Jak and Daxter: Legacy
Chapter 17: Children of Mechs and Men
Jak slammed the racing gear's eco bars as wide out as they could go. He shot forward, Mar Stadium gleaming coppery and black below as he - and Daxter holding tight to his shoulder - rocketed face-first to the earth down the track's final bend, sparks flying beside and wind whipping against them, the delight of surging freefall making Jak grin until his mouth hurt.
Clank! The racing gear jolted to a loud stop at the bottom, though by being suspended inside, he felt no impact beyond the sudden sensation of stillness.
Jak let the eco bars go in a sweeping hum, put his goggles to his forehead, and slumped back in the harness with a dazed smile. Goosebumps prickled his skin. Ashelin, having crossed the finish line before him, waited in another gear beside him, the tips of its teeth still orange from friction against the track.
Her mouth pursed into an amused smirk. "Someone's having a good time. You did lose, you know?"
"Who cares if I lost?" Jak turned his stare to the sky. "That was…"
I can't even describe it, he thought. Racing on the practice loop had been fun after the first few tries, though it had turned rote soon enough. But the real track…
Jak shook his head, vision flashing with speed-blurred memories of blazing neon city, moonlit ocean, and the brass machinery of Sewerhusk ticking along beneath Haven. Never mind the rush of excitement when he'd shot up the last, tallest hill, up and away from the dark wound in the earth of Haven's heart, the stars glittering so close he could almost touch them. And, for a weightless moment, he'd forgotten his mortal body.
That is, until he'd had to fall again. But never had falling felt so free.
"Told you the real track was better." Ashelin dismounted and jumped down towards the start panel where she'd propped her eco rifle. She grabbed it, then leaned against her racing gear while holding the rifle with its muzzle to the ground, rubbing a thumb over the 'HI' carving on the black and gold filigree stock. "And you handled it just fine. You'll never beat me, of course, but I think you've got a chance at getting a sponsor."
"You really do?"
Jak hopped down from his gear, ignoring every fiber of his being begging him to get back in it. The eco bars flickered out of existence as soon as his boots touched the ground. Meanwhile, Daxter unlatched his harness hook from Jak's pauldron strap with a click, then laid across Jak's shoulders, a fuzzy orange scarf behind his neck.
"First loop on the practice track tonight, I had my doubts. But you're already better than most newcomers I've seen at sponsorship races in the past. Half could barely switch a track, and you've already got that down. Well, mostly."
Jak leaned against his own gear to face her, the heat of the metal welcome against his back. He crossed his arms and shot a sly grin. "I accidentally knocked into you one time, so what?"
"Don't expect me not to return the favor someday."
"You'd give up first place to spend time with me back in fifteenth?"
Ashelin chuckled. "Your attitude's a lot better than most, too. Keep the humility up, and you'll have sponsors begging you to accept their contracts instead of the idiots they're used to."
"Racing attracts a lot of egos, huh?"
"I thought the Air Cavalry was bad, but this is worse by a blue eco mile," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Well, that explains your friend from last night."
Her expression darkened.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to…"
"No, you're right." She sighed. "Erol didn't used to be like that, though."
Ashelin slung her rifle over her back. She turned and walked away, head heavy, one hand tucking into the pocket of her military jacket. Jak exchanged a confused glance with Daxter. After a moment of both regret for having brought it up, and a fear of alienating her, he caught up to Ashelin, matching her firm pace across the stadium's center with one meandering.
"Thanks for defending me last night, by the way. And helping me tonight. Actually, not that I'm not grateful or anything, but I guess I'm just wondering-"
"Why? Four reasons: one, I wanted Erol to let his pride get in the way of him winning. A snub like last night will have him seething for days. Come the sponsorship race, he'll focus on beating you - knowing full well he can - but will do it for the sake of his ego, and forget about me. And you get advice from me out of it, so win-win."
A memory of the Underport haunted his mind's eye, eco crystal lamps tainting its corners with blood red light, Sig shining in bronze armor beside him as they descended the stairs from the bakery.
"A tailor in Riverjoint told me he's killed a racer before, too."
"Yep, I saw that race. It was subtle enough that no one could pin it on him for sure, but it wouldn't surprise me. They had to pause the races for a week just to finish scrubbing the track clean."
Jak fidgeted with the cloth wrappings on his forearms. A nervous chuckle escaped his lips. "Erol's not… dangerous, right?"
"Don't worry. He might have his head up his ass, but I wouldn't have done it if I'd thought he might actually want to harm you. No, he'll just go out of his way to make sure you know how much better he is than you."
He suddenly remembered how the farmers back home would sometimes leave their sickliest yakows out in the farthest pen in case wolfadgers came by, knowing that they'd be content with a single easy meal and not bother with the healthier of the herd.
By the time this was all done, he wasn't sure that he'd end up more than a scarlet smear and gnawed bones, either.
Thanks a lot, Ashelin. That'll make the race easier, what with Erol gunning for me. So much for helping me because she's nice, he thought.
"Second reason, I get to practice with someone who doesn't have his head up his ass. And three, it'll teach Erol to remove his head from his ass before he loses me as a friend. Any questions?"
She stared at him as an officer would a soldier under their command.
"Yeah, are you always this calculating?"
As soon as he said it, he wished he could take it back; Daxter tensed up from head to tail tip on his shoulders, and Ashelin regarded him with an unblinking stare. He might've been irritated with her, but he didn't want to make her mad. One top champion out for his blood was enough.
"Smart! I meant smart. I mean, that's a lot of birds with one stone. And to manipulate Erol like that, not that he doesn't deserve it. No one deserves to be manipulated. Not that you're manipulating him in a bad way. That's not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is-"
"A battle's never fought just on the field. And I intend to win the championship." She smiled wider than she had all night, as if the sight of his bewildered expression had been the sweetest wine she'd ever sipped. "Don't worry. I take it as a compliment."
Precursors, she's vicious, Jak thought, but said, "And the fourth reason?"
"I did say four, didn't I?" She put a hand to one of her ears and stopped walking. They were on the stadium's glass center, though the transparency beneath their feet didn't make her glance down warily like Jak did. "I know how the Wise get treated in this city. I'm sure Erol last night wasn't your first experience."
Jak moved to say something, but bit his lip, holding back a tsunami of complaints. He wasn't sure she'd believe half of what he'd experienced, anyways.
"No, I get it. My mother was from one of the red tribes."
"So you're…?"
"In blood only, yes. And I'm sorry. You'd probably gotten your hopes up that an Unwise defended you out of kindness. No, I saw the way my mother was treated. At my father's side, or by those who knew who she was, she was given the respect she deserved. But otherwise, she was spit and hissed at. On top of that, none of the Wise have ever gotten past the sponsorship race. It's about time one did. One that actually looks Wise, I mean. I don't count."
Surprise stunned him, not only at Ashelin's real reason for sticking up for him, but also that any Wise people had ever raced before him. Maybe she wasn't helping him just for selfish reasons?
He still found it hard to believe, though, given her shrewd maneuvering with Erol she'd revealed to him just minutes before, and the fact that she was in the Air Cavalry, a branch of the Krimzon Guard. It was aircraft like hers that had caused Glowrend's destruction, and he couldn't guarantee she hadn't played a part.
Plus, with the way he'd seen the Guard arrest Wise people for seemingly no reason multiple times since he'd arrived to Haven, and the tales the artisans and Tess had shared over meals back at the Willow House about how they'd seen similar or worse things from the Guard, he wasn't sure she was trustworthy in general, either, Wise blood or not.
"I suppose being raised to hate advanced tech doesn't help," was all he said.
"There are plenty that have tried. Talented ones, too. Sponsors say they don't care about religion when asked, but it was suspicious that one had never been chosen for decades. But last year…" Ashelin shrugged and started pacing again. "Hagai Industries picked one for the first time."
"So it has been done before?"
She tightened her hands to fists. "Died in the third class race right after. Freak accident. Something about the harness on her gear not getting enough eco power because of a wire breaking mid-race. Flung right out and got run over by the others."
A chill crept down Jak's spine.
"So, if you've got a chance with anyone, it'd be Hagai's boss. Though him picking a Wise racer caused quite a stir, one big enough for the newspapers to have plastered it everywhere for weeks. Talk gets attention. And attention makes money."
"So…" A little spark of hope fluttered in Jak's chest, then it collapsed to an arrow of realization. "One might pick me just because of that?"
"Exactly."
Jak rolled his eyes. Of course they wouldn't pick him for selfless reasons. They'd do it to make money. In Haven, one hand offered in help usually hid a sharp knife in the other. He wasn't sure why he'd expected anything else.
