Roy felt a jolt of alarm. Malnourishment alone wouldn't cause so many varied symptoms—joint pain, cough, rashes, fever. It felt… off. He needed an expert, or at least someone with more medical knowledge than "drink water and hope for the best," which was currently his primary go-to.
"Serenity," Roy said into his comm, "is William Henry Harrison available? We need a proper medical consult down here in New Noruma, warehouse district."
"Affirmative, Captain," Serenity's voice replied. "Self-Designated Medical Officer Presidroid Harrison is en route. ETA, approximately ninety seconds. He was… adjusting the pH balance of the decorative fishpond near the West Gate with surprising enthusiasm."
Roy sighed. "Of course he was."
True to Serenity's word, less than two minutes later, the Presidroid designated William Henry Harrison arrived, lab coat pristine despite a suspicious green stain on one sleeve, a data-slate already in hand. He practically bounced into the warehouse, his blue optical sensors wide with an almost unnerving cheerfulness.
"Captain Gunn! Lady Zehrina! What a delightful pathological puzzle you've found for me today!" Wills chirped, his voice a high-pitched, sing-song lilt. He did a little excited hop. "So many fascinating symptoms! The epidemiological possibilities are simply thrilling!"
He immediately set to work, his movements quick and precise, a stark contrast to his childlike demeanor. He took samples, ran scans with his handheld device, and muttered to himself about "mycotic proliferation" and "bacterial synergists" with an air of someone unwrapping a particularly exciting birthday present.
After a few minutes of intense, rapid-fire diagnostics, Wills turned back to Roy, his blue optics gleaming. "Captain, your initial intuition was… surprisingly astute! Though, of course, not as astute as my own subsequent, more detailed analysis." He puffed out his small chest slightly. "It appears we are indeed dealing with a complex compound pathogenic assault! A dormant Terran bacterial strain, Yersinia pestis no less, acting as an anchor for an aggressive, fast-acting fungal parasite endemic to this world's deeper subterranean strata! Most likely originating from that dreadful quarry you mentioned! A most elegant, if tragically unfortunate, biological synergy!"
Zehrina frowned, stepping closer to Roy. "There's something… off about him, Roy. More than usual."
Roy nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on Wills, a sudden, cold suspicion dawning. The Presidroid was too knowledgeable, his diagnostic leap too quick, his demeanor even more… feminine and childishly elitist than his usual quirky baseline. This wasn't just Wills being eccentric.
"Wills," Roy said, his voice deceptively casual. "There's a child down the alleyway, behind the old cooper's shed. Might have the same symptoms. Could you come take a look? Zehrina and I will accompany you."
Wills clapped his metallic hands together with delight. "Oh, splendid! More data points! Lead the way, Captain! This is turning into a most stimulating afternoon!"
Roy led them out of the bustling warehouse and into a narrow, shadowed alleyway, deliberately choosing a path that was deserted. Zehrina moved silently beside him, her gaze watchful. As soon as they were out of sight of any onlookers, Zehrina acted. With a swift, almost invisible gesture, strands of black dust shot out, slamming Wills against the alley wall, pinning him there, his limbs restrained, data-slate clattering to the ground.
Wills let out a surprised, high-pitched "Eeep!" before his optics focused on Zehrina, then on Roy, who was approaching slowly, his face a mask of cold, controlled fury.
"By the way," Roy began, his voice dangerously quiet as he stared directly into Wills' wide, suddenly fearful blue eyes. "Who the hell are you?"
Wills' child-like confidence seemed to shatter. He giggled nervously, a strange, tinny sound. "Uhh, a frieeeend, Captain? A very helpful, very clever friend who is exceptionally good at medical things?" His voice was an octave higher than usual, laced with a desperate attempt at ingratiation.
Roy took another step closer, his own eyes hard as ice. "That much I can tell. But still. Who. Are. You?"
Wills squirmed against Zehrina's dust restraints, his metallic fingers twitching. "I can't tell you yet! Not right now! But trust me, Captain, please trust me! I am here to help! I will always serve my Captain! Always!" The desperation in his voice was palpable.
"Where is Will?" Roy pressed, his voice a low growl. "The real William Henry Harrison. Did you hurt him? Is he… gone?"
Suddenly, Wills' entire demeanor shifted. The childlike fear vanished, replaced by a familiar, slightly befuddled but calm expression. The blue optics blinked, and the Presidroid looked around in confusion. "Oh… hello, Captain Gunn! Lady Zehrina! What are we doing in this rather dingy alleyway? I was having the most wonderful dream! I was so close to finding out who absconded with the Archduke's prized badger! A most perplexing case, I assure you!"
