Jamie stood when he heard the clambering. "Jay!" Marcus shouted out from down the corridor. "Do we still have that wheelchair? The one with the busted wheel?"
"Wheelchair?" Jamie repeated under his breath. This didn't bode well. He made his way from the airlock and up to where the anchor had pierced The Caravan. "Why, what happened?" he called ahead of him. "Did get you get hurt over there?"
"Not me," Marcus replied. Well, that made things even more cryptic.
"Then who—?" Jamie got his answer as soon as he turned the corner. He paused when he saw Marcus. His partner had one of those things draped across his shoulders.
Jamie never liked the protoss. That wasn't to say he hated them. They just creeped him out. The way they spoke in his head, the way they looked. They were just… too different.
Even then, he could tell this one was in a bad state. It was skinny, even for a protoss. Those things coming out of the back of its head were uneven and malformed. Some ended in underdeveloped stumps, while others grew out to withered ends. Worst of all, it had no legs. Jamie knew the protoss had those weird, double-jointed legs. This one only had thighs that ended just above where the first joint ought to be.
Marcus shifted the unconscious protoss, glaring at Jamie. "Quit gawking and get the wheelchair," he grunted. "He may be missing half his body, but he's still damn heavy."
Quickly, Jamie snapped to his senses. There was an old storage closet where the wheelchair had been shoved in to be forgotten. The left wheel wiggled and squeaked as Jamie rushed it back up the corridor.
They set the protoss down into the seat. It slumped against the armrest.
"Thing's deformed as hell," Jamie hissed under his breath. He motioned towards the missing legs. "Did the pirates do that?"
"Not sure," Marcus answered uneasily. His eyes drifted to a window. "He dragged himself through the ship up to where I was. We locked eyes for a second, and then he just passed out. Been out cold ever since."
"What's a protoss doing with a gang of pirates?"
Marcus turned back to Jamie. "I took a look around the ship," he said, his voice growing firm. "Found a small room, completely dark. There was a cage in there, Jay. Not a cell—a cage. Like the kind your little girl keeps that rabbit of hers in. The lock was busted open. Looks like we were in the right place at the right time."
"For him, anyway."
Shaking his head, Marcus stepped past Jamie. "We need to get The Caravan detached and moving," he said. "And then we're headed to Aiur."
"Aiur?" Jamie echoed, paling a little.
"Where else are we gonna take him?" Marcus shot back. "Home?"
He had a point, but the thought of heading to the protoss home world made Jamie nervous. He didn't know how Marcus managed to stay so calm around those things. "Wait, Marc!"
"What?"
"This thing is…" Jamie glanced at it, and quickly looked away. "It's naked, isn't it?"
"Protoss, not 'thing,'" Marcus corrected. "And go get it a blanket."
He knew Jamie wasn't too happy about heading to Aiur, but what else were they supposed to do? Marcus stared down at the slowly falling gauge on the control panel. He heard Jamie enter the cockpit behind him. "Change of plans, Jay," he announced. "We gotta make a quick stop and get that hole repaired first. The plaster field covering it isn't going to hold for long, and it sure as hell won't survive a warp." Jamie was silent. "Where'd you put him?"
"Spare room," Jamie answered. "The one with the cot we use as shelf space, remember? Hope you don't mind that I shoved everything onto the floor."
"Did you turn the lights on?"
"… No?"
"Come on, man," Marcus sighed, getting up. "They're like plants—they need light and water."
"I always wondered," Jamie muttered softly.
The spare room hadn't always been a spare room back when the designers of the ship had intended it to hold a larger crew. But now most of the space had been converted to mineral-holding storages, or whatever else the two men saw fit to have. It had taken a while to convince Jamie they needed a whole room dedicated to poker.
Marcus approached the door. As he did, he heard a weak voice.
"Where…?"
It wasn't exactly a voice, but that telepathic thing that protoss did. It was always strange hearing voices in his head.
The door slid open, cutting a bright rectangle into the dark room. Marcus reached over and flipped a switch. As the lights came on, he saw the protoss's blue eyes squint. Then, he relaxed as light bathed his skin.
