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Steel Quest (Part 2)

Taking Stock:

Equipped Items: Civilian Workman's Jumpsuit (Consisting of the suit itself, rough leather gloves, and a pair of sturdy boots), Thieves' Tools (Hidden), Tool Belt (Currently empty, your tools are in your case for travel), Leather Pouch (Containing a flawed Psychic Matrix, packets of magnetic powder, and tuning rods), and a roll of Steel Eye Paper Currency (15 Sovereigns).

Inventory: Your Identification Card, List of Important personnel.

Skills: Contortionist, Engineer, Sharp Wit, Psychic Potential, Martial Artist, Withstand Pain, (Young Spirit)

Current Status: Stress: Slight Social pressure. Wounds: Not wounded. Heath: Not Sick. Fatigue: Slight.

Current Party Members: None.

Choice Tallies:

Choice 1: Visit a Crewman

Captain/Doctor Elena: 3 CHOSEN

2ond Lieutenant Sif: 1

Legionnaire Fereldill: 3 CHOSEN

Choice 2: Where will you work?

First Technician: 4 CHOSEN

Cybernetics Lab Assistant: 1

Magister: 2 CHOSEN

Navigations Assistant: 1

You tuck the list into your back pocket and cast your gaze about the bridge. Captain Hawkensworth and the others exit the briefing room and take their positions. Clocks goes down the steps to your left the way you came in, most likely returning to the Depths. You will meet up with him later. The bridge holds your attention for now. You notice Fel did not exit the briefing room with the others. Remembering what the paper said, perhaps he jumped up into the air vents.

Elena sits herself down at a desk of terminal displays and sheets of parchment scrawled with numbers, equations, and maps. After a look behind you, seeing the back of Clock's ears disappear down the main hall, you approach Elena's chair.

"Are you confused?" She nearly whispers without really looking up from her screen. She's typing a series of simple commands into the black screen with pixelated green letters and symbols. It seems it's just a record of the heading, and an oddly specific list of current conditions such as air temperature, current crew numbers, and the efficiency of a long list of small instruments determined in percent's.

"No." You answer. "I was already on the bridge. I thought I might take some time to get acquainted."

"Mhmm." She pushes up her glasses and keeps typing. It seems she's not much for conversation.

"Care to talk? There are a few things I still don't know. You seem to be the right person to talk to." She stops typing and swivels her chair to face you, one hand still resting on the desk, tapping a fingernail on the metal.

"Very well. Make it quick then." Seeing her impatient expression prompts you to speak quickly.

"Firstly, I wanted to ask about you. You were quiet in the briefing room."

"I was. The Captain saw fit that I be there. It wasn't a painful waste of time, so I obliged. In retrospect, I think you would have managed just fine without me." This was starting to become an actual conversation. You try to keep it up, lest she be drawn back to her work.

"I'm glad you were there. I wouldn't have known to speak with you otherwise." She almost looks flattered for a moment, but it is quickly replaced with a hint of annoyance.

"And just what is it you wish to talk about? You can't mean to tell me you just want to chat."

"I wouldn't be opposed to it if I didn't have other things to be doing." Elena interrupts you.

"Don't we all." You nod.

"I suppose that's right. But i wanted to ask you more about your research. You said you were a scholar, and it says here on the sheet the Captain gave me that you've got a PHD in two fields. That kind of knowledge must come in handy." She cracks a slight smile and casts a quick glance at the Captain seated in his chair across the room.

"It's a burden. I wanted to be a field archeologist you know. I wanted to explore ancient ruins and adventurous things like that. I've never gotten to examine a truly worthy site, regrettably. Then my career in the military drew me away from the field. Most of my "Research" is purely academic. I doubt you would find it interesting. My thesis was on the sacrificial patterns of the natives of old Selenia. That doesn't really help with much around here, does it?" You blink in surprise. It seems once she gets talking, she's on a roll. A mind like hers needs an insightful comment to spur her.

"You find your work here dull then?" She hesitates.

"It certainly has potential for intrigue. But sitting up her crunching numbers for the Captain isnt what I call a vacation. I take it seriously though. Never let it be said that I did not complete my duties." There is a pause.

