Chapter 10
Less talky, more lazy.
Torn watched the water leaking from the port, from high Just by being there, it felt like it was showing him the middle finger, and telling him to "suck on it, dread-boy". For some reason, the water had Daxter's voice. Perhaps it was because that Daxter was behind him. Perhaps it also was because Torn had found a whole bunch of reasons to re-start his vendetta with the Ottsel.
Within five minutes of walking into the conference room, the rat had insulted three of Haven's leaders, hit on the other two, tried to look down Ashlin's top and managed to guzzle all of the scotch in the drinks cabinet. The fact that it had been locked hadn't fazed the rat at all, and was now eyeing the more expensive bottles of Rose-tinted wine and whisky.
The good thing about this scenario was that Torn could probably push the rat out of the window and make it look like an accident. He was sure that the other people wouldn't mind lying in court just this once. Commander Haryew especially, as the scotch had been his in the first place. And there were several KG recruits whole could testify on how much Haryew loved his scotch whisky – KG recruits who were no longer mere infantry men, thanks to well placed, and moreover discreet offerings to the military God.
Ashlin sighed and raised her voice. The others in the room stopped glaring at the Ottsel and gave her their full attention. Apart from Commander Haryew, who kept checking which bottle Daxter had laid his fingers on, and, more often than not, wincing at the expensive brand.
"We can see from this map the extensive damage to our city." Behind her, a holo-graph, covered with red areas, crosses and tiny notes popped up, which everyone stared at. "The Industrial Section is what I believe we should focus on first." The graph focused on the Industrial section, magnifying itself at Ashlin's command. Grey photos with time signatures framed the picture. "We can see from several images what the immediate problem is, the water that has run from the port via the craters created in the surge. As the Industrial Section is low-lying, the whole area is begging to flood."
"Wait – I thought that all of Haven was low lying." Cut in Ricol Basmilril, Head of Haven's planning department. "- Apart from some of the central areas. Why is only the industrial section being focused on?"
"Yah let your people build on low-lying land?" Asked Haryew incredulously. "When Haven is surrounded mostly by marshland and Sea?"
"If you knew half as much as me, you would know about subsidence. How the ground sinks slowly over time. But you do not, Miren. So do not pretend you do." Growled Ricol, glaring daggers at his enemy. Miren Haryew returned the favour.
"Subsidence is the least of our problems now!" The newly rebooted Vin, head of intelligence, "I barely survived the surge – and they said I was crazy when I installed that earthing system in the power-grid computer – and now, were gonna drown and die! Er…if we don't do anything of course. B-b-but Dr. Basmilril is right, Haven is low-lying, but all the rubble stopped the water spreading-"
"Hold on, hold on." Said Ricol in his rolling Indian accent, "If the rest of the city did not flood, why is the tower wet?"
"Oh, the city flooded alright, but that was completely different. For some reason, the water level in the sewers rose to RECORD levels, and we had to pump it all out. And NOW we have the port leaking, and we just can't get rid of it!" Vin explained in his quivery voice.
"Get more pumps." Growled Haryew.
"Oh? F-from where? The Surge destroyed all our equipment - kaboom destroyed, we can't just put it b-b-back together. We're using HAND pumps, and they're not fast enough! Oh, and don't let me think about the things in the port!"
"Things in the port?" Questioned Torn, interested.
"Ggaaahh! I thought I told you NOT to let me think about it. Ooooh, I'm gonna burn out my systems just thinking about how much damage those teeth could do to a circuit board…"
"There have been sightings of salt water Lurkers – big ones, swimming into the port, now the doors are out of action." Supplied Ashlin, tonelessly.
"How long will it take for the water in the industrial section to rise high enough to let them in? T-t-that's where I am, remember, and I can't move!"
"I have more bad news, about animals in the city."
"Oh god…" whimpered Vin. "W-w-what was it? On second thoughts, I don't wanna know – was it big?"
"One was, the other wasn't. The big one attacked me. It was like a lizard – big, and with condensed Dark eco all over it." Torn described, rubbing his blue ear tip
"That's ALL we need" Said Vin, voice rising through a scale and back again.
"It hurt you, didn't it? Ashlin walked over and studied his ear tip. "An odd colour, bright blue. But it looks more like a scar than a new wound. The flesh around it is tattered and bumpy, like a scar." Ashlin tugged his ear closer and shuffled forward. "What happened?"
"The big one attacked me." Torn repeated.
"So, how do we fight the THING, then, how d-did you kill it?"
"I didn't."
"WHAT? WH- oh, you mean someone else killed it, and s-s-saved you. For a moment there, I thought that you meant that it was s-s-still running around the city."
"It isn't dead."
"WHAT?"
"I hurt it, then another creature distracted it."
"Another one? ANOTHER ONE? There's two now?"
"There other one is different. She helped me."
"Oh, that's just great. Two dark eco beas-"
"She's light eco, I think."
"F-f-fine. One light eco and one dark eco, how do we know that she won't rip our throats o-out?"
"Y'don't have a throat, 'lekkie boy." Supplied Daxter unhelpfully. No-one paid him any attention.
"That's why I told her to come up here."
"ARGH, YOU DID WHAT! D-d'you want to kill us? Oh, oh oh…." Vin's holographic head disappeared, and didn't come back.
"D'yuh know what I find weird? That, y'know, thhhaaatttt- what was I saying? Oh yeah. That Jak looses his powers 'n' like, we have two eco-thingies, attakin' 'n' helping people. S'like when Jak goes Dark 'n' Light." He then promptly passed out, leaving everyone in stunned silence.