"You're aboard The Caravan. My ship," Marcus told him as he maneuvered his way over the rusted spare parts that littered the room. "Found you on a pirate ship in the Lontimar system." He reached the bed and sat down on the wheelchair that rested nearby.
"Pirates… Terrans… Yes, that I recall." The protoss lifted a thin arm to gingerly touch his forehead. Marcus noticed the long, dirty talons that grew from the ends of his digits. Damn, those things could cut skin like paper by the looks of them.
"You okay?"
"I… do not know."
"What happened to you?" Marcus asked, finally cutting to the chase. "How did you get mixed up with pirates?"
"I do not know," the protoss repeated, his voiceless words sounding quizzical in Marcus's head. "I have very little memory of what happened prior to being on the terran pirate ship. There was… a box. A cage. I woke up in it after my system was finally able to metabolize down the sedatives."
"So they did something to you. Poked holes in your memory," Marcus guessed. But something told him pirates weren't capable of doing that. "Maybe the tranqs messed with you. They're not designed for protoss bodies."
"Perhaps."
"And that." Marcus finally nodded towards the end of the bed. The covers were flat where legs should have been. "Those sick bastards do that too?"
"No," the protoss answered. "This I remember about myself. I was born without them."
"Huh." Marcus figured a race as advanced as the protoss would've found a way to prevent birth defects. Then again, they weren't perfect. Maybe some things slipped under the radar. "And your dreads too?"
"My…?"
Marcus tapped the back of his own head. The protoss understood.
"I believe it was the same with these," he said, lifting himself from the cot to carefully feel the cords growing from the back of his skull. "Forgive me, terran, but I do not know your name."
"Marcus Kane."
"Marcos Kane," the protoss repeated.
These protoss, without fail, always pronounced his name wrong. And damn it, Marcus was going to correct this one at the very least. "Marc-US," he said.
"Ah, I see. Thank you, Marcus Kane, for taking me off of the pirate vessel."
"Just Marcus is fine. You can drop the Kane." That was another thing the protoss did that always rubbed him the wrong way. "How about you? Your name?"
The protoss hesitated. "This… is also lost to me," he finally admitted.
"Well now's your chance to choose your own."
"Choose my own name?"
"I know. Not many people get the opportunity."
"I suppose I will need to adopt a moniker in place of my true one until I am able to remember again." The protoss was silent as he deliberated. Marcus saw the glowing pupil in his blue eyes flitting around. "Torik," he declared at last. "In our language, t'or means 'again.' Renewal. Fitting, is it not, Marcus?"
"I'd say so," Marcus replied with a shrug. Then, he heard his radio crackle to life.
"Marc, I'm steering us towards the Har-Kion Belt. They've got a fuel station and a workshop there. You coming back up?"
"Nah, you handle this," Marcus replied. "Our good friend here is awake."
"Oh goody," Jamie drawled. "Keep the door locked. I don't want the repairmen stumbling in on him."
"Sure."
"Who is that?" Torik asked.
"My friend, Jamie Langston. The two of us make up the crew on this ship." Marcus leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. "Your pirate buddies tore our ship a new one. We're going to make a stop for repairs before we take you back to Aiur."
He could practically see the shock ripple across the protoss's face. "Aiur? But Aiur has been lost to the Swarm!"
"What?" Marcus said. "What are you…? Aiur's been Swarm-free for at least 13 years. Just how much of your memory did you lose?"
Torik sat back against the headboard, looking down at his lap. "I… It seems I have forgotten more than I thought. This is concerning. Aiur belongs to the protoss again?"
"Yup."
"This is heartening news," Torik noted softly. "I believe I was born on Aiur. It will be good to be home again."
A protoss born on Aiur, discovered light-years away in a system that was almost on the opposite end of the sector. The curiosity tore at Marcus, but he knew asking was useless. Torik knew about as much as he did.
"Marcus," the protoss suddenly spoke up. "What is a zoo?"
"Sorry?"
"A zoo. What is it?"
"Uh… well, it's an establishment that holds animals in controlled settings. Folks take their kids to go look at them and stuff."
"… I see."
"Why?"
"Back when I was on the pirate ship," Torik explained, "I could hear the pirates as I was slipping in and out of consciousness. They were saying amongst themselves that they should bring me to a zoo."
