An Age of Mysterious Memories

“Schism, friend Reggie, come hold this please, right here, no no, put your finger right here. No, no more to the, yes there. Hold that in that exact position for a moment for me. Um, please.”

Still caught a bit offguard, not entirely reoriented yet, I follow Nala’s request as best I’m able. I wonder why she didn’t have one of her automatons do it, but she seems too engrossed in whatever this experiment is for me to want to bother her with trivial details. For all I know, she’s trying to keep me from stewing by involving me. Nala is one of the most intelligent people within the entire community, in terms of general knowledge, science, history, mathematics, politics, and so on. I don’t expect much in the way of social or emotional intelligence from her though, and hopefully that thought isn’t an insulting one to have. Her antisocial, slightly grumpy nature keeps her from many forms of emotional attachment, and thus also from certain areas of emotional growth.

Bzzt!

Biting my lip, I raise one eyebrow curiously towards Nala, who wears a rueful smile while shrugging helplessly. My hair is standing on end all across my body and head. I haven’t felt that much voltage pass through me since, well, yesterday. Friggin’ hell my life is weird. Nala’s lucky it was me that—oh, duh,—took the shock. She couldn’t risk her automatons, they’d have been fried with that much current passing through them.

Squinting my eyes a bit suspiciously, I glare towards Nala with no malice, but a humorous annoyance. She could certainly have warned me, but this is Nala we’re talking about. I glare while I roll my eyes when I can sense Nala intentionally ignoring my thoughts and ignoring my glare. Smirking, I loose a half chuckle.

Coughing, Nala nods before commenting, “Very good, thank you Schism, you can remove your finger now, and go if you like.”

Continuing to smirk a bit, I’m half tempted to tease Curator and ask if she’s certain I’m allowed to leave. I’m not altogether too harmed, or upset, hell, I’m glad it was me rather than a random passerby, or other volunteer. I would hope Nala is discerning enough to not risk someone that doesn’t have a heightened electrical tolerance for one of her experiments. I trust her deeply. Speaking of trust, I turn my gaze towards Littlebit.

The verdant visionary virtuoso of voltage turns her visage and casts a bright smile my way. In the moment she distracts herself to turn her attention to me and brighten our demesnes with her cheery visage, she shocks the crap out of herself. I’d facepalm, but Littlebit beats me to it. I don’t want to rub the embarrassment in her face, with how hard she’s blushing and ruefully averting her gaze. I’m trusting her to reunite us both with Tiktik, by figuring out how to enter the ‘Twixt from here.

Oh for the love of—. The poor gal. It seems like that jolt paralyzed some of Littlebit’s muscles. She’s tottering to move around, her limbs stiff as boards. Rounding the workstation, I approach Littlebit as she begins to call, “Everything’s back up and running now Tiger. I guess you see why I told Tikki to be careful with the unshielded positronics.”

Trying not to roll my eyes, I stifle my smirk and lift Littlebit with my telekinetic grip, using its senses to help her float the directions her muscles hint that she wants to go. Her eyes are only wide for a moment at the novelty, or perhaps the faux intimacy of feeling herself gripped evenly, gently, across the entirety of her being. I lower myself into Littlebit’s pile of scrap to simply focus on voiding out the signals interfering with her ‘Twixt-sensing equipment for the nonce.

Really Reggie, for the nonce? Yeah yeah, whatever, I’m a weirdo, shut up. Also maybe put your walls up before picking apart your own mental monologue within reach of Nala, Leezahna, Littlebit, and Alanea. Facepalming, I chuckle while shaking my head at myself. Yeah, as usual, pretty par for the course for Reggie Shellcracker.

Littlebit’s muscles seem to relax from their near-paralyzed, stiffened states, and she starts humming as I set her down to go about her artificery. While bending over to dig about in her machinery, she sends a mental wink my way across our telepathic wavelength, letting me know she’s fully aware that she’s showing off her pert posterior. Puffing a breath and rolling my eyes, I chuckle, but I have to admit, it’s pert indeed. Cough, ahem, anyway.

I really don’t need those devilish looks from the two nearby Fae women as they grin evilly across our telepathic wavelengths, so instead I ask a question to satisfy a curiosity, “Littlebit, Nala, what’d you two use for a barricade last night that managed to hold Teuila back for even a few moments?”

Still grinning wildly, Littlebit begins answering, “Some doodads to distribute and redirect force to a single location, but mostly the centerpiece was a dented chunk of the big ol’ O-metal—.”

