdo? Dreading to clarify, she decided to ask something else: “Are you and Rowen from a sanctuary city by chance?”

“The hair gave it away?” Olaf asked. “Yeah, Da and I lived there for ten years until he saved enough money for us to immigrate to Iterna. No idea about Rowen; I’ve only met him in person on this mission.”

“And your mother?” Ratcatcher dared to ask.

“That’s a little personal, don’t you think?” The boy raised his hand, chuckling at her excuses. “Relax; I am just messing with you! I am a vat-born, like the majority of people in the sanctuary cities. Da donated his genes, the scientists tinkered with them, mixed in some from a random female, and voila, I was grown. Anyway, it was nice talking to you, Eliza. Drop by the gym later, we’ll have a game! But I’m a bit of a mess right now, so if you don’t mind...”

“Of course.” She nodded eagerly and slipped out of his room, leaving the boy to sleep and recover.

Grown. She wondered about that, exchanging a few words with the rest of the Akebia Group waiting at the door, reassuring them that their teammate was doing fine. The world was an interesting place. A birth by proxy wasn’t uncommon on Iterna, but it had always been done with the help of an actual woman. And the creation of actual clones was always frowned upon, doubly so after the terrible events of Maximillian’s Massacre. The Sanctuary Cities had a high mortality rate among both adults and children, so no wonder they used cloning technology to bolster their numbers.

Ratcatcher has written down the well-being of the other trainees and walked down the hall, spotting Rowen asleep in the cabin. She quietly entered his room and checked the display. The poor boy had collapsed shortly after Ivar’s arrival, and according to the display, the cause was severe exhaustion. The doctors prescribed him two weeks of rest and recovery without any stress. She added this information to the terminal and adjusted the position of his almost falling blanket before leaving the room. Carlos’ and Jumail’s rooms were empty, so she quickly wrote down their conditions and ventured out to find them.

The instructor had tasked her and Elina with checking on all the trainees and reporting back to him. She had a sneaking suspicion that Augustus wanted to keep them all busy while other instructors were busy investigating the situation, but it felt nice to be able to do something to take a load off Augustus’ shoulders while the medics worked on his condition.

She found the trainees in the kitchen bay, sitting on the floor with their backs against a wall, a chessboard between them. Next to each of them stood a bowl filled to the brim with empty tubes of nutrient paste, chocolate bars, and empty soda cans. The Malformed pushed aside a couple of tables, freeing the place to stretch his long legs.

Carlos hadn’t been directly injured, but parts of his power armor had been melted by the intense energy discharge Olaf had unleashed. The boy had earned himself the few burns on the lower part of his body when he dragged Ratcatcher away to safety, and now he wore a light layer of bandages beneath his underarmor.

Jumail’s body was covered in medical patches. The doctors treated his wounds, injecting even the missing part of his mandible with a regenerative solution, but this merely stopped the bleeding. The mandible and damaged chitin plates will grow back. That much Ratcatcher gleaned from his medical records. The missing arms will have to be cloned from scratch.

“I don’t seek to die.” Ratcatcher was about to open the door and enter when she heard Jumail speak.

“Really?” Carlos asked lazily, nudging a pawn with his finger. “Next you’re going to tell me that the world is flat and sits on three giant turtles? Dude, I was there; don’t insult my cognitive abilities.”

“I… I just have a lot to prove,” Jumail said, using a claw at the end of his leg to gently move a knight. “For my siblings’ sake. If I can just prove that we can be normal, then they will have normal lives.”

“Prove.” Carlos slapped the Malformed’s leg. “Trust me, Jumail, you ain’t responsible for anyone but yourself. Whatever your geezers have done has nothing to do with you.”

“Ya don’t know how it is,” Jumail argued stubbornly. “Being asked constantly if ya can keep yourself from eating human flesh. Seeing how everyone looks at ya and yer family as if we are time-bombs ready to explode at any moment. Ya don’t have to deal with people cowering in fear when all ya wanted was to merely ask for directions to a damn store.” One of his legs smacked the floor. “And every bloody time I have to call either the headmaster or my PO to tell them it was just a misunderstanding and everything is fine.”

“Yep, I don’t know,” Carlos agreed easily. “Because I don’t see you that way. Neither does your team. The headmaster has your back; even the captain risked his life to save us, you included. Relax, dude. Life is way too interesting to spend it worrying about perceived racism. Who cares what that rabble down the street thinks? It’s not like you can change everyone’s mind, so just focus on the people who matter, and you already have plenty of them. And since their numbers keep increasing, no more trying to risk your life in vain. Got it, buddy?”

