Psiohaema Fragments 2

The ocean rages high above Ulysses. Rough storms like these make it impossible for any watercraft to approach the ocean platforms she calls home, necessitating underwater docks like these. The air is cold. Even with her thick yellow cloak, the ocean water seems to suck the heat out of the vast room, cold air prickling through her uniform. She feels uncomfortable; a combination of the temperature, anticipation, and the unnatural pressure required to maintain a waterline this far below the surface.
Beams of sunlight refract through the windows on top of the moon pool, illuminating the watercraft sitting in the dock. Ulysses looks across at it, admiring the engineering. A sleek vessel plated in pale ceramic, designed to avoid the waves by coasting just under the surface of the water - it's built to withstand storms like the one the archology is facing this week. These vast ocean platforms have seen far worse weather over the centuries, and a strong tide and a bit of rain will go almost entirely unnoticed by the people that live here.
Ulysses glances at her timepiece; Ingram is late. She supposes not much has changed. It is currently 12:47, the ferry is due to depart at 13:00, and as such they agreed to meet at least 15 minutes in advance at 12:45. Ulysses has been waiting here for 26 minutes now.
She usually starts work at 10:00, and her office job rarely demands her to be out somewhere so cold and wet for so long. She's about to step onto the ramp when a voice calls out.
"Ulysses?"
"Ingram." Her voice betrays a slight irritance but her hum must be shouting it, because for a moment he looks unsettled.
He wears the same uniform she does: an off white shirt with dull red trousers, covered by a dusty blue cloak and matching blue gaitors. A white beret adorns his head, denoting his status as a coordinator, and Black Nail hangs sheathed on his hip, the same black sword he's always carried as long as Ulysses has known him.
They sit in front of a round window on opposite rows, a comfortable diagonal away from each other. Minutes pass, but neither one utters a word until the ferry starts moving, pulling away from the port with a soft rumble. Ulysses had brought a book, but can't bring herself to open her bag and fetch it. It feels rude somehow.
[It's been almost 2 years now, why doesn't this feel normal?] She tries to suppress her Hum, but Ingram doesn't seem to notice. She looks dead at him; scanning his face, watching his eyes gaze into the sea. Little has changed since she last saw him. Nothing about his hair is different - he still wears the same long braid, just a little longer now, but the patch of hair on his chin has grown out into a small beard. She thinks it makes him look more mature.
"How's the uh, blood going" She says, awkwardly louder than she intended. He looks across at her. [You're wearing more than I expected.]
"Oh, right." He seems to have picked up what she meant from her hum. "Yeah it's going alright. Not been long enough for my body temperature to jump up yet, so I'm still wearing the same old uniform."
"You get the full breifings now though, right?"
"Yeah, it's nice. I think I liked not knowing though, this feels like more pressure. I keep overthinking it." He replies, unreassuringly. "Hey, how much did they tell you then?" Ingram asks, leaning forward.
"Uh, well, I know we're going through the conflict zone to deliver something, but I don't know what. I know we're due a 4 day round trip, but I don't know the route, just that we're getting on a train after this." Ulysses replies. She fiddles with her horns and looks towards nothing in particular. "We're clearly moving through some heavy Dameon territory, otherwise they wouldn't be so worried about mental bleed. I'd say it must be something urgent if we're being rushed through the conflict zone, but it can't be that important or they would have given us more kit, or more manpower at the very least."
Ingram's face gives little away - perhaps a slightly defeated look.
"Or maybe the fork just has us spread that thin?" She continues. "Don't want to think about it."
Ulysses sinks back on her chair. She's always struggled to read him; now with the total lack of hum it seems entirely impossible.
"We're picking up one more after this ferry though." Ingram holds 3 fingers up.
"The scout, yeah I remember. Have you met him yet?"
"Nope. We're borrowing her from the ESB. It'll be good to have somebody who's actually familiar navigating the mainland."
...
The sun is already starting to set as the ferry emerges in a large dock, walled off from the sea except for a set of narrow entry-ways, and flanked on all other sides by steep hills and tall buildings that seem to stack in layers on top of one other. These structures extend back into the cliffs themselves, leaving most of the city of Termina sheltered from the neverending rain, with the notable exception of the dockyards.
When they exit the ferry, Ulysses and Ingram draw up their hoods and seal their cloaks. Even this mild rain is deeply unpleasant for the pair of platform dwellers, who so rarely have to deal with the elements of the exposed outdoors.
