Edward and Esmeralda were the last of the trainees on Ratcatcher’s to-do list, and she had found them in the cargo hall, near the corridor leading to the medical bay. Devoid of any vehicles or massive containers of equipment, the spacious hall stretched for dozens of meters, littered with a few small crates and power armors standing in rows. Only the voices of people and the sound of a ball filled the space with echoes.
Two groups of trainees were busy playing ball. These were the ones who cleared up the surface level of the complex, quickly snatching all the assigned artifacts with precision and skill worthy of true explorators. The kids were a bit annoyed at missing out on the grand showdown between the wyrm and the cyborg after the tunnels behind them got melted out of existence by Olaf’s power. Faced with the smooth, sliced walls and a sudden deep chasm, the trainees were forced to take a detour, making them the last to return to the Titan. They had found four empty crates and some ropes, which they had used to make simple gates for a soccer game. Often, however, the groups would stop to look at the strangest guest on the ship. The trainees in charge of these groups were busy tinkering with the power armors. The two teens cursed slightly at the extensive damage done to Ratcatcher’s armor. A soft electric light filled the hall, revealing the door leading outside and the column-like legs of Captain Ivar standing guard at the entrance.
It was hard to make out the details, but Ratcatcher could’ve sworn that the wyrm’s long neck swayed from side to side, nodding to a tune. Would wyrms be interested in music at all? If so, what kind? Classical, most likely; all the upper-class villains in the movies are always into classical music. Probably a piano? She ignored the questions’ assault and went to the twins.
The shaman sat cross-legged, staring at the children through crimson lenses and occasionally sniffing the air. Captain Ivar has made his will clear: until the ships take off, everyone on them is his responsibility, and in a strange show of cordiality, Headmaster Torosian has allowed the members of the Wolf Tribe to board the Titan. One of the ship’s medics, a slightly overweight man with an impressive physique wearing a green bodysuit, stood impatiently near the shaman, pleading with the woman to follow him into the medical bay.
“How do you do that?” the twins asked, sitting in front of the shaman. Both had already removed their armor and were wearing their underarmor. They looked almost indistinguishable from each other, but the twins had added some extra clothing to make it easier to tell them apart. Edward wore a black jacket with a dozen silver zippers and the letter ‘M’ on his back, and Esmeralda put on an orange coat with twin belts and the letter ‘F’. “Your feelings… It’s like they are hidden behind an iron door with a barn lock! We’ve never seen such a thing! Can all Wolfkins do it? Can you teach us how to do it?”
“Thanks for the effort, trainees, but you should go to your rooms now; the woman needs immediate medical attention…” The doctor cringed after hearing a crack.
Still clad in her power armor, the shaman held out the hand ruined by Bogumila. Without a hint of a frown or even a groan, the woman grabbed her broken fingers, first pulling the crumbled metal off them, along with pieces of skin and fur. Ignoring the medic’s pleas, the shaman began to straighten a shattered finger, gouging out chunks of a ruined claw from the swollen opening at the fingertip.
“Would I like to say it is so, little ones,” the woman said, greeting Ratcatcher with a nod. “Would I like to claim that it is my iron will that makes me invulnerable to the mastery over a mind. Alas, it would be a lie. No, cubs, we Wolfkins grow ever stronger after every defeat, after every wound dealt to us.”
“Foolish superstitions,” the medic stated. “Your tribe has many who are permanently crippled! Lost eyes, lost limbs...”
“Aye.” The woman nodded. “And in listing these afflictions, you have found the answer, male flesh tender.”
“Call me like that again and I will fill you full of sedatives and treat your wounds.” The man grabbed his head. “No! Don’t twist your finger like that; you risk permanent damage! We need to clean the wound first, or you could get an infection!”
“Lost, little ones,” the shaman continued to answer the trainees’ question, bringing her limp thumb all the way to the outer side of the wrist and shaking it. Then she returned it to its proper place and secured it with a violent snap. With a single push, she moved a protruding bone back under the skin of her pinky. “We can’t grow stronger on a loss. But a damaged part only ever grows stronger, becoming angry at defeat it has suffered.”
