A pair of experienced Jurers, both hiding their deformities beneath heavy gray robes, assist Somner Zek in reshaping Han's armor.
Her experience working with the Imperium and Navy technology earns her the right to lead the process. Preserving the functionality of the embedded circuitry and mechanisms is vital, if the suit is to have any value to its owner. That they are adding runic enhancements to the suit only makes Han more excited.
"Gray and yellow," the youth demands. "The squiggles look good, but can you make them match?"
Of the two Jurers, one is much thinner than the other. The more normally sized dust eater stiffens at the Tserri's words.
"We could do this," the thin one replies calmly, unbothered by the unusual request. "But it would put stress on several different arrays, causing disharmonic interference. We would have to reinforce the desired frequencies with additional supportive structuring."
"What he's trying to say," Zek interrupts, "is that we can, but we'll have to add more squiggles."
"That's fine," replies Han, not bothered at all. "Can they glow yellow over the gray parts and gray over the yellow sections?"
"Why not," erupts the other, who reveals herself, shaking off her hood. Her face is half melted, and only two of her peripheral eyes still function. Her primary eyes droop, sagging blindly. "Looking good is important, right?"
Gelly laughs at the others from his place at a worktable nearby. He works at modifying the torso and arms of a recovered suit. The dust eaters will do most of the finer crafting once he finishes, and have told him as much, but Gelly insists on helping.
"Let him have his fun, Es," scolds the first Jurer. "I think it's an interesting challenge, don't you agree?"
Es turns to her companion. "No, Zi, I do not. It's a useless waste of effort for the alien's vanity."
"It's no just that," Don Gelly interjects. "All his people are particular about their outfits. And anyway, those are almost Imperium colors, so think o' it as a uniform."
Jurer Es huffs, but returns to work. Zi waves a few of his upper tendrils in a good mannered apology, which Han takes for a greeting and waves back. Don is not as highly regarded as Mos, but it is still a caste that outranks any thaumatist.
"Should I have chosen black and yellow?"
"Nah, if ye had, how would folk tell us apart?"
His own armor will of course be uniform black and yellow. The runes that the three dust eaters will inevitably place might not be standard issue, but I doubt that Ship-Father Tollek will be upset. Jim's more likely to be too ecstatic to see his cousin once more to worry about such minor details.
My housing is also entirely different. Many shed pieces of it lay upon the table, next to Gelly's project. Much of the armor is gone, to make room for new circuitry. Parts from the armor of fallen scavengers, as well as the shuttle, increase the unit's raw computational power. A necessary change, to control the new attachments. Additional cameras now sprout from the casing. Even better, these new cameras extend from the end of mobile devices capable of aiming them in any direction I choose. No longer will my view be either static or controlled by others!
A retractable panel on the bottom conceals an assortment of short cables and wires. These allow me the potential to interface with compatible technologies, according to Gelly and Han. Of the two, I trust the Tserri's opinion more. It also houses the thickest power conduit able to fit while still allowing room for the other attachments.
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Best of all, the new case can attach to any appropriate surface with pneumatic clamps. These clamps also answer to my command. I flex them, simply because I can. Delightful. They're also adjustable, to allow me to grip onto the shoulders of an armored ally.
The odd group works at their tasks, and I practice controlling my new lenses. Retracting, aiming, focusing. So enthralled am I with my new abilities that I fail to notice Mos Bruen's arrival. He speaks, stunning the room into silence. The others, too, are broken from their focus.
"Don Wikna wishes to speak with you, Denn," Bruens announces, tendrils twisting nervously. I know why he omits my caste designator, but it still bothers me.
Behind him stands a feathered being almost half again his height. The Don wears the traditional zelsilk outfit, though hers is white. Her clawed feet are bare at the end of her white trousers. Vestigial wings nestle within the loose top, safe from harm. Her head is tilted to one side, allowing both of her right eyes to look at us. Amber eyes peer out of a bright red face, one set above the other. She tilts her head to the other side, to regard us from that angle.
Wikna opens her red-orange beak and her prehensile tongues slither out to wave a polite greeting. Black as deep water, each of her three tongues splits at the tip. These serve her people almost as well as tendrils, allowing them to craft and work with enviable skill.
"I regret that I cannot reply in kind, madam," I say in apology. "Nonetheless, I wish you to know that my shock at seeing you is no less than the delight you inspire by your visit."
Han makes a choking sound, which everyone ignores. I fear the youth may have forgotten to breath when presented with the sight of Wikna's radiant crimson plumage. It is a sight that takes some getting used to.
"Nonsense," trills Don Wikna. "Not you too! Just call me Wikky, and stop with the formal stuff, please." Her plumage puffs up and resettles as she speaks, making her look like as if ablaze. Orange and yellow down becomes visible when the larger feathers spread, adding to the illusion. "Where are you hiding, anyway? Are you out in one of the ships? I was told you were here."
Han and Gelly both point at where my case rests upon the floor. Despite the vastly different assortment of facial features each had been cursed with, both share a nearly identical look of expectance and mischief, similar enough as to be unmistakable. The thaumatists back away while unnoticed.
An unfortunate effect of the inherent resistance to the Southern Tribal control causes the feathered people to repulse our thaumatists, and for the first time I understand why.
The being before me is normal by all appearances. Wikky's form is both symmetrical and pleasing, and her voice is melodious. From memory I know that she most likely smells, as all her kind tend to, of the spicey oil coating her feathers. Her movements are graceful. Wikky stands with poise upon her long, thin legs.
My other senses describe something entirely unnatural.
The other beings in the workspace give off various kinds of energy in smooth waves, fairly standard in ways Wikky is not. Inside her body thermal energy rages unexplainably. She should be both aflame and frozen, if my senses aren't lying to me. Not following any sense or reason, portions of her anatomy light up brilliantly before flash freezing instantly. Yet she shows no outward sign of discomfort.
As if that weren't distracting enough, it is as though a lightning storm rages within her. Or perhaps, two; one of lightning and one comprised of anti-electrons. Bolts annihilate each other constantly and spawn again from nowhere. The magnetic field this causes extends out to half the room. Somehow none of the electronics even notice, not even the sensitive device designed for that purpose.
Cameras will be sufficient for this meeting.
"You have not been deceived," I hurry to reassure her. "I'm right here. What is it you wished to speak with me about?"
She flaps her stunted wings out of the short sleeves of her top. "The Mos Denn I've heard about wouldn't hide behind a fancy radio." She steps closer and bends over to look at my new casing. I aim the closest camera directly at her.
Wikky blinks and draws her head back slightly. She taps the camera with the tip of one tongue.
"He's in there, alright," Gelly says as he walks up. A grin splits his face almost in half. "There's a panel, on this side, ye see?"
He reaches down to demonstrate, and it pulls away when he touches the right spots.
"He can no talk if we take him out." He taps one thin finger upon my crystalline form, but withdraws it quickly. His smirk vanishes. He glares at me but doesn't reach in again.
A very small electrical charge won't injure him, but I do not wish to be taken out. The glare from Wikky is uncomfortably bright and random. With the panel open it is hard to ignore the chaotic energy that my higher senses detect. The sensation of being exposed to her aura is highly unpleasant, and quite distracting.
"So you really were killed," trills Wikky. "Neat."
She walks back to the doorway, keeping her head turned so that she can look at me over her shoulder. Gelly closes the panel and I'm once more able to concentrate upon the view from my camera.