"So... where are we headed?" You peak over her shoulder at the creased maps laid out on her desk bellow the terminal. She puts an elbow over them with an amused expression.

"Ah ah ah. Can't reveal that just yet. It's like the Captain said: If you never find out, things went smoothly. In any case, we don't mark our maps, so you wouldn't know even if I gave it to you."

"Then what's that for?" You indicate her strategically placed elbow.

"Privacy." She answers coolly. You put up your hands in surrender.

"Okay, I get it." The Captain calls over to the both of you.

"Are you going to chat all day ladies? We're taking off soon. In fact, Elena, can you give me a Mark on that?" She answers without hesitation.

"Right away, sir." She swivels back to face her desk and reaches for the radio box. "Don't you have other people to talk to today?" She mutters while turning a knob on the machine, static sounds coming from its speakers.

"I guess I do. I enjoyed our chat. If I decide to work in your department, I'll try not to make a nuisance of myself."

"How droll." She mutters absent mindedly without looking up. It appears she is in the zone. This, with the addition of the feeling of a rapidly increasing "third wheel effect", you decide you are not needed on the bridge.

Saying a quick goodbye, you pad down the steps into the corridors once more. This time, there is no soldier here to escort you. After walking a short ways, you notice to your delight that most of the corridors have labels. Turning down a few more passages reveals you are closer to the Brig than the Depths.

This path leads you down lower into the belly of the ship. There is less and less effort made to make the steel pylons and girders seem like part of an attractive interior. The stark industrial look is an environment you are familiar with. It lets you know this is a place of work, not entertaining diplomats. It gives an awkward sense of welcome to an otherwise harsh sprawl of steel.

About when there becomes more grating than solid sheet metal to stand on and the walls give way to a more open block, you come upon some sort of checkpoint. Several soldiers mill about here, cleaning guns, chatting with one another, and generally looking bored. They are all fully masked. A heavy door with a large wheel stands at the other side. One solider approaches you: a beast man by the look of the muzzle on his mask.

"Who are you here to see?" He asks, his voice distorted by his helm.

"I was told to see Christov." You say matter-of-factly, although you aren't sure if he's been told yet. You suppose you'll find out. Things seem to run smoothly on this ship. Even so, the soldiers exchange glances though their visors in silence.

"Very well then. Let me check your identification." You allow it. He seems satisfied. "You're clear, but you should know that if Christov hasn't been told of your arrival, things could end badly for you. I'd suggest running back out here if things get hairy." Your apprehension of this man is growing, but you will not be detoured by a few stories. You give a curt nod to the soldier.

"I'll keep that in mind." One of the others opens the door for you. Its large gears grind loudly behind its thick frame. You are waved though.

"Pound on the door as hard as you can if you want to get out." Again you nod, this time wordlessly. You step into a small rectangular room, almost a thin corridor. A large window, undoubtedly bulletproof, provides a view of a cell block. Just out of this room, the lower level of the cell block stretched out in a large concrete floor. Steel grated steps provide a way to an upper level. Another room rests at the top, similar to the one you stand in, it's window lighted by a harsh white florescent bulb.

The thick door is closed behind you, and you are left in silence. The only other way out of the room is a smaller door on the right hand wall. You make your way past a desk and file cabinet and try the handle: locked. Movement catches your eye. A monster of a man trudges down the steps into the lower cell block, coming this way. The Wolf Beastman must stand more than two meters tall, dwarfing your slight stature to the point of humor. He wears a special police dress uniform. This consists of a white long coat, zippered at the collar, and flared high around the neck. Steel symbols are stitched directly into the fabric, resembling gears, and birds of prey. A black steel nightstick, handcuffs, and what looks like a ranged Taser hang on his belt.

All you can do is wait as the hulk makes his way up to the other side of the door, and fiddles with a key ring for a moment. The door is opened. You crane your neck up to meet his gaze, for he is easily twice your height, and most likely four times your weight. He similarly, must tuck his chin to address you properly. His voice is deep, and carries well in the open space beyond the small room, but it is not overbearingly loud.

"Identification." This single utterance causes your paws to react instantly, handing over your card without question.