“So the reason you can resist Edward’s and Esmeralda’s mind influence is because someone has defeated you with it? Damaged even, right?” Ratcatcher guessed, and the Wolfkin nodded, the servomotors of her armor whining slightly. The girl glanced at the twins. “Want to explain to me why in the world you tried to use your power on an ally?”
“We had permission!” Edward fired out, breaking the perfect cohesion. “We saw how the mister tried to reason with the shaman here. She refused all help, though.”
“Fear an Iternian bearing gifts. Nothing but poison and loss comes from your country,” the woman said, struggling with an exposed knuckle’s bone. Ratcatcher marveled at how easily the woman spoke. Despite her violent visage-the savage cuts all over her armor, the crude leather book strapped to her waist with barbed wire, the bone fetishes dangling from the razor-sharp, jagged edges of her armor-the Wolfkin’s Common lacked any accent. She spoke clearly and freely, never stumbling over a word.
“We offered her a deal!” Esmeralda nodded. “If we could change her sour mood even for a second, she’d let the mister treat her wounds. We failed, though.”
“And we have no idea why!” the two finished in unison.
“It is because your minds are but a trickle of water compared to the endless sea I have once experienced and survived,” the shaman said. “There was once a person named Mincemeat. A psionic like a few others, his mind could control millions. And control he did, enslaving all in his path and making them build palaces and statues to honor his vanity. In his boundless mercy, the Dynast sent a parley party to bring the rogue new breed to heel. Mincemeat responded with arrogance, wrestling the minds of these people and forcing them to skin themselves alive before our liege.”
Esmeralda put a hand over her mouth, but the shaman continued her story, ignoring the medic’s looks. Ratcatcher noticed how the man reached into the pocket of his uniform and pulled out an elegant, sleek terminal. She frowned, unsure why he had called up the schematic of the hangar, but then decided to listen to the story.
“Emboldened by a brazen rage, I and a few others had ignored the mighty Alpha’s orders, surging at the enemy. Mincemeat’s mind broke our wills with the same ease that fangs break an insectoid’s shell.” The shaman bared her fangs at the memory, and her hand twitched. “Our memories, our hidden desires, hopes, and dreams were all laid bare before the laughing tyrant. But then he got angry.” A smile touched the woman’s lips. “We fought against him, refusing to submit to panic. He couldn’t understand it. His will made us violate our bodies, prostrate ourselves before him, skin ourselves, kill other slaves, serve as his pleasure toys, and tear each other apart. Only I was spared by the Spirits at the end of this ordeal, standing on my broken knees before the tyrant. He expected my personality to disintegrate, leaving a quivering mess in its place, the fool! When he briefly relinquished control to me, I laughed at him and warned him of the coming retribution.”
“A missile strike?” Ratcatcher guessed. “No, it would’ve killed you too. I know, the Reclamation Army must’ve sent a drone!”
“No, little one,” the woman replied. “The Dynast had unleashed a god. The Blessed Mother herself came into Mincemeat’s lands, spreading destruction and popping the screaming and begging fool between her divine palms, liberating all. Her will broke the chains of slavery and transformed the realm of death into the domain of life. As I lay before her gorgeous form, ready to accept death for my insubordination, I felt change come into my mind. Ravager took me into her paws, licked my wounds, and restored my fur. I was cast out of the Alpha Pack for my crime, but by then the Spirits’ will had been made clear to me. By serving as a shaman, I hope one day I can atone for my crime through a sacrifice. And ever since then, my mind has always been protected from all intrusions, intentional or otherwise.”
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“I am sorry for what you have been through,” Edward said.
“You must hate us for our power,” his sister added.
“Imbeciles!” The shaman raised her voice for the first time. “Would I be sitting and talking with you if such was the case? Do you foolishly hate all knives just because one of them scratched your paw? I felt honored at overcoming your challenge, little ones.”
“Speaking of challenges,” the medic leaned against the wall, his terminal in his hand. “I challenge you. To the first blood. Should I win, you will allow me to tend to your wounds.”
