Startup 77: Resolution

Filli failed. She might not have been able to save the dwarf if she’d tried, but she just let it happen. She’d trusted a cave fisher, and in doing so she’d let an ally die. The bolt flew, its path so short, so direct, that it could not possibly fail to fly directly through Narwhal’s head. His struggling hadn’t stopped yet when Filli stretched her legs, launching her hunched body forward into that deceitful bitch.

If she is willing to kill the hostage, she’s willing to steal the key. She dies. Now. I should have killed her the day I stepped foot on this ship.

Varossa smirked and slipped to the side, allowing Filli to drive her spear deep into the wall. She slung her crossbow over her shoulder and pulled out her mace, all in one smooth, practiced motion.

“Oh dear.” She said, her voice full of faux concern. “Be careful! He’s going to have enough expenses to handle without you flailing around like that, damaging the bulkheads.”

Filli ripped the spear out and swung the blade at the end towards Varossa’s midriff. She hopped back again, just out of reach of the arc, then darted forward in a roll. As she came out of it she whipped the mace backwards towards Filli’s ankle. The pain was awful, but fleeting. The real problem was that Filli’s leg collapsed beneath her.

“Interesting fact about large beasts.” Varossa said conversationally. “They are terribly **** in their feet and lower legs. All that weight balanced on a few points, you know?”

Filli switched to all fours, using her forepaws for extra balance, but that made turning in the cramped corridor harder, all the more because she was operating with three legs. Her ankle was healing, but the bone still took a moment to knit back together. By the time she was in position to attack Varossa again, the woman was clashing with Mr. Rust.

Her whirling mace dented it, but she seemed to be having trouble taking the golem down. She was striking at each of its joints experimentally, as if to see which was weakest.

“Shocking he can even make something like this.” She said, her breaths deliberate and controlled, “If he wasn’t such a disaster about his finances I would have loved to work with him long term.”

Filli felt the sting of a bullet piercing her thigh, a stray shot from Naomi’s shotgun. She was so large that any pellets that missed Varossa could not help but hit Filli. The pellets clinked to the floor, but the burning pain stayed longer than usual, probably because her body wasn’t finished with her ankle yet.

A great golden wasp the size of a cat buzzed past Filli’s head, diving for Varossa’s belt. At the same time, Filli went for her head. Her freakish dominant arm extended forward like a battering ram in a strike that could shatter seasoned wood. It was straight at her back, and Varossa didn’t notice until it was too late to dodge.

She hopped into the air in a half turn and seemed to go limp, turning a depressing amount of **** from the blow into a push that knocked her into Mr. Rust. She managed to avoid being skewered, but the golem swiped at her, leaving a long gash in her hip. She scrambled down the hallway, swatting the wasp away with her mace as she avoided the golem’s clumsy follow up. Naomi finished reloading and leveled her gun at the Chelish Captain.

“Stop!” She shouted, “The Captain will-“

Varossa stood quickly, slapping the floor to give herself momentum, and drove her palm into Naomi’s chin. The gun went off, but didn’t hit Varossa, who was laughing like a maniac.

The shotgun clattered to the floor, and Naomi reeled from pain she was unaccustomed to. She staggered back, and Filli saw the flash of a silver ring on her off hand, which she instinctively held up in a gesture that had virtually no chance of warding off Varossa.

Filli attempted to shoulder past Mr. Rust, but he responded with programmed practicality, optimizing his own ability to stand over her ability to pass him. He pushed her away from Naomi, who was too overwhelmed by pain to give him any orders other than to protect herself and keep Varossa away.

Varossa grabbed a pill, like the ones Creed made, from her belt pouch. She swatted away the wasp as it made another dive for the key to the brig, backpedaling away from Mr. Rust, which slowed down to squeeze past Naomi without hurting her. As she downed the pill, the gash on her leg closed near instantly and she stopped favoring it.

“Honestly a great showing.” She said to Filli, “So your kind are made by drow? I always thought they were overpriced at Rampore, but I might look into buying directly once I have agents in Heslandaena.”

Filli roared in rage. The thought of her actions somehow aiding L’Rath, even indirectly, just made everything about this situation worse. She almost tried to overrun Rust again, but it was too close to Naomi, standing still and blocking the space between Varossa and Naomi. If Filli dragged the golem out of the way, she might get hurt as the heavy metal monstrosity fell to the ground.

Varossa turned and ran, noting that the idiot golem had changed its priority from attack to defense. She turned around the corner, and Filli checked her mental map of the ship. She would need to be fast, but she could probably get to the deck in time to intercept the bitch, if only just.

Suddenly, the wasp abandoned Varossa and dove towards Filli. She tensed, almost crushing it on instinct, and then it landed and glowed with amber light. Filli changed.

