12 Miles Below

“Think I found a good one, further off about one fifty. Marking it now.” I said, as the armor shared the target information to Drakonis’s own.

Journey calculated the heat signature, then overlaid a red outline, taking liberal guesses as to how it actually looked. A deer. Minding its own business, walking near a stream. A few others were nearby, but they were smaller and many looked to be parents for a foal.

“Got it. Still heading over, should have a bead on it in a minute.”

The purple forest was riddled with shadows and an everlasting darkness with the strata lights now dying off into the night. And the two new humans sulking around in this strata were hungry. Especially since wild feral animals had gone and done wild feral animal things to all the rations inside the crashed airship.

Time to go back to the old roots of humanity: Using highly advanced power armor to locate edible plants, shootable animals, and good wood that’s been dried out for a fire. As traditional as it gets.

“Never had deer before.” I said, “You know what they taste like?”

Drakonis had been a hunter before he’d been a soldier. And while Undersider ‘hunters’ were a different breed, given that they hunt machines for their power cells, he still did bring back actual food from the surroundings too.

“Gamey.” He answered. “There’s a few tricks we’ll have to do to get the meat tasting better, and a few tricks we won’t have time to do so you’ll have to make do.”

“Do I really strike you as a picky eater?”

I could see him stop on the minimap above my HUD, likely taking aim. “Come to think of it, no. Can’t say I know what surface knights eat or don’t eat. Never the focus of any conversation, other than them eating insects. It’s just as a hunter, venison’s one of those meats civilians seem to avoid.” He paused, likely reading something on his HUD. “There’s another next to our hit, you take that one, size and shape match an older buck, good target. I think having more food would help solidify our position with the greyroamers.”

A small bullseye marker appeared next to one of the deer sulking around in the twilight.

We’d left with the greyroamers a few hours back, making our way to their trade outpost. And after drinking our fill at a stream, the greyroamers had spotted a good camping spot. One giant cave that had plenty of room for them all.

They’d offered to hunt meat for us, as guests. Claimed it would take an hour or three for the pack to drag down a target. Drakonis and I decided we’d speed things up a bit and cheat with thermal vision and guns.

There was some growling behind me, low and deep throated. Then above, came a sound. “He’s asking if you’ve seen something, given you’ve stopped moving and are aiming your weapon.” Kres translated.

“Yep.” I pointed a finger up at where my target was, far past the trees. Journey had caught a lot of different animals in thermal vision, but it had filtered them all out if they didn’t match a deer’s silhouette. Apparently there were a lot of small rodents running amok here.

I heard the flap of wings as Kres took off from the tree, flying up in a circle, then coming back down to the next tree where I’d walked to. At this distance, Journey calculated the bullet I had in my rifle would punch through the foliage and hit my target, so long as I aimed at the glowing mark. It even drew a moving segmented line to where the estimated trajectory would go.

Very handy.

“I haven’t seen any deer ahead of you, human.” Kres said. “The trees are too dense. Are you certain?”

Silverfur gave a small growl behind me. He and two others had come as an ‘escort’ of kinds, to make sure nothing came out and attacked us. Drakonis had his own group of wolves following behind him, though they didn’t have Kres there to translate anything. The forest was never completely safe from the infestation that had a stranglehold here. So having more eyes and noses to see and smell danger was almost mandatory.

“In position.” Drakonis said over comms, a countdown appearing right next to the bullseye icon on my HUD. “Shoot on my mark… three, two, one, mark.”

I clicked my trigger. Two shots came out in the forest near simultaneously, one from Drakonis’s group and one from mine.

“Confirmed hits.” He said, as we watched the rest of the herd scamper away, leaving two glowing red targets slumped on the ground. Hunting with fully functional armor was an absolute cheat compared to when Wrath and I had been forced to meander along with low power. I really had to rely on her to catch or identify vegetation.

“Hunting’s over.” I said out loud to Kres, “Drakonis and I got two hits. Large bucks, should feed the whole pack and then some according to him.”

The raven hopped along the branch, beak turning to my unseen target then back to me a few times. Growls and yips came out around him, which he answered in turn by doing the most ridiculous thing I’ve seen a bird do.

He’s translated for them a few times now, and I still haven’t gotten used to it. The bird would dip down low on his branch, stick his butt up in the air and start waving it back and forth, while keeping his flight feathers sprayed out. Apparently, barks and growls weren't even half of the greyroamer language. Most of it was body language and scents. Kres had to lay it on thick in other parts of the language in order to make up for the lack of scents. Hence the exaggerated butt wiggle.