Termina sits on both several major rail lines, and on the outlets for a huge underground canal. This postion makes it extremely favourable for trade, which over its history has spawed bustling marketplaces and huge dockyards. Amongst these docks, Ulysses notes half a dozen or so amphibious landships, all in varying states of loading. Ground crews are assisted by 8 foot tall exoskeletons clad head to toe in pale ceramic, a couple of which stand watch, holding guns that look thicker than Ulysses' torso. She hasn't seen anything like it before, OKOS must be spooked badly for them to be staging this much force on the mainland.
Among the crews, an officer dressed in fullmail takes notice and approaches Ulysses and Ingram. They must be a high ranking witch, going by the bright blue beret secured above their featureless ceramic mask, and the equally bright blue cloak they wear over one shoulder.
"You part of one of the crews here?" Their voice is husky but clear.
"No, just passing through." Ingram replies, producing an ID from his bag. "We're on a delivery job, which way is it to central?"
"Up past these steps," they point across the docks, "there's a rail that takes you straight there. I'm going to have to check you before you enter the city though."
"Pardon?" Ulysses asks.
"I'll just be a moment." The witch's armour clicks as they move towards Ingram.
"This isn't standard procedure."
"These aren't standard circumstances." As they say this they place their exposed fingertips onto his forehead. Immediately, Ulysses becomes aware of the pair of swords hanging from their side. Ingram flinches a little, and the witch pulls away.
"You're all good," they say.
"Thanks." Ingram replies, slightly sheepishly.
"Stay safe out there, and by the way, there's a great cafe just a couple doors down from the station enterance, big yellow sign, you can't miss it." The witch drops their formal tone of voice.
"Thanks."
"I know you're hungry." The witch says, tapping the side of their temple. Ulysses isn't sure if they're being friendly or vaguely threatening.
The pair proceed forward as the witch instructed. Once out of the rain, they move towards the city center, catching a light rail shuttling them from the dockyards up the cliffs past the industrial district, and through towards the primary living area. The view of ships and cranes seems to shrink down to nothing as they ascend, being cut off by a narrow tunnel as they plunge into the side of the vast buildings along the cliffs. Quickly, the view opens up to wide roads and vast plazas, some even as wide as the buildings flanking them.
The streets are well lit by a combination of bright arrays of bulbs and a trickle of daylight seeping in from huge windows stories and stories above the ground. Termina's center is mostly covered, but not entirely watertight; excess water drips down into gentle streams and waterfalls built into the roads, often creating little moats arount the sides of buildings. Most of the ground floors are lined with shops of sorts - grocery stores, workshops, and cafes broken up by the occasional library or office. The architecture is not too disimmilar to what Ulysses is used to at home, but the buildings here are taller and ornamented, made with heavier materials that give the place a rigid, aged look. There's more greenery too, the wider streets allow for rows of bushes and small trees, all different species to what they have on the archologies too.
Once the train stops, they step off into a station overlooking a wide plaza at the city center. It is well lit by the huge round window sitting far above a great tree in the middle of the space.
Shortly since stepping off the ferry earlier, Ulysses had been feeling a buzz inside her head - her antenna had recieved a message from their coordinator and stored it in her buffer. Along the street from the station enterance, Ulysses spots a cafe with a large yellow sign hanging above it. It's worth a shot.
Ulysses takes a bagel while Ingram works on some soup and bread. After a few bites she moves her attention to the message. Focusing on her buffer, the information passes into her mind, writing it into her short term memory.
"The scout is here, at the station. We should meet up with him soon." She speaks, slightly robotically as if recalling a passage of text she'd revised.
...
Descending the stairs into the station below, they find themselves in a long narrow lobby ending in a series of stairwells and lifts. To their right is a row of kiosks, only one is alight, occupied by a slightly disheveled woman reading a book. A split-flap display lists the departures, almost entirely cancelled, just as the brief had described.
"Right, I'm going to figure out how we can divert our train, you should go and find our scout."
...
Ulysses moves her gaze around at the rest of the lobby, the walls are lined with rows of benches and plastered with posters - one section is full of work notices and travel warnings, another details local exhibitions and music performances. A station like this would be a hub of activity just a few months ago.
Sprawled over a bench, their scout rests with a set of headphones on beside a pile of bags, halfway between sitting and laying, and seemingly unaware of Ulysses' approach. They're shorter than Ulysses; well built and muscular with pale skin and dusty brown hair spilling over black horns in messy curls. Their uniform is identical to the kind Ulysses wears, but the chest and thighs are covered by the ceramic plating of an exoskeleton. Propped up against the seat rests a long rifle, bigger than anything Ulysses has ever handled. They donot look up even as the girl stands over them.
