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Harper sneezed again and then grimaced, scrubbing at his nose through the dust mask. A lot of good it was doing him, but not using it earlier had led to a ten-minute coughing fit and Tyr pounding on his back hard enough to bounce his lungs off his ribs. Between those two options, the mask was definitely the lesser of two evils.
He'd be glad when they got to Rhahat, though. A few days splashing in the ocean would do a lot to disperse the dust layer he was building up.
Tyr had been helping out some too, but they'd found a trunk of knives after breakfast this morning and he'd taken it down for a closer look at the contents. Harper didn't expect to see him again until he'd finished with his arsenal improvements or something came up. Or maybe lunch. Which reminded him that he needed to take a break himself after lunch and start rigging himself a decent vest for surfing. He'd have no trouble finding a board on-planet, but when it came to life support equipment he preferred to handle things himself.
Tyr had remained quiet since his conversation with his son—or his son's grandmother, or whoever had actually made the call, anyway—but at least quiet didn't involve any more snarling at Harper. Harper didn't like being around angry Nietzscheans he could shoot; he sure as hell couldn't deal with Tyr acting like that. It wasn't that he didn't understand Tyr's reasoning, it was just….
Another sneeze, and he rocked back on his heels. And then tilted his head back as the hairs on the back of his neck lifted. Tyr still looked remarkably uncomfortable in the low bay, and he'd have snickered if more sneezes hadn't followed on the heels of the first.
"Here." Tyr crouched beside him and handed him a respirator.
Oh. Smart. A few puffs cleared out the dust and helped him get his breathing back under control again, and Harper scowled up at Tyr. Who was having no trouble whatsoever with his breathing. "That's not fair."
Tyr ruffled his hair lightly. "Superior genetics, little man."
"Watch it, or I'll figure out a way to use your ability to breathe against you too." Not that the respirator hadn't been a good idea, and now that he had it he was going to hang on to it, but it was the principal of the thing.
Tyr didn't look particularly cowed. "Come. I found a bit of a mystery in that knife chest."
There was no good reason not to give his lungs a rest, and Harper nodded and grabbed the stack of vaguely-interesting circuit boards he'd found earlier and pushed himself to his feet. At least he could walk around in here without looking as ridiculous as Tyr. Small condolences. "What's this mystery, anyway?"
"A box that I've neither been able to open nor scan."
That sounded vaguely interesting, and Harper stepped aside to let Tyr slide down the ladder first and then followed him down. "What have you tried?"
"The usual. At first I thought it was merely stuck, a product of however many years it's been up here, but when I wasn't able to force it I attempted to run a scan and got nothing."
Presumably 'nothing' didn't mean the empty sort of nothing, and Harper trailed Tyr into his quarters. A new knife was now front and center in Tyr's collection, and he gave it a quick nod. "Pretty." Also giant, with a blade almost as long as Harper's arm, but it had an interesting blue sheen. There were a number of other blades set out on Tyr's table with a variety of tools scattered among them, but it was obvious that he'd spent most of his time cleaning the big one. No surprise.
"Strong as well. Here."
The knife Tyr handed Harper was much smaller, the hilt fitting comfortably, in Harper's hand, but it was the same metal. It had been cleaned too. Tyr pretty much sucked at actually saying the word 'Sorry,' but at least he tried. "Thanks."
Tyr grunted and then pulled a cube forward on the table. "This is it."
"Hm." Harper tucked the knife into his toolbelt and then picked the box up, turning it in his hands. He could see the latch where it should open pretty clearly, Tyr had cleared away the layers of dust and grime, but when he pushed at it with his thumb nothing happened. If Tyr said he couldn't force it there was no chance that Harper would be able to, but he ran his fingers around the top where it should lift up anyway.
Something inside thumped when he shook it, and he set the box back down and picked the scanner up. No doubt he was just repeating what Tyr had already done, but he flipped it on anyway and took a look at the box. The outside registered, the inside...it wasn't showing up as hollow, it didn't even show up at all. He dropped into the diagnostic mode of the scanner and made sure it showed the same before aiming it at Tyr. "Hm. Skeleton, internal organs…good news, Tyr, you haven't been replaced by an android yet."
Tyr scoffed. "Do you have any useful information to provide?"
Harper shook his head and went back to fiddling with the scanner. None of the other modes revealed anything interesting about the contents either, and he flipped it off again and picked the box up. "Let's see if the medical scanner can manage anything. If not I should be able to torch it open, although I kind of hate to do that without knowing what's in it."