She shrank, possibly multiple feet. Her arms narrowed, and though they were still tipped with razor claws they were black, shiny chitin that glittered like onyx. A ripple of the same material ran across her entire body in alternating gold and black, compressing her into a shape not much larger than Naomi’s. Finally, crystalline wings burst from her back, and Filli was shocked to realize that she knew exactly how to use them.

She didn’t waste time marveling at the magic. She leapt forward, releasing magic from the too-small wings to allow herself to fly through the tight corridors, cornering with effortless grace honed from years in a body far too large. She wasn’t weaker, if anything she felt stronger, faster… unburdened. She was faster than Varossa, that was for sure.

Their duel was quick, brutal, and inevitable. Varossa was better than Filli, that was obvious. She knew what she was doing, and Filli realized belatedly that she really didn’t. She knew how to leverage the fact that she was stronger. Barreling forward and crushing skulls was the perfect plan if you could pull it off, and in the past Dovnu had never set her against anything that required more complexity than that.

The wasp hardly cared about the duel once it managed to retrieve the key from the extremely distracted Varossa, flying away to save Cog and Syl. Filli was just a tool for that wasp’s plan, but that was normal. At least this time she benefitted from being a tool, like with Emrys.

Varossa hit Filli two or three times for every strike she managed in return, but if there was anything that Filli was certain she was better at than this smug girl, better than most, it was enduring pain. When Varossa broke her arm, she used the other arm. When Varossa broke a leg, she’d use her wings to float. When Varossa broke a wing, she’d land. She never let up, and Varossa just couldn’t hurt her enough to make her slow down.She couldn’t escape Filli, not as she was now, and she couldn’t hurt Filli, not in any way that mattered. She was getting tired as her body drained her fat reserves, but that just meant she’d be ravenous after the fight.

Filli could hurt Varossa; that was what mattered. It wasn’t much, but every single grazing strike with her claws meant that the woman would bleed. Even if her blood vanished into clear goo seconds after leaving her body, even if her entire body was a magical construct, this woman had needed to use magic to breathe underwater. If she needed air, that meant she needed oxygen, that meant she needed blood. She slowed down, bit by bit, as she lost blood. She used her potions less, rationing them, then not at all. She was pressed right up against the doors that led outside, but she couldn’t stop long enough to open the door or Filli would rip her spine out barehanded. Through it all, Varossa just smiled, as if this was all great fun.

Her victory wasn’t dramatic, exactly. Varossa just ran out of potions and Filli managed to tear off a chunk of her thigh that happened to contain an artery. She bled, she died, and her body shuddered and lost color. Slowly every part of Varossa from her fingertips to her hair turned grey, then clear, then finally she splashed onto the ground like a puddle. She’d stopped fighting when she realized what was happening, and laughed to herself instead.

“A bit overconfident, I suppose.”

Filli looked at her hands, covered in the transparent goo that had so recently been Varossa. Of course the bitch didn’t even do the courtesy of leaving behind a body that Emrys could sell to Jerry. A shame, too. Filli didn’t really want to be a human in particular, but there was no question that Varossa’s would have been considered premium.

Filli’s body tensed again when she heard the clatter of boots on the deck. Everyone on the crew had already come below to help in the defense. This could be anyone. When they pulled the door open, Filli took in the starlight and saw a team of four men and women in the ornamental armor she’d seen at the temple of Callistria. The one in the lead, a male half elf with delicate features, nodded at her respectfully.

“Ah, I see that the high priestess sent aid.” He said. “Where are we needed, Mistress?”

Filli only let her confusion delay her response for a second.

Mistress? Me?

“Follow me eef you are allies,” she said, “ve haff injured und trapped varriors.”

She turned and waved for them to follow before her mind caught up with her mouth.

Her mouth, which had produced words. Slurred and marred with a thick Undercommon accent, the only language she’d ever actually spoken, probably near incomprehensible, but she had spoken aloud. Moreover, these people had heard those words and seemed perfectly willing to obey.

They must think I’m someone else. Someone important.

She led them to the brig, where both Cog and Syl were enveloped in amber cocoons that could have been made of either glass or pure light depending on the angle Filli looked at them from. Once the Callistrians started taking their marching orders from the wasp, Filli went to find Naomi.

Hopefully she didn’t go back to the crew quarters. Those spores are probably still active, and if she breathes them in and gets hurt after all I did to get out and help her…

The ship wasn’t so large that it was hard to find Naomi, of course. Filli rounded a corner and found the strangest hallway of the ship. Everything was bleached white like years old driftwood laying in the sun. Five skeletons were slowly disintegrating into dust, becoming bone white piles of ash that probably wouldn’t be recognizable soon. Filli only briefly noted that their resale value was probably nil; she had something more pressing to address. At the center of it all was Aaron, his head in Naomi’s lap, his eyes wide and unblinking.