"If I didn't need to win so badly, I'd be a little offended."
"Need to win?"
Her green eyes settled on him again, staring expectantly. Genuine curiosity gleamed in them, but something stopped Jak from blurting out the whole truth. It was the same feeling he'd had before when he'd thought about the yakows, and it churned his stomach. Sure, she was racing with him, but she got something out of it, too; another knife hidden by a helping hand. And she'd already stabbed him in the back once, unintentional or not. Dare he risk it again?
He glanced over to Daxter on his shoulder, who flicked his tail harshly across Jak's back in response; an agreement that they were treading dangerous water.
Jak put one hand on his hip and twisted the magnifying lens of his goggles back and forth with his other. "It's nothing big. I've just heard that… well, you probably already know. Top three winners get to go to a winner's banquet. Lots of important people there."
"Who?"
Jak said nothing.
"Look, I'm only asking because I know a lot of important people. Maybe I could help? Pull some strings, even if you don't win?"
"Why would you do that?" Jak said, then thought, Is this another manipulation game of some sort? I barely know her. Why would she care?
"I might be competitive, but I'm not an asshole, Jak. And no offense, but you don't seem like the typical sort to race. You're doing this for a bigger reason."
He furrowed his brows. Nothing said he had to accept her potentially strings-attached help, should she offer it. And what harm could it do for her to know only that he was looking for Gol and Maia? It wasn't like he needed to tell her why.
"Gol and Maia?"
Ashelin flinched. "Them?"
"Are they bad?"
"They're not heroes, that's for sure."
Jak raised a brow. "But they're not bad bad, right?"
She made a disgusted grunt, then sat on one of the black marble seats of the stands, bun gleaming red as she pulled it out and rewove it, smoothing back hairs that had come loose during their racing. Through it all, she wore a grim expression.
He joined her, heartbeat quickening as he tried to unwind her last words. Daxter jumped from Jak's shoulder and sat on the other side of him from Ashelin, wincing against the chilly breeze that brushed over the stadium walls. He withstood it for a few seconds, then retreated behind Jak's arm, shivering. Jak would have offered some green eco to help him warm up, but with Ashelin close by, he decided against it.
At their back and behind the stadium rose the middle pillar of Haven, a mountainous column of estates clustered between massive tree roots, their windows golden against the night. In front of where the three of them sat, past the dirty Slag district and its outer walls far below, stretched the ocean to the northeast, as endless in its blue as the Wasteland in the northwest was in lifeless brown.
Their winds clashed. During the day and early night, the sea reigned over Haven's air, but in the quiet hours after midnight, the Wasteland always lashed back, blasting away the light scent of salt with the tart tang of eco refineries aflame, dust that stung one's eyes, and beneath it, a smell Jak could only associate with the feeling of despair. The Wasteland was made of a soil that had forgotten how to grow and change, after all, and was bitterly metallic, void of the earthy sweetness that the life and death of plants could bring.
Jak switched breathing from his nose to his mouth, barely able to stand the odor, and brought his focus back to the matter at hand. He'd been glad for the distraction, though; thoughts of who or who didn't reside above in the palace had seemed far away, if only for a moment until Ashelin continued.
"They showed up out of nowhere when I was a little girl. Here they were, barefoot save for leather wraps, ears as long as could be, strolling right into the throne room of King Damas, descendant of a man who'd waged war on their gods."
"Gol and Maia just walked in?"
"Damas always allowed the public in to hear requests when he could. But back then, there were barely any lower class Wise people in the city, never mind any that thought going to the palace would actually accomplish anything. Damas was always fair, though, and let them speak, even as his advisors scoffed and told him to turn them away."
"Sounds like a good guy."
Ashelin finished resetting her bun with a final hairpin as she replied, "They offered their services to him. At first, even Damas laughed, but then they showed everyone what they could do. Do you know about dark and light eco?"
Jak tightened his grip on the edge of the bench. "A little."
"Then picture this: a light eco sage, and a dark one. Maia showed a mastery of light eco not even Damas, or Erol, or any of their ancestors besides Mar probably ever had. And dark eco kills people. So for Gol to not only have survived touching it once, but to have tamed it? He must have sold his soul for that kind of power."
Gol and Maia are dark and light eco sages? Jak furrowed his brows. Samos left that part out.
"They're also masters of Precursor tech. Look, Haven's always had the best scientists in the world when it comes to reverse engineering Precursor machinery. But Gol and Maia? They squeezed secrets from things we'd dismissed as completely figured out centuries ago. No one just gets that good at Precursor tech. Especially not Wise folk like them."
"Definitely not." Jak took his goggles off, leaned forward, and adjusted their brass buckle back and forth over the head strap's soft leather, all the while remembering the times he'd worried over Keira for having tinkered with Precursor devices in a place like Sandover. "Back home, people would've torch and pitchforked someone like them out of the village."
"Exactly. And to everyone's surprise, Damas hired them as his court sages. It turned out to be a smart decision in the end. Any time you come across cutting edge eco tech in Haven that's not made by Hagai Industries or the Shurn? They probably had a hand in it. Even my ship in the Air Cavalry uses blue eco levitation circuits that they engineered."
Jak's optimism soared, and he smiled as if he'd just felt sunlight after days of rain. Samos had steered him right: Gol and Maia were not only geniuses, but masters of dark and light eco, as well.
If anyone could help cure a dark eco infection, it'd be them. The thought soothed the uneasiness in his gut, and he relaxed his shoulders.
But the way Ashelin had shuddered when he'd mentioned their names… the image put a pin in the balloon of his hopes. Fear stung him as he prepared to ask his next question. With his luck, something would come up that would make Gol and Maia a non-viable option for his cure.
"So… they're good, right?"
"I think so. Their methods and personalities leave something to be desired, but we owe them a lot, and my father kept them on after Damas-"
Jak's heart skipped a beat. "Your father?"
He turned to face her directly, searching for similarities to the man he'd first seen at the Warden's estate. Jak found nothing until he met her eyes again. Bright green and steely; a perfect match for the man who'd shared a glass of wine with him, and had the blood of hundreds on his hands.
Jak slid away from her. Ashelin is the Baron's daughter? Of course. Why else would she know someone like Erol, or Gol and Maia?
Daxter must have made the same connection. The ottsel was still tucked behind his arm, but Jak could tell by how his fur suddenly bristled.
Ashelin raised a brow. "Yeah, that look you're pulling right now? The wide-eyed, backing up, just shit your pants thing? That's why I try not to tell people. Of course, they usually figure it out anyways."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to react like that, it's just…"
"It's just that my father happens to be Baron Praxis. I'm not stupid. I know he's not the most popular man."
Your father's a war-mongering monster , is what Jak wanted to say, remembering the sight of a red sage before him, and a destroyed town beyond, both far more crimson than they should have been. But sitting there, Ashelin staring at him as if, for once in her life, something may have finally broken her stoic expression to reveal one of disappointment, he knew he couldn't. She's helping me, kind of. It's not her fault who her father is, either.
Jak shifted back closer to Ashelin again, though still kept a respectful distance. "Look, I just got to Haven. I barely know anything about politics. Where I come from, the biggest worries are crops and the weather. I've got no stake in… whatever it is all this fighting is about." He bent the points of his ears with his fingers, hoping the silliness of it would lighten her mood. "Remember, you're looking at a complete backwater hick who just came here to race, win, meet Gol and Maia, and get on with his life."
She stared at her lap, where she rubbed the side of her fingernail repeatedly with her other hand. He wanted to say more; to tell her how much he already looked up to her when it came to racing, and appreciated her help - despite that it came with furious Erol shaped strings attached - but he wasn't sure if he'd already stuck his foot too far in his mouth already.
A small doubt nagged the back of his mind, as well. She was not only in the Krimzon Guard, but the Baron's daughter. If his paranoia could have somehow beaten his desperation to use whatever resources he could get to find his cure, he'd already have booked it for the stadium stairs and never crossed her path again.
Ashelin spoke again after a long pause, softly, "Everything my father has done, has been for the city's best interests, from top to bottom. People just assume that all happened because of some stupid power grab. That ridiculous hatred gets heaped on me, too. It's not easy being-" Eyes glossy, she put her hand to her forehead, then turned away. "What am I saying? I barely even know you."
He looked down to Daxter, who'd finally peeked around his arm, eyes reflecting as much reluctant concern as he felt himself. Daxter leaped over Jak's lap, pawed at Ashelin's arm, then rested his chin on her knee. Jak expected Ashelin to brush Daxter away, but to his surprise, she scratched the ottsel's ears with gentle fingers, which Daxter happily melted into.