"I was told to see you, sir. They said you would have something to tell me, or show me. I wasn't fully informed." He takes no interest in your words. After a short time, he hands the card back.

"This is not correct." He states plainly. A chill runs down your spine.

"What?" He scans you up and down. You feel his mind flare with psychic force, pushing against your own. Your brow knits and you push back. The two of you find equal ground, and he withdraws.

"Forgive me. I meant that your identification is not correct. It seems you have greater access than is stated here." He turns on the spot, his boots squeaking on the concrete, and makes for the steps once more. "We have some things to talk about. Serious business. You must pay careful attention." Your nerves calm. It gives you some comfort to have felt his mind against yours, giving you a feel for his strength, and intentions. You follow behind him on his accent to the second level.

"I'll be glad of it." You assure him. "The level of ambiguity on this ship is maddening." Your small talk is ignored for the moment. The two of you reach the room at the top of the steps. He lets himself in, and leaves the door open for you.

"Shut it behind you, please." You do so. This room is slightly larger than the first. It serves as an office, with rows of file cabinets, and three desks strewn with record papers. Another door stands on the far end. It leads further back into the ship. A full gun rack stands on the left wall, right next to the window overlooking the cell block.

Christov sits down at a desk closest to the far door. You find it odd that it faces that door, and not the entrance door. You have to step around the desk to face him properly. A wave of his paw indicates that this is the correct course of action. Without a word, he reaches in a drawer, and pulls out a sparkling, high quality Psychic matrix. This gem is turquoise in hue, and is not a cube like yours, but a dodecahedron (Twenty sides). It orbits around his paw on its own power.

"It is a thing of wonder, is it not?" It's strange hearing civil words come from his muzzle, but you must agree.

"I've never seen another like it." Indeed, you feel considerable compulsion to reach out to it. You restrain yourself, of course. It is the height of bad manners to project on another's Matrix.

"This is mine." He utters proudly. "Can I see yours? I can feel its glimmer in your pocket." You are slightly put off by this. It is not common to sense a matrix beyond your sight if it is not being used. A flicker of your mind opens your pouch, and draws up your violet cube. The tool hovers in front of you, obedient.

"Here it is. Not much to look at, but it works. I could never afford a good one. It's reliable at least." Christov nods with a sly grin.

"Good. I like it. Care to trade for a while?" You blink in surprise.

"What? N-no, I couldn't. I'd be afraid to even touch it. It's yours. It's-"

"I want to see you hold it. You know you want to. Give it a shot." You consider offering more excuses, but you do wish to handle it, as a skilled swordsman would wish to handle a masterwork techblade. "Just extend your paw to it. I'll do the same, see." Christov pulls your cube in just a little, tugging at your control over it.

"Alright... only because the Captain told me to receive your words." You are unable to manage any more words yourself as you reach for the multi-faceted gem. It obeys your thoughts effortlessly, and seamlessly, coasting to rest in the air before you. Christov pulls your cube to him, but his gaze is fixed on the dodecahedron.

"Whoa." Its responsiveness is intimidating. You risk the thought that you could do harm you do not intend simply because your mind was reckless for just a millisecond. Even thinking about thinking about it could trigger unwanted effects. It would take years to master this matrix.

"You know how useful this is, don't you? I can see it on your face. This matrix, however, is only mine on loan. We use it here on the ship for... specific purposes. I am to instruct you in those specific purposes. Myself, and that Rabbit in engineering are the only crew members able to perform them. Should even one of us become incapacitated, it would be an enormous liability. If you are able to complete the exercises I will soon lay forth to you, you will be doing us a great service." The matrix requires most of your attention simply to hold, but you are able to listen to his words.

"I understand, I think. What are these techniques for?" Christov shakes his head.

"Not that easy. I can't tell you exactly what they are for. Only that they find uses imperative to the mission in emergency circumstances. They are only to be used in this Brig. Is that understood?" His gaze hardens suddenly. "Only in this Brig. You are not to speak of these techniques to anyone. You will be severely reprimanded should you speak of them to military personnel, and will be arrested on sight should you tell a civilian." More blood red tape. You expect nothing less at this point. Such is your need for this knowledge however, that you find yourself willing to risk it. Besides, this is part of the job. You were afraid to tell people you knew just how much money you were being paid to sign on here, for fear anyone you knew would forever look at you differently. The catch was, of course, pay day comes after the success of the mission.

