Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

-Chapter Four-

As Sig pulled a first aid kit out of a compartment in his zoomer, Jak sat down on a rock and tugged off his tattered and blood-soaked shirt. What lay underneath wasn't pretty and definitely warranted immediate attention.

"Damn, chili pepper," Sig murmured. "You sure know how to make a mess of yourself." Though to be honest, for a scrawny little teenager to take on three Metal Heads with only his wits and his hands, the fact that he wasn't dead was remarkable enough. Jak had not only survived, he'd done so still able to move and function. Hell, he probably could have taken out the third Metal Head if Sig hadn't stepped in. Sig couldn't help but be impressed.

Opening up the first aid kit, he reached for a wad of gauze and the bottle of antiseptic. "I ain't no doctor," he warned the kid. "And I ain't gonna lie. This is gonna hurt like a bitch."

Jak's ears twitched at the warning, but he just nodded and started peeling off the makeshift bandage on his arm. Sig's estimation of him rose up a notch. He quickly doused the gauze with antiseptic and set to work daubing at the torn flesh on Jak's back. The blond hissed, clenching his hands into fists, but otherwise held still. Not his first time doing this, Sig noted. Faint scars on his back spoke of past injuries, backing up that theory. Might not be his first time tangling with Metal Heads, either. Remembering the deadly accuracy of that thrown rock, he silently added, Sure knew how to hit them where it hurt. It was really starting to make him wonder.

When he moved down to Jak's ribs, the teen sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed his eyes shut, his expression twisting with pain. His whole body was trembling with the effort to hold still. Well, Sig had warned him. He deftly and efficiently cleaned the cuts, knowing that speed would be more appreciated than any futile attempts at "gentleness."

Once the last of Jak's cuts had been sterilized, Sig put the antiseptic back in the first aid kit and removed a small packet of green eco gel. There wasn't anywhere near enough of the stuff to heal Jak completely, but it would get the worst of the damage mending. The kid could live with the rest, especially if he was as resilient as the Wastelander was starting to suspect. He tore a corner off the packet and applied it sparingly.

He nearly swore when the stuff danced. Not the gel itself, but the eco trapped within. What the hell? He blinked, but it wasn't his imagination. Tiny flecks of green light freed themselves from suspension and swirled briefly around the boy, ruffling his yellow-green hair like an unseen breeze before disappearing into his body. Jak sighed appreciatively and opened his eyes.

O...kay... Uncertain what to make of that display, Sig decided to file it away to think about later. Right now he needed to finish binding Jak's wounds. More bandages came from the first aid kit, and in short order he declared Jak ready to go.

"We can have someone change the bandages later," he commented as he put everything away. "Apply more eco if they've got it. C'mon, cherry, on the zoomer. We've got places to be."

Jak glanced at him, but instead of doing as he was told, he headed straight for the water's edge. Sig impatiently opened his mouth to ask him what he was doing, then stopped when he saw Jak bend down and fish something out of the water. It was a box of some sort, small and yellow and still sealed tight.

Krew, Jak mouthed, turning to look at him.

Krew's box. The package he'd been sent to retrieve. Sig had forgotten about that. With a grimace, he nodded at Jak's expectant face. "Yeah, fine, we can stop by Krew's place. Now get on." He'd been hoping to go straight to Damas, but he couldn't fault Jak for wanting to finish what he'd started - especially since this was Krew they were dealing with. The fat crime lord had a history of being... vindictive with people who didn't come through. That was one of the reasons Sig made sure he never failed a mission.

Satisfied with the promise, Jak wrapped the box in the remains of his tunic and tucked it under one arm, then mounted the zoomer behind him. Sig spared a moment's thought to wonder what happened to the zoomer Krew had given the kid, but if Jak wasn't protesting leaving it behind, chances were it wasn't in any condition to fly. Oh well. He doubted Krew would care. It was probably stolen anyway.

As they flew back through the city, Sig took special care not to draw any attention. Not that he did on a normal day, but with an injured passenger on his ride, he didn't want to take any risks. The sun was setting by the time they pulled to a stop in front of the Hip Hog.

Despite the bandages and the eco, Jak moved stiffly as he slid off the zoomer. Sig caught his arm and steadied him when it looked like he was about to stumble, earning a grateful nod. Together they went inside.