Interrupting her, Nala explains, “She means Orichalcum Schism, that’s its name Miss Bitty, I’d rather we not have nicknames and codenames for every single resource.”

Rolling her eyes, Littlebit halfheartedly shrugs, not caring to argue the point with Nala. It’s not an enthusiastic concession, but Littlebit doesn’t seem that attached to the nickname for the material as she continues, “Anyway, yeah, a hunk of orichalcum, big ol’ dented plate of it. Originally I was surprised it was dented at all, but that gave us enough areas to attach things to, to redistribute force to it. It worked out pretty well, great even! Until I learned how it got dented, and the menace finished breaking through it. Tenith is terrifyingly strong.”

Snorting a laugh, I nod in agreement. Teuila, strong? Don’t I know it? Or rather, y’don’t say? Flashing Littlebit a smile, I’m a bit surprised when I find her aiming a lunge in my direction. I catch her against my torso and catch myself in a telekinetic grip as we topple backwards. I’m bewildered, or at least I want to pretend to be. I mean, we’re in the company of Nala, and a few meters from quite a few other people.

Chuckling softly, Littlebit explains, “I need you to stay put for a while Tiger, while I get some readings. Not much to do until the sensors are done scanning, ‘sept to wait. Please don’t tell me you’ve got any complaints about the arrangement?”

Gnawing on my lip, I furrow my brow at the devious intonation Littlebit slips into her phrasing near the end. There’s vulnerability, raw, serious, earnest desire for consoling and affection underlying the intonation however. There are no complaints that I’d want to voice to someone as precious to Tiktik as Littlebit is to her. Also, I could really use a bit of a nap, and, honestly, I can’t even pretend she’s not a wonderful snuggle-partner.

I’ll just close my eyes for a bit and focus on maintaining my void-presence against the signals with my Honoris Causa. After Littlebit gets her readings, I’ll probably need to get started with my duties for the day. I’ll let her and Nala analyze the readouts or readings or whatever, while I tackle a few things. I’ll be catching up with my quartermaster, and figuring out which target I should hit against Terrorzin’s forces in the west.

Alanea checks in with me every quarter of an hour or so, making certain that I’m still okay controlling the signals, and am keeping my mind from wandering to too-dark corners of thought. Between Alanea and Littlebit, I’m fairly focused on thinking only about the ‘Twixt, and its connection to the Fae’s Wilds. Well, also its connection to Jeegoobotstan, and the wonderful little Fae lady out there, protecting the Aasimovian refugees. Oh Tiktik. I’m sorry I couldn’t say yes. I’m sorry I couldn’t spend centuries with you in the ‘Twixt.

Startling me from my reverie, Littlebit, as scatterbrained as me apparently, adds to an earlier comment, “Darndest thing though, even though she busted it in half, after everything calmed down, and we started packing away the barrier gadgets and whozits and whatnots, I couldn’t find the big O… Orichalcum anywhere. I thought maybe Nala nabbed it and tucked it away all responsible-like, but she said she hadn’t when I asked her. And let me tell you, that lady doesn’t forget where she puts something, nor makes mistakes when taking stocks of things.”

It takes me a bit to put together that she was continuing her explanation of what happened with the material used to blockade the aerie last night. Blinking in surprise, I furrow my brow as I try to recall something. Missing Orichalcum? Why does that sound familiar? I suppose it’s not that important. Plenty of dragons around here would probably enjoy having small slats of Orichalcum like a salt-lick for many herbivores. I doubt I’d ever be able to track it down, and doubt I’ll ever see it again. Not like it’s going to—Reggie, don’t even finish that thought. Yeah, you’re right. I shudder as I imagine a fourth-wall to bust down, behind which I’d find some devastating trope or another.

Regardless, since I’m thinking about our legendary metals and other resources, I should check in with our quartermaster. It’s close enough that I can maintain my voiding presence that keeps nullifying the overwhelming signals. Wait, signals. Racking my brain, I try to figure it out, but only succeed in giving myself a headache. There’s something on the edge of my tongue, figuratively. I mean, more figuratively than normal, since I’m not speaking aloud.

Being impressed, and curious, about the metal and its use in a functional barrier, I muse, "Hey, Littlebit, before you nod off awaiting arrival into sensor-readout-land, can you clue me in on how you and Nala came up with the barricade idea? I mean, using Orichalcum is one thing, but getting a small segment of legendary metal to somehow block off a dragon-sized tunnel? That's genius-level crafting,"

Littlebit's enthusiasm doesn't wane as she responds, "Oh, for sure! The Orichalcum's unique properties weren't just physical. It's like it has a... resonance, you know? Made it way more effective at drawing in redistributed force."