...
"I'm afraid we don't have the codes here to divert any trains outside of our regular schedule." she hears the woman at the kiosk explaining.
As she approaches, Ulysses slips her hand into one of her bags, rummaging around for a moment before producing an engraved metal slate. It's slightly larger than her hand with a handle on one end and exposed contacts on the other - a Daemon key. She leans past Ingram and slides it onto the desk.
"If you could please?" Ulysses asks, "we picked up these codes this morning, they should work fine."
"Of course." The woman replies. "Bear with me, I've not had to punch in one of these in a while." She reaches under the kiosk window and takes the key, scanning over it inquisitively before plugging her interface into a terminal and inserting the key into a narrow slot.
...
"Where are you going?"
"To get some fresh air, we should be travelling overground by now." Ray continues to walk ahead until they reach a ladder, "you should come too."
"No. Thanks."
"Suit yourself." They say, disappearing up the ladder. Ulysses dwells for a few minutes. After meticulously determining that she has nothing better to do, she follows up the ladder.
The girl pokes her head out of the hatch, the roof of the train is flat, with short railings on each side. On the far end, Ray has just laid down and is looking into the sky above. It's jet black, with barely a star in sight. Dotted across the hoziron she sees faint blotches of orange glow; restless Daemon foundries, or some other industrial constructs, she assumes. They must be travelling close to the edge of the safe-zone.
"Changed your mind I see?" Ray speaks.
"Just thought I should see where you went." Ulysses replies in a matter-of-fact tone. Ray looks back up to the gray sky.
"Grim isn't it?"
"Isn't what?"
"The night - so few stars, it feels like, claustrophobic," they grab the sides of their arms as if to mime being squeezed.
Ulysses finishes pulling herself up the ladder, and takes a seat on the opposite end of the roof, tucking her knees into her chest. She supposes they're right, the clouds and light pollution over the ocean platforms can drown out a lot of the night sky sometimes, but never this much. She can't even pick out a single constellation.
"Have you ever seen the sky above Frontier?" Ray speaks again.
"No."
"It's magnificent, with all that wide open space and no Daemons for hundreds of kilometers, you can see like, everything." There's a hint of sadness in their voice. "I didn't realise how much I'd miss it when I moved here, but I do. Everything here feels so small and choked out."
"So you're from Frontier?"
"Did the accent not give it away?"
"I thought it would be rude to assume."
"Well yeah. It's a prettier place but everyone there is boring and I needed more than that, and I couldn't stay in one place my whole life anyway. So here I am, on a freezing cold train headed to the middle of nowhere, trying to make conversation with some dull office girl.
...
The rain is thick and heavy, attacking them at a near horizontal angle. As she stands up it dashes across Ulysses' exposed face and fingertips, and she feels an unsettling static buzzing.
"A spectrostorm." Ingram states, the brevity of his words not quite selling the dread in his tone. Immediately and wordlessly, the three rush to unclip the breathing masks from their shoulders and attach them to their faces before fastening up their cloaks.
The psionic fields over the mainland are chaotic and twisted, particularly near daemon constructs. As powerful coils of psionic energy build up above the ground, they interfere telekinetically with the weather, pulling clouds together into torrential storms where rain and lightning scatter psionic energy over the land. Prolonged contact with the energised rainwater has an inhibiting, hallucinogenic effect, especially on soft tissues such as the inside of the mouth and nose, so every scout uniform includes coverings for the body and face.
Droplets dash across Ulysses' clear faceplate, as she breathes the flaps on her air filter begin to move, pulsing in and out in time with her diaphragm.
The group trudges on, there's no point following the rails on foot, so they set off looking for some way to figure out their location. As Ray crests a hill, they pause for a moment, looking off into the distance, before turning back and calling to Ingram.
"You think that'll do?"
When Ulysses catches up she sees what they're looking at. Further along the coast, jutting out into the sea, is a short tower covered in antenna and vines. She can tell immediately by the dark metal that it's a daemon construct, clearly not one in regular use, but not entirely decrepit.
...
The room is dominated by a large communications interface. A concave array of metallic dishes is set into the back wall. In front of it is a terminal with no discernable controls, and a bulky disc shaped emittor on top of it, matching a similar disc on the ceiling directly above. The array is flanked by girthy cables of varying appearance. Ulysses can immediately identify which are for carrying data or power, or for cycling the physical medium used by an interface like this.
