"The... the uh..." Swims grunts and adjusts his lying position so as to free up his good arm for better signing. "There is no kauka for my people, although Imperials are strong with other medicine. I would rather make do with a machine arm than none at all."
Luis inspects the creature. It doesn't bleed but it does seem to have some sort of internal structure. Bones or armatures of some sort poke up from the rippled craters where the bullets tore into it. None of the organs - at least that's the nomenclature Luis is using for the misshapen mysterious things inside the demon - are recognizeable as belonging to any of the species Luis has encountered. It has a subtle asymmetry to its limbs that is most pronounced in its front "paws". Each sports a different number of claws, although there is no clear evidence given as to why the demon's feet appeared to shapeshift, or why its now-ruined maw blurred with teeth. There is certainly no outward indication of how it was able to bend around Swims' sword blade.
The utter silence of the labyrinthine complex is slowly replaced with an ambience of some sort, like a far-off hum or subtle presence of sound. A few of the round half-globes scattered through the interior chambers join the chemlights with a soft white glow.
Equipment is checked for signs of life; aside from the voxes and radios, which the demon saw fit to enable for its short-lived terror campaign, and the kauka, ostensibly manufactured to "higher specifications", the other powered gadgets carried by the team still seem to be broken.
"We'll see what we can do for you," Davis says to Swims-the-Black. "If nothing else, I'll make sure that you get the best replacement we can get our hands on."
The lights then come on, and Davis looks around for a second, taking in the architecture and designs, looking for anything familiar and listening to the hum off in the distance. "I guess we should head towards whatever that noise is. Does anyone recognize any of this? Ngawai? Arketta? Swims-the-Black?" He looks at Luis and nods in the direction of Swims' severed limb. "Care to do the honors?"
Noone offers any suggestions as to the origin of the architechture or the noise that now emanates softly from the complex, so the group gathers their chem-lights, helps Swims up, and moves out. The walls and floor are almost impossible to mar with a knife - even missed bullets are spotted, flattened out or fragmented on the floor. A simple marker from Luis' aid kits proves effective in keeping track of their whereabouts, however.
The various chambers are similar in style; each a spacious room with a varying number of the glowing nodules and little else. A few minutes of exploring reveals the "edge" of the complex, as its chambers only have two passages where most of the interlocking rooms have three. After following this edge, Luis does some math and figures that the complex is no more than maybe 30-40 yards "deep".
It's then that the reflection of a much brighter glow pulses from within the complex. The light-nodules focus their dim ambient light into brighter fans, methodically sweeping the chambers. For a second, the entire team is bathed in light from these nodules. The few electronics that remain operative hiss with an increasing interference, then the nodules return to their muted glow.
Soft footsteps fall on the strange floor material, padding towards the group in measured time from the direction of the first light-pulse.
Angel turns towards the sound, checking the ammunition in his rifle.
"What, exactly, do we thing this place is? And more importantly, how do we leave before our electronics are fried, our lights run out and whatever cave dwelling freak is coming this way kills us?"
"Well, I'm hoping it's some kind of containment area for whatever comes through the Black Gate," Davis whispers. "Maybe that's the scan to make sure the demon's really dead, and now we get to meet whoever was containing it here, and they can help us get out of here." He presses up against the wall, facing the direction of the footsteps. "Or maybe I'm completely wrong. Take cover, but don't fire until they attack us first."
The team sets up as best they can around the curving archways between chambers. Their SCAR barrels form a palisade around their position in what they figure is a corner of the complex. A soft backlit shadow catches Angel's eye; the movement sounds draw closer still. Eventually a spindly golden humanoid turns the corner and stops short at the array of firearms. It looks like a streamlined androgynous relative of an Imperial Avatar, but while it shares the slightly wrong proportions and dead, doll-like expression, it lacks the ornamental bladed feathers and pageantry of the Emperor's mouthpiece.
It holds its hands out, palms up, and remains in the next chamber.
Davis waits for a second, looking down the barrel of his rifle at the golden humanoid standing in the entryway to the other chamber. After a few seconds of continued passive and non-aggressive behavior. He stands up and steps forward, rifle hanging on its sling, but he's careful to not block the sight lines of any of his team behind him.
"I am Garrett Davis, from Earth, or Narsai," Davis says in Imperial. "The others are Luis Stanhill and Angel Riviera, also from Narsai, Arketta Quis from Hedion, Ngawai Lea Holoni from Sambasan, and Swims-the-Black from Wherr. The deceased member of our team is Jonnoperest, from Bashakra. We are trying to find a way back to Narsai, can you help us?"
Thoughts rise, unbidden, to everyone's minds. Davis recognizes the sensation - it's similar to the Cyllan species' ability to interface with a human's brain, except this thing is showing much more finesse.
It would be inaccurate to describe the response as English or Imperial or Whirr - it is composed of concepts and images as much as words.
"Be not afraid. We/I are glad/surprised/terrified you are here. It has been a long time/798394971 seconds since last contact."
It contemplates the weaponry arrayed before it before adding, "You have killed/destroyed the enemy demon/minotaur/Jabberwocky/Terminator/Tomahawk. This location/filter/quarantine can/will be reclaimed, and for this service/serendipity we/I are grateful/respectful/indebted. In response to your query: we/I assist/acquiesce to your current/potential wishes. You may return or you may undergo passage/transport to our/my location/hideout/bunker/home."