"Alright. I get it. Let's get started then." The wolf stands from his chair.

"Good. I'm glad you are eager to begin."

Over the course of several hours, your mind spins with new possibilities. Christov tells of, and demonstrates Psychic disciplines you had never considered feasible before. You are expected to learn quickly, listen well, and heed precise instruction. For the most part, you do. The new matrix is a difficult tool, and the techniques are more complex than you thought possible.

By the end of this session, your mental faculties are reeling. However, this comes as the benefit of greatly expanded understanding. You are able to gather many tidbits of information out of these exercises that hint at their nature. Firstly, many are used to block other effects, layered over and over each other like lovingly folding steel. Secondly, all of them are complex beyond reason. There is no logical meaning as to why they are so complicated. They are simply made that way, as if on purpose. Lastly, many possess triggers that include extensive qualifications to properly function, specifying what targets are viable, and what are not. These effects almost always had a very violent ending. The last part of these techniques always felt harsh, sudden, and direct. You might be able to learn something about their nature by thinking about these things, but you will need time to settle.

You clutch your forehead with your paw, eyes half open.

"I think you've had enough for one day." Christov observes. "See me again tomorrow, after dinner. If you are not ready for more by then, perhaps you are not cut out for it." You nod. "Oh, and I'll have my matrix back." He extends a paw for it. You happily oblige, not sure if you like the idea of handling it any more than you have.

"Thank you. I never would have worked any of that out. But I do need a rest. Much longer, and I might have had to crawl back to be quarters and sleep it all off. Might still do that tonight." Christov grins.

"If you feel that way, you know it's sinking in. That will be all for now. I must say, you did better than I thought. We got though a good portion of it." You return his smile, and make to leave. "Oh, wait a moment." You stop and look back. He beckons you to the far door.

"What's back there?" You ask. He takes out his keying and unlocks it.

"Want to find out?" He waves you in. You're very sure you would rather him just tell you. Your paws carry you to the opening none the less, and he leads you inside.

Within, the steel is much less maintained. It's older, and stained with steam marks and corrosion. This narrow hall turns sharply to the right. Christov can hardly fit. The floor is a grate. Underneath, you can see clusters of pipes that lead into blackness. There is only a single incandescent bulb hanging from a thin cord in the middle of the hall.

Christov fumbles with his large paw on the right hand wall, and finds a switch. This he pulls, and a white light comes on in a darkened cell to the left. A human woman sits on a chair in the middle of a stark cell. She appears to have access to a sink, toilet, and sleeping cot. In contrast to her surroundings, she is a picture of beauty, and wears a white and black lace dress. Her long brown hair is combed straight, and hangs down to her waist. She looks up with bright blue eyes, her hands placed politely in her lap.

"Who the..." You say. You are haunted by this surreal sight. It's as if you've stumbled into a nightmare. The woman just stares.

"Met Ailenore. I call her Lenore sometimes." Christov muses. He steps up closer to the thick bars of her cage. "Lenore? Meet Relenare. She might be in sometime in the future to say hi." Her gaze shifts to you, and she speaks.

"Greetings Relenare. As you can see, I am quite ruthlessly imprisoned at the moment. I'd like to talk with you alone sometime, if you'd like." Her voice seems normal enough. You half expected her to gibber like a mad woman. You tentatively raise a paw in greeting.

"Hello..." You attention shifts to Christov, and you give him a long, confused, and perplexed look.

"I know." He responds. "It all seems a bit strange. You haven't lost your head. It's quite real. She is precious cargo, for better or worse. I must ask that you not press the matter further." You cannot be satisfied with that just yet.

"You can't just dismiss this. Why the hell is she here? Who the hell is she?" Christov pays you no mind. Instead, he leans into the bars again.

"You'll be fed soon, like always. I just wanted Relenare here to get her eyes on you. We'll be going now." She responds.