Ashelin's shoulders relaxed and she lifted her head. Her gaze grew steely again; a fortress wall against any who might try to read it.
"Anyways, my father kept Gol and Maia on. They're rarely around, though. I live in the palace, and I've only seen them up close once. The few times they're not in their big lab or meeting with my father or Erol, they slink around never talking to anyone, like ghosts stuck in another world."
"Oh, well…" Jak cocked his mouth to the side in an uneasy crumple. "They sound charming."
"They're not evil. They're just creepy. But if you need help with anything eco related, they're probably your best bet."
Jak let out a sigh of relief, then twisted around and stared up at the palace. Unlike the white brick and orange tile towers around it, it jutted to the sky like a needle of shadow and glass, a black stone crown of toothy battlements at its peak. He wondered if Gol and Maia were up there now, staring down at the city as they tinkered.
And would he someday look out of those same flickering windows, assured that his fate was no longer in the hands of the wound over his heart?
Ashelin got up, her knuckles white as she gripped her rifle's strap over her chest. Her eyes still didn't meet Jak's, but she managed a weak smile. "I'll be here most nights practicing from now on. Feel free to join me, if you find you can stand being around the Baron's daughter."
Jak fumbled to his feet. "Ashelin, I told you already. I don't care about-"
She walked away, her footsteps quick, her head low. He kept track of her by the sheen on her polished shoes as she stormed to the entrance, then down the stairs into the mists of Haven.
Jak and Daxter laid in a slumped pile on a chaise lounge in the Willow House's receiving room. Tess, who'd waited with them nearby at the counter, perked up as something reflected brass glow through the windows. She roused them from their dozing, then shooed them out into the front courtyard.
Sig, who stood by the light eco crystal pool, his bronze armor shining in the morning light, glanced up in surprise.
A wide grin lit up his face. "Well, don't you two look bright eyed and bushy tailed?"
Jak and Daxter finished another yawn in unison, then Jak muttered a drowsy, "Morning, Sig."
"And is that a third sun I see rising? Seems the radiant Lady Unne herself has come out with you."
"Pfft! Not 'til the makeup and fancy dress are on. But I appreciate the compliment. And here, I finally fixed this up for you," she replied, pulling a pistol from her sleeve.
"Damn," Sig said, taking it from her and peering at it with his ruby lens eye. "Tess, you're a miracle worker. I thought I'd have to junk this one."
Jak rubbed his eyes in slow circles, his mental processing swirling far behind the speed of the conversation, mind caught on thoughts about angry princes and baron's daughters. He'd stayed up far too late thinking over his conversations with Ashelin the night before, whether or not he should trust her, and then about the sponsorship race looming just two weeks ahead.
Ashelin's encouragement and advice had soothed his nerves, but now he had a bigger target on his back thanks to her, one that he knew would attract the attention of someone dangerous at best, and murderous at worst. More than that, he'd finally heard the whole story behind Gol and Maia. They were still his ticket to a cure, thank the Precursors, but it reminded him of one of Samos' oft-repeated sayings: 'the strongest medicine usually tastes the most bitter'; Gol and Maia sounded anything but sweet.
His dark eco wound lingered in prickling wait, circling his mind to catch scraps of worry from a whole meal of panicked thoughts. He drew in a slow lungful of air, then let it out, breath escaping as mist into the chilly morning. I can't worry about those things now. No distractions today. Especially today.
Starved, the dark eco died again. Jak returned to the present and blurted a delayed, "Wait, you fix pistols, Tess?"
Tess put her hands on her hips. "Jak, you've been in my office before. It's a tornado of- oh, never mind. You two have a good day. Sig, have my boys back before dinner."
"Yes, ma'am." He gave an exaggerated salute. "Oh, one last thing: if you're meeting with our friend tonight, could you tell him-"
"Not now! I mean, tonight. Not tonight," Tess said quickly, amber eyes darting at Jak, then back to Sig. "I haven't told our friend about it, so he's not coming just yet. But if you wouldn't mind, stop by my office after the two of you are done. We can discuss it more then?" She smiled pointedly at Sig. "Wouldn't want to hold up your activities for the day."
Friend? What are they talking about? Jak thought with a raised brow.
Sig nodded. "Got you, loud and clear."
Tess gave Sig another cherry-lipped grin, then turned to Jak and gripped his shoulders. "Jak, listen to Sig and be careful, okay? If you get hurt, make sure to use your green eco. And keep an eye on Daxter at all times. Places like those aren't safe for a cute little sweetie like him. And-"
"Tess, Tess, I've got it. I'm not a kid."
Sig and Tess exchanged a disbelieving look.
"What? I'm not."
Sig smirked at Tess, holstered the pistol she had given him at his thigh, and gave Jak's arm a hearty pat. "Let's head out, chili peppers. We've got a long day ahead of us."
Jak kept at Sig's side as much as he could manage as they left the Willow House, having to take two steps for Sig's every one. Peace Maker gleamed as Sig balanced it on a shoulder with one hand, and he whistled a joyful tune as they went along through Canalside. As if to answer his cheer, the suns emerged in full splendor, turning the steam over the streets gold, and the waterfalls bright.
Jak wanted to ask Sig about the 'friend' Tess had mentioned, but decided against it. It was obvious that Tess hadn't wanted him to know, and much as the lack of an answer bothered him, the task at hand was far more present in his mind.
Their west to east trek through the plate districts passed without a word until they reached Haven Port. As they moved from a world of stone streets and sour refuse air to one of copper docks and ocean breeze, Daxter's grip on his shoulder grew more and more tense. Jak grimaced a little at his claws and gave a light shrug. The ottsel instantly retracted them at the gesture, but over time his paws' grip started to clench again.
The Hagai Industries factory loomed at the district border nearby. Jak tried to look away, but its obsidian form always lurked in his peripheral vision, too large to ignore.
"That's our customer today," Sig said at last.
"You work for Hagai?"
"They're my main buyer. Mr. Blott relies on Wastelanders like me for the Precursor artifacts his company needs to keep making new things. Most Wastelanders don't bother with Haven City, never mind any that were raised by Yin. Being both makes me a rare man," he said with a cocky grin.
"Do the Yin know a lot about that stuff?"
"Flesh folk like you and me can heal our wounds. Their version of a doctor is delving for scrap to repair themselves with. And when you're raised by 'em? You learn real quick what's useful and what's not, and how and where to get it."
Jak couldn't imagine what it would've been like to have had robots for parents. Of course, he couldn't imagine what parents were like at all, save for a few imitation glimpses Samos had managed to offer him as a child. "How did you end up being raised by Yin, anyways?"
Sig's whole face warmed with a smile. He put his cyborg hand over his heart. "Sheer luck. See, I was born in a small Wasteland village. My blood parents were eco miners, breaking their backs day in and day out. I'd always known I'd follow in their footsteps." His smile faded. "'Til violetlung swept through, that is. Happens to mining towns like that a lot."
"Violetlung?" Jak sorted through every disease he'd come across as they passed the Port's waterside market stalls, but he couldn't recall one by that name.
"That's right, you're from far south. Long story short, the more a place gets eco mined, it gets deader. And the deader it is, the more likely that dark eco might start showin' up. Problem is, it doesn't immediately pop up in pools like you're probably used to hearin' about. It materializes slowly. One day, a mine could be clean, the next, you've got dark eco, but in such trace amounts that you can't even see it, floatin' through the air."
Chills ran through Jak from his heart down to his hands and feet. He winced, then looked back up at Sig.
"Exactly. So folk breathe it in for days on end, it hitches a ride home on their clothes, then it pollutes the water and food. Next thing you know, everyone in that mining town starts coughing. One day, I came home after running a long errand to Haven, and found my family wheezing on the floor. Not a pretty sight."
"Sorry," Jak said, a million questions still rattling in his mind about how the disease worked, but he didn't want to press Sig for answers. He assumed it harmed like most other lung affecting diseases he'd witnessed; slow and rattling and painful.
Haven Port bustled with activity. Sailors unloaded goods in tunnels between netted stacks of shipments, and civilian zoomers hummed overhead, merchant airships floating even higher above them as they sailed in on sea winds, their undersides aglow with the blue eco circuitry that allowed them to fly. Waterbound ships, ranging from small fishing vessels to large boats with red, fin-like sails swayed beside the docks. The air hung thick with their cargo's scents; seafood, spices, and the acidic prickle of eco packed in barrels.