At this time of day the bar was actually somewhat alive. In a city like Haven, where so many people were tired and oppressed, alcohol was one of the few things they could rely on to dull the misery the day, and right now all the drudges were getting off work. Tess was too busy pouring drinks and serving customers to offer them more than a smile and a wave when she saw them, although she did point to something pinned to the wall when she caught Jak's eye. Sig's brow furrowed in confusion when he looked at the scribbled drawing of... was that a kangarat? But Jak just grinned when he saw it.

Seeing no sign of Krew, Sig waited until there was a lull in the flow of customers before he approached the blond barmaid. "Yo, Tess," he greeted her, slapping a few coins on the counter. He wasn't particularly thirsty, but it was best to keep up appearances. He lowered his voice. "You know where Krew is? Jak's got somethin' to deliver."

Tess took the coins and slipped them into a box under the counter. "He's upstairs," she said, keeping her voice equally low. "He said to tell Jak to take the package to a drop box. Doesn't want anyone seeing it." She turned to get the bottles to mix Sig's drink, grabbing a paper while she was at it. "I was supposed to give him directions, but since you're here, you can just take him. Here's your map, Jak. I kept it safe like you asked." Eyeing his bandaged, shirtless, and somewhat damp appearance, she grinned at him wryly. "Looks like a good thing that you did. You all right?"

The teen waved off her concern with a smile, nodding in Sig's direction. Sig snorted and didn't bother to elaborate on his answer. The girl didn't need to know the details of what had happened.

Downing his drink in one swift motion, he set the glass on the counter with a loud thunk. "Hate to cut the chatter," he said, "but me an' Jak've got someplace to be. Nice seein' you, Tess, and thanks. I owe you one." He pushed away from the counter, trusting Jak to follow him out of the bar. The kid did, of course, but not before waving goodbye to Tess and grabbing his map from her.

"Come back soon!" Tess called after them.

As they settled back onto Sig's zoomer, Jak shot the older man a questioning look. Sig didn't have to be a mind reader to guess what this one was about. "I'm taking you to see a friend," he explained cryptically, ever careful of what he said inside Haven City's walls. "Might know somethin' about your home."

Apparently, that answer was good enough for Jak. He let the matter drop without any more silent questions, wrapping an arm around the older man's waist as they took off. Sig made a brief detour to his usual drop box, where Jak deposited Krew's yellow package, then the Wastelander headed toward the middle of the port. After he'd been dropped off earlier, he'd told the pilot of the transport that he would be back shortly. The pilot had agreed to wait, but had warned him that he couldn't stay much past sunset. Unfortunately, it had taken him longer to retrieve Jak than he had anticipated. The sun had already dipped below Haven's walls. Damn, I hope he's there. Zoomers didn't have the capacity to make it from here to Spargus. Besides making it across the water, the desert sands were not kind to their engines.

And that was assuming that they didn't run into a sand storm.

But luck was with him and the pilot was still there. After a cursory exchange of greetings, Sig locked down his zoomer and loaded it into the back of the transport. The pilot would keep an eye on it for him until he came back to get it, a favor that cost him a little extra, but was worth it in his opinion. It was far too easy and far too common for people to steal zoomers that were left unattended, and Sig had no desire to have to deal with replacing his.

It was on the way to Spargus that exhaustion finally caught up to Jak. With nothing much to do and a long ride ahead of them, the kid curled up against the wall and was out like a light within minutes. Sig took the opportunity to slip the map from his hand and examine it, squinting to see in the cargo hold's dim lighting.

Sandover. Sentinel Beech. Giser Rock. Sig frowned as he scanned the rough picture. None of the names were familiar, and he suspected many of them were misspelled, but... Damas said that Haven used to be Sandover. In his mind, he compared the simply drawn geography with his own knowledge of the land. Some of it matched.

But some of it did not. Which left him right back where he'd started. His eyes drifted to the sleeping teenager. Just where the hell are you from?

Jak, of course, did not answer. It wasn't until they landed and Sig shook him awake that the kid even stirred, and that was with a faintly vocal groan of protest. But Sig was without mercy. "Come on, cherry. This ain't no place you want to spend the night. Get up."

Cracking a bleary eye, the blond grimaced and reluctantly sat up. Impatient to get into Spargus, Sig gripped Jak's good arm and hauled him to his feet. "We're almost there," he said. "Just got a short walk through the desert. No sense draggin' your heels."

At mention of the word "desert," Jak's ears flicked up and he glanced outside the now-open transport door. There wasn't much to see from this angle, only sand and a few scrub trees, but that didn't seem to dampen his interest. Moving stiffly, but no longer under Sig's prompting, he exited the transport and immediately knelt down to touch the sand. A strange expression crossed his face. Whatever was going through his head, though, he didn't try to express it with his hands, and when Sig reached down to tap his shoulder, he just nodded and stood back up.