Ratcatcher felt her blood turn cold. The shaman began to stand, legs bent, and body slightly hunched forward. Her natural height and the immense, oversized weight of her power armor made the woman tower over three teenagers, casting a long shadow over them. The crimson lights focused on the man’s carefree face, and long claws protruded from her good hand. And the horror didn’t stop there. Claws came out of her toes, tapping menacingly on the ground, leaving little scratches, each claw as big as Ratcatcher’s hand.
“Is this some sort of joke, male?” the shaman asked. “Because I am not laughing. If you are serious, step to me and be judged.”
“Please, let’s not start any violence…” Ratcatcher jumped up, supported by the twins.
“Be quiet, trainees; this is between the Medical Corps and a patient.” The medic gestured for them to move toward the entrance and laughed. “Step to you? Do you really think the Medical Corps needs to walk anywhere to submit a rowdy abnormal? Game’s on.”
The shaman lunged, closing the distance between the two people in a blink, but the medic pressed a button on his terminal first. Two long metal bars came down from the ceiling, stopping to the left and right of the man. He smirked as the energy bubble burst around him, pushing the woman away as it expanded. Drawing the sparks out of the floor, the shaman stopped in worry.
At this very moment, the floor beneath her opened, releasing a gust of nanofiber ropes. Ratcatcher knew a little about them; once fully wrapped around a person, these fibers would begin a chemical reaction, fusing into an unbreakable straitjacket that would secure even the strongest abnormal. The Wolfkin never hesitated; she arrested her fall with the claws of her legs, burying them in the hatch’s edges. The crude power armor made a faint sound, akin to a jackhammer crashing against the metal. By combining the strength of her leg muscles with the aid of her armor, the shaman jumped away, leaving behind the torn metal and several severed ropes.
Ratcatcher glanced around and spotted the woman on the ceiling, looking calmly at the medic. At a snap of his fingers, a harness showed up behind the Wolfkin. The steel bars of the harness failed to catch the woman as she jumped down, leaving deep, torn gouges in her wake, but the medic only pressed another button, and the Wolfkin got suspended in midair by a gravity generator installed into the massive harness. For the first time, something resembling surprise appeared on the shaman’s face, and she flailed in the air, struggling against the force that carried her back to the harness. She managed to kick the ground and grab a foothold with two claws, her muscles bulging as she fought against the artificial attraction. With a groan, she landed on the floor, and in this moment, the harness behind her unleased a green gas, which Ratcatcher assumed to be some kind of sedative.
The medic never moved from his spot, punching another button at his terminal, reversing the gravitational flow coming out of the spider-shaped harness. Rather than sucking it, it pulled out, bringing the shaman to her knees and enveloping her in the gaseous fumes.
Around this chaotic situation, play and repairs ceased. The trainees gathered at a safe distance and began to cheer, even placing bets on who would win. Ratcatcher did the sensible thing and cheered for the medic. Not because she was sure the man would win, but because every wound needs to be treated properly. That, and risking offending a person who could prescribe you a week-long session with an enema, seemed like the height of stupidity.
“Annoying,” the woman said from within the cloud and broke free, running aside on all four, using the vambrace of her ruined hand for support. “Drop these unworthy bites! Turn the gravity power to maximum, make my armor dent and my bones crack; face me with your full strength and spirit, Iternian!”
"If they are so weak, why run?" the medic asked calmly. His finger reached out to press something on the terminal.
Hearing the sound of hatches opening along the ceiling, the shaman stood up. She reached for a nearby container, flinging it with all her might like a spear. It did nothing to harm the medic; the force field around him bisected the metal crate, sending its parts against the wall, sending its parts crashing against the wall. But the falling machine parts and metal debris obscured the man’s vision, halting the coordination of his assault. Had Ratcatcher been in his place, it wouldn’t have hindered her for a second as she used the view of the terminal to coordinate the machines’ attack. But the medic hesitated, using the gravitational pull to clear the pile of metal around him.