"No worries," Sig finally replied. "I've made peace with it. They're probably having a better time now there than they ever did here, working themselves to the bone like that, just so some eco baron can get a fatter coinpurse. And I'm forever grateful the Yin took me in. They saved me, not only from having to survive on my own, but from a life where I'd have met the same fate. I think my birth parents are glad I've gone down a different path, you know? Even if I can't see 'em, well…" Sig stared at the sky, his ruby lens shining. "They're lookin' out for me, I just know it."
"You really think so?"
As soon as Jak blurted the question, he bit his lip and stiffened. Crap, I sounded like an ass just now.
"What I meant was-"
"I know what you meant, kid. And yes, I believe with every beat of my heart that they've got their eye on me." A firm hand patted Jak's pauldron. "I bet yours are doing the same, wherever they are. They've got a son to be proud of."
Sig grinned, ruffled his hair with a chuckle, and kept walking. Jak could only stand there and gawk at his retreating form, eyes never leaving him even as sailors and merchants on the dock shouldered past.
"Coming, cherries?"
The dock they'd been crossing ended at a pillar jutting out of the city's main wall, on the north side of the port. None of the sailors and merchants bothered with this quiet area, beached skeletons of ships rotting in what little mooring space there was. Sig handed Peace Maker to Jak, who was glad for something heavy to hold onto. His words just minutes before still made Jak feel as if a slight breeze could have knocked him over.
Daxter jumped off his shoulder, padded to the dock's edge, and stared into the water. He looked smaller than Jak had ever seen him, tail and paws and shoulders all tucked or wrapped around himself as tightly as they could be, and he shivered in the morning breeze.
Jak turned his sunny thoughts away from Sig's praise to the ottsel. What's wrong with him today, anyways?
Sig took out a rolled up parchment from his own pocket and unfurled it. "Hm, Vin said it should be somewhere around here."
Jak looked back to Sig. "Vin?"
Sig lifted his serious expression into a smirk. "Twitchiest bastard this side of Nadoa. A good guy, though. Works for Mr. Blott. Most things that come out of that factory nowadays were born in that busy brain of his."
Jak peered over Sig's arm at the paper, which smelled as ancient as it looked. A grid-like maze of red ink halls sat beneath a layer of blue ink shapes. Jak looked up and around at the port, then back down. One of the blue shapes connected to the red ink halls by an arrow; a perfect match for the pillar before them. He pointed at it. "That must be the part right below us."
"Damn, you're right. See, I told you you'd be good at this, rookie." Sig took Peace Maker back and handed Jak the map. He started feeling along the pillar wall with his free hand. "Now, you've been reading those books I borrowed you, right?"
"Every night."
"You know then that everything Havenites built was heaped on a skeleton of Precursor stuff. It might look like Mar made a fancy brass cake with a lot of layers all by himself, but even the oldest parts of Haven are just the surface. Scoop away the frosting…" Sig tapped on a particular metal panel on the wall, which made a hollow sound. He lifted Peace Maker, clicked a button on its side, and pointed it at the panel. Yellow eco flashed out in a small, steady beam like a molten ray of light, and he traced it along the panel's edge.
The panel popped out with a kerchunk. Sig caught it mid tipping over with a single finger, peeked around it, and laughed. "X marks the spot, baby!"
"Is that… legal?" Jak asked, glancing around for any Krimzon Guard that may have been watching.
Sig slid the panel to the side and shrugged. "Not sure. But you were right."
An ancient door awaited beyond, the swerving shapes and dots of an older form of Precursorian peeking between swirling designs and mustard patches of lichen on its surface. Jak went up to it and traced a thumb over the visible letters.
Proje_ _ _torage Si_ _ps_on
At the phrase, 'Proje', Jak's heartbeat quickened. Project? Is that what it means? Wait, how many letters is the second word? Six or seven maybe? Could it be…?
"Wait, you can read old Precursorian? What's it say?"
The lichen wouldn't come off, much as Jak tried to rub it away. Jak took out his dagger and scraped it against the door. No luck, just thin ruts in what must have been centuries' worth of growth. "Can't tell for sure. Probably Project something. But let's check it out. I want to-"
Sig pulled Jak's hand away from the handle in the door's middle. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, cherry. I thought you said you'd read the books I gave you? Lesson number one of Precursor ruins: there are at least fifty ways they can gut, maim, or mash you into a fleshy paste. Let's just take it nice and slow, okay? Remember the rules we talked about when I stopped by yesterday?"
Jak crossed his arms. "Yeah."
Sig gave two whirring rolls of his mechanical hand, encouraging Jak to continue.
"Rule one, don't touch anything unless you tell me to. Two, don't let any mechs scan me. Three, guns are for shooting, not slapping. And four, do what you say." Jak glanced over to the door excitedly. "Can we go in now?"
"By Mar, you'd think I'd just brought a toddler past a sweet shop. Yes, we can go in. Carefully."
He motioned for Jak to stand aside, took the handle, and opened the door not facing it, but sideways. Stagnant, dusty air sighed out from the sliver of shadows beyond. Jak breathed it in readily, barely able to stand his own thrashing heartbeat as the door creaked open-
It jammed after a foot.
"Shit, what's behind this thing?"
Sig body slammed it, but to no avail. Jak joined him, shoving it with far more desperation. No amount of pressure worked. Jak backed up, then ran and tackled it as hard as he could.
To no avail.
"Hmm, if only we could jimmy somethin' through the opening... wait, what about Daxter?"
"Dax?"
"Yeah, think he'd be small enough to fit through? And with the way he helped take out those mechs in the Underport, he's pretty smart. He might be able to find a way to get this thing open."
Jak turned to the ottsel, who still waited with a turned back by the dock's edge. Normally, Daxter would have perked up and reacted immediately, but this time he remained still. The last thing Jak wanted to do right now was bug him, knowing that something was bothering him, but with excitement about the ruin still coursing through his veins, he pushed through it and reluctantly squatted next to him. "Dax? Door?"
Little blue eyes met his for a moment, then Daxter's ears drooped, and he finally stared at Jak fully for the first time that day. Everything about his gaze told Jak that the last thing he wanted to do was go inside, but after Jak subtly pointed to his own eco wound, Daxter offered a weak nod.
He padded towards the door and slipped inside. Almost immediately, there was a loud click, and the door swung open fully. Daxter padded back out with rust stains on his front paws, then batted at Jak's shin, which was ottsel for, "Let me up, Bigfoot."
They entered, Daxter on Jak's shoulder again. On the other side from the door, a large cyan button glowed to life and died repeatedly. Sig pressed it. A light hummed in the ceiling, trailing down to the right in an unending line.
A long tunnel awash in cerulean glow, whispering with the echo of waves lapping at its bronze sides, waited. Jak was tempted to run down it as fast as his legs could carry him, but he looked to Sig, who at first took careful, slow steps, peering at the walls with suspicion.
Jak and Sig followed the tunnel for some time after it proved harmless. It resembled the Underport they'd taken into Haven under Mar's Bridge, though they found no signs of mechs anywhere, much to Jak's relief. And just like the Underport, its metal walls eventually turned to glass ones, ocean shimmering all around between barnacle patches.
"You see what I'm seeing?"
Jak followed where Sig was pointing. Outside the windows, off in the hazy blue distance, a large brass structure glittered, ships floating like black seeds on the sea surface far above it. Like the ruin back home in Sandover, it was made of rounded buildings akin to colossal metal eggs and wedges clustered together, a scarce few straight walls connecting them.
"Vin was right on the money. There is a ruin down here!" Sig balanced Peace Maker on his shoulder again, expression proud. "So many were taken apart or had other things built on top of 'em. Builders didn't always keep good records of what went where, and explorers got nervous about telling people exactly where they'd found intact ones to study. Luckily, Hagai's history goes so far back, they've got maps like this one from Mar's time."
"I didn't know the company was that old," Jak said.
"The oldest in Haven, by far. Invented the eco guns and cannons that helped Mar win the Metal Head Wars. A reputation like that will keep you in business for eternity. Anyways, Vin was digging through some papers stuffed in an old storage room, and found some writings about this ruin specifically. Not only was it said to be underwater, which gives it a good chance of not having been looted already, but there might be something Mar and Hagai's founder were working on with the Precursors down there. Before Mar quit their team, I mean."
Jak tightened his hands into fists. He'd always been told the Precursors had left their planet thousands of years ago. I suppose that's part of their beliefs though. Mar couldn't have fought an enemy that didn't exist in his time. But what proof do they have that the Precursors were here that recently?