Nala, apparently not-too-engrossed in her work so as to not overhear, nods in agreement, chiming in, "Exactly. It's not just about brute utilization of applied mechanics and standard physics with materials like Orichalcum. It's about how they interact with their surroundings. In this case, it absorbed and redistributed energy in a way that mere steel couldn't."

Their explanations paint a vivid picture of the scene last night, and I can't help but marvel at the ingenuity at play. I wonder if there are other applications for Orichalcum we haven't considered yet. I spend far too long spacing out pontificating about the metal and its uses. Rattling my skull, I decide I’d better do what I can around Verdimenn while waiting on these readings, rather than snuggling up to Tiktik’s lovely girlfriend.

Squeezing Littlebit’s shoulder, I help her stand, and offer her a sad half-smile as she pouts my way. Proffering an apology, I start, “Sorry Bitty, lots to get done, but I’ll keep the signals null and stick around our Verdimenn project space for a while. Oh, Nala, that pile of rolled parchments wouldn’t happen to have a copy of our tactical map, would it? Oh, wonderful, thanks.”

When Nala points to one large rolled up sheaf of parchment, I snag it while nodding gratefully, and mutter, “Map, map map map,” to myself. Leafing through the pile as I unroll it, I snag the tactical map of the Spine of the World. Looking at the map, it doesn’t take long to commit a bit more of it to memory. It takes even less time to choose our next targets. Well, my next target out to the west. I’ll have someone from the Dormir give me a lift out towards the domains of Thraxxis, Xyzzor, and a few others, that are nicely clustered together.

Speaking of—why did Illy’s goggles go dark? Did she put them in a pouch? Calling to the security center to get patched in to Iylynila, she doesn’t respond, which worries me. Why would Illy need to go dark at all? I mean, I understand she’s great at infiltration and exfiltration deep into enemy lines, but it’s not like the goggles broadcast her position to anyone outside the security center. Maybe Kinzul had a secret mission for her that she relayed telepathically on her way out, to wherever Kinzul had to sneak off to? I guess that’s the only explanation I need for the moment.

If it requires clarification at some point, I’m sure Illy or Kinzul will fill me in. I’ve got too many things on my mind, and I’m juggling too many irons in too many fires to put more thought into it. If no one else is worried Illy might be in danger or hurt somewhere, I’ll just trust that this is something fairly usual.

Alanea keeps popping by to check on me as I sort through some tactical maps, inventory reports, and other nonsense that I should be keeping track of digitally at this point. In fact, I might as well get use out of this smartphone. Y’know? So I do. The OCR isn’t spectacular, so any data I went to be readily editable I’ll have to add by hand, which is a pain in the arse on a smartphone rather than a keyboard. Wait. How do I have a preference for typing on keyboards over smartphones? Something bursts above my right eye and I see stars momentarily. The sheer pain rocketing through my skull is absurd, on par with the worst of any migraines I’ve ever had.

Dazed, I stumble about, thankfully caught by Alanea before my face meets the ground in its own hilarious reenactment of a cartoon coyote being tricked by a fake painted tunnel. Shaking off my migraine, I groan quietly to myself for several long moments, barely keeping my signal-voiding efforts in play for Littlebit. Alanea props me up the rest of the way, and coos softly while dabbing sweat from my forehead with a towel. Am I feverish? Well that’s just not going to happen.

Closing my eyes, levitating myself in Alanea’s grip, I assume a lotus position. Curiously I direct my lightning spiritswarm about my cranium, carefully avoiding the majority of my brain. There is some damage, but I can virtually watch it being repaired in real-time. It’s fascinating honestly. There are micro-fissures in the blood vessels, not enough that there’s internal hemorrhaging, but enough that some molecules of air are seeping into the blood vessels. That’s an embolism waiting to happen. Or, uh, maybe that is an embolism, and that’s what hurts so much? What do I know, I’m not a cardiologist, I’m a cryptozoologist, remember? Pft, been a while since that one came up, eh Reggie?

The approaching presence, bound-papers in-hand, draws me from my internal observations when she stutters, “Sc-Schism, it, it, it happened again. I, I swear I double and triple-checked my numbers. Th-there’s more Orichalcum unaccounted for.”