Naomi looked up at Filli, and did not recognize her. Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes, glinting in the eternal lantern She’d carried to light her way.

“Can you help me?” She asked, her voice hollow, “I’m not strong enough to carry him. There’s someone nearby who might be able to tell me what’s wrong with him.”

Filli nodded, and wordlessly picked Aaron up. It was terribly easy to do. She carried him out onto the deck, where Cave Mother’s vessel actually gasped when she saw the state he was in.

“Aaron, you fool boy.” She said, her voice gentler than it usually was, “What have you done?”

“I haff to help ze crew.” Filli said, not willing to look Naomi in the eye. “I’m zorry. I can do nozink for him.”

“It’s fine.” Naomi said, “Go.”

Filli went to the crew quarters next, telling the men to stop trying to break down the door. She placed one hand upon the rubbery cement Creed had covered the door with. When she punched it hard enough to break her knuckles again, the whole mass absorbed the ****.

I would have needed to break down the wall if he’d finished… ah.

“Zis door ees too dangerous.” She yelled to the crew. “I vill open you anozzer exit.”

Her claws were, if anything, sharper in this form than her natural form. She hoped that she wasn’t damaging anything too important when she carved a hole leading into the bilges beneath the men. She remembered something about bulkheads holding up the roof, and didn’t want to risk damaging the structure of the ship, so instead she created a hole just wide enough for the men to slip down.

Maybe Emrys can put a door here. It might be good for the men to have a back door out, even if it’s through the bilges.

Filli led the men out through the ankle deep filthy water, and wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to the open, and more importantly appreciative, staring. She struggled through the barrage of questions, speech becoming easier as she did, though she felt like she only knew slightly more than they did.

“Varossa has betrayed us, and Lubo has left.” She said, “Killed Narwhal. I haff killed her. Aaron is hurt. Very hurt. No more enemies. Now go. I must let ze girls out as well.”

Filli ran out of work quickly. Once the crisis was over, the things a big stupid rat could do to help dried up almost immediately. The crew stared at her throughout; after all, they had no more idea of what to do than she did. She fled to the bow of the ship to watch the useful people work.

The Callistrians carried away Cog and Syl, and Filli watched from the bow as a panicked Linu with handcuffs dangling from one wrist rushed up to Cog’s side and started demanding answers from the wasp perched on his chest. She was barefoot, wearing a cotton robe that clung to her form in the light rain. Right next to her, in a state of equally abbreviated dress, Sandara lay her hands upon each of them to seemingly little effect. The injured were in good hands, but from what Filli knew it was a bad sign when basic magical healing wasn’t enough to instantly get someone back on their feet.

She considered sitting with Naomi, but wasn’t sure what good that would do. She was apparently unrecognizable, and didn’t really have any explanation beyond the wasp’s magic.

Hello. I am your useless friend. Allow me to distract you from the crisis to explain that I look different now. No, that doesn’t help the situation at all.

She drifted down to the only place in the ship she was sure she’d be able to see herself instead. Sosima’s cabin had a vanity where she attended to her own appearance daily, and there Filli was able to look upon the intruder that everyone else had seen wandering around the ship for the past hour.

She was tall, and pretty, and slim, and the only part of the whole creature in the mirror that looked familiar to Filli was her mother’s red hair and, perhaps, her glittering black eyes. The pointed ears set her on edge, but Emrys had shown her that good elves existed. She opened her mouth, and saw a perfectly normal, perfectly functional, pink tongue moving around at her command.

Filli was surprised to find that it didn’t feel wrong, or at least no more wrong than her real face. She hated her body anyway, and this one seemed to be better in many ways. She wondered, briefly, if this was permanent. Had this been a moment of divine intervention from Callistria, to make sure a new initiate wasn’t too ugly to serve her?

That, unfortunately, didn’t line up with what she knew of magic. It might last a few hours. Maybe as much as a few days; she didn’t really know what the wasp was capable of. She could transform back at any moment. She should go do something while she still could.

She should find someone to kiss. Give a stranger a hug. Steal one of Sandara’s outfits and go to a bar, see what being desired felt like. Find someone who wasn’t in the middle of a crisis and just talk to them like a normal person.

She sat and marveled at her borrowed face for far too long to do anything like that. The only thing of importance that she did after the crisis passed was make a decision.

If this is possible, if I could do this for myself, I will do whatever I must to make it happen.

••••••••••

Getting out of Smalltown was not a quick process, but once the battle lines were drawn it ironically became much easier. Conchobar just had to angle his squad towards the mobs that were carrying lights; the goblin supremacists generally didn’t bother, so light generally meant safety.