Sig didn't bother trying to guess what that was all about. For all he knew, the kid had never seen a desert. It didn't matter. They were almost there. With one eye out for Marauders, he led Jak to the Wasteland city of Spargus.

-o-

Damas knew when Sig came back. Very little happened in his city that he did not know about, and something like the arrival of one of his best warriors and an unknown child was no exception, even under the cover of night. He paced impatiently in his throne room as he waited for them, his mind still churning over what little he'd already learned.

Sandover. Metal Heads. Transport rings. Something was going on here that he didn't like. He could have asked Sig to interrogate the boy without bringing him to Spargus, but the fact that this Jak couldn't speak would leave too much to Sig's interpretation. He trusted Sig, trusted him with his life and the life of his son, but in the face of this unknown, Damas wanted to learn as much as he could firsthand.

The rattle and clank of machinery echoed up the lift shaft, giving Damas plenty of time to stop pacing and compose himself. Sig's helmeted head was the first to appear, then another, much shorter, and topped with yellow-green hair. The boy wasn't facing him, too busy looking around with curiosity to notice the king's presence, but when Sig nudged his shoulder, he turned around.

Damas' heart stopped in his chest. For a moment, all he could see was large blue eyes and round chubby cheeks, green hair that was just beginning to turn yellow from exposure to the sun. Those eyes were turned up to look at him and-

No. Furiously, he gave himself a mental shake and dismissed the image of his son. The resemblance was strong, he couldn't deny it, but this boy was far too old. It was coincidence, nothing more.

"King Damas," Sig greeted him neutrally. The way he was looking at him made Damas wonder how much of his momentary shock had shown. He gave a very slight shake of his head. Later.

"Sig," he returned the formality. Then, reluctantly, he turned his eyes back on the boy. "And you must be Jak."

True to Sig's report, Jak did not say anything, but he smiled and lifted his hand. His arm was bandaged, Damas noted, as was his chest. Splotches of red showed through in some places, testament of the injuries that lay beneath. Damas frowned, then decided to give into curiosity. In this instance, it would serve a purpose.

"What happened?" he asked, meeting Jak's eyes.

Jak blinked and hesitated, then looked at Sig. But just as Sig opened his mouth to answer for him, Damas held up his hand.

"The question was for Jak," he said sternly. "Not you, Sig." He gave the man a pointed look. "I want to hear what he has to say." Sig caught on quickly and nodded. Satisfied, Damas returned his attention to the boy.

Somewhat nonplussed by this turn of events, Jak stood there awkwardly. He looked at Sig again, a question in his eyes, and he pointed at his throat, then at Damas. Sig shook his head and resolutely ignored him.

"Damas asked you a question, cherry. Talk to him, not me."

The teen frowned, one ear twitching with annoyance. It was obvious he didn't realize what Damas was doing. With a sigh, he gave up on trying to get any help from Sig and focused back on the king.

Damas' eyes sharpened as the boy pointed first at the bandages, then curled his fingers into a parody of claws. He bared his teeth in a silent growl and laid his ears back against his head. Once he was sure that he'd communicated that idea, he straightened up and looked at the king expectantly.

"A creature attacked you," Damas obliged him. But he wasn't about to make this easy. "What kind and how many?"

The second question was answered first, but after Jak held up three fingers, he hesitated, eyes darting about the chamber. Finally, he settled on Sig and reached out to tap the man's armor. The Wastelander scowled and moved to swat the boy's hand away, but Jak had already backed off and was now pulling off the goggles he wore on his head. One side had a large red lens with black crosshairs, and it was this side that he placed in the middle of his forehead.

Again he waited, looking more than a little ridiculous.

His point had been made, though, and quite clearly to anyone who lived in the Wastes. "Metal Heads."

Pleased, Jak nodded and put his goggles back on.

Damas pursed his lips as he considered the whole exchange. It had been a test, of course, to see how well Jak communicated without help from others. It also gave Damas an idea of how the boy "spoke." All things considered, he'd done fairly well. But how would that hold up under questions with complex answers?

Only one way to find out. "Describe the fight," he demanded. "Tell me how you survived."

Jak frowned and looked at Damas, really looked at him, as though searching for something in his face. Perhaps the boy was catching on. Or maybe he was just stumped and didn't know how to respond. Damas met his gaze steadily. He wouldn't rescind the order, nor would he ask twice.

