help turn the tide of the wars.”
“Not to mention your career,” said the fat mage, smirking. “Let’s not forget your precious career.”
“Gentlemen, and…” The woman looks quickly in my direction, and then looks away. “Gentlemen. First things first,” she says, taking charge. “Fehris, what’s with all the green spirits?”
“Fascinating, weren’t they?” The fat mage blinks.
“They could see me,” I say. “They knew I was there.”
“Yes, exactly!” Fehris, the fat mage, sits up a little straighter and looks at us for the first time. “And they weren’t happy about it, either! The common theory is that they’re the ghosts of the dead of Tilhtinora—when the city exploded and fell, it happened so quickly that the inhabitants didn’t realize it was time to move on, and now there looking for where they’re supposed to be. The problem with this, of course, is that you have to believe in ghosts, which is an issue for me. Now, if you study them closely, and they way they reacted to this creature here? You’ll see a few things that validate my own theories of cross-dimensional…”
Mircada cuts him off. “Why weren’t we supposed to look at them?”
“Because they’d drive you mad, Mircada. Or at least scare Ercan. You know how freaked out he can get.”
Ercan, the bearded man, sighs loudly.
“Seriously!” Ferhis says. “You remember that time at the College, when we got caught under the matrix platforms with the Provost’s case of single malt? You shook like a …”
Ercan clears his throat loudly. “So they’re part of the storm, then, and not really related to the ship.”
“Mostly, yes. There is another report of similar phenomena from a Solingi Retriever ship six years ago, who made the mistake of trying to weather a Dead storm without warding. Similar apparitions. Three crew went mad and ran out into the storm and probably got eaten by something. Only these ghosts did seem particularly vivid around our furry friend here, and I can’t really determine if that’s because of who, or what, he is. I’m assuming that he’s a he, by the way. Am I being too presumptuous?”
He looks at me, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “But it could also have been because he was connected with the ship, Ercan. The Solingi account didn’t lead me to understand there was a lot of shouting and commotion like that. Given the fact they’re not here now, I think we can predominantly link them to the storm, first.”
"So we probably don't need to be too concerned."
"Correct."
“All right. More on that later,” the woman, Mircada says. “Could we have been followed?”
Ercan shakes his head.
I say, “Agreed, it’s pretty unlikely. Even the Akarii would have a hard time in that. But if it was me, I’d have some sort of tracking mechanism on the ship. I think we’re off-lei now, so it shouldn’t be an issue, but the minute we’re back on, we have to assume they can find us if they want to.”
“Who’d want to find this battered ancient relic now, when it’s beaten beyond all hope of restoration?”
“Fehris,” Mircada says, “I said enough . And is your leg actually broken?”
“I suppose it’s possible.” Fehris’ eyes had moved back to the helmet in his lap. He was using a short finger to trace the lines engraved there. "Walking is overrated."
The woman turns to Kjat. “Can you help us find something to use as a splint? I think there are materials that might work back in the first compartment.” Kjat looks first at me. I nod—these three don’t look like a threat yet, and we’re better off working with them until we figure out where we are.
She moves awkwardly up the passageway, and I wonder if she’s been injured? I’ll have to check with her later, when we’re alone.
Mircada turns back to me. “What’s the condition of the ship?”
“Not great. I’ve never seen anything like this …”
“You’re damn right you haven’t,” mumbled
“Not to mention your career,” said the fat mage, smirking. “Let’s not forget your precious career.”
“Gentlemen, and…” The woman looks quickly in my direction, and then looks away. “Gentlemen. First things first,” she says, taking charge. “Fehris, what’s with all the green spirits?”
“Fascinating, weren’t they?” The fat mage blinks.
“They could see me,” I say. “They knew I was there.”
“Yes, exactly!” Fehris, the fat mage, sits up a little straighter and looks at us for the first time. “And they weren’t happy about it, either! The common theory is that they’re the ghosts of the dead of Tilhtinora—when the city exploded and fell, it happened so quickly that the inhabitants didn’t realize it was time to move on, and now there looking for where they’re supposed to be. The problem with this, of course, is that you have to believe in ghosts, which is an issue for me. Now, if you study them closely, and they way they reacted to this creature here? You’ll see a few things that validate my own theories of cross-dimensional…”
Mircada cuts him off. “Why weren’t we supposed to look at them?”
“Because they’d drive you mad, Mircada. Or at least scare Ercan. You know how freaked out he can get.”
Ercan, the bearded man, sighs loudly.
“Seriously!” Ferhis says. “You remember that time at the College, when we got caught under the matrix platforms with the Provost’s case of single malt? You shook like a …”
Ercan clears his throat loudly. “So they’re part of the storm, then, and not really related to the ship.”
“Mostly, yes. There is another report of similar phenomena from a Solingi Retriever ship six years ago, who made the mistake of trying to weather a Dead storm without warding. Similar apparitions. Three crew went mad and ran out into the storm and probably got eaten by something. Only these ghosts did seem particularly vivid around our furry friend here, and I can’t really determine if that’s because of who, or what, he is. I’m assuming that he’s a he, by the way. Am I being too presumptuous?”
He looks at me, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “But it could also have been because he was connected with the ship, Ercan. The Solingi account didn’t lead me to understand there was a lot of shouting and commotion like that. Given the fact they’re not here now, I think we can predominantly link them to the storm, first.”
"So we probably don't need to be too concerned."
"Correct."
“All right. More on that later,” the woman, Mircada says. “Could we have been followed?”
Ercan shakes his head.
I say, “Agreed, it’s pretty unlikely. Even the Akarii would have a hard time in that. But if it was me, I’d have some sort of tracking mechanism on the ship. I think we’re off-lei now, so it shouldn’t be an issue, but the minute we’re back on, we have to assume they can find us if they want to.”
“Who’d want to find this battered ancient relic now, when it’s beaten beyond all hope of restoration?”
“Fehris,” Mircada says, “I said enough . And is your leg actually broken?”
“I suppose it’s possible.” Fehris’ eyes had moved back to the helmet in his lap. He was using a short finger to trace the lines engraved there. "Walking is overrated."
The woman turns to Kjat. “Can you help us find something to use as a splint? I think there are materials that might work back in the first compartment.” Kjat looks first at me. I nod—these three don’t look like a threat yet, and we’re better off working with them until we figure out where we are.
She moves awkwardly up the passageway, and I wonder if she’s been injured? I’ll have to check with her later, when we’re alone.
Mircada turns back to me. “What’s the condition of the ship?”
“Not great. I’ve never seen anything like this …”
“You’re damn right you haven’t,” mumbled
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