She walked up the road. It was the middle of the night now. It was hard to keep track of time when using the portals. Teleporting that long a distance put you in a different time zone in a fraction of a second and it could be disorienting. She had done it before a hundred and one times, though. She could see the effects of the destroyed barriers immediately. The way the darkness seemed to disintegrate into pixels, losing their colour at the edge, to be replaced at odd angles by the light of the surrounding area, the unnerving silence broken only by crackles; it would feel odd even to an untrained eye. The nodes are fighting to maintain control, she realised- they were even trying to expand into the world outside and take it over - but she had no idea how long they could hold out with no protection. Whoever made the rift was very messy or had attacked the barriers on purpose.
Scanning the nodes yielded no signs of life. However, the nodes probably wasn't a reliable method of finding anything out any more. She would have to physically look for people. First of all she searched her own house for her house-mates. The house was empty and silent; even the computers were off. She was mildly annoyed at Devon; wasn't he the man who fixed the barrier when it went down? Most of all she was worried about the server. There were things on there even more important than holding up the barrier. The server was in the basement, so she put her hand on the door handle and...
The door felt wrong. Someone had opened it before - without permission! The surge of power she felt from the door as she opened it was like a flood of administrative life energy. It no longer opened into the basement. Someone had opened it to the other place. But that was impossible! Nobody else knew about the other place! She had tried to teach Devon and Lunacy about it but they didn't understand yet.
But there was no denying it. She felt the other's understanding of it.
The trek through the desert was relatively uneventful. Mogic Industries Motavia, being a flourishing business, had their HQ built right next to the capital. Mogic knew a little about desert survival and taught Devon how to survive, including how to deal with a few of the nastier animals that lived in the area. They apparently had sand worms big enough to swallow the University whole. They took care to avoid the signs of disturbances in the sand where the worms might emerge. It took them only an hour to reach Tonoe.
The trade capital of Motavia was an enormous market town situated inside a small area of the desert surrounded on all sides by a mountain, with a heavily guarded entrance via a cave. Bustling with activity, it consisted of rows upon rows of market stalls with Motavian vendors loudly advertising their wares, haggling and generally shouting about things. Children and the occasional dog ran around and around, singing to the cheerful music that played constantly in the background. Devon found the Motavians very strange people; they wore blue owl feathers all over their bodies, even going so far as to wear beak masks and strange lenses over their eyes so that they really did look like blue owls. Mog said he'd remember why once he was registered. Their biggest product, apart from water, was technology- lots of it, big, chunky and lowtech, mostly land-rovers and computers. They openly fixed things in the street and tried to sell them to people, or even ran out of a big forge somewhere with newly created parts. Devon couldn't see a pattern to any of it, didn't understand why anyone would want to cover themselves in feathers in the middle of a desert and wondered how exactly the town became a trading capital of anywhere except a lunatic asylum.
They stopped at a tall iron gate just before the town. A heavily armed and armoured guard yelled at them in a language Devon didn't understand - he had been warned that his translation cap didn't include Motavian and wouldn't do until he paid up. Mog meowed back at him and after a quick explanation, they were allowed into the town.
"Don't buy anything, especially water." warned Mog, "They don't mean it in a nasty way, but Motavians have this urge to swindle everyone who isn't a Motavian, meow.
Devon took her advice, waving away the constant stream of merchants heckling him. Mog was more direct, hissing and scratching people's legs. He followed the little cat through the market to another, less busy area full of white tents. In the middle of the tents was one larger tent upon which strange symbols were embroidered. Motavians in long red and black robes, some with mortarboards, walked in and out, carrying papers and looking very officious. They walked in without hindrance, although Devon was given some odd looks.
"You look like a Numan." explained Mog, "Motavians and Numans don't get on. They had a disagreement about a very important political event, meow."
She led him through a well kept area full of paperwork, laptops, weight and measures- obviously some kind of trade office. They went past what looked like a place of worship and a room full of more computers. Finally, they reached a room separated from the others by a bead curtain. Inside was a very old Motavian in red robes. His feathers were dark blue, long and wispy like a beard.
"Greetings, child of the Meow." he said to Mog.
"Old one." the cat inclined her tail respectfully.
"Let me guess, Doran's gone walkabout again and you've brought this one to me, eh?" he laughed, "Let's have a look at you, boy. What's your name?"
"Devon Mogay."
"Dev!" he picked up a clipboard and wrote something down.
"Hey, you can't just shorten my name!" protested Devon.
"Nonsense, boy, Devon is more than four letters and we want to give you a valid name, don't we?"
"There's nothing wrong with my name!"
"Co-operate with him, meow, he's only trying to save you from the rather nasty incompatibility effects." advised the cat.
Devon shrugged. "Dev isn't such a bad name, I guess."
"Good. Dev." he scribbled down something else, "Now, Dev, what species are you?"
"Pardon? I'm human..."
"Human. I'm guessing that's a fancy new term for a half-Numan." he wrote it down, "Do you remember anything at all about your life before you lost your memory? Where you were? What job you were doing?"
"Well..."
Before Dev could react, the old man had grabbed his hand and was staring intently at a mark on the palm, a huge black circle like he had been burned. That was where the girl had touched him... he hadn't even noticed!
"WEITH FO?" shouted the elder.
"Naj mem!" insisted Mog, staring at Dev in disbelief.
"What's going on?" he asked the cat. The furious Motavian grabbed a walking stick and hit Dev over the head with it, waving his arms and yelling 'NAJ RYUKA TONOE! RIY REVER!"
"I'll explain to you later, meow. Run!"