I thought it was odd, but Drakonis pointed out a good analogue for humans - facial expressions. Lots could be read from those, besides the most obvious. Smiles, frowns, tuts, pouts, shifting eyes, hands fiddling with hair, thumb biting, and so forth. It wasn’t completely needed to talk between humans, but it did add a lot to any discussion.

And why am I thinking of Wrath when I say all this?

… Hmm.

It is a little funny that out of every person I know, it’s the machine of war designed to kill that’s got the most emotions written all over her face, even when she doesn’t notice herself.

And to the greyroamers, that was all in the tail and sometimes how they bared their teeth out. We probably looked about as emotionally dead as machines did to the wolves here.

At least I had Kres here to communicate back with. Drakonis was on his own out there. But he was a hunter, and they were too, so maybe there was some common ground there in an abstract sense of the word.

“Interesting technique. Is your sight different than ours? The Odin claim they can see more than we can, while being able to smell less.” Silverfur asked through Kres. “The silent howls to your partner are equally interesting to see in action.”

“We use technology as our crutch.” I shrugged, “My armor’s sights are digital… what I mean is that what the armor’s helmet shows my eyes can be modified at will. It’ll display lines, words, markings, and even senses I don’t actually have in a way that I can understand. Heat, for example, can be detected and my armor overlays where it detects heat out there as a blob of color I can see.”

Silverfur nodded in agreement. Well, he didn’t actually nod, he made a small bark and pawed the ground, but Kres told me it was a sign of agreement which I then imagined was their version of nodding. “So you can see further and in ways that your eyes cannot naturally see then?”

“Just about the gist of it, yeah.”

Barking and howling came from up ahead, where Drakonis and his group of wolves had arrived at our hits, confirmed they were dead and he’d apparently decided to pick up and carry the two dead bodies on his back.

“This is very practical.” Silverfur said as our group started off to return back to our impromptu camp. “Normally, we must tear apart the hunt into smaller pieces in order to carry it back. If that’s not possible, we will eat at the kill spot directly.”

“You don’t use sleds or anything like it?”

Kres was the one to answer that question, “They are nomadic. The infestation keeps moving around, and the greyroamers react to it. Years back, there are records that they were a more settled people. Today, carrying gear such as sleds and supplies slows them down, and they appreciate the freedom to relocate at a moment’s notice far too much.” The bird gave a tut. “I’ve tried to argue with them about the merits of having supplies on hand, but to no avail.”

“Bit rich coming from someone who’s still carrying a bunch of metal trinkets and shinies. You seem to be on the other side of the hangar here.” I pointed out.

“Other side of the hangar?” Kres asked. Which I answered by trying to explain how wallball worked, how there were two sides in a hanger fighting for supremacy in the game, what a hanger was in the first place, and that devolved further down the pipe when Silverfur wanted to know what was being said between us since they could all hear the human yapping along with the Odin about something.

Food was blessedly upon us soon enough. Sections of the deers were carved off, where I found out Silverfur shares his occult blade to assist in cutting the whole thing into sections. They were quite skilled at it. For just twisting the handle around in their jaw, they had way more dexterity about it than I’d ever guess possible.

“And they’re impressed at how quick you were able to hunt.” Kres said in answer. “I’ve had to answer hundreds of their questions about guns, your armors abilities and anything else the Icon explained. Greyroamers never cared as much about knowing human history, and now they won’t shut up asking about it.” He hopped along above us on the tree branches, as Drakonis and I piled up our collected loot of dead tree branches to light into a fire. My esteemed companion started building a makeshift skewers to cook our catch with, while I handled actually setting the fire up. I’d learned earlier both the surface knight and Undersider methods of doing it, but now-a-days I have the fractal of heat to help light things fast and that was leagues better than either tradition. Something I passed off as a Deathless power when Drakonis asked.

This is where we ran into the first real problem between all our combined species.

Fire itself drew attention from the greyroamers who all turned to stare from the moment they heard the whoosh. And Kres equally seemed panicked. Howls and yips came up next, as the wolves surrounded us, pawing at the ground, while Kres moved from tree branch to tree branch equally in a panic.

“Is there a problem?” I asked, looking up.

The bird looked down, opened a beak, shut it, opened it again and finally had words to say. “There’s a fire.” He deadpanned.

“I know there’s a fire, I started it.” I said.

The bird shook his head, “Give me a moment, need to tell the others you’re aware and are behind it.” He then turned to the greyroamers and started doing that wagging dance and barks again. It seemed to mollify the wolves a bit, but they remained surrounding us like an entire unit.

