“Check it out,” Vasily hushed, elbowing Ratcatcher. He pointed to the network of cracks and bulging footprints appearing with each of Lord Steward’s steps.

“But how?” Elina switched on the private communication. “The Oathguard walks just fine, and he is way bigger than the President-elect.”

“It’s because he is fat,” Jumail grumbled out loud, unbothered to hide his words. “The fatass’ power is body manipulation. He has compressed all his weight into a humanoid figure. The density of his skin alone is enough to stop artillery fire. Of course, the stone would crack under his footsteps.”

“Show respect to our allies, Jumail,” Augustus commanded. “It is thanks to their help that we still live.”

“With all due respect, Instructor, respect goes both ways,” the boy replied, and this show of defiance made Ratcatcher move her ears. Jumail was always the first to fall in line, acting overly obedient to every remark from instructors. Someone is still sore. “And it’s not like we were in the way or something.”

“True enough,” Lord Steward agreed lightly, raising a hand to stop Augustus’ further outburst. “Instructor, the young man saved several lives this night. I’d say he earned thanks and a right to emotional release in abundance.”

“Your truth, President-Elect,” Augustus agreed dryly. “Trainees. For the duration of this day, you have a right to run your mouth. Don’t bottle up your feelings. Debriefing will be left for a later date.”

“It will be my pleasure to show a comradery spirit, Rho.” Carlos patted Augustus on the back. “Tell me, who was your first mistress? I’ve heard that the Rho family has somewhat curious tastes, but I’ve never learned specifics…”

“Don’t push it either, Carlos,” Augustus said. “Or do you want to have not only a practical but also a theoretical exam? I have heard that the Barjoni family excels in mathematics; would you care to demonstrate it to the group?”

“I understand the hint and offer an olive branch, Instructor!” the boy responded.

“I accept only complete capitulations.”

“That I offer too!” Carlos raised his hands.

They approached the mobile base of the Oathtakers. This facility was composed of several individual modular blocks, each section capable of operating independently. The compartments were connected by metal corridors, and built-in systems blocked both possible radiation and natural hazards, allowing the crew to work in relative safety. The block’s surface was smooth to touch, and pitch-black cameras decorated the walls. Their guide led them to a large section with green crosses painted all over, marking it as a sickbay. The doors slid aside, and they stepped into a spacious corridor, allowing decontamination protocols to clean them off.

Once inside, the group separated, and Ratcatcher found herself led by a hand by Iternian medics. The exhausted and yawning man served as part of the ship’s crew, but the nice-looking woman with sunken eyes and bags under her eyes was one of the volunteers who had come to the Oathtakers in their hour of need. Unlike the Ravaged Lands and similar wild regions, no anarchist humanitarian organization operated in these civilized lands. But that meant little, and in the invasion's wake, the people of the Three Great Nations joined forces in a show of unity.

She saw an Orais Reclaimer and an Oathtaker working side-by-side in a chirurgical compartment. The two doctors operated on the open chest of a wounded soldier, replacing one of his liquidated lungs with an implant. Next to them worked a Malformed. The man or woman, Ratcatcher wasn’t sure, had bone saw blades for hands, but out of his back came fleshy tendrils holding medical instruments. He treated a rescued civilian, mending the horrid wound on the woman’s neck and applying medicine to combat the disease that ravaged her starving body. Several smaller wounds on the victim’s body had already been professionally cleaned and closed. In a cybernetics compartment, a hired specialist from a Bento tribe—a man who had replaced half of his body with stainless steel alloy—was busy adjusting a new prosthetic limb for a worried soldier. The Bento seemed to be genuinely puzzled as to why the soldier was worried about a lost limb and not ecstatic about becoming a step closer to the purity of steel.

There was no stench of pus or rotting flesh. An impressive air purification system has removed even the smell of sweat, leaving the sterile air with a faintly disguised taste of disinfectant and medication. The automatic cleaning bots immediately removed every drop of blood and scrap of flesh that had fallen on the floor, keeping the corridor spotless and even glittering. Bright light from electric lamps shone, inspiring confidence after fighting in the dark for a while.

A few patrols stood ready to help the medical personnel subdue the patients, as some civilians went half-mad after the traumatic experience. And several of their number either had powers or were Abnormals and could punch a hole in a wall. The doctors administered a dose of the power-suppressing drug to all of them, despite the guards’ strange distaste for this.

“Take off your armor,” the male medic commanded after they entered an empty room, and Ratcatcher obeyed.

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The nanomachines shifted. Nanofibers, armor plates, an assembled computer, a generator, rebreather, and other components came apart, becoming individual grains of nanomachines. She experienced a tingling sensation as the machines scurried across her body, avoiding the wounds, and formed a round metal belt around her waist, ready to be transformed back into armor at a moment’s notice.

Her wounds were cleaned. The medics sterilized the torn lines charted by Hustler’s claws and removed the rusty bits left by his claws. She was made to lie out on an examination table beneath a machine light as diagnostic systems checked for internal damage. At one point, a metal arm emerged from the ceiling, and the female medic took Ratcatcher by the hand in encouragement. She felt herself being pushed to where the stinger had entered her body, and tried not to look as the web of nanomachines and healed flesh were being removed. Painkillers did their job, and the girl suffered no pain; only a strange rummaging sensation as instruments worked in her belly reminded her that something was going on.