"Dangerous?"
"Probably not, especially since I can do a pinpoint opening with a laser torch. Not sure how much heat it'll take, though, which risks damage to the contents." And heat could also mean an explosion or a gas release, although the cube would be a really weird way to package that kind of weapon. He gave the box a quick shake, listening to the dull thump again—whatever was in there, it seemed to be a singular object—and then scratched at the exterior lightly. The now-clean latch looked to be of similar material to the knives... "Any of those not worth your time?" he asked with a nod to the scattered collection on the table.
Harper was fussing over the medical scanner, and Tyr sat back and let him work. He'd prefer Harper not cut the box open given that probably not dangerous wasn't the same as definitely not dangerous and Harper was absolutely the sort to take unnecessary risks if he found something interesting, but if pressed he'd admit that he was curious as well. Just the knives that Harper had found had made searching the bay worthwhile and he already had plans to sell the ones he wasn't keeping for himself, if there was something someone felt worth locking up in that trunk...
Of course, it was entirely possible that it was just dust and grime holding the box shut and there was nothing of interest in there. There were a number of metals that could block an average scanner; this wasn't one he recognized offhand, but that didn't mean a great deal. It was a big universe. Harper had chopped up one of the knives in a condition that Tyr had thought less than salvageable and—now that he'd confirmed that he could chop it up—had other tests in mind that would provide more information, but that was more likely to be useful when it came to selling the other knives than anything else.
"All right, let's give it a go," Harper said, hopping off the bio-bed.
The scanner hummed to life, and he shifted to look over Harper's shoulder. "It's a box."
"Can't get anything by you. Give it time, it's set up to run a series of progressive scans." He swiped at his forehead and grimaced. "I'm going to grab a shower while we wait."
He'd probably be coated in dust again by the end of the day, but Tyr couldn't say he hadn't done the same thing after he'd brought the trunk of knives down. Tyr gave the box another look and then headed back to his quarters. He'd sent a few messages ahead of them to Rhahat, queries to the few contacts he had if anyone had any work for him, although he wasn't expecting much. Too much competition on a resort planet, especially since it wasn't one where he'd spent a great deal of time building up a reputation.
There was a response to one query, though. Tentative, but from the limited information in the transport request there would only be three passengers. He tapped his fingers lightly against the desktop. He could take that many in comfort easily, especially for such a short journey. In fact, given that he had to return to Rhahat for his next job, there was no reason that he couldn't simply leave Harper on Rhahat while he did the job if Harper was amenable. There was no specific information in the request about who he'd be transporting, but some of the phrasing indicated Nietzscheans and that was a complication that he would prefer to avoid.
Of course, given what had happened recently, any group of Nietzscheans seeking him out were worth extra suspicion and precautions on his part as well. A different complication.
He pushed himself up from the terminal and took down one of his guns, but for once he wasn't in the mood to shoot, and for lack of anything better to do he set it down for a cleaning that it didn't particularly need as his mind began to wander. Again.
It wasn't as if last night was the first time the idea had crossed his mind. It probably wasn't even the hundredth time at this point. It was just that the idea hadn't suddenly become better with the passage of time. Olma would probably insist that it was now worse, in fact, given what had just happened. Not that he'd ever been so foolish as to bring it up with her.
And yet.
Tyr sighed. He visited so many stations in the course of his travels. No matter where Olma and Tamerlane ended up, it was next to impossible that he wouldn't be able to find a legitimate reason to visit. All stations, all settlements, had people passing through in need of transportation. Nowhere in this day and age was so self-sufficient that there weren't some kind of trade goods being brought in and others sent out in return. And it was common for ships' crews to take a few days of leave at the end of a journey.
With a valid excuse to visit, those would be a few days where he might glance Tamerlane at one of his activities, perhaps even evade any scrutiny long enough to share a meal. It would be...he wasn't even sure what it would be. A relief, perhaps? Or maybe it would just make things worse because he would only have to leave again in the end and a second visit would be far too much of a risk.
He shook his head. He was being ridiculous. A first visit was too much of a risk. His primary imperative should be—was—to ensure Tamerlane's survival, and the best way to do that was to leave him where he was. With Olma. She had been matriarch of her Pride with all of the skills that that implied; he'd been on his own since the age of fifteen. And unlike most eldest children in Nietzschean families he hadn't been involved enough with his younger siblings to even know what to do with a small child.
And yet.