The way Sig's eye shone with admiration... Jak didn't want to argue. He knew Yin followed the Mar religion, so it made sense that Sig did, as well. And truth be told, his beliefs had no proof, either.
"All the big mechs you've seen littered across the land? They were already like that by Mar's time, and the secret of how they worked was lost the moment the last one died. The one we're looking for is not only supposed to be newer and intact, but dark eco powered. Problem is, Kor raised hell before they could finish making more, so Mar's armies never got to use 'em. A shame, too. Might've prevented him from needing to go all out with that final light eco blast of his."
"Dark eco mechs." Jak lowered his head. "What does Hagai Industries want with one?"
"Well, Hagai makes weapons, so I'm assuming that."
Glowrend flashed across Jak's memory. He slowed his pace. "Are we… doing anything bad by helping them?"
"I won't lie to you. Stuff we get for Vin might end up killing people." Sig stopped, rested Peace Maker's bottom tip on the ground, and sighed. "But as far as I know, and trust me, Vin's blabbed a lot about it every time I've visited him, this is all for Metal Head purposes."
"And Glowrend?"
Sig narrowed his eye. "I can't prove those bombs and ships weren't Hagai made. Trust me, ever since that happened, I've wondered if anything I got for Vin ended up a part of that whole mess."
Every prickle of curiosity about the ruins, as well as each numbing wave of fear about making enough money for his cure, tore at Jak with sharp teeth. But images of a dying sage before him, her blood coating his trembling hands, and a little girl beside him, seemingly untouched by her town having been burned to an ashen crisp just hours before, bit in reply. These jaws ripped him back and forth continuously, and as he stared back up at Sig, Jak could tell their fangs nipped at his heels, too.
"Look, I always think about it this way: who's responsible for a man's death? The smith who forged the blade that wounded him, or the warrior that wielded it?"
Samos' teachings whispered in Jak's mind, and he parsed through them, trying to find an answer. But green tribe parables typically imparted advice about healing and conversing with nature, a far cry from weapons, other than that the Precursors disapproved of them.
He fidgeted with the gun in his hip holster; something far more tangible to consider. Hagai Industries had never pulled its trigger, and either he or Daxter could have ended up in an early grave without its terrible power. Besides, one could argue that the life of a man like Vend - who'd had no consideration for others' lives - perhaps deserved to end.
At last in his search for an answer, he stared down at his hand. The bloodstain from the Canalside slaver was still a faint ghost of color on his glove, despite how much he'd tried to scrub it clean.
Jak finally replied, "The warrior's responsible."
"That's my reasoning, too."
"And it's for Metal Head purposes, right? If whatever we find in that ruin could help get rid of them forever, why not use it?"
Sig nodded. "Plus, if there's one thing I learned growing up in the Wasteland, it's that survival doesn't care about right or wrong. It's live or die. I've gotta make money to live, as do you. So long as we're not the ones holding the blade, and it probably will be used for something good, then I think we can rest easy at night."
Doubt gnawed, but Jak's wound drove him on, clutching at his every step like a desperate shadow, devouring his every attempt to convince himself otherwise as they headed for the ruin.
The main door spanned Jak's height thrice in width. Designs like bronze smoke furled across its surface. In the middle gleamed a symbol of two circles, one overlapping the other. The cyan line of light that had led them all the way here angled down the tunnel's side from the ceiling, then continued across the floor until it struck a faint divet before their feet. A podium emerged from the spot.
"I was afraid of that," Sig said with a sigh.
"Afraid of what?"
"That's a scanner. It'll only open for people in the Precursor database."
Jak stared as if Sig had just recited a passage in a different language.
"Translation: it could mean we're shit out of luck. Sometimes you can hack them, though. Good thing I installed this new arm." Sig set Peace Maker against the wall, then twisted his cyborg wrist and took off the hand. Beneath it on the stump sat a small nub with wires.
He fiddled around with some buttons beside it, opened a panel alongside his wrist and tapped some more, then glanced at Jak, who had been gawking confusedly. "Might wanna sit down. This could take a while."
Daxter jumped down from Jak's shoulder again, putting distance between himself and the door, bundling himself into a small huddle by a pillar. Jak gave him a concerned, 'are you okay?', glance. Daxter avoided it.
Okay, don't tell me what's wrong, then, he thought. He'd probably avoid the question anyways, even if we could talk right now.
Turning back to the matter at hand, he rubbed his goatee and looked over the podium. I swear I've seen something like this before, but-
The top of the podium slid open to reveal a familiar, large glass eye. Jak smiled as it extended up and out. Maybe… would it work like the one in Project: Legacy had?
He spread his arms wide, welcoming the rays of red light that washed over him from its crystal lens. The mech in the Underport hadn't recognized him, but if this was a Project: Legacy facility like he hoped it was, it might.
A hand clamped around his wrist, pulling him. "Get back! It's gonna send mechs if-"
Beep!
"Identity confirmed. Test subject number three of sister PROJECT: LEGACY. Name: Jakan. Category: Kur. Age: Nineteen. Species: Achariyth. Gender: Male."
The metal beneath their feet vibrated as the door slid open, dust and stale, musty air pouring out in its wake. Jak smirked eagerly and was about to run inside, but remembered Sig's words earlier. "Think it's safe?"
Jak caught Sig's blank stare.
"What?"
Sig opened his mouth to say something more than once, each attempt starting with a 'wh' sound. He glanced at the door, at Jak, back again, and then turned around and leaned against the window. Daxter finally looked up, shooting Jak a raised brow and a questioning ear flick.
Jak gave a sheepish grin and shrugged.
Still turned away, Sig pointed towards the door. "Those things do not open unless you hack 'em, or you're in the Precursor database."
"Uh…" Jak scratched the back of his head. "I guess so?"
"And you know who's usually in the Precursor database?" Sig finally turned around. "Precursors! Hundreds of years dead Precursors. You know," Sig twisted his cyborg hand back on, then flailed his pinky fingers up and down. "Those fellas?"
"I know who they are. My ears, remember?"
"You mind telling me how it recognized you, then? And what in the hell is Project: Legacy? And Category: Kur? I thought Kur was your last name?"
"I don't know," Jak replied with a frown.
"You don't know?"
It's not like I've been trying to figure these things out my entire life, he thought. But he couldn't blame Sig for the reaction. Jak crossed his arms, scuffed his boot on the floor, and stared down, not wanting to meet his eye.
"Look, it's a long story. Can we just," Jak gestured towards the door. "You know?"
Sig moved to say something. Then he sighed, picked up Peace Maker, nodded, and took one step inside. "Don't think you're gonna wriggle your way out of explainin' what I just saw. But I guess I can't complain. You got this door open, slick as butter in a pan. And you're right. We've got a job to do." He cocked Peace Maker with a loud click. "Stick close, watch my six, and keep in mind all those rules I gave you."
Sig disappeared into the shadows.
Jak twisted back. "C'mon, Dax."
Daxter had been glaring at the door like a cat cornered by an angry crocadog. At his call, Daxter shook himself, then tremblingly padded forward towards him. He climbed up his leg to his shoulder again.
Precursors, what's gotten into him today? I don't think I've ever seen him this scared.
"We'll be fine. Sig will protect us, and I'll protect you. I promise."
Daxter didn't twitch a muscle. Jak tried to pat his side reassuringly, but he flinched away.
Inside, the round doors, metal walls, and humming devices perfectly matched the look of the ones in the Legacy ruins. The only light came from glitching holographic screens, the teal sea glow through the windows, and the occasional flicker of hot orange from pipes beneath the water channels at the path's sides.
The path itself widened to a massive, egg-shaped room. Two corridors at its northwest and northeast walls yawned with shadowed mouths. In the middle posed a Precursor statue. It stood atop a still pool, much like the one back in the Precursor Basin city, though instead of holding a staff, this one weighed a sun in each palm. Armor protected it from head to toe, the metal covered in wavy protrusions like brass seaweed wound over the plates.
Near the statue's feet sat a plaque indented with old Precursorian. Sig nodded to Jak, then titled his head towards it.
Jak walked up, heart thundering, one hand retreating to his pocket, where he pushed aside the blue eco crystal from Riverjoint to find the Project: Legacy symbol piece Seem had given him. Would the plaque say what he hoped it would? Maybe he could get some answers to the same questions Sig had asked him just minutes before? Questions he'd been asking himself his whole life.
He swallowed slowly, took in a deep breath, and brushed the dust away, the Precursorsian grooves cold beneath his sweeping fingers.
"Great," Jak spat a few letters in, expression melting with disappointment.
"Can't read it?"
