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  Epos (Maltia)

  13 November 2355

  Ethan’s 23rd day on Tersain

  – – – – – – – – – –

  The day of the new expedition arrives, and once again I put on the cloak of the Resistance. I find this garment pleasant, even elegant in its simplicity. I don’t know… it feels as though it radiates modesty and mystery at the same time, casting a curious charm over some unconscious part of me.

  With a certain reluctance, I also take the pistol.

  Can’t be without it, eh?

  According to Dawn, we absolutely have to go armed as long as we’re in Maltian territory. The girl made me practise a little on some targets, with results a bit better than in hand-to-hand combat, where I really don’t manage to shine… at least, not compared to my “trainer.”

  “You know a neat technique,” the rebel pronounced, referring to my taekwondo skills. “But you lack physical fitness and, above all, the will.”

  “There’s not much fighting where I live,” I defended myself. “Or at least, not back home.”

  “Oh, really? Sounds like a peaceful place.”

  “Yes… and no.”

  By now, referring to the so-called “place I come from” is becoming the norm. Even if—apart from Nipria—no one believes I’m not from Tersain, at least they accept the idea of some vaguely defined homeland of mine, as long as it sounds plausible. A strange, unspoken pact, to allow conversations that would otherwise provoke nothing but scepticism.

  Rather useful, since more people than I imagine must know what I claim to be my place of origin, I reflect as I head for the Epos’ hangar. Thanks to gossips like Jim, who spread the word around.

  If that’s the case, then they’ve probably all decided to accept my odd statements as a quirk to indulge me. The thought is somewhat discouraging: it feels as though they consider me a bit unhinged.

  On the way to the hangar I cross paths with Dawn, likewise ready for departure and armed with pistols and staff. Together we move along the corridors, towards the craft that will take us to our destination.

  “This time there’ll be many more of us,” the girl informs me. “We’re going with as many as three velivus.”

  “Won’t we stand out?”

  “No. The other two groups have already left, and as we arrive we’ll scatter among the local people.”

  “So it’s not a deserted fragment…”

  “No, no. There’s a village there.”

  I stare at my brown cloak.

  “But… how are we supposed to blend in, if we’re wearing clothing distinctive of the Resistance?” I ask.

  “That meaning is only known among the rebels. To others it’s just an ordinary garment,” the young woman explains. “Besides, it’s not really a uniform: it’s a symbol, and we don’t wear it systematically.”

  “But if twenty people suddenly turn up all dressed the same, they won’t go unnoticed.”

  “Look, you’re one of the few wearing it on this occasion,” she points out. “Precisely so we don’t draw attention.”

  “Oh…”

  So I’m the only idiot, then?

  “Don’t worry,” Dawn reassures me, winking. “They didn’t tell you anything about the mission. You couldn’t have known.”

  Yeah… in the end I didn’t manage to squeeze a single detail out of Archeos.

  Once we reach our velivus, we climb aboard and fasten our harnesses. About ten minutes later, the craft is flying far from the Epos.

  “Time to hear the details,” says Samuel. “We’re heading to a populated fragment, not too far from the centre of Maltia. There’ll probably be a few Republic troops about. We’ll act as if nothing’s amiss, passing ourselves off as travelling merchants. Once there, we’ll make contact with the comrades who went ahead of us. Depending on the information they’ve gathered, we’ll decide how to conduct the search.”

  “What exactly are we looking for?” I ask.

  I hope they’ve got clearer ideas than last time.

  “Ruins of buildings, or evidence of their presence,” the pilot replies. “In general, anything that could lead us to remains left by the Star Prophets. If Energheia is there, it’ll be in places like that.”

  Wonderful… once again, we’re stumbling around in the dark.

  As we travel, several other aircraft begin to appear in the distance. The sky grows rather crowded, and villages and towns rise upon the fragments. At one point, I spot an entire city.

  So, these are the populated zones of the Republic. It’s… impressive.

  And in truth, some of the architecture really is. Certain fragments have even been joined together with bridges and anchoring structures, creating larger blocks of housing.

  We reach an area of sky where the islands are particularly dense. Almost all of them bear settlements, or at least solitary buildings. I can’t help but wonder what balance keeps those great rocks from crashing into one another.