"H-h-he's right as well." Said Vin, who had stopping sulking and panicking after hearing Daxter's proclamation. "I-it is unusual…"
"You can ask her now. She's here." Said Torn dryly.
"W-what, where? Where?" Cried Vin, spinning around. Torn pointed through the glass, at the glowing blue speck hovering outside the window.
"Oh."
Torn leaned over and unlatched the window, letting it swing open. The fae came tumbling in, blown by the strong breezes. She managed to right herself in the middle of the room, at the centre of everyone's attention.
"No more games. Who are you?"
"I am…Dark Jak's antithesis."
"What does that mean?"
"Where he is large, I am small. Where-" she began, like she was reading off a list.
"I know what antithesis means. I want to know who are." Commander Haryew snapped irritably. But the little woman kept on talking.
"Where he is offensive, I am defensive. Where he is male, I am female. Where he is Dark, I am Light. Do you understand?"
"…The rat was right." Growled Torn in surprise.
"The Precursors gave him a female spirit?" In the background, Haryew guffawed and Basmilril looked in confusion at Vin, who quickly explained who the 'him' was.
"Anything else would have ripped him apart. The precursors knew that Jak's mind would be destroyed if they gave him two beings of eco with even the slightest similarities, and so they had to use me, Aura."
"Your name is Aura?"
"Correct, although my real name is Seran, Aura is the nearest your language can get to my original title."
"So Jak used you..?" Queried Ashlin, slightly horrified.
"I did this willingly
I come from the Precursor's dimension – I work for them, in a way. It was after the Great Separation, and-" She caught the openly confused expression on Vin's face "And you probably have no clue what the Great Separation, correct? Very well, I will explain…"
Before the statue could react, Ramen had already darted forward, jumping straight through the bronze statue's walls like they were nothing more than fog, and then she was running faster, and faster. With a click, automated weapons slipped out of their rubber and metal holsters, and waved around, searching for the heat signature of their quarry. But Ramel had been dead for seven long years, and imprisoned in a cold, dank temple for just as long. Any vestiges of heat she might have possessed had seeped out of her transparent frame many moons ago, and the bullets, although certainly fatal for any living creature that stayed into their path, held no threat for her.
Never the less, she ran. She had no idea why, but something told her that old habits were better left unbroken. Call it animal instinct, call it human nature, call it logic. If she was still here – if the precursors could keep her lodged on her planet, and if she still had a reflection, then perhaps she could still get hurt. She hoped she would never find out.
She ducked under a beam (another reflex she had carried with her – she could of just gone straight through it) and slowed down. In front of her was a door, simple and small with hinges. It was made from rusted iron, the metal the Precursors used before Precurorium was discovered.
This meant that the door was old. Possibly older than the world, as sometimes the precursors brought whole temples and rooms to earth if they were important enough. Ramen felt the metal, her fingers sliding through the metal when she pushed too hard. If the door was made from such an ancient metal, it ment that it was here was where the prize was kept. Or it could be a decoy. Ramel paused and ran the Scroll's tale over in her head.
Long ago, aeons and eons ago, before the proto-planet for Jak's world had been hit by an errant neighbour and formed the earth and the two moons, there lived a race of creatures with amazing powers. These were the precursors, the Gods. Some could move mountains, or raise the dead, but only one had the True Sight, omnipresence. Her name was Clio, High Lady of History. She came for the family of Camenae, and was the daughter of Mnemosyne, the Goddess of Memory, and Apollo, Lord of Light. She had eight sisters – though she was friendlier with her sister Thalia, Lady of poetry.
Clio had a great desire to know, and in time learnt all the deepest and darkest secrets of precursor-kind. It was with her insight that the Dark-Makers cult was found and outcasted. But Clio was forbidden by her father to look into the affairs of her family, and failed to realize that her aunt, Artemis the Hunter, was the Dark Makers leader.
Clio had destroyed her aunt's allies and friends with her gift. One night, Artemis visited her…
Silently, the Hunter Artemis walked towards her niece. The small, blind, albino Ottsel sat on her winged tripod-throne, watching the duel red suns sink in tandem in the sky. The twin sets of wings on her throne stretched out bathing its grey splattered wings in the dying sunlight. Then, with a slight metallic rustle, they snapped shut.
The Hunter creeped up behind her kin, drawing her sword. The hiss of metal on metal stuttered round the room. The Albino spun her head around while her chair hopped and flapped its enchanted wings in a panic. Its simple magical mind called forth large bird talons on each of its three feet, ready for fight or flight.
"Relax." Came Artemis' voice. "Calm the feather cushion, before she comes."
"Artemis?" asked Clio uncertainly "What's going on?" She hated being ignorant.
"One of you're relatives has come to kill you." Said Artemis calmly. "She was part of the Dark Makers, and wants revenge." She stalked forward, pulling the short sword back, like a knife, ready to strike. "I have to be here."
Clio, although a cripple, was sharp. She didn't fail to miss the Ottsels slip. "She? Artemis, you said 'she'. Stay away."
Artemis charged, brandishing her sword.
Clio never stood a chance. But although she was ignorant how she would die, she was aware that she was to die soon, and called Thaila to her aide. She saw far, far into the future and predicted where her help would be needed. She got her sister Thalia to record sets of prophecies. Three of them resided here on one large scroll, in the Precinct ahead. Ramen pulled open the door, wrenching it off its hinges and its foundations of rust and walked into the room.