Got us both on edge, Drakonis having a hand on his knife, staying still, all thoughts to prepare the meat gone. While I got back on my feet, keeping an eye all around using the occult sight. The greyroamers and Kres didn’t seem to be focused on us however, just the budding fire that was quickly growing into a real campfire, contained by a circle of dense stones.

“Something about fire you don’t like?” I asked.

“Yes.” Kres answered. “I… learned from the Icon that fire was something humans did when away from their homes, however are you completely and absolutely certain you know how to contain it?”

They were afraid of the fire? I gave the campsite a look over, and it seemed fine to me. “Is it some kind of impolite thing to light a fire?” I asked, confused at why everyone was barking or pacing around. Some had even started digging up dirt, using their paws to scrape it off to the side, eyes going between their pile and our new campfire. Like they were preparing to put it out all at once. And the only reason they hadn’t yet was because the two giant humans had been the ones who started it, and guarded it.

It took a while to get an answer from the Odin who squawked a few times before speaking. “Impolite means it could be done often. Fire is difficult to make as is, and it’s dangerous to anything it touches. Once it’s grown, it will keep growing and become unstoppable, destroying everything it touches. The Icon explained humans would light fire to warm themselves up during colder nights, and it used to heat their homes during a more primitive era. Why do you need it now? Should your armor not keep you warm?”

“We don’t need it for warmth.” Drakonis confirmed. “We use it for food, and feeling the heat is relaxing.”

“The feeling of fire… is relaxing?” Kres seemed to consider that absurd to the point even the translation had that heavy hint of utter disbelief.

“We don’t have fur. Or feathers.” Drakonis said. “To keep warm fire is what we use.”

“Humans also don’t generally eat raw foods. Both for taste and for safety” I shrugged, adding on.

“And you don’t have any other alternatives besides fire?” Kres seemed almost frantic about that. “You do realize just how dangerous an open flame is?”

I considered the question for the first time. Kres, being a bird, might have a hard time putting a fire out. Plus feathers burn real fast. And the greyroamers had fur all over them, so they probably don’t need the warmth.

“The Odin do not use fire?” Drakonis asked from the side, probably coming to the same conclusion I had. “That seems odd, fire is one of the more primal aspects of all civilizations. I could understand not making campfires on the regular, but are you not used to seeing fire often within your cities?”

The bird moved from branch to branch, eyes locked on the campfire as it grew. The wolves around us started to pace more frantically, with Silverfur coming close by, barking something.

“For smoking food, and some cooking, yes.” Kres admitted. “But only within the confines of the Icon, in her kitchens. It’s too dangerous to use outside. And utterly insane to consider it anywhere near the city sections. Entire nests would burn up in seconds.”

“How do you heat your homes then?” I asked.

“The icon has heaters within it’s hull.” Kres said. “We have no need to keep such a dangerous thing near our nests. Again - a single flame could burn down an entire city. They’re made of wood and straw.” A beady eye looked down right at our burning wood. “An entire city made of the same fuel you are using right this moment.”

So the Odin don’t use fire for basically anything, because the ancient human starship already had all the heating they would need. And its only use was in heavily controlled sections of a kitchen.

We probably looked like dragons to the Odin then. Sleeping on a bed of fire, finding it all cozy.

“The wolves here don’t use fire either, I take it?” Drakonis asked. But the answer was evident in how they acted.

“They… had. In the past.” Kres said. “I have never seen it myself. This was before my time, and theirs. Long, long ago, perhaps even fifty years. When they were a more settled pack before the infestation. They would use fire as a means to preserve food, to make it last as long as nuts would. But no one in this pack has lived long enough to see it done.”

Long, long ago was fifty years to them? “How long do Odin and Greyroamers live for?” I asked.

“Seventeen years is considered near death for us. At that age, flight is impossible for the Odin, and teeth have rotted away for the greyroamers. If they had somehow lived to that age. They do not have the Icon there to treat diseases and a city to fall back into for shelter, so they leave shorter lives than the Odin. Do humans live as long as the Icon stated?”

“What’s it’s number?” Drakonis looked a little curious about that, his helmet turned to me with a shrug. “I’m just curious if the golden age humans had discovered secrets to immortality or not.”

Right. Since he was a Deathless, I could see him being interested in figuring out more of the roots behind that.

“Humans can live for more than a hundred years according to the Icon. Nearly seven times longer than the Odin could, and far more than seven for the greyroamers. Perhaps even ten times longer than the greyroamers.”