At last, the mechanical arm left her body, and the doctors applied medical gel to the edges of her wound and sutured the already healing flesh. Next came her ruined nostril. Sharp needles pierced the edges of her wound, injecting the regenerative solution, and the girl heard her stomach rumble with demand.

“There will be scars, honey,” the female doctor said. “If that fiend of an instructor would’ve let you here right away, we might’ve...”

“No-no, it’s all right!” Ratcatcher waved her arm. “Who cares about a few scars? If they’d bother me, I’ll just visit a clinic and remove them!”

“That’s the spirit, girl.” The doctor smiled. “To allow a Rho, and not just any Rho, but Augustus, to train children… What is the Academy thinking? That monster belongs in prison.”

She wanted to argue to protect the instructor, but Augustus’ instructors were clear. None of them was to argue on his behalf. The doctors let her stand and dress up in a black sleeveless vest with a hole for her tail and long blue pants. Vaccine shots and injections of medicaments followed next, and the trainee felt a fresh surge of strength in her limbs and arms.

“I heard a voice during the battle,” she admitted. “It whispered to me about a submission and some hierarchy. Am I cursed or something? Can Chosen Prince become reborn through me?”

“Nah.” The male doctor yawned and checked her pupils. “If you want, I can send you documents with explanations later, but the gist of it is that many people heard Chosen Prince’s voice during their illness. It is neither a byproduct of a fever nor a delusion caused by a virus. It is its direct side effect, designed to help the disease assail the patient on both a biological and psychological level.”

“There were some biological viruses in the Old World that caused their victims to behave irrationally,” the female doctor added. “Like, for example, attacking other people.”

“Or to seek out uninfected people and avoid doctors because of artificially inflated paranoia.” The male doctor snapped his fingers in appreciation. “Don’t worry, kiddo; if the princie was still alive, we might’ve had a problem. As it stands, he is dead and dissected; his creations are growing stale, meaning we can counter them rather easily.”

“Besides, you are Abnormal.” Ratcatcher blushed when the doctor gave her sweets and a bowl of soup, making the girl eat it as if she were a child. Once she filled her stomach, the doctor examined her throat and gave her an encouraging pat. “Unlike us, Normies, your kind heals much faster and has a better immune system. In addition to other adorable things,” she added with a hint of jealousy, glancing at the trainee’s tail.

“Why not visit a bio-sculpture clinic?” The other doctor noticed her look.

“When?” the woman sighed, taking off her gloves. “It is one crisis or another in the world. I’d wish people would stop killing and warring, at least for a decade. Forever would be ideal, but a decade would be great too.”

Ratcatcher left the medics alone and jumped off the examination slab, making a couple of stretches and squats to test if she felt any pain anywhere. There was a slight tightness in her abdomen, but otherwise she had no complaints. After thanking the kind people for their help, the trainee left the room and came face-to-face with Elina.

“How are you feeling?” Elina asked.

“Perfect! You?” Ratcatcher asked, and the other girl, dressed in a hospital gown, nodded at a sling that held her broken hand and rolled her eyes. “Sucks. How long?”

“Thirty-eight hours.” Elina pouted. A door in the side opened, and Jumail stepped out, causing Elina to shudder and step back.

Rather than letting it go like before, the Malformed teen turned around, examining Elina with all his eyes. His good legs tapped, and he bounced forward, dropping low and bringing his head to the girl’s face.

“Okay, what is it?” His mandibles clicked.

“What what?” Elina squeaked, pushing Ratcatcher aside.

“What’s yer problem with me?” Jumail tilted his head, bending two of his legs so as not to tower over the girls. “I don’t get it. I haven’t insulted ya, nor have I shown ya any aggression, but ya always walk on the eggshells around me and jump at every opportunity. What did I do?”

“Nothing.” Elina raised her good index finger, stopping Jumail. “Seriously nothing! It’s just… I don’t know; when I see you, I freak out.”

“Because I am a Malformed?” Jumail inquired and lay on his belly, supporting his head with two legs.

“What? No! God’s no!” Elina panicked at the assumption.

“Lin, it’s okay, we all have our prejudices.” Ratcatcher tried to cheer her up. “I, for one, can’t stand eating stewed cabbage.”

“Don’t we all?” Jumail remarked.

“Well, my dad likes it,” Ratcatcher said.

“Your dad is weird,” Jumail responded.

“I can’t be a racist!” Elina stomped on the floor. “It’s simply impossible! My mother used to take me on diplomatic missions! Hell, I played with Trolls as a kid! Yura and I worked side-by-side cleaning those damn toilets. I. Am. Not. A. Racist. Whatever problems I may have, I refuse to humor the idea.”

“Perhaps you are afraid of spiders?” Ratcatcher suggested.

“A lot of people are afraid of them. Personally, I’m more into squashing them,” Jumail said.

“You and me both!” Ratcatcher raised her arm, and Jumail high-fived her with his leg. “Only ice cream is better than the sound of crunching chitin in your mouth.”

“It’s even better when the thing is still alive,” Jumail said dreamily. “I like burgers more these days, but I will never forget the feeling of legs scratching against your throat as you swallow a spider whole. Mmm… Delicious!”

“Now you are making me hungry,” Ratcatcher complained, and noticed Elina’s face turning green.

“Okay. Okay, I am going to stop you two right here.” Elina breathed slowly and put a hand to her mouth. “Where are the bathrooms in this thing? I need to vomit.”