“I’ll think about it,” Jumail said, narrowing his eyes at the situation around his king. “Damn it. This round is yours, rich kid.”

“Hey, don’t hate me for being perfect.” Carlos spread his arms. “Pass me another chocolate bar, and trust me, your sisters and brothers will find their own friends in time. Loosen up a little!”

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Ratcatcher was about to enter when she smelled the most delicious thing. A rich aroma of meat, with properly cooked vegetables plus added spices, and all covered in a thin layer of several sauces. Her mouth watered against her will, and when she turned around, she saw Vasily coming down the corridor, carrying a large tray with several portions of a freshly cooked meal. It’s even steaming! The girl nearly squealed at the sight of the tasty meat, and Vasily just grinned and nodded at the door.

“Leave the rubbish, the real delicacy is here!” Vasily announced, stepping inside. “Since we are stuck here, I have tried my hand at cooking. Who is willing to try out my personal recipe?”

“We are!” All three trainees shouted.

The ship’s crew was still outside, finishing their pre-departure preparations and surveying the destroyed complex, and the medics were busy tending to the wounded. Even in the best of times, the galley was fully automated, and the trainees were expected to cook their own food and clean their own plates, unless they wanted to be fed only the basics. And while a person couldn’t really die on a nutrient paste, as it contained everything needed for a healthy life, eating the bland food was unbearable. However, no one really expected the mission to take this long, so the cans remained unsealed. Until now.

Vasily ate the bare minimum, sitting by Carlos’ side. He explained that this was a mere sample batch and that he planned to prepare enough for all the groups if his cooking skills were up to par. The boy needn’t worry.

The meat almost melted in her mouth, forcing her to fight the urge to devour it all at once. The vegetables and small fried potato chips crunched pleasantly, and Ratcatcher allowed herself to relax, leaving the task for later. Augustus hadn’t set a time limit or indicated any hurry, so she allowed herself to enjoy the conversation and the food, quenching the rumbling of her stomach and nodding thankfully to Vasily, who handed her over a cup with warm chocolate.

Her own broken nose hardly bothered her. Sure, wearing a contraption which held the shattered bones in place was a little annoying, but the medics gave her something for the swelling and removed the blood clotting from her nasal passages. Thank the Planet for that, otherwise Carlos would have teased her by now! The medics also offered her some painkillers, but she refused, wanting to keep her head clear.

“A little rough, overspiced, the meat cut unevenly, giving the dish a vulgar look, but beggars can’t be choosers,” Carlos announced, drinking gravy from his tray and fighting with Ratcatcher for the last two pieces of meat. “Ouch!” he smiled, putting his fingers away after the tail slapped him. “I give it five out of five stars and deduct three stars for rude company and lack of music, wine and proper cutlery.”

“Says the ungrateful goblin who never washes his hands.” Ratcatcher returned the smile, licking her fingers. “The food’s great, Vasily!”

“I see you mistake me for my cousin, little tailed lady.” Carlos tried to ruffle her head, and Ratcatcher scurried away. “I’ll let you know that I do wash my hands, but only in pristine water, ones that are as soothing to the skin as they are to the soul...”

“It’s good!” Jumail interrupted Carlos. The boy avoided using his broken mandible to chew the meat and simply tossed the food down his throat. “Reminds me of the breakfasts the rehab staff used to make for us.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Vasily scratched at the back of his head. “You were in a rehabilitation facility? What was it like?”

Jumail froze. Ratcatcher had planned to stand up and apologize for asking such a rude question, but the Malformed merely lifted one leg, using his good mandible to scrub the sauce and bits of meat from his hair. The tip of his claw tapped one of his chitin plates a few times.

“It was the scariest, bestest experience I have ever felt,” he said finally, spreading his mandibles. “After a successful reunification, rehabilitation facilities are always getting filled. I am not sure about the adults, but some children suffer from emotional abuse, others have been gang leaders, a third are addicted to drugs, a fourth are missing limbs, and the list of problems goes on and on. You can’t just release these rascals into society; they’ll either be recruited by the corpos for a cheap price or return to crime. The same is true when a tribe of Malformed is subdued.

“Let’s not beat around a bush. I am a Malformed; there are less than two hundred of my kind in Iterna. There is only one logical way for me to be here. My tribe lived in the mountain range of a recently joined village. The people of the tribe raided, captured slaves, bred, ate captives—the usual wild Malformed stuff. I ate the same food as everyone else.” He shuddered and drew his legs closer. “The leader’s wives hated me, thinking I was a danger to their own kits in a struggle for leadership. So they ambushed me, taking away six of my legs.”

