Once again, I kept adding thing to this chapter, until it became a totally different chapter.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

Mornings in Spargus were pretty nice, Keira thought to herself. She sipped her tea and looked out the window at the breaking dawn. Rays of pinkish light streaked across a dark blue sky, a halo of golden light from the sun coming through. She sighed, relaxed by the serenity.

Of course, the effect was ruined a bit by Jak, who gave a loud snort in his sleep and flopped over. Keira stifled a laugh and drained the rest of her tea.

Jak and Daxter lived in a little building on the west side of Spargus. It wasn't much, Keira thought to herself, but it was enough. There were a few wooden crates that acted as chairs and tables, a cooking pot against the wall, and a pile of blankets that Jak used as a makeshift bed.

She stood up and stretched, the empty mug dangling from her fingers. She'd always been an early riser; probably because her father had been the same way. How many times in Sandover had she woken up at the crack of dawn, ready to work on some new vehicle project or another invention?

As she washed the mug in the basin and set it aside to dry, she glanced back at her friends. Jak was lying stretched out, with Daxter curled up in a comfortable looking box filled with blankets. She was tempted to wake them up, but decided against it. They were both cranky when they were tired.

Besides, she thought, throwing open the door, now she had a chance to see the city for herself.

The tang of brackish sea-salt filled the air. Keira started to retrace her steps from where she'd gone the day before, taking in the sights: strange Precursor statues that glowed a dim blue, leaper lizards hunting for their next meal, half-rusted wind chimes swaying in the wind. Eventually, her feet took her back to the garage at the entrance. The doors opened and she stepped through.

Now this was more like it, she thought cheerfully. Oil, engines, tools? Just what she was used to. She checked to see if anyone was around—not a soul, it seemed—before walking over to one of the vehicles.

Cold, smooth metal met her hand. Familiar. She flexed her hands against the steel and inhaled, her fingers itching to tear it apart and put it back together.

"Hey! You ain't got me permission to mess 'round with those!"

Keira turned around. The huge Wastelander she'd seen when she first got here stormed up to her. He looked irritable, his face twisted in a permanent sneer. It reminded her of every ornery mechanic she'd met when she was just starting out in Haven City.

"Sorry, I didn't know they were part of a museum." She rolled her eyes and he growled at her. "Are you in charge around here?"

"That's right," he said. "I'm the top dog here, and let me tell you, I don't have time for little pups. Why you touchin' me buggies?"

"That Damas guy said I had to help out around here if I wanted to stay. Well, here I am, ready to help." Keira put her hands on her hips. "I guess if you're in charge of the garage, you're the one to boss me around. Just try not to get on my bad side, okay?"

Kleiver snorted. "Ha! You got some bite, girly, I'll give you that. But don't think you impress me just 'cause you're a mechanic from the big smoke."

"Do you have a job you want me to do," Keira challenged, "or am I just going to stand here looking pretty?"

"Heh. Fine. You wanna play with the big dogs?