Much like many daemon machines, it is unclear what their purpose for a system like this is. Daemons do not need to speak, and they do not need to see. Just another on their pile of inscrutable workings, barely worth noting. With a little modification it will carry a signal to and from OKOS command, that is all that matters.
Ulysses goes through the methodic motions of connecting with the machine, plugging her interface into some ports exposed under a lifted panel. Lights flicker on as the connection is established, and a loud thudding sound comes from the machine as it turns on, giving way to a low whirring that slowly ramps up as black fluid pours down from the disc on the ceiling. It's thick and glossy like oil, but falls quicker than gravity should let it.
Moments pass before the fluid starts to warp and distort. The dishes on the back wall hum with a gentle electrical buzz as the flow of black liquid splits outwards in the middle before bending back into the lower disc. The growth in the center of the column contorts itself until it resembles a huge face of a pseudohuman, their coordinator, Gaile.
"Ingram," the simulacrum looks downwards upon them and speaks. The black fluid vibrates into a semblance of a voice, distorted by their improvised connection. "I was expecting to hear from your earlier this evening, what's going on?"
"The train got hijacked," he replies, "we had to bail and we've been walking along the coast since then. We're connecting to you from some abandoned Daemon construct we found, though Ulysses hasn't pinpointed exactly where we are yet."
"I see." She says, looking around the room. "Do you know rougly when you left the train, and how long you were walking for? There's only so many costal transmission stations you could have reached in that time."
"It would have been around 7:30." Ulysses tells her. "We got here about half an hour ago, and we were walking pretty much non-stop."
"Thank you, I'll have new orders for you ready in the morning - 6am. Are you secure here?"
"We should be," Ingram replies, "no signs of activity nearby, and I haven't sensed any danger."
"Well you didn't sense anything on the train eith- ow!" Ulysses pinches Ray before they can finish, giving them a scolding glare.
"Not helpful." She mutters.
"Good then." Gaile doesn't acknowledge the other two, "stay put and contact me the same way tomorrow morning, just you though, we will need to discuss confidential intelligence."
"Is there anything you can tell us now? Are we to return home?" Ulysses asks.
"No, you're going to be a day or two behind, but we accounted for some wriggle room in planning. That is all you need to know."
"Understood, coordinator." Ingram responds.
"6am, tomorrow. Good luck."
The visage collapses back into a column, which then thins out to nothing as the interface switches off. A cold silence replaces the mechanical humming that previously filled the room.
...
Ingram has frozen in place several paces behind, looking slightly off to the side at seemingly nothing.
"Ingram?" Ulysses sounds worried. His hands twitch but he does not respond to her. "What do you see?"
"I don't know." He pauses. "I feel something. Like on the train. Maybe?"
"Maybe?"
"I don't know."
Ray sighs, turns around, and marches back past Ingram - still frozen. Her subarm swings her rifle forwards into her grip, and her antenna raise themselves up, twitching around as if probing for threats, following the sway of her rifle.
"Stop standing around and come look with me." She commands. Ingram unfreezes and draws his sword, moving to follow behind her. Ray's expression is somewhere between frustrated and apprehensive, the memory of the train attack still fresh in her memory.
Minutes passes in silence as they retrace their steps. A feeling begins to build in Ray's antennae, something alive, a fourth presence. It's definitely there, definitely something but she can't quite place it yet. She doesn't need to tell the others, they can feel it too; Ingram holds his sword in front of him, clutching it tightly in both hands.
Further still, the presence grows into an overwhelming pressure. Ray lurches through a doorway, rifle shouldered as she swings across toward where her antennae are screaming the threat is, pointing her gun into the face of a scared looking boy. It flinches back and starts scrambling away from Ray, only to find itself cornered in by Ingram's sword. Ray lowers her aim, there's no way it poses any danger.
It looks about the same age as Ray, scrawny, with brown skin and messy gray hair spilling between dark horns. Its expression is hard to read under the black mask covering the lower half of its face, but the wide yellow eyes and skittery body language betray a deep fear. Nothing about this boy strikes Ray as unusual, other than perhaps the bone white prosthetic it has in place of a left arm, poking out from underneath its cloak. It recoils when Ray kneels down and reaches a hand out, its body still trembling.
...
He finds Ulysses sat on the ground with her knees to her chest, holding her hands over her ears as she hums tunelessly. There's no need to probe, even without reading her hum he can tell that she isn't herself. Ingram thinks back to the psiostorm the day before: she'd been acting strange there too, perhaps her shield had taken damage on the train? Crouching down to level with her eyes, he silently curses himself. How had he overlooked the crack on her forehead plate?