“Sorry for making you relive the memories,” Vasily said quietly. “You can drop the topic if you want to.”

“Nah, it’s in the past.” Jumail paused for a moment and continued. “My family argued about what to do about me. Ma wanted to eat me. Da argued that I was still good for something, and the half-starved siblings squeaked in fear. Then the special unit of the Iternian police stormed in, hundreds of them, all bedecked in power armor. Lights flashed in pitch-black tunnels, tranquilizer gunshots rang out, claws helplessly scratched against nanomachines’ edges. Truth be told, I tried to fight, but an officer stunned me.

“Hissing, biting, scared, angry, hungry—all of us kids were a mess. The doctors healed us, the staff cleaned us up, and then the therapists started working. Initially, the doctor worked with me through a screen, teaching me words and correcting aggressive behavior. Then he started coming to my room, first with guards and later alone.” Jumail’s mandibles clicked, mimicking a chuckle. “A few of the guards had never warned up to any of us, refusing to show their backs, but most of them were sneaking us some magazines or allowed us to stay in a recreation room watching cartoons long overtime. Then the doctors started introducing us to other kids, forming groups to help us socially adjust and work out the language problems. It is how I met Rowen.”

“Rowen was in the juvie?” Carlos lifted a brow. “What did he do?”

“Not my story to tell.” Jumail turned to Vasily. “How did you come up with this treat, anyway?”

“Stole it off the net,” the boy said. “I ain’t much of a cook, but I like experimenting with new stuff. After the mess I made on the mission, this was the least I could do…”

“Are you still on about it?” The trainees groaned.

Ratcatcher half finished her rightfully won portion and looked around. The most sensible thing to do would have been to confirm the doctors’ words and go find the others, but the words she heard bothered her. Others had their own crosses to bear. She breathed in the full chest and addressed Jumail, putting a hand on his long leg.

“Jumail… Sorry, I overheard your conversation with Carlos. I won’t pretend that I understand it completely, but you want people to accept you, right? Then live! Take every chance, try every dirty trick, but survive and keep on going. Your fate is only set in stone when you are dead.”

“Hear, hear,” Carlos said, his fingers sneaking into Ratcatcher’s tray with the meat. The slap of the tail made him jerk his hand back and blow on it. “Such peasantry! Women are supposed to be elegant, graceful, and gentle!”

Ratcatcher decided to take his advice. She gently licked the remains of the food from the corner of her tray and gracefully kicked Carlos’ hand when he tried to grab the remaining meat again.

“And there will be people who’ll be sad if you die,” Vasily added, collecting the trays.

“Unexpected words of wisdom from a ‘Mister I Shall Sacrifice Myself’. Do as I say, not as I do, eh Vasily?” Carlos asked innocently, reaching out to put a hand around Vasily’s shoulders. “But seriously, don’t you dare scare me like that, ‘kay, Vas? We’re a team. My poor heart can’t bear to see you get hurt.”

“Thanks, Carlos,” Vasily said. “That’s… real cool to he...”

“Who will cook for us if something happens to you?”

Ratcatcher and Jumail burst out laughing at Vasily’s curses. Carlos disappeared, the tray aimed at his head passing through the afterimage, and the boy himself reappeared behind Vasily with a shit-eating grin.

“So we are a team, huh?” Vasily asked with a mischievous grin. “Then, as a team, you two will be happy to help me prepare a feast for everyone.”

“Ouch, oh, my wounds, oh, my poor stomach…” Barjoni grabbed himself by the stomach, falling on his back. “My comrades! Sweet Vasily, dear Eliza, brave Jumail… I am afraid you will have to go on without me! A diarrhea most vile has suddenly overtaken me, and my cruel wounds are seeping out all of my strength. I leave the noble task of preparing the food for the plebeians in your capable hands, legs, and other appendages. Do not weep for me, my friends, for I will be with you in spirit…”

“And body.” Jumail picked him up with one leg and looked at Ratcatcher. “You’re going?”

“As much as I would’ve loved to learn how to make this…” She quickly finished the meat and handed over the tray to Vasily, waving her terminal. “Sorry, duty calls.”

“Help!” Carlos screamed pretentiously, trying to free himself from a leg that held him on top of Jumail’s round body as the boy walked with Vasily. “The proletariat is rebelling and is taking captives! My gentle hands can scarcely endure working as a cleaner; As a cook, I will wither and die! Someone rescue me from such a horrible fate!”

Ratcatcher smirked and went about to find the others.