"Ah, don't take that to heart," Marcus said. "Pirates say the nastiest shit. You don't want to know what one said about my ma. I broke his nose over it." A loud clang came from outside. The Caravan had docked at the workshop. Repairs would take another hour.
"What did the pirate say about your mother?" Torik ventured.
"Called her a cock-sucking bitch, which couldn't be more far from the truth. I tell you, Torik, you don't say that to a man unless you wanna rile him up bad."
"Our people have affronts as well," Torik said. "But they do not involve one's mother. Rather, they are directed at the individual themselves. 'Warrior without honor' is one that strikes at those of the templar caste. 'Bone-crested' is another amongst the judicators. It implies there is nothing within one's cranial crest aside from bone." From beyond the door, there was drilling and humming from the repairs being done on the Caravan's side.
"So tame," Marcus noted.
Aiur—three days later
Jamie groaned as he pushed his chair back away from the control panel. "They're going to call us once we get near the planet, aren't they?" he said. "Yeah, I'll be in my room while you drop our pal Torik off."
Marcus rolled his eyes as Jamie retreated out of the cockpit. "All right. See ya, princess." He leaned back in his chair, watching Aiur grow in the horizon.
The incoming call came as The Caravan neared the planet's outer barrier. A small screen flipped up from the control panel and flickered to life. "Marcos Kane," Praetor Ellandar greeted from the small monitor. "Much time has passed since you last came to Aiur. Have you trouble seeking employment amongst your own systems?"
"I'm not here for work, Praetor," Marcus replied.
"Then do explain your presence here." The outer barrier was maintained, and Marcus was forced to slow The Caravan.
"I found a protoss in the Lontimar system—injured. He says he's from Aiur, so I've come to bring him back."
"You found one of the firstborn in Lontimar?" Marcus didn't blame the Praetor for sounding so cynical. "Let me see this one first. Then I will consider permitting you through the barrier."
Always a stickler for confirmation, this Ellandar. Marcus sighed. "Alright, let me get him."
There was music coming from the spare room. There had been music coming from it for the past three days. To help stave off the boredom, Marcus had introduced Torik to his playlist. The concept of songs—particularly singing—fascinated the protoss. Marcus had to explain to him how humans were able to vocalize different notes. Apparently, that wasn't a thing among the protoss given the fact that they had no real voices to begin with. Following that, Torik had spent the next few days tearing through the hundreds of songs in the playlist.
Marcus immediately recognized the song currently playing—a classic. The volume doubled when the doors slid open. Torik sat in the wheelchair, facing the console. His fingers were knitted together over his lap.
"I enjoy this one," the protoss remarked.
"Yeah," Marcus agreed. "Gotta love that Smooth Criminal." He stopped next to Torik and turned the song down. "Listen, the fellas down on Aiur won't let me through unless they see you first."
"Very well," Torik agreed. Marcus took the wheelchair's handles and pushed him up to the cockpit. As soon as Torik's image was relayed to the Praetor, Ellandar visibly reeled back.
"By the gods!" he cried out, and then collected himself. "What is wrong you?"
"Honorable Praetor," Torik said. "This was the form bestowed upon me from the womb."
Praetor Ellandar was quiet for a moment. Then, Marcus saw a small gap open in the barrier. "You may enter," Ellandar told him. "A port has been designated to you."
Marcus nodded at the screen. "Much obliged." The screen shut off, and The Caravan moved through the barrier. Marcus inputted the coordinates of the assigned port, and the vessel descended towards it.
"The Praetor's inquiry was 'what is wrong with you,' not 'what has been done to you?'" Torik said quietly.
"Ellandar isn't exactly the friendliest guy," Marcus assured. Quickly, he double-checked that The Caravan had stopped transmitting to Aiur. "Kind of big-headed if you ask me. What did you call it? Crest-boned?"
"Imperfection is not loved by the firstborn. If such a reception is common, then I fear I will be thrust down to the lowest rung of the Khalai caste," Torik continued to fret to himself. "No better a fate than being locked among beasts in one of your zoos."
"There are no castes. Your people did away with them a long time ago."