Her body feels weak as he helps her up. When she stands she still keeps her weight on him, pressing her hands onto the back of his neck. As she straightens out he glimpses across into her eyes, her wide pupils seem to gaze right through him, and her eyelids slowly close shut. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can get a word out she's slowly leaning into him, eyes shut and lips parted.
Before he can even react to what's happening her lips are already around his. A gentle prickling feeling rushes over Ingram's skin when Ulysses traces her soft lips over his mouth. Her hands move higher up his neck as she presses her warmth into him again. Paralysed by confusion above anything else, it takes a quiet moan from her to snap him out enough to draw his arms up underneath hers and push her away. She barely notices, a strand of drool briefly hangs between their mouths as they part, and were he not holding her up by the sides she might have tumbled over onto him.
"What the hell was that?" he snaps, harsher than he'd intented, still holding her by the sides.
"I thought you wanted it?" she sounds more confused than offended.
"No? Why would you think that?"
"You wanted to see me again."
"I was just trying to find you, it's dangerous here, we have to leave."
"No, before now, you wanted to see me again, that's why we're here." She seems to be gathering her senses a little, finding her feet. Ingram releases her sides but she doesn't let go of him.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You didn't have to take me. They made you the coordinator for this job, you could have had anybody replace me, but you didn't."
"That doesn't mean anything. It was a year ago, I thought we were over this."
"It means you wanted to see me again." She draws her arms in tighter, almost hugging him.
"No, it means I thought you could be normal about us, that maybe you'd moved on enough for that."
"I don't want to move on, I still love you."
"No you don't."
"But I dooo." she draws out her words as if drunk, placing her head onto his shoulder as she falls forwards. He cradles her slightly, trying desperately not to look like he's reciprocating her while he tries to keep her from falling over.
"You broke up with me one and a half years ago, we both knew it was a good idea." She leans in for a kiss again, almost losing her footing when Ingram pushes her back to an arm's length."I don't know what this haze is doing to you but you're not yourself."
"Mmmng", she mumbles.
"Please focus? Please?" he says, shaking her slightly to punctuate each plea. "It's not safe here, we need to keep moving."
"I don't want to." Her head hangs and she looks at her feet.
"We have to, please."
"I don't want to", she protests again, still not looking up. "I'm tired."
"Look", his tone is calculated, demanding but not scalding, "there are things in this forest that can kill us, that could kill Ray or Sig. We need to leave as soon as we can, and then once we are safe we can rest, but first I need you to move, is that okay?"
"Mm", she grumbles in response.
"Please can we move?"
"Mm." She still isn't moving.
"Please", he reaches out his hand towards her, "you can hold my hand, okay?" She says nothing as she sheepishly wraps her fingers around his, and he gently drags her forward and back towards the clearing.
Neither of them says anything on their way back. It's only a short walk before they're at the clearing, where Ray is pacing around impatiently.
"Ray, any sign of Sig yet?" Ingram calls over to her.
"Nothing, not a trace on these", she stop pacing and wiggles her antenna as she replies, "do you sense anything?"
"I haven't had a chance to look, been too busy taking care of this one. Can you keep your eye on her for a moment so I can focus?"
"Can't she take care of herself?"
"No, her shield is totally busted. I don't know how I didn't notice until now but she's completely exposed here." Ray notices their hands, Ulysses has clasped both of hers around Ingrams left hand.
"Ah. I see", Ray pushes her way through the bushes and grabs Ulysses by the wrist. She yelps slightly but does little to resist it, releasing Ingram's hand.
...
Ulysses opted to wait while the others shower. Ingram doesn't need to hear her hum to know why she'd avoid that, but her discomfort is loud enough to confirm his suspicion. The three strip down and turn the taps on, powerful jets of hot water quickly fill the room with thick steam.
The water feels scalding, but Sig and Ray seem fine; Ingram can't tell if it feels so intense because of how long he was in the cold and damp before, or if his body temperature has finally climbed enough to make the heat uncomfortable. While Ray wastes no time scrubbing herself from head to toe, Ingram doesn't want to wash yet. He hasn't had a proper rest in what feels like days, and before long he adjusts to the heat enough to begin to relax under the stream.
Ingram glances over at Sig, the water has straightened its gray hair, letting it spill down along its back. Just below where the hair ends, a series of 6 round scars begins: 2 columns of circles dotting the back of its ribcage. Besides the top left one, which is split in half by a large gash which continues across its shoulder, the scars all look far too round and far too symmetrical to be accidental.