"I'm glad to have met you, Relenare. You must come see me again." Christov flicks off the light, and walks back down the hall into the light of the office. You find yourself spiritually dreading the thought of being alone in the dark in there with her, and hurry after him.

Christov would not hear any attempt you made to find out more. Eventually, you stopped pressing it, and bid your respectful farewell. He stated that you had better things to do before the day was out. That was true.

You now make your way to the Depths. The walk is doing your mind good after your training with Christov. Seeing Clocks will remind you of the simple pleasures of complex mechanics. Surely it will be a vacation compared to that dungeon, however wondrous the powers you were shown were.

The halls become more and more stark, and steam marked as you descend into the belly of the ship. You are startled when the silence is broken by a ship wide announcement echoing from in front, and behind you.

"Take off imminent. Please brace for ascent." A deep rumble resounds from bellow your feet. You move towards the right wall and brace yourself, having no other means to steady yourself.

"Count down, mark. 5... 4..." It sounds like Elena's voice, although it's hard to tell over the radio. Just then, a clanging noise rattles above your head. The ventilation grate drops at your feet with a clatter. Looking up, you see the Eldar, Fel, slip out of the small opening head first, brace on the edges of the vent, and twist his legs out in time to land on his feet by your side. He spares no time in replacing the grate to it's proper place.

"2... 1... Mark." The rushing noise of hundreds of tons of steam lifts up from bellow, and the whine of the Fusion Core activates. There is some turbulence. You feel your center of gravity off to one side for several seconds. Fel braces himself against the wall with you.

"Clearing altitude achieved. Automatic heading set. We're on our way. Let's make this a good trip, ladies and gentlemen." The transmission stops. Fel removes himself from the wall with a sideways glance at you. He continues down the hall at his leisure.

"Hey." You call after him. He's going the same way as you. You might as well try and get him talking. You jog to catch up, making up for your short legs.

"Mani naa lle umien?" He answers without turning his head. His stride is long, and unfaltering.

"Look, I don't speak Elvish, okay? I know you know what I'm saying. I want to know more about you." He scoffs.

"Mankoi?" In a flash of power, you surge into his surface thoughts to detect the meaning of that word.

"Because... I think I want to work with you. I want to use my powers for the good of the mission. You must know what's needed around here." He stops and heaves a sigh.

"That is correct." His accent is thick, but decipherable. He turns to face you in the dimly lit hall. "You are Psion. I am Val'istar, a Pagan in your eyes and tongue. My ways are old, and my power different. I cannot teach you. You are a product of the new age."

"How old are you?" You change the subject, fully aware of the weight of his words, but also knowing enough to move around difficult ideas in a conversation when you are trying to keep someone talking. Besides, how can you argue with something that's been around since before your grandfather was born, and working in this field before he conceived your mother?

"I am three hundred thirty seven years old. The young races often take offence to my wisdom, and call me arrogant. I cannot possibly care less than I already do about that." You've met Eldar before, but none so involved. The things you could ask him if he wasn't so tight lipped are vast. How do you talk to something like this? What could you possibly say that he hasn't heard a thousand times before?

"Well that's a..." You pause to find the right word. "Venerable age. I'm surprised you shared it with me so easily. I'm honored."

"I have no reason to hide my age from you. If it was a problem, I would have lied. In any case, I have already stooped to use your tongue." You can't help but feel a little insulted. Perhaps that's just what he's talking about though. You did learn that being overly friendly won't earn too many points with him.

"Okay. My request still stands, if it is a request. The Captain said I could choose my position here, and I'm strongly considering working with you. If I understand this correctly, that will require some level of communication between us." Fel places an impatient hand on his hip.

"How tiresome. Very well. If you wish to work under me, know that I will not teach you magic. I will teach the tactics of a Warmage. This you may translate into your own, young power on your own time. Should we have occasion to work together, I will offer advice on where your ability is best served. Many tasks benefit from the supernatural, and many shortcuts can be made in conflict by proper application of force. Does this agree to you? If not, I cannot stress enough how much of an annoyance it would be for you to accept, and not be able to compete." Once more, you feel his words are slightly backhanded. You shake this from your mind in an attempt to appear worthy of his attention.