"Project: Eclipse," Jak muttered. He let go of the symbol piece in his pocket. "Storage Site Epsilon."
"Boom, baby! That's exactly what we're looking for. Dark eco mech, here we come. Man, with you opening the door and knowing how to read older Precursorian, I should take you with every time. Speakin' of, mind explaining the whole door thing? Along with any other surprises I should know about?"
Jak adjusted his goggles, whose strap suddenly felt too tight. His past was something he usually liked to keep locked away. Growing up in Sandover had trained that in him well enough. But Sig already knew that Jak had a disease of some sort, that he'd run from home, and that he was looking to meet Gol and Maia. Though, there was so much he'd left out. Even Tess only knew about the dark eco part, not about his bizarre origins.
He wouldn't judge me like everyone back home did. And maybe telling him could help? If he digs around ruins all the time, he might know something that the books he borrowed me didn't.
At that thought, every fear gnawing him fled. Pure anticipation flooded him from head to toe.
"Okay, so first off, I was found outside a Precursor ruin as a baby." Jak gazed into the distance and pulled at his goatee nervously, not even looking to see Sig's reaction to the bomb he'd just dropped. Before long, he was pacing, and the room around him became an unfocused blur. "Have you ever been to any that could make humans? I mean, I know the Precursors made all the races, but what about more recently? Say, nineteen years? Back home, my best friend said that usually the Precursors made weapons or tools, not machines that could spit out babies. So my mother probably left me there, I get it. But why just outside of a ruin? You've been in tons of them, right? Is it even possible? Maybe I'm just crazy, but-"
A hand clamped over Jak's mouth. Jak tried to pry it off, but another arm wrapped around him and pulled him back.
Sig dragged him to a dark corner in the southeast behind some pipes jutting from the wall. They stared out between them, Sig with a glare, Jak with bewilderment. That is, until the clanking of metal footsteps met Jak's ears.
Out of the northeast lurched a misshapen figure, the lumpy corrosion in its body only visible by the yellow light of its one central eye. It headed to the front of the Precursor statue, bowed to it with creaking joints, then turned around and stood stiff and proper, staring towards the entrance.
"Welcome to Project: Eclipse. It has been five-hundred and six years, two-hundred and thirty days, and three hours since this facility was last entered. Your entry scan indicated that you are one of the Achariyth race. As the Precursors' children, this facility was left to you to make use of in your battles against the Hora-Quan."
"Metal Heads," Sig whispered.
Jak furrowed his brows. He'd seen the term 'Hora-Quan' on one of the screens in the Project: Legacy ruin. But what did Project: Legacy have to do with Metal Heads? There aren't any near Sandover.
"To your left is a hall that leads to the sleeping chambers and a communication station. To the right is the research lab. If you have any questions, please direct them to this unit before proceeding. Or if you require further options, please confirm your security access level."
Sig grabbed an eco cartridge from his pocket and rolled it across the floor, towards the mech. The mech jerked its head down, stared at it with a blank blink, then resumed its stiff posture.
"Your door trick must have made these ones friendly. Usually they try to scan anything that moves," Sig whispered again. "But let's take it nice and slow. You first."
"Why me?"
"Because the database recognized you. Don't worry, I'll shoot if its eye goes red."
Jak shakily rose to his feet and crept closer. The mech didn't move, even when Jak took a timid step before it.
"Hello?" Jak muttered, not wanting to even say that one word, hand trembling over the pistol on his hip. His dark eco wound prickled.
The mech didn't react.
"Are you still… on?" He reached a finger forward to poke its chest.
It grabbed him. Jak tried to rip his arm free, but it ignored him, dragging him over to the Project: Eclipse plaque, Jak fumbling for his pistol with his other hand, Daxter almost falling off his shoulder all the while.
It pressed his palm to the Eclipse symbol.
"Let me go! I'll-ow!"
A spark lashed out, just like the one from the plaque in the Project: Legacy ruin.
"Security access level confirmed. Requesting newest directives from Ganzir Alpha." It released its grip, and its eye shone blue for a moment. "Newest directives received. Due to unforeseen circumstances, Project: Eclipse was shut down manually by a master override from Ganzir Alpha exactly five-hundred and six years, two-hundred and thirty days, and five hours ago. It was set to expire either by another master override, or automatically after one hundred years. The option to reboot Project: Eclipse is available. Would you like to reboot to full operation?"
Jak glanced back at Sig. Sig gave a thumbs up. Daxter's claws tensed on Jak's shoulder, sharper than ever before. He gave him a little shake, to which Daxter drooped his ears, refusing to loosen his grip.
"Yes."
The mech's eye flashed green. "Rebooting."
Blinding cerulean light filled the room as eco circuits burst to life, weaving through floors and walls and doorways like hundreds of tiny streams through flat copper plains. A power surge vibrated beneath his feet as a crescendoing thrum erupted around them. Outside the windows, the whole ruin glowed off and on, sending schools of fish scattering.
Sig wandered to Jak's side, eye shining with wonder as he looked all around. "I've never actually seen one come back to life before."
Panels slid open on the walls. Jak and Sig pulled their guns, but as mechs poured out into the hall, they blinked with friendly yellow eyelight. They marched off into the doorways at the back, or to broken pipes and circuits to start fixing them with tools that formed from their hands.
"Ask it to run diagnostics."
Jak did.
"Running diagnostics. Statuses confirmed. Structural integrity is at ninety-nine percent. Monitoring sensors are at eighty-seven perc-"
"Not all that crap. Just what we're here for."
Jak turned to the mech again. "What about the dark eco mech?"
"This facility's weaponized robot had its power deactivated by the master override from Ganzir Alpha. Unfortunately, without permission from Ganzir Alpha, the dark eco silo it drew power from cannot be accessed. It remains stable and in acceptable condition, however."
"You hear what I heard?" Sig shook Jak by the shoulder. "Payday! You take the left corridor, I'll take the right to the research lab. Remember to grab any artifacts that look like they might turn a merchant's eye, especially power cells. And be careful. Anything you're not sure about, come get me to check it out."
After a nod, Jak ran to the left corridor, dodging around and under the arms of mechs stuck in their routines. This wasn't a Project: Legacy ruin, but at the very least, the money they could make from it was a large step towards his cure.
"Oh, and Jak!?"
He flipped around. Sig stood in the other corridor's doorway, the barest glimpse of bronze armor under dim cyan light. "About your question earlier, no, I haven't come across anything in a Precursor ruin that could make human kids. Sorry. But you've got me curious too, I'll admit."
Jak's excited posture deflated. Of course not.
Jak walked through the left corridor, his way guided by a white light trail in the ceiling. Jak tried to put a hand on Daxter's side again. This time, he didn't flinch away, but Jak could tell his muscles were still as tense as ever, as if ready to run at any moment.
Large rooms beckoned in even pairings beside them. Circles of glass pods stood in their middle. Jak went up to one and, after tapping it, a panel opened. Inside shifted a liquid of some sort. It should have spilled out, but something - magic or eco tech, he wasn't sure - was keeping it in and perfectly undisturbed.
A voice from somewhere underneath the pod spoke, "This hydrogen dioxide sleeping chamber is currently unassigned. Reminder: you are allotted fifteen minutes for daily rest."
"Hydra… oxi?" Jak asked. "Fifteen minutes?"
"Hydrogen dioxide. Ya know, water?" Daxter finally spoke and stood on two legs, leaning against Jak's head. "Ugh, pretendin' to be a dumb animal all the time is such a pain in the ass. Literally. I'm gonna get a permanent hunchback if I keep this slouchin' up. And do you understand how hard it is for me to hold back from talkin' all the time? Can we at least tell Sig? Please?"
A rush of relief crashed through Jak. Daxter was acting normal again, thank the Precursors.
"Do you want to become a fluffy crater?"
"Oh, come on! Sig's a cool guy. Besides, you were as superstitious as they come, and you didn't hurt me when ya found out. Well, other than my ears." Daxter crossed his arms. "Anyway, let's hurry it up. This place gives me the creeps."
Jak left the room and continued down the hall, keeping a lookout for anything that they could loot as he did so.
"Why were you so nervous before?" Jak asked. "You nearly tore my shoulder off."
Daxter looked away. "Nervous? Who, me? Nah, I just hate Precursor crap, is all. Never know what it's gonna do."
Jak narrowed his eyes as they turned a corner to a hall with more sleeping chamber rooms at its sides. Back in the Precursor Basin, he couldn't wait to drag me into that ruin. Why did this one scare him?