  Fairworth, the fragment we’re aiming for, is a little more isolated from the others, which surround it without coming too close. It’s fairly large, with forests covering one side and grassy plains on the opposite. Upon those plains lies a village of medium size.

  Samuel approaches a harbour on the edge of the island, separated from the settlement by half a mile of road. Various piers hang suspended over the void, so that the less manoeuvrable ships can dock. The velivus, however, is agile enough to descend onto landing pads set on the ground itself, and so it does.

  While Antony deals with the bureaucratic matters related to disembarkation, the rest of us unload goods to support our cover as merchants. Then, each of us with a large crate in our arms, we head towards the village.

  I’m not surprised to see a touch of archaism in the way the buildings are structured. They’re not exactly medieval, but neither are they at the level of English towns. Still, it’s an aesthetic I find rather pleasant to look at.

  I don’t notice any vehicles such as automobiles, except for a sort of cart that seems to run on steam. Nor is that surprising: in a world like Tersain, land and water transport are likely far less developed than their airborne counterparts.

  Once we’ve made our way among the buildings, we arrive at a two-storey house. From what I know, it’s there that we’re meant to meet a merchant who, on paper, is supposed to receive our goods. In reality, though, he’s also a sympathiser of the Resistance—or perhaps an agent on the spot.

  “I hope we won’t actually have to sell this stuff,” I mutter to Dawn.

  “Of course not,” she reassures me.

  “Good… I don’t think I’d be able to peddle anything even back where I come from, and here in foreign lands I’d look downright suspicious.”

  “Yeah… best not to draw their attention,” the girl agrees, nodding her head.

  Following her gesture, I notice some men in uniform walking along the street. They carry swords at their sides and oddly shaped rifles in their arms.

  “Energy weapons?” I ask.

  “Those? No, they’re mayeutic. You won’t see many village patrols with energy weapons.”

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  “Mmh… still, honestly… their swords look a bit pointless to me.”

  “Mayeutic weapons discharge very quickly. In a conflict it often happens that they run out of shots, and then it comes down to close combat.”

  Crossing the threshold of the building, we find a man in his forties welcoming us. He’s a well-built fellow, with a grizzled head of hair that matches his grey eyes.

  “Here are my ‘clients’,” the merchant greets us. “You can unload here. Had a good journey?”

  “No trouble on the way,” Samuel replies.

  With a grunt, Antony sets down his crate, then starts massaging his left arm. The mayeas of the philosophers had put him back on his feet in record time, but the wound still pains him.

  “Used a velivus?” the merchant asks. “A bit conspicuous… weren’t you afraid of unwanted attention?”

  “It’s common enough these days,” declares the pilot. “For anyone carrying valuable goods, it’s worth the risk to have a good escape craft.”

  The rebels continue exchanging coded pleasantries with the man, fully in line with their roles. A young shop assistant also makes an appearance, but slips away almost at once.

  “You’ll be staying here a while, of course!” the merchant asserts at one point.

  “That would be useful,” Samuel agrees. “Ah… I’d like to introduce you to my sister Dawn… and a fresh ‘recruit’.”

  He gestures towards me and the girl.

  “Oh, good, new faces in the trade,” the merchant comments. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m Aniketos Sinatora.”

  The rebel gives a half-bow.

  “Ethan Knight… pleasure,” I introduce myself.

  Aniketos extends his muscular arm. I take his hand, but instead of returning the shake, the man regards me with a puzzled look.

  “Erm… did I do something wrong?” I ask nervously.

  “Ethan’s a foreigner,” Samuel explains, a little embarrassed. “I think where he comes from they greet… that way. He’s still learning how we do things here.”

  “Oh!” exclaims Aniketos. “Well then, lesson on greetings: here we do it like this.”

  And he grabs my forearm directly, gripping it firmly.

  I see, I think. They greet like in ancient Rome. In fact, even Nipria seemed surprised when I shook her hand.

  Once again, I’m astonished by my memory. I wonder why it never showed itself when I needed it at school.

  “So then… will you take a look at my goods?” Aniketos asks, turning back to the two siblings. “Or would you rather rest first?”