"Bet on it. I'm ready." His large eyes remain motionless. He does not even grace you with a micro expression.

"Then I am bound to have you to bear. Still, this is not the time for such things. We should speak tomorrow. I will show you where we may train. Can you use the air ducts?" you look up at the grates that intermittently dot the walls.

"No problem. I'm smaller than you, and I'd be willing to wager just as flexible. I just don't know where they go." He nods.

"Excellent. It would be a terrible bore if you could not manage that. We will speak more of the ducts later. I have business elsewhere." You raise an eyebrow.

"Really? What could you be doing?"

"Attending to personal matters. Elsewhere. You need not know my affairs. Now, if you will excuse me, I tire of your tongue. I will bear more of it at a later date. Tenna' san', Namaarie." You open your muzzle to respond, but see little point. He walks briskly away, and rounds a corner beyond, almost certainly finding another vent in short order. You walk after him, but intend on taking a different route. Sure enough, he is nowhere to be seen when you pass by. You are left with a conflicting feeling regarding him. The line of work he suggests would be very good for your progress, and it would be work you would find somewhat enjoyable. His character is harsh. Could you learn to tolerate it, you ask yourself?

After some time, you find yourself in the Depths. Engineering is placed near the center of the ship to avoid enemy fire. Seeing as the ship is the size of a city block, it's a bit of a hike, especially accounting for stairs down.

Large pair of double doors stands open. A painted yellow sign above them states: Engineering. The constant roar of the boilers, the occasional hiss of red hot steam, and the high pitched whine of the Fusion Core are the predominant sounds here. You enter, and immediately find the main control room. Workers of all stripes mill about, on standby at the control panels, turning cranks and wheels to adjust the steam flow, and fiddling with open wire boxes. The main feature of the room was the Fusion Core, of course. This huge orb rests within a socket in the floor. Its steel is shiny and polished, unlike the rest of the room. A bright blue light shines from inside its small circular windows. You spy Clocks pacing back and forth along the far side of the Core, reading a control panel set into its rim.

You fit right in here, in looks, and in your mind. This is the place you are most needed. You know it. You approach Clocks with confidence. It is a cheerful change to speak to someone around your height.

"Leonard?" You greet him, closing the distance. He looks up from the panel.

"Ah, hello there Relenare. Nice of you to drop in." The Rabbit sticks a paw out for you to shake, and you do. He also probes forth in a Psychic greeting, but you recoil from it, your mind still raw from Christov's punishment.

"Oo." You place a paw on your head. "Not so loud, please." Clocks gives you a knowing grin.

"You met Christov I see. Don't let him scare you. He follows orders well enough." You consider mentioning Lenore, but decide against it.

"I noticed." You take a good look around the room.

"Like it? They tell me you're handy." You return your gaze to him.

"I am. In fact, I'd love to work here, if you'll have me." Clocks raises a paw.

"Say no more. You're in." You can't help but smile.

"Great. When do I start?"

"Tomorrow I suppose. I imagine by the time we get you set up it will be near dinner time, and then... well, I know you have other responsibilities. Besides, you've got to sleep off that head ace of yours." Clocks seems like a much more lenient teacher than Christov was; a lot more personable too.

"I did come down here on orders though. What's that about? As you can guess, I'm not particularly thrilled to hear the answer considering how Christov panned out." Clocks' expression becomes more serious.

"I'm sure. Come with me. We have some projects to work on." He leads out into a back room. This room is filled with work benches, tool racks, and a couple computer terminals. Scrap parts litter every surface: old batteries, steam gauge assembly's, gun parts, springs of all sizes, bottles of oil, metal pipes and rubber tubes. You imagine you could while away hours in this room just tinkering.

"Nice." You state.

"Like it? We'll be here a while, so get comfy. Grab a seat over here next to me." He sits not at a workbench, but by a terminal. You do as you are told, as he inputs a series of cryptic commands.

"I'm not much with computers really."

"I know." After the last input, the screen goes blank, with a single green blinking bar near the top, ready to fill the page. "Please memorize the following commands." Clocks says without emotion. His claws tap away, revealing a set of commands: Get condition X - red. Set terminal X active. Set terminal X go fire. Get confirm G44. If confirm G44 - run fire.