He didn't expect a straight answer, given that every serious question he'd ever asked Daxter caused the ottsel to offer a barebones response, then wriggle free from the topic. Does it have something to do with his past?
"I just thought, you know, with the way you acted in the Precursor Basin, you'd have been fine with this place."
"Yeah, well that one was dead. This one isn't. And why aren't you all nervous? A month ago, you were clutchin' pearls at even touchin' a toe inside one of these dump heaps. Now you're skippin' happily along on your way to loot it. And I haven't seen a single bow or any pinky waving weirdness from ya."
"Well, it's like you said." Jak shrugged. "The Precursors aren't using this stuff anymore. Why would they want us to let it go to waste?"
"Hmph. Well, if we run across any body swap machines, and you get turned into an ottsel, I ain't sparin' ya an ounce of sympathy."
"An ottsel would be a step up from a deadly disease."
Daxter muttered under his breath the rest of the way down the hall; something about how a lack of pants and certain parts being itchy all the time was a far worse fate than death. Jak rolled his eyes and continued on. As they wandered, Jak's thoughts lingered again on how Daxter had acted earlier that day, and how he'd dodged the question when he'd asked him why he'd been so nervous.
It has to do with his past, Jak thought. That's the one thing he never wants to talk about. I wonder…
"What was your family like?" he asked at last.
"Not much to tell."
Jak furrowed his brows. Another topic dodge. "Dax, I've known you for months now, and I know more about Ashelin and Sig's families than I do yours."
"So? Not like I have a tyrannical baron for a dad or walkin' junkyards for caretakers. My folks are boring."
"They're alive, then?"
A sigh. "Yeah, some of 'em. Look, if they were interesting in any way, trust me, I'd have yapped your ear off about 'em."
"I don't care if they're interesting. In fact, better they're not. What is a normal family like, anyways?"
"I wouldn't know."
"So they are interesting?"
Daxter leaned into view with an unimpressed glower. "Can we change the topic? Let's talk about, I dunno, trees or whatever. You love trees. Leaves, am I right? All floppy and green and-"
Jak crossed his arms. "You're doing it again."
"Doin' what?"
"Changing the topic whenever I ask about your past, like always."
"Yeah, I said I'd like to."
"But why?"
"Jak, let me put this in terms I think you'll understand. Ahem." Daxter put his paws to his ears to imitate bigger ones, then warped his expression with exaggerated grumpiness. His voice lowered to something gruff, "How about we play a game? I don't ask you questions about why you flex at your reflection in the bathroom mirror every morning, and you don't ask me questions about my past. Fair?"
His cheeks burned. "Whatever happened to 'full, complete, honest to the Precursors' truths?"
"There are things I don't wanna talk about, so what?"
"I've told you about my past."
"Because ya wanted to! I do not. Case closed."
"Are you hiding something?"
"Ya know, for someone with the world's biggest ears, you sure have a hard time listenin'."
"Yeah, and for someone with the world's biggest mouth, you have a hard time actually telling me anything. Why?"
"Look, I don't like Precursor crap. Precursor crap turned me from a svelte heartthrob into a fuzzy rat. So excuse me if I'm a little anxious today."
"Fine, don't tell me, then."
"There's nothin' to say."
"But-"
"End of story. Finito. That's all, folks."
"You-"
"No."
Frustration seared through Jak as he held back the temptation to dump Daxter off of his shoulder. Must be nice actually having a family to hide.
They eventually found themselves in a dead end room. Countless cords and pipes like metal and rubber pythons interwove towards a central machine set on a platform, standing in yet another water pool. The machine resembled the head of Precursor statues, but simplified and smooth, two hollow pockets for its eyes, and a tube-like muzzle with the familiar hole at the bottom of its jaw.
"Is that what I think it is?" Jak asked, entranced, taking slow steps towards it. The explorers' accounts he'd read described similar devices by the name of Oracles, which they'd surmised had allowed people to talk to the Precursors. But none had ever been found working before.
Maybe this one is? The ruin has power, maybe-
"Well, thank your Precursors," Daxter jumped off of his shoulder and picked up something near the base of the Oracle. Two halves of a cord, one in each paw, broken wires jutting out of them like frazzled copper hair. He let out a whistle of relief, and for the first time that day, he seemed to fully relax. "Because whatever horror this thing probably was meant to dish out, it's broken."
Jak's hopeful smile melted. So much for a chance to ask his gods some questions. If they were even still listening, that is. "Of course it is."
Daxter caught Jak's stare, concern gleaming in his own. Jak looked away, still irritated with the ottsel, and fidgeted with his red cowl.
"Why do you care so much about your past, anyways? I get the 'it'd be nice to know' part, but why ? I'd hate my family for just leavin' me like that-" Daxter tossed the wires down. "-and I'd leave 'em in the past where they belong."
Jak only gazed at the Oracle; into the black of its dead eyes. "Because then everything would make sense for once."
"Make sense?"
Jak squatted by the broken cord ends and gently took them into his hands, trying to piece them back together.
"Why do you think I wanted to know what your family was like? I never had one. What were my parents like? Did I have any siblings? What village did they live in? Or city, whatever. Maybe I'd finally know what I was supposed to be? At first, I thought a green sage's apprentice."
Nothing he did fixed the cord. He furrowed his brows and finally let the ends slip free, then crossed his arms on his knees and tucked his chin into them. "I failed at that, too."
"Jak, ya don't figure that crap out from your family. How many people do ya know that are exactly like their family? I'm definitely not. And think about what Sig said. Damn good thing he's not like his blood parents, else he'd have ended up dead. Never mind Ashelin. Can you imagine what it's like for her, havin' that man for a dad, and everyone just expectin' her to be like him? You? You're free, attached to no one who could force him to be somethin' he didn't want to be. Just Jak."
"Jakan Kur," Jak corrected. "At least you all know where you belong. I didn't belong at home. I don't belong here in Haven. I thought I could try to find my family someday, if they're even still around. But now I'm not even sure I have enough time left for that." He lifted his head, staring at the Oracle again. "I'd do anything to belong somewhere."
Daxter picked up one of the broken cord ends. He turned it over, glanced at its twin, then tried to reunite them himself. The ends no longer fit together perfectly after having been ripped apart, some bits missing, but the wires were still strong enough to connect, if at least one side could be twined tightly enough around the other to hold on.
It didn't fix the Oracle, though. And when he held up the poorly reconnected cord to Jak with a toothy grin, it didn't fix Jak's frown, either.
Daxter set them back down and gently punched his leg. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier. And I told ya already, we're gettin' you healed. Even if I have to nip at Gol and Maia's ankles myself, your wound will get fixed up. And then we can go find your family and tell 'em how much they missed out on by dumpin' you in Hickvale. Until then, you can belong with me, as my sidekick."
A timid ghost of a smile lifted a corner of Jak's mouth. "And your carriage and free meal."
"Exactly! But first, artifacts. I think I heard some power cells behind this thing."
"Sorry, I'll stop moping." Jak shook his head and got back to his feet. "You're right."
"I don't blame ya. That's what I'm here for, after all. Bigfoot frequently asked questions and support." Daxter padded to the mess of cords and pipes beside the Oracle, then wriggled in between them up to his waist. His little orange and white back paws and tail flailed as he tried to squeeze in further, then pull himself out backwards.
"Crap." A sigh. "Knew I shouldn't have eaten all those extra pastries."
Jak smirked and rolled his eyes. "Come here."
After Jak helped free Daxter from his predicament, they collected power cell after power cell, the strange spheres humming with light and inner mechanisms unseen. At first, Daxter had simply rolled them back out through the cords, but as time wore on, he got more creative about it, tossing them for Jak to catch from different spots in the room, or leaping out and playfully dunking them into Jak's pauldron pack.
Things were back to normal between them, much to his relief, though at times Jak was tempted to blurt more questions. But they were on amicable terms again, and much as he yearned for answers to everything - Daxter's past and his own - and what it was like to belong to a family, in the meantime, belonging with Daxter would be enough.
When they were done, Jak gave the Oracle one last long, pit-hearted look, then headed for the other corridor where Sig had left, his pack heavy with power cells, and Daxter propped on his shoulder again.
They found Sig in a room similar to the factories Jak had seen in Haven City. It was twice as wide as it was tall, open in the middle, and alongside the back wall awaited machines. But instead of powered looms or smelters, and row upon row of dirt-cheeked people toiling between spinning gears, these were glittering devices of advanced design.
A single giant mech slumbered between them.