  “We’ll go for the latter,” Samuel replies. “Is there a decent tavern here?”

  “The Steam Cloud,” Aniketos recommends. “The wine’s good, and you meet interesting people.”

  “We’ll drop by.”

  ???

  With no heavy crate in my arms, I can take a better look around during the walk to the tavern. This is the first time we’ve visited a Maltian settlement, and there’s no way I wouldn’t be interested.

  I immediately notice that, as Dawn had said, the Resistance outfit isn’t all that conspicuous compared to what the locals wear. In fact, the style of clothing swings between different eras: from ancient Greek to medieval, from Renaissance to twentieth century, sometimes with garments or accessories that would fit perfectly in a steampunk film.

  The sight of the tavern, then, warms my heart: it reminds me of certain English buildings from the Celtic period and around. I can’t understand, though, why its architecture differs from that of the other structures.

  Once inside, we head to the counter and Samuel orders wine for everyone except Dawn.

  “Erm…” I say. “I’m teetotal.”

  “You’re what?” asks the pilot.

  “Teetotal… I don’t drink alcohol.”

  “You… don’t drink?”

  The two siblings glance at each other. Dawn looks puzzled as well.

  “Perhaps… it causes you health problems?” Samuel asks.

  “No… it’s simply not my habit,” I explain. “I hardly ever touch alcohol.”

  “But… not drinking wine… men don’t do that where you’re from?” the pilot presses.

  He keeps his voice low, as if we were talking about something embarrassing.

  “Yes, but… um… I think you need to explain this to me. There’s some custom about wine here, isn’t there?”

  “Let’s say there is,” Samuel murmurs. “Dawn, could you explain it to him? I need to…”

  He doesn’t finish the sentence. His eyes are fixed on some customers near the counter.

  Those must be our “colleagues” who arrived before us, I realise. Samuel will have to receive their information.

  When the innkeeper hands us glasses of wine, Samuel and Antony move away. On the pretext of asking about the place, they buy drinks for the Resistance members and strike up conversation.

  Meanwhile, Dawn turns to me.

  “So…” she says. “Actually, Samuel exaggerated a bit because of his surprise. In essence, in Maltia it’s the norm for all men to drink wine, and for women not to. Evidently, in the place you come from it isn’t like that.”

  “No, indeed!”

  I stare at my glass. I’ve nothing against alcohol in itself, but I don’t feel at ease with the idea of dulling my mental abilities.

  “Well, it would be… odd if you didn’t drink it,” Dawn explains.

  “I’ll be odd if I do,” I retort.

  “Mmh… in fact, you’re not much for constitution, are you?”

  “That’s not it… it’s just that I’m not used to it.”

  I grab the glass and sip the contents. It isn’t bad, but I know I’ll regret drinking it all.

  “Do what you can,” says the rebel. “Just don’t draw unnecessary attention… although, come to think of it, if you were tipsy you might actually seem less suspicious.”

  … what’s that supposed to mean?

  It takes almost an hour for the Resistance members to pass the information around. When they’ve finished, Antony and Samuel come back to me and Dawn, then leave the tavern with us and head to the merchant Aniketos.

  “I’ve sent my assistant away and switched on the interdictors,” the merchant reports once we reach him. “We can talk without fear.”

  At my questioning look, Dawn explains:

  “Mayeutic interdiction: it prevents anyone from listening to us through mayea.”

  We sit down wherever we can. Sinking into a sack of grain, I sigh with relief: during the long wait I ended up daring more than I’d meant to, drinking all the wine in the generous glass the innkeeper gave me… and now I feel rather dizzy.

  After Aniketos closes the shop door, Samuel begins to explain the situation:

  “First, regarding the military presence… it’s a bit higher than expected. The reason isn’t clear, but in any case we’ll need to proceed with caution. As for the objective, it seems there are underground ruins outside the village. They’re unsafe and unused, so we should be able to visit them without unpleasant encounters. The plan is to move in three hours: it’ll look less suspicious than leaving the village after nightfall. Any questions?”

  “There won’t be any shooting, will there?” I ask, my eyelids half-closed from mild drowsiness.

  “I certainly hope not,” Samuel replies. “That would be the last thing we need.”