You ponder this for a minute or two. It seems simple enough when it's spelled out for you.

"Okay. I can't say I've memorized it completely, but I've got it." Clocks makes you type it back over again. You do without error. To your dismay, he then continues the process with another series of commands. This continues three more times.

"That's enough of these. I don't expect you to know them all right now, but you should soon. It's important that you do. Let's move to something more your speed." The two of you get up, and move to a workbench. Many strange parts lie unassembled here.

"This I can handle. What are we doing?" Clocks scrapes one half of the parts towards you, and the other half to him.

"Put these together like I do. Be careful. It gets tricky near the end. You could lose a finger." His paws deftly assemble a strange device. It's flat, and seems to be made to screw into another flat surface, or perhaps slide onto rods, for there are three holes around the edges. The inner workings of the device consist of many clockwork mechanisms and spring triggers. The last part is assembling a bolt action of some sort. You're not sure what it's supposed to do, but perhaps it's meant to slide onto another part. You watch Clocks as he loads the last spring, then pulls all but one claw out. He braces the action with a screwdriver and lets it loose. With a snap, the action closes tight, clamping on the screwdriver. His claw is removed just is time, and he yanks his tool out. You copy his method, not finding it wholly foreign. Your bolt clamps shut around your tool, and the deed is done.

"What are these? Part of a larger machine?" Clocks nods.

"Correct. I can't tell you exactly what they are for, but you will need to know how to take them apart. Let's take these apart now." You spend almost just as long taking them apart as you did putting them together. After a good twenty minutes work, they both lie in pieces again.

"I should have expected more red tape." You complain. Clocks shrugs.

"It's nothing to concern yourself with, as long as you can do it. If you can do it, you don't have to worry." He looks over the scattered bits and bobs with pride. "I think we've dirtied our paws enough. They'll ring the bell for mess any minute now. You should hike back up to the mess hall and grab a bite to eat. Then maybe take an early night. You may need it."

"Thanks. I'll see how it goes. Oh, and thanks again for teaching me this stuff. I don't know what it's for, but it's kinda fun." He leads you back out into the main chamber once again.

"Don't mention it. You'll have plenty of fun when you come to work tomorrow."

Mess was underwhelming, but not as bad as you expected from a military vessel. You were landed with mashed potato, steamed carrot, and a slab of ham. These you ate gratefully, seeing as there is no other way to gain food on the ship. Looking up at the main clock, you notice it's nearly eleven o clock at night. The ship is open to you at this hour, and you have nothing else to do today.

CHOICE 3: With nothing else to do today, you have a few options. Perhaps the ship is quiet at night. Perhaps there are fewer guards on patrol. Perhaps there are people walking about after hours. What shall you get up to?

EXTRA CIRCULAR ACTIVITIES:

A: Take an early night. You may be a little tired now, but you'll be even more tired if you don't get your rest. Let's curl up and see how comfy that mattress in your quarters is.

B: Gain entry to the Brig, and try to meet with Ailenore. She's a strange and pitiful woman, but she did request that you meet her alone. You dread the thought of being in there alone with her, but Christov did have access to the light switch. At least it won't be too dark in that hole. She might have interesting things to say.

C: Ask Christov for more lessons. You've changed your mind. You want to know this stuff now. No excuses. Not anymore. Get these things down pat so you can move on. Christov would certainly be happy to oblige.

D: Ask Clocks for extra lessons. It was kinda fun working with Clocks. He's a good teacher, although still bound by the same red tape. If you can get these tasks memorized, you won't have to worry about that bit anymore, just like he said. Besides, you could get to know your boss better.

E: Scour the halls for Fel. Where the hell does he go at night? Do Eldar sleep? Perhaps you could scout some of the vents and see how he gets around. With your flexibility, and small size, you might even have an easier time than he does.

F: Hang out on the bridge. Who's on duty at this hour? Even if there's nobody interesting, you could always look up at the stars, or perhaps down below to see what landscape you're passing over. Best case scenario, we get to see one of Elena's maps. Worst case, we chill out and remind ourselves there's a world out there.