As Sig had said, it resembled the ones littered around Nadoa's landscape, but gleamed new, unsoiled by the scars of battle or nature's grasp, and made of black metal instead of bronze. Even Sig only came up to half the length of its calf, which was supported by flat feet. Its spine, pelvis, and legs - short in the lower parts and exaggeratedly long in the thighs - were near skeletal in thinness compared to the hulking wedge that was its torso. Its thick arms dragged to the floor, likely to support its heavy top half, three fingers hanging from the rims of the cannons fitted to its wrists.
Like the Precursor statues, it had no neck, its head situated directly on its shoulders and collarbone. Jak walked up to where Sig was and gawked in wonder. The top half of its head was shaped like a skull with no jaw attached; no barrier to block the third cannon that was its mouth, tubes winding alongside it from where its nostrils should have been. The tubes wove towards its back, where antennae perked and wires draped together in a spiked cape.
The mech stared back down with the dead eyes of ecoless sleep. And in that moment, peering into those endless shadows, Jak wondered what it would think upon awakening.
"Do mechs like these have free will?"
"No. The smaller ones - like the Dreaming Yin we saw by the entrance - were made to adapt and think for themselves, at least enough to serve their central functions, be it cleaning, fixing, what have you. That's what make Waking Yin like those that took me in different: their purpose programming was taken out of them, so to speak, so they had the ability to decide it on their own." Sig glanced up at the battle mech. "These nasties are for one purpose only: taking orders and destroying."
Jak frowned and put a hand on the mech's arm. The cold metal leeched all warmth from his fingers. "Must be a terrible existence."
"Don't worry. It won't know better. It's just a weapon, after all."
"I guess." He pulled his hand away. "So, how are we gonna haul it to Vin?"
Sig chuckled. "Oh, don't you worry. We don't need the whole thing. Vin just asked for a power core to study, first. He'll have a whole team come down to take this guy apart and put him back together in the Hagai labs later."
"Power core?"
"See that large circle at its heart?"
Jak followed to where he pointed. It was a small round panel that jutted out slightly from the rest of its chest.
"That's our target. We need to get up there, loosen it, and bring it to Vin in one piece. Now... "
If only I knew how to use blue eco again, Jak thought, feeling for the eco crystal in his pocket. I could just levitate up there.
Sig pulled out a tool from the back of his belt, where it'd been tucked beneath the open-front leather wrap around his waist. Jak recognized it as a small crossbow, but with a claw-like hook instead of a bolt in the flight groove, a long line of rope attached. Sig set Peace Maker against the mech's arm, tied the rope's end to his own belt, then aimed the crossbow high.
After a click of the trigger, the hook sailed through the air, rope ribboning behind it, and it latched onto a metal bar that spanned the mech's chest with a clang. Sig gave it a few test tugs, grinned at Jak, and started to climb. "Be right back."
Jak walked several feet away to watch, got bored, and pulled out the blue eco crystal. He turned it over in his palm countless times, its energy shifting cyan and white with each jostle. What had Samos' words about blue eco been?
"All eco thrives on certain things, Jak. Red, courage. Blue, excitement. And yellow, on happiness."
That's right, excitement, he remembered. Then he thought of Roru and Yasu's performances at events he'd attended with them, and conversations he'd overheard between them. Based on how they'd described it, experiences that had spurred excitement fueled their channeling. And so that's what Jak had always tried to imitate.
But now, once again, as he tried his best to pull on the eco crystal's energy, the memories he used - of falling over the bridge in Riverjoint with Daxter, of seeing Forgesong beyond the last stretch of the Mistarch, or of the time he'd first channeled blue eco in Basinbreak - only led to the raising of the hair on his arms, a meager static.
Maybe none of those are exciting enough? But what is? Nothing in Sandover was. And the most exciting thing I've felt in Haven was last night, with my first time on the real track, and I went up that final hill towards the stars and-
The blue eco shot out from the crystal to his other hand. He dropped the crystal in surprise, shattering it on the floor, and he stared dumbly as energy crackled between his fingers.
"Uh, Jak?" Daxter whispered, glancing up at Sig, then back at him. "You might wanna put that away before the big guy freaks out?"
"Freak out? Why would he freak out?" Jak mumbled back, still too stunned to process much else besides Daxter's plea.
"'Cause most people don't channel more than one? Ya already scrambled his brain with that door trick."
Like green and dark eco, blue had a slight effect on his emotions while channeling it, but instead of soothing or panicking him, it flooded him with giddy anticipation and a slight nervousness. He turned his focus back to his hand, eyes wide, a smile breaking his initial disbelief. "Wait, how did Roru do that levitation thing? She wrapped it around herself, kind of. So if I just..."
"Jak, wait. Ya don't know how to-"
Everything around him started to lift, from the loose ties of the straps over his pants legs, to the ends of his hair. Then his feet no longer touched the ground. Ottsel paws scrabbled back on to Jak's pauldron, holding on tight with fearful claws as they both rose into the air.
Jak exchanged a look with Daxter, his expression wildly joyful, Daxter's baffled. The more he channeled, the more force propelled them further upwards. His eye on the mech, where Sig was still only halfway up the rope he'd attached to it, Jak smirked and made his way there with uneven, wobbling, and sometimes even somersaulting steps through the air, Daxter doing his best to cling on as he did so.
Sig wiped his forehead free from sweat and sighed. "I almost wish I'd made you come up here instead of-"
They soared past. Sig gave them a stare akin to the one he'd had when Jak had opened the ruin's main door, shook his head, then blurted, "What in the absolute fuck?"
Jak had flown a little too high, his boots just missing the mech's head. He lessened his eco output, dropped like an anvil to far below the mech's torso, frantically channeled more, then reduced the amount to allow himself to slowly, waveringly reach the mech's head. In the last moment, he let go of the final surge of the eco too quickly, and fell onto the mech with a painful impact.
He shook his head, ignored the new soreness in his body, grabbed onto the pipes alongside the mech's nose, and found purchase for his feet on the metal bar Sig had attached his hook to.
"Precursors, I actually did it. It wasn't just a fluke! Sig, did you see that?"
"Look, I could handle the door scan. I even could shrug off the 'left outside of a ruin as a baby' part. But this?" Sig threw one arm up, the force swaying him back and forth a little, still suspended on the rope. "How many freaky things are you gonna spring on me today? I thought you channeled green eco?"
Jak shrugged. "I can do both?"
"Most people don't just channel both." He sighed. "You and I are gonna have a long talk with Tess when we get back. Does she even know about all this!?"
"No? What does it matter? Now you don't have to climb all the way up here." Jak shuffled down to the mech's heart. "Tell me how to take the core out."
"Sit your skinny ass down! I'll take the core out." Sig's voice lowered to a mumble. "Then this climb won't have been for nothing. What, will a Precursor stroll up and shake my hand today, too?"
Jak let go of the mech's nose pipes and carefully lowered to sit on the bar he'd been standing on. Chin on a knee, he watched Sig ascend, all the while trying to summon blue eco again without the crystal. It came with ease now, both fiery hot and icy in his palm. Daxter hopped down from his shoulder, balancing on his arm, and reached for it with cautious curiosity, fur poofing as he neared.
It immediately lashed his paw upon touching it. Jak snapped the blue eco out and caught Daxter before he almost fell off Jak's arm in pained and screeching reaction, heart thumping at first with fear, then relief as he pulled the ottsel back to his lap.
"Here," Jak summoned green eco and reached for the affected paw. Daxter hissed and backed away from it. "What's gotten into you? I'm trying to help-"
The eco wasn't green.
Jak's heartbeat thundered again at a faster pace. Sig pulled himself up to the metal bar Jak sat on with a final heave. He slipped back down the moment he gawked at Jak's hand, but caught himself on the rope.
Purple and black frothed within Jak's palm, rising higher when Jak caught Sig's horrified expression, the energy snaking and twining around itself greedily.
"Now dark eco!?"
Jak held it away from himself. "Don't worry, I can kind of control it! Just give me a second."
"No, don't get it near the-!"
Sig ripped him off of the bar by the ankle, but before Jak could fully fall, he tried to clutch to the mech in panicked confusion, hands slipping over the core as he searched for purchase.
As he was finally ripped free, dangling by the foot, scalp aching where Daxter clutched his hair to hold on, steam started to pour into the room now upside down to him. Circuits sparked violet across the mech's chest from its heart, where dark eco now oozed, and its mouth cannon slowly glowed to life. Two blank white lights flickered on in the mech's hollow eyes.
They glanced to the right, to the left, shuddered with a jolt of a blink, then stared down at Sig, Jak, and Daxter.
Its gaze turned fiery red.