Drakonis shrugged, giving a mild nod. “That’s around accurate for Undersiders. One hundred is getting on the ages, a hundred and ten is about the oldest we get, assuming they’re wealthy and can afford personal doctors. Surface clans any different Keith?”

“Depends on the cast.” I shrugged. “Retainers and Knight retainers live through a dangerous role, we die in the field often. Uhhh, maybe consider us like soldiers instead? Those that live usually do because they’re no longer allowed outside. Losing a hand or leg to exposure or something similar. Castes that are barred from leaving the clan colony tend to live to around eighty to ninety.”

“Humans truly are insane.” Kres muttered. “So you can outlive us by decades on top of finding fire comfortable to be around.”

Probably a lot of small things stacking over time, but I was realizing just how insane humanity was in comparison. And of course, some of us could use magic and were unkillable demi-gods as if the rest wasn’t ratshit enough.

The Greyroamers had fur, could see in the dark without problem, and liked things raw. So after they became nomadic from the infestation running amok some fifty years back, they no longer had any use for fire. Also it was difficult to make fire without hands and needed specific tools for it. Making fire for the greyroamers was both difficult, had little use, and dangerous.

Their cooking had ended up being raw everything, with some chewed up herbs spread all over it for taste. Which meant the only time they’d see fire was… an excellent time to be dramatic about it.

I promptly stuck my hand right into the fire, immediately caving without a fight to my intrusive thoughts, gauntlet wrapping around the burning sticks and staying there. “It’s not dangerous to us, not with our gear.” I said, making a point by fiddling my fingers around the charcoal and burning segments. Journey’s plates hadn’t even started to glow red yet. “So if it gets out of control, we can easily stay right by the center of it and put it down. No need to worry.”

It got exactly the kind of reaction I preen about. Drakonis just looked up and seemed to sigh inwardly, but otherwise got back to preparing the skewers while the rest of the camp around us went mad.

Some more back and forth talking happened, with Kres accepting the fire easily enough. He’d seen the Icon control fire easily, and so humans doing the same wasn’t too out of the ordinary for him.

Greyroamers were more difficult to persuade. I had to put out the fire in the end, just to prove I could. Only once we did so, were we allowed to light it back on fire and finish cooking our food.

Things changed once we actually put the deer meat to grill over the fire. Not much at the start, other than the greyroamers looking at us as if we’d ruined a perfectly good set of meat. Then the smoke and smell seemed to make them all have second opinions on their anti-fire stances.

They were very curious about how cooked meat tasted like. And since I hadn’t eaten deer yet, so was I.

Ultimate verdict: It was okay, and had a very coppery-irony taste to it. Drakonis could only do so much with the time we had to make it taste good, and the lack of spices to work with besides the herbs we’d found on the hunt. But I’m not even sure greyroamers tasted the same way we did. The herbs they had slathered onto their own side of the meat had been mostly overly bitter to my taste, something they apparently liked as an acquired taste.

They did end up liking the meat cooked. The texture being different and more enjoyable ended up being what they all spoke mostly about, along with the scent being interesting.

What really shook them all, was the moment Drakonis and I took off our helmets to eat. Up till that point, we had been moving golems to them. And in theory they knew we had two eyes, a flat mouth, a short nose and a tuff of hair on top of our heads along with just skin elsewhere.

Seeing was believing. They had a lot more questions for Kres to deal with, and they seemed to all accept bugging the humans wasn’t the way to get their answers.

We were the ancient race that could fight machines and win, walk through fire without a mark, enjoyed the feeling of it even, and could outlive all of them ten times over. We hadn’t even broached the topic of the Occult, and I strongly suspect Kres hasn’t even said a word about that either since there were no requests for demonstration.

Closest to that had been when I’d turned the fire on, but my hands were deep inside the bundle of twigs while everyone else was doing camp things and leaving the two humans far enough alone.

That was how my first night with the greyroamers ended. We ate, got warmed up by the fire, turned it off and then relaxed against the base of a large tree while the pack rotated out scouts to keep watch.

Kres and Drakonis both stayed awake, one trying to teach the other how to talk to greyroamers. Which Drakonis was mostly hoping his armor could take the blunt of the learning for them both. Something it was being stubborn about, given Drakonis had no administrator access letting him introduce new languages into the system.

As for me, I was left to meditate in peace.

In the dim darkness, sitting by the tree, with the day winding into a full night, I figured it was finally time to address the proverbial crusader in the hanger.

It was time to face my reckoning with Cathida.