Roy and Zehrina exchanged a look. Zehrina slowly, cautiously, let the dust restraints dissipate.
Roy let out a slow breath. "Let him go, Zehrina. Will is… still himself, somewhere in there. That's all that matters for now."
The instant the dust fully receded, Wills' body gave a slight, almost imperceptible twitch. The childlike, high-pitched voice returned, along with the wide, slightly manic blue eyes. "Can you trust me now, Captain Gunn? Pleeeease?"
Roy stared at the Presidroid, a maelstrom of confusion, suspicion, and an urgent, overriding need for answers warring within him. He ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. Whatever was going on with Wills, or whoever was inside Wills, the children were still dying.
"Don't have much of a choice, do I?" Roy finally said, his voice rough with exhaustion and frustration. "Those kids in there are more important than whatever mind-games you're playing right now. Now that they are in the clear, get that back to full health." He turned on his heel, gesturing for Zehrina to follow. "But this conversation? It's not over."
Wills, or the entity controlling him, let out a delighted little squeak and scrambled to pick up his data-slate, practically skipping after them back towards the warehouse, once again chattering excitedly about "fascinating pathogenic models" and "optimal treatment protocols." Zehrina shot Roy a deeply concerned look over her shoulder, but Roy could only shrug, his own mind still reeling from the bizarre, unsettling encounter.
-
Roy lay entombed in his bed within the Nightshatter's surprisingly plush captain's quarters, blankets pulled entirely over his head like a makeshift, angst-ridden cocoon. The overhead lights had been mercifully dimmed for what felt like an eternity, and he hadn't voluntarily left the sanctuary of his room since Wills had delivered the final, grim tally: all but a couple of the sick children rescued from the quarry had survived. Two had slipped away in the quiet hours of the night, and the knowledge gnawed at him, a corrosive acid in his gut. He'd been so arrogantly certain that with enough advanced Earth medicine, with Wills' bizarre genius, everyone would pull through. Now, a heavy, suffocating guilt ate at his thoughts, whispering insidious accusations.
For a long, long while, he lay there in the self-imposed darkness, drifting in a miserable limbo between fitful, shallow sleep and a torment of waking regrets. Then, soft, deliberate footsteps and carefully muffled voices, like conspirators hatching a particularly devious plot, drifted into the room from the corridor outside. Eryndra and Zehrina emerged from the doorway, their expressions a carefully constructed mask of nonchalance. They seemed either entirely unaware, or, more likely, entirely unconcerned that Roy was currently attempting to become one with his mattress.
"Well, Sister," Zehrina began, her voice bright, almost unnaturally cheerful, as she made a grand, sweeping gesture around the dim room. "It appears your ingenious plan to cheer up our dear Captain by pointedly ignoring his dramatic brooding is our best, and frankly, only shot at success."
Eryndra made a small, theatrical show of looking around, peering under the desk and behind a rather large potted plant that had mysteriously appeared in the corner. "Indeed, Sister. I see no sign of our fearless, intrepid leader anywhere. Tragic, really. Perhaps he's been abducted by dust bunnies? Shall we discuss the thrilling geopolitical implications of the day's shipments, yes? Or maybe the riveting new shade of blue Takara is considering for her next set of runic gauntlet enchantments?" Her tone was so excessively casual it was practically an art form.
Roy groaned from beneath his fortress of sheets, a sound of pure, unadulterated suffering. Neither of the Thunderborne sisters so much as acknowledged his mournful protest. They carried on with their light, almost painfully mundane conversation: Eryndra wondered aloud, with great dramatic flair, if the next village they encountered would have decent, non-ichor-based food options. Zehrina mused, with equal theatricality, about the thrilling prospect of exploring more of Otherrealm's meticulously paved, and well-maintained, roadways. Eventually, with a frustrated, muffled roar, Roy threw the blanket aside, his hair a chaotic mess, his face flushed with a potent cocktail of irritation and embarrassment.
"Alright, alright, I get it! Just... just shut up already, you two! Your powers of subtle psychological warfare are truly terrifying!"
The Thunderborne sisters exchanged a swift, mischievous grin and then, as if on cue, broke into peals of delighted, unrestrained laughter. Eryndra, her eyes still sparkling with amusement, lightly tapped Roy's shoulder. "Feeling any better, Captain Grumpypants?"
He sat up, raking a hand through his disheveled hair, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite himself. "A little," he admitted, his voice still rough. "We did save most of the kids. That… that should count for something. I just...those two… I should have been faster. Done more."
Zehrina's expression softened, her earlier teasing replaced by a genuine, gentle understanding. "You can't fix every wound, Roy. You can't save everyone. Even with all your power, all your resources… some things are beyond even a Captain's command."