And the shaman took advantage of that hesitation, thundering onward in a zigzag, dodging the automatic containment systems and leaving furrows and dents in the ground with her claws and weight. She almost flew between the gravitational currents, somehow timing her advance to avoid being splattered on the floor by them. The clumsy and oversized power armor surprisingly complimented her agility, rather than restraining her. She reached the medic at the same time the debris was cleared and raised a hand to punch through the shield. Her shattered hand.
The medic saw it too, hastily pressing a button on his terminal. The force field disappeared, and the broken fist turned into an open palm, grabbing the medic by the throat and pressing a claw of her good hand against his chin. Standing so close to the medic had protected her from being targeted by the restraining harnesses, and by keeping one hand on his throat, she could’ve easily broken the man’s neck. Ratcatcher nervously bit her tongue, stepping closer, fear and a desire to help clashing inside her. She saw how dangerously sharp the woman’s claws and the armor’s jagged edges were. A mere twist, a casual mistake, and the man’s throat would be sliced wide open.
“Predictable,” the shaman growled in the medic’s face, a giant dwarfing the man. “Your softness robbed you of victory.”
“Did it?” The man raised his brow and smiled. “My skin is wet with your blood. And if you cut me, shaman, this will bring great dishonor to your warlord.” His smile widened. “You are supposed to guard us, am I correct? So what are you going to do?”
“You little…” The shaman let go of him, stomping a step away. Her oculars moved nervously, and her claws twitched, barely holding back anger. A single breath put an end to the boiling rage, and the shaman spoke, retracting her claws. “You have used my duty to trap me. Vile parasite, this is your victory. Is there no limit to Iternian cunning?” She extended the ruined hand to the man, allowing him to inspect it. “Do your worst, but keep the hardening stuff off my paw. I need flexibility.”
“No to your first question, and I’ll be the one to decide what sort of treatment you are needed… Damn it!” The medic jumped to the wall as a large mite the length of a finger crawled out from under his armor. The insect shook its body, opened its huge mandibles, and tried to leap at the man, only to be crushed by a finger of the darkly chuckling shaman. “You did this on purpose!”
“Be careful, honored flesh tender,” the abnormal said. “My hide is a home to all manner of life. Act carelessly, and you might just earn a scar or two.”
“How can you live with this filth?” the medic demanded to know.
“Life thrives among life, foolish male. By letting our skin and health be tested, our bodies are getting tempered, allowing us to reach even greater heights.”
Ratcatcher let the two figure it out between themselves and turned to the twins, asking them questions about their condition. Both shrugged and explained that they felt just peachy. Even joining with them on the mission, the girl found herself struggling to figure out who was who. The twins had a somewhat androgynous build. The color of their eyes, the mannerisms, the subtle movements of their shoulders and heads... And tight underarmor hardly helped to determine who was who. Probably played a lot of pranks on people back at the Academy. I know I would’ve if Liam were with me and we were that alike.
“If you two are done, join us!” shouted one of the trainees playing the ball.
“Can’t do, sorry,” Edward said. “Abnormals with psionic abilities are banned from sports competitions…”
“Phh, big deal!” Ratcatcher laughed. “There are two of you. One psionic for each team seems fair. Split up and have fun.”
“That could work,” Esmeralda said quickly, looking at her brother. “Come on, this isn’t an official competition! They won’t have any reason to get mad at us.”
“Okay,” Edward agreed, giving his sister a sideways glance. “If you’re ready to bite the dust, that is...”
“Feeling confident, are we, Eddie? Then give me your best kick and don’t miss this time.”
They are brother and sister, after all. Ratcatcher patted them on the shoulders and headed for the elevator, leaving the other trainees to have their fun. She and Liam fought all the time. Well, “fought” is a bit of a strong word; in reality, Liam took every opportunity to annoy her, whether it was cheating in video games, gluing her boots, or pouring soda into her perfectly sweet morning coffee. She responded in kind, peppering his candies and sneaking grapefruits into his sandwiches, enjoying the boy’s long face after he swallowed the whole thing. Dad mostly laughed at their antics, while Mom pulled her ears and demanded that they act like adults.
But where was the fun in that? Carlos was right; sometimes it’s good to loosen up and have a little harmless fun. Getting back at your sibling is the next best thing to giving him a piggyback ride home.