  “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be prepared,” Antony cuts in, raising a warning finger. “I’ve got a bad feeling about the number of soldiers in the area.”

  “It’s suspicious,” his brother agrees. “Anyway, while we search, someone will stay in the village to keep an eye on things.”

  Not long after, the meeting is dismissed. With some effort, I pull myself up from the sack and slip off to a more secluded corner of the shop. I feel a bit like an ailing cat, looking for a quiet refuge to recover. In fact, I worry that if I look too dazed the others—especially Antony—will make an issue of it, or something like that.

  Sitting down in a corner among some wooden crates, I let out an annoyed sigh. At times, I really don’t know what gets into my head. I knew it was a bad idea, so why did I drink that wine?

  Ah, but I do know: I let myself be swayed. I felt judged, and I gave in to the pressure, trying to meet other people’s expectations as best I could. And perhaps, I was a little curious too.

  All right, lesson learned. I think I’m fairly good at learning from my mistakes. Next time I’ll be more careful.

  “Hey, Ethan… you’ll be all right, won’t you?”

  The question reaches me from behind the crates at my back. I turn: Samuel is there, smiling calmly, his arms resting on the containers as he watches me.

  “… I don’t know… will a few hours be enough for it to pass?” I ask.

  “Well, you don’t look too bad. I think so,” the pilot hedges. “Actually, for someone who doesn’t drink, you’ve handled it well… you were on an empty stomach, weren’t you?”

  I nod. Does that make much difference? Honestly, I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel after a glass of wine.

  “If the chance comes, once we’re done we’ll take it more slowly, back at the tavern,” Samuel suggests. “We never get to sit around a table on the Epos. Are you getting on all right with us?”

  “Since I’m no longer behind bars,” I reply.

  The rebel chuckles.

  “Every now and then I hear talk about you,” he remarks. “You’re making a name for yourself. I think that’s quite a step forward.”

  “… really?”

  I don’t know if the reputation I’m building is good or bad.

  “If you want to become one of us for real, I think the way’s open to you,” Samuel states. “As long as you don’t do anything foolish, of course.”

  “… are you trying to recruit me?”

  “It’s not my job. I was only pointing out your options,” the pilot declares, lifting his arms off the crates. “Hm?”

  He fixes his gaze on mine.

  “But are you sure you never drink?” he asks.

  “Yes, of course… why?”

  “You’ve got a… odd recovery speed,” the young man observes, studying me. “Your eyes aren’t glazed like they were just now.”

  Come to think of it, my dizziness is fading as well. What I feel now is more a strong warmth lingering in my body.

  And even that is ebbing away.

  “You’re not telling me the whole truth,” the pilot grins, moving off.

  No, look, I haven’t lied!

  As I think this, I bring a hand to my forehead. That’s because I’ve had a sudden feeling… or rather, an intuition.

  Out of nowhere, I remembered how quickly my old wounds healed a few days ago.

  Don’t tell me that…? No, Ethan, don’t go leaping to wild conclusions now.

  ???

  As planned, three hours later we’ve left the village behind. The surrounding land isn’t cultivated, nor is there anything of interest for the settlement’s inhabitants. So it’s not strange that along the way we meet only a few children playing and an old man out walking in search of wild greens.

  The site of the ruins is hidden from the village by a thicket of trees.

  “Rather convenient,” Samuel comments.

  Of the ruins, only a few stone blocks are visible, half-concealed by the tall grass. They’re easier to notice thanks to the presence of some people nearby: other members of the Resistance.

  “This is it?” Samuel asks once we’ve joined them.

  “Yes,” says one of the men, pointing to an opening among the remains.

  I glance upwards. With airships and floating islands, on Tersain there’s a high risk of being observed from above, and I fear someone might notice this unusual gathering of people. The sky around the fragment, however, seems clear, so I can turn my attention back to what my companions are doing.

  “Dawn, can you give us some light?” Samuel asks.

  His sister brings her hands together and, with a sigh, makes a symbol of the universe appear—the same she’d used to brighten the ruins where we found the map’s key.

  “Careful now, we don’t want any collapses,” the pilot warns.

  Then, we make our way into the opening.

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