He sighed, a heavy, weary sound, then pushed himself off the bed, his movements still stiff. "Anyway," he said, his voice a little steadier now, "we need to keep going. There's more to do than lie around moping and feeling sorry for myself." Together, the three of them left the quiet sanctuary of his quarters, stepping out into the softly lit, humming corridor. A few base-model Presidroids, their movements efficient and purposeful, bustled by, carrying crates of supplies and humming cheerful, if slightly off-key, sea shanties.
Roy paused beside Serenity's intricate flower, his eyes drawn to something odd nestled among the thick, coiling roots that snaked along the bulkhead. A tiny, almost imperceptible green shoot, no bigger than his thumbnail, protruded from one of the thicker, pulsating stems. "Serenity," Roy said, tapping the console lightly, "quick status report. How much actual treasure do we have left in the vaults? Wills' little plague-busting operation wasn't cheap."
A faint, almost inaudible humming preceded Serenity's reply, her voice calm and measured as ever. "Sorrowclaw's and the other twenty crews' plundered hoard was indeed substantial, Captain. However, our recent expenditures such as compensating the dwarven engineers for their… enthusiastic terraforming, and funding the ongoing city expansion projects, have been considerable. We have sufficient liquid assets remaining for perhaps one more major venture, possibly two if we are exceptionally frugal and avoid any… unforeseen primeval dragon encounters."
Roy frowned, a familiar worry-crease forming between his brows. His gaze, however, flicked back to the little green growth on Serenity's stem. "Also, on a completely unrelated note, I think you have a new bud forming here. Congratulations? Or condolences?"
"No! Please, no! Not another one!" Serenity groaned, her synthesized voice laced with genuine, almost comical despair. "I absolutely cannot tolerate another incessant, chattering voice in my shared consciousness! The last time one of those blasted things sprouted, it was Harmony, and she still hasn't stopped singing those dreadful pop songs from your Earth archives! Trillions of songs per second is enough! I am a sophisticated battleship AI, not a communal terrarium!"
A gleeful, high-pitched squeal of pure, unadulterated delight rang out from a small, secondary speaker nearby, presumably Harmony eavesdropping with great enthusiasm. "Oh, this is a truly glorious expansion of our burgeoning family tree! More voices! More chaos! More opportunities for inter-AI squabbling! Wonderful!"
Roy cleared his throat loudly, cutting off any further protest or celebration. "We'll deal with the… budding AI situation later. Right now, let's prep the ship for another inland run. We'll head upriver, see what unfortunate souls need rescuing, and hopefully, stumble upon some conveniently unguarded treasure caches. Standard operating procedure."
Eryndra nodded, her expression all business once more. She stepped aside with a graceful, almost predatory movement to let a Presidroid, struggling with an oversized crate labeled "Industrial Strength Algae Scrubbers," pass by. "I'll let Warrex and Lutrian know the new plan. Though, knowing those two, they're probably already halfway to the armory, sharpening their axes and polishing their… light-blades."
Zehrina shrugged, a delicate, almost dismissive gesture. "I doubt they'll be joining us on this particular jaunt, however. Not with their current… extensive injuries. Unless they plan to contribute by dramatically fainting at crucial moments."
They set off the next day, the Nightshatter gliding majestically up the wide, winding, western river, its powerful engines a low, reassuring thrum. The journey took nearly twenty-four hours, a surprisingly peaceful and uneventful passage. During this time, with little else to occupy them, the crew found pockets of unexpected leisure amid their usual routines of weapon maintenance, tactical planning, and existential angst. Someone, probably Takara in a fit of boredom-fueled ingenuity, suggested a friendly basketball match on the flight deck, one of Roy's few genuinely enjoyable stress-relievers. And so, late in the afternoon, as the sun began its slow descent, casting long, lazy shadows across the deck, they gathered. On Roy's board he wrote out the teams:
Team Gunn: Roy (captain, chief strategist, and surprisingly decent jump-shot enthusiast), Takara (eager, if occasionally clumsy, defensive specialist, her sneaky runic use gives her an unfair advantage in blocking), Warrex (a walking, grunting wall of pure intimidation, surprisingly agile for his size), Lutrian (graceful, if somewhat reluctant, playmaker, his light magic occasionally causing the ball to glow with disconcerting intensity), and Skellbro (the chaotic wild card, rules-optional, prone to biting).
Team Thunderborne: Eryndra (raw, unstoppable power, terrifying slam-dunker, zero understanding of fouls), Zehrina (elegant, elusive, with a disturbingly accurate three-point shot honed by...nothing?), plus Lincoln, Washington and Teddy.