Davis turns back to the team. "Anyone have any problems with a side trip? I'm pretty curious to see what's on the other side. Hell, maybe they can help Swims-the-Black."
"Okay, whoa, that changes things," Davis says. "Where would we be going? What will happen when we get there? Is there any way to communicate to Earth or leave?"
"Not far. This quarantine layer is 32258 light-seconds from the primary habitat/land mass/environment. Upon arrival/completed transport, we/I anticipate/have previously observed the need for a period of adjustment. During this time, you may peruse/absorb whatever knowledge/data interests you. External communication is prohibited/unsafe. You may leave at any time, however I/we cannot/must not allow our data/existence to contaminate the spacetime external to our/my home."
Davis nods. "I suppose knowing for a little while is better than not knowing at all. I'm in. How about the rest of you?"
Davis looks over to the bounty hunter. "Ngawai?"
"I don't really have a home anymore," Ngawai says. "All I have now is you, so yes, I'll go with you."
Davis smiles warmly at her. "Thanks." Their eyes lock for a second.
After, he turns back to the golden man and points his thumb back over his shoulder at Swims-the-Black. "Since you seem to be way more advanced than the Imperials, do you think you could help my friend out while we're at it? We have his arm, if that helps."
Davis nods. "I suppose knowing for a little while is better than not knowing at all. I'm in. How about the rest of you?"
Luis shakes his head sadly. "Can't do it. Not what I signed on for. Risky missions with shakey exit strategies I can handle. Alien diplomacy isn't my job. I just want to go home. Besides, somebody has to report this whole thing."
Angel, ever the optimist, keeps his rifle fairly high, and at least pointed at the general direction of the being.
"Shit, everything we do is way above my pay grade." He shrugs slightly. "Sorry Davis...if it were just me, I'd go poke my nose in the mysterious alien box. But there's Deltas fighting elsewhere, maybe dying - can't just leave them hanging in the wind."
Swims nods to the golden humanoid and steps forward. He hands off his SCAR to Angel with his good arm and takes his severed limb from Luis.
"Your species took my freedom, then my pride. My crew and my ship followed, and now my arm... if this Other of Others can heal me, I would be a fool to deny their aid, but I would accept no other boon except perhaps some time at rest. I am tired." He turns and addresses the "Other of Others" now, and you can see some small measure of rage boil up at the fringes of Swims' hair. "Heal me if you can, false god, and I will come with you."
"Not me," Arketta says. "I'm done kneeling." She joins Angel and Luis, but not before adding a warning. "If this really is a Master, think about what they taught my people... and I don't mean science."
The humanoid glances at Swims's wounds. "Yes," it answers cryptically, then holds Swims' arm to its socket with one arm. The other arm moves with blurring speed. Wisps of smoke and the smell of singed meat followed by a tangy sterile smell waft from the golden thing's busy work.
"We/I have only partial/obsolete/damaged records of your species."
Swims painfully flexes his fingers but they do move.
"A frisbee/first aid kit/baseline/backup will be made/recorded/imprinted when we arrive. Your aid/repair/healing will be complete at that time."
"You that wish to leave/return: Your last used transport/instance is currently shut down to avoid further incursion/contamination. Your neural activity indicates that using this last instance would be unsafe. We/I offer you two alternative choices/outcomes: Transport from an alternate instance to "
At this point, Angel and Luis see a vista of a Mesas Negras-style Gateway nestled in ancient ruins, of a brother to the Black Gate well-kept in secret tunnels lit by millions of eyes, all seasoned with a sense of evolution or graduation. It is an unfamiliar planet, but the idea of leapfrogging to this place and leaving via this other Gateway in the ruins seems to be the idea.
"or use of a pre-Gateway/prototype transport. It would be more versatile but more dangerous/open to incursion." A flood of shared images crowds Angel and Luis' minds, foremost among which is Kirk, Spock, and Bones shimmering away on transporter pads.
Davis reaches up and puts his hand on Swims-the-Black's good shoulder. He looks the big furry Whirr straight in the eyes. "Don't worry. You've given up everything for us. If you were to ask us for anything, anything at all, we would give it to you. The least we can do is give you the rest you deserve."
Davis walks over to the golden man with Swims and Ngawai. "Don't worry, Arketta. Back when we first met the Masters, we were superstitous and quick to worship what we didn't understand. I'm not looking for a God, I just want some answers."
"I hope you find your answers," Arketta replies to Davis.
"Follow me," the golden humanoid projects. It walks back the way it came, where one of the chambers' nodules shine bright. The walls and floor have expanded out into smooth benches, and two of the archways have been sealed. The third melts into a seamless seal as everyone enters.
"There are few (current count unknown) primary instances within acceptable range of your desired destination."
There is a profound sense of movement stifled by external forces. Swims-the-Black and Ngawai make use of the bench quickly.
"Negotiations are underway with the species at the primary instance's spacetime. You conceptualize/understand that this situation is all highly irregular/anomalous. A singleton."
One of the chamber archways opens again. A second humanoid, identical to the first, projects to Angel, Luis, and Arketta.
"I am to show you to your instance." It motions for the three humans to leave the chamber. The first Master stops the tiny exodus, however. It adds, "Your group/team/shared experience diverges now. Final instructions/desires/communication should be initiated at this time."
Admiral Duck Sauce