"The castes have been broken down? Why?"
"Ask your Hierarch Artanis. He was the one who decreed it."
"Artanis is a hierarch now?"
"Oh boy," Marcus sighed. "You have a lot of catching up to do."
They both turned and watched The Caravan lower gingerly over one of Aiur's docking ports. It was predominantly gold in color, with accents of turquoise blue—just like every damn thing the protoss here built. Marcus felt The Caravan rock, and then still as clamps secured the ship to the port.
"Well," Marcus said, powering the ship's engines down. "Welcome home, Torik. How's it feel?"
"It has been a long time since I have returned to this world," Torik replied, his eyes still gazing out to the planet beyond the glass. "I do not feel at home here. But perhaps time will allow me to acclimate." Marcus wheeled him down to the ramp.
There were a few protoss workers going about on the port. As Marcus and Torik descended, those nearest stopped in their tracks. Their gazes were all focused on the same thing.
Someone was striding across the platform to meet them. It wasn't the Praetor. Gold plating adorned with blue and milky white gems covered her body in an armor-like fashion. Two large gold structures, curved like crescent moons, rose from behind her shoulders. Thin chains draped over her face like webs.
When she came close enough, Marcus said, "How've you been, dollface?"
Her blue eyes narrowed. "The hierarch may tolerate your presence, but that does not mean I do," Ariadis replied stonily. "You will address me properly, and keep your silly terran pet names to yourself."
"Good to see you too."
Ariadis ignored his comment as she looked over the protoss in the wheelchair. "What is your name?" she asked him.
"Torik."
"Torik, I am Executor Ariadis. Is that… terran clothes you are wearing?"
The protoss looked down. Marcus spoke up for him. "Don't exactly have a protoss's wardrobe on my ship."
Ariadis didn't pursue the topic any further. "I will ensure that proper garments are provided to you. The Daelaam wish to know how you came to be in captivity within the Lontimar system." Her gaze shifted to Marcus. "Your purpose here is done. You may return to your ship and leave."
"Hold up, I'm not heading out just yet," Marcus objected. "I want to make sure Torik's gonna be okay here." Jamie was going to hate him, but that was fine.
"That is not necessary."
"Torik suffers from amnesia," Marcus said. "The gaps in his memory span years."
"Our doctors will treat him." Ariadis stepped closer to Marcus. She towered a good foot over him. "Marcos Kane, you are overextending your—."
"Peace, Executor. You cannot forcibly eject him from Aiur. Marcos Kane will depart when he is ready," said Ellandar, appearing by them. "I do not blame the terran for desiring to prolong his time on our world. Might we step aside, Ariadis? There are matters we need to discuss."
The executor nodded, though her body language oozed with reluctance at taking her careful watch away from Marcus and Torik. When the two of them were out of earshot, Marcus let out a heavy sigh. "A real vixen, that one." He nudged Torik with his elbow. "Huh?" He, of course, was joking. There was nothing about protoss he found appealing, but Ariadis, with her rigidness, was too damn fun to toy with.
"Yes," he heard Torik agree softly. "She is… beautiful."
"Wait," Marcus said after a pause, "really?"
Suddenly, Torik took wheels of his chair and began rolling himself away. "It should not be in my place to say," he said. "Some things do not change, Marcus. The castes may be eliminated by ordinance, but they remain inherently. Do you notice how they look at me?" He stopped wheeling and touched the stumps at the ends of his legs. "What they say with their gazes is correct. Look at me. I am an abomination."
"Being a downer ain't going to help you." Marcus trailed after him. "Where are you going?"
"I am to go before the Daelaam and explain myself," Torik answered. "Though doing so is going to be difficult for me. I am afraid they will find little satisfaction with my answers, but I will try nonetheless."
"You sure you're going to be fine?"
"Yes." With one wheel, Torik turned himself around. "You have done much for me. I thank you, friend Marcus, for your kindness. May we meet again should you return to Aiur."
"You can count on it."
The heavy rubber soles of his work boots clunked loudly against the ramp as Marcus walked back up the ramp. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Torik was still watching him. Lifting a hand, he gave the protoss a wave. Torik imitated the action.