A minute passed, then Jak lifted his chin and nodded. His eyes flashed with determination. He didn't need to speak to make his next words clear. I accept your challenge.

It was all Damas could do not to smile.

Taking his goggles off again and positioning the lens back on his forehead, Jak held up one finger. With teeth bared in a snarl, he curled his free hand into a set of "claws" and mimed scratching his bandaged arm. Then, expression returning to normal, he punched his forehead, right below the goggle lens, and as he did so he pulled the goggles away. He made a slicing motion across his neck, then paused.

Damas took his cue to translate. "One Metal Head attacked you and injured your arm," he said. "You responded by striking at its head and knocking out its gem, which killed it. Were you armed?"

Jak shook his head. His hair, no longer held back by the goggles, threatened to fall into his face when he did this, but he pushed it back impatiently and went on. This time he held up two fingers. His eyes flicked to Damas.

"A second Metal Head-"

Jak cut him off with a sharp gesture, then held up one finger, then another.

Ah. "Two Metal Heads."

At this point though, Jak hesitated, his brow furrowed in thought. Then his eyes landed on the pools of water in the throne room and he perked up. Moving to stand in front of one of the pools, he held up both fingers again and rushed them toward himself, pantomiming the attack. Then he tapped his bandaged chest. As he did so, he fell back, landing in the water with a splash.

He didn't sit there idly, though, but let go of his goggles and shoved both hands into the water to pull up handfuls of wet sand. This he used to form two lumps on the dry ground, just at the water's edge. Each lump got a pebble stuck in one end. Jak stayed where he was, looking nothing so much as like a little boy playing with water and sand.

A little boy with green hair that flopped in his eyes, and had such a large smile.

It took a supreme effort of will for Damas to ignore the tight pain in his chest and focus on Jak's continuing story.

Jak took a slightly larger rock and pretended to throw it, then guided it toward one of the lumps to knock its pebble out of place. After that, he pointed at Sig, who had been standing silently this whole time. It wasn't a request for Sig to pick up the story, though. Jak held up his arms as though holding a gun. Then he smashed the second lump of sand.

It was an impressive story, assuming it was true - and assuming he was reading it correctly. Damas arched an eyebrow and glanced at Sig. "How much of this did you see?"

Sig shook his head. "I saw him take out the second Metal Head. Nothin' before that."

Good enough. He would ask Sig for details later. "So," he said, turning back to Jak. "You were attacked by both Metal Heads at once. You were injured a second time, then fell into the water. I assume you stayed in the deeper parts where they couldn't follow?" The boy nodded. "Good. That was smart. And you must have a very strong arm to throw a rock and kill a Metal Head from that distance." Strength and intelligence were something to be noted and valued in Spargus, and Damas did it without thought.

But it seemed to take Jak by surprise. Blinking at Damas, he rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. A shy smile crossed his face.

Finished with his story, Jak climbed out of the pool and gingerly shook the water off. As he did so, Damas ran the "conversation" through his head, analyzing the youth's method of communication. He was good at making himself understood and creative enough to use whatever was on hand to help illustrate. His lack of speech was a handicap, yes, but it was one that he didn't let hinder him. He shows promising resourcefulness. It was too bad that he wasn't a Wastelander.

Although, perhaps someday...

Damas didn't allow himself to entertain the thought for long. That was not the purpose for having Jak brought to Spargus. Speaking of which...

He looked at Sig. "Did you explain to him why I asked you to bring him here?"

Sig shook his head. "He slept most of the way, and afterwards, I figured it'd be better comin' from you."

As the two spoke, Jak's brow crinkled with confusion. With a wave of his hand to catch their attention, he reached out to pluck a paper from Sig's hand. Holding it out for Damas to see, he pointed at the bottom and lifted his eyebrows in question. Damas glanced down at it.

It was a map, roughly drawn and labeled. And there, where Jak's finger rested, was the name SANDOVER. Distracted from what he'd been about to say, Damas took the paper, frowning as he realized what was on it. It was impossible. But as he scanned it, he couldn't deny what his eyes saw. Somehow, Jak had drawn things that only the rulers of Haven and a few obscure historians could possibly know about. Many of the names were misspelled, and the geography didn't always match up completely, but there could be no doubt. It shouldn't have been possible.

And yet there it was.

"Oh," Sig said, somewhat chagrined at the reminder. "Yeah. I told the kid you might know about Sandover."

-End Chapter Four-