When it didn’t… as a wise woman once said, guns are for danger.

More than one impromptu mob leader tried to recruit them, but Conchobar wanted nothing to do with local politics. One of the girls had sidled up to one of them, a broad shouldered goblin almost as tall as Gobron, taking every opportunity she could to show off her bare wrists.

“Get his name, the captain can sell you to him later if that’s what you want!” Conchobar had told her, “The Enterprise might be in danger!”

That was the refrain, the magic words needed to recenter the gunnery crew on the task at hand. Rowe would have just let them wander off, which to be fair would have gotten them back quicker. Still probably not quickly enough to matter in the grand scheme of things.

Conchobar scrambled onto the deck, and found it crowded with members of the crew that were milling around without any idea what to do. None of the officers were present. None except for Aaron, laying in front of Cave Mother and clearly indisposed. Conchobar took a deep breath.

Nine Hells. I guess it’s time to see if this works on non-goblins.

“Form up!” He yelled, rushing to the poop deck so he’d have an elevated position and pointing at a one armed woman they’d picked up in Dragonsthrall. “You! Tell me what happened! Where are the officers and why are you standing around?”

She stiffened as all eyes turned to her, blinking a few times.

“Uh, Captain Lanteri and Lubo did a mutiny.” She said, “I think a bunch of Callistrians came and saw them off? I guess the captain hired security?”

“Cogward and Lonegan got pretty hurt.” One of the others chimed in, now that the agenda had been set. “The temple folk dragged em off, and you can see Ivey.”

Conchobar nodded, improvising his next question as he went. He was pretty sure any level of direction would be better than what he’d found when he arrived. He doubted a whole mutiny happened with only three people injured.

“Anyone else injured or dead?” He demanded, projecting his voice. “Come on, minutes might matter!”

Under his direction, the crew gathered together a handful of corpses. Mostly from Lubo’s group, though Narwhal’s body was in really rough shape. It seemed like the mutineers died more, but they died clean. The only two people seriously injured from the loyalist side were a girl who’d gotten a whiff of some strange spores and now she couldn’t feel her extremities, and Aaron, who’d apparently fallen into a fitful sleep after mumbling to himself for a while. Naomi sat with him, largely unresponsive, stroking his hair and crying.

“Carry the bodies to Emrys, and you go with them.” Conchobar ordered. “He should be able to figure out the next steps. Where the hell is that outsider you people mentioned? If she’s still around, she can probably get us past the guards.”

“She went under.” One of the crew supplied, “Maybe one of the cabins?”

“Find her.” Conchobar ordered the goblins, Rowe included, “Make sure she isn’t doing anything bad, and see if she can provide an escort.”

He turned to Cave Mother and leaned in to whisper.

“Do you know what happened to Aaron?” He said, “Is he going to be alright?”

“No.” Cave Mother said, her voice weary and quiet, “He has ruptured his very soul, which was already fragile, and **** me to sever our pact so that he would not cause damage that would follow him into eternity.”

Oh.

“That is… really bad, isn’t it?” Conchobar said, and Cave Mother didn’t dignify his words with a response. “Will rest even help with that?”

“Somewhat.” Cave Mother said, “He may become lucid again, but he’s likely to have difficulty telling the difference between past and present at times. His soul is torn, but I was able to ensure that all the parts remain. Powerful magic may yet restore him, but never again shall we commune.”

Conchobar nodded.

“Alright.” He said, “Someone better tell Emrys about that. He might come up with something.”

••••••••••

Colin crawled out of the harbor, naked, shaking, and reliving the last seconds of his life over and over. He felt the scales on his skin for the thousandth time. They felt vaguely greasy, much like the rest of him.

A booming voice in his head ordered him to swim out to sea. To rejoin “his” people, the people who’d watched while he’d been shot in the back. He’d swam as fast as he could back towards the enterprise, and now that speed was costing him. It was worse than a sprint, and once he was on land he didn’t have the water supporting his body.

Got to get back to the Enterprise. Gotta talk to the captain. Wasn’t my idea. I’m no traitor.

He saw a flash of red light, two pinpricks, passing along the wall in front of him. He might have been seeing something, but he didn’t care.

“You!” He yelled, “Shadow! Stop! I’ve got to tell you something!”

The shadow turned and looked him in the eye with those red sparks. So it was the captain’s shadow after all. He’d been right. What had he been planning on saying?

“Blimey, mate.” She said, “You look like you’re in a bad way.”

The voice in his head roared at him, battering at his thoughts. It made it hard to think, hard to focus. Really there was only one thought he could manage.

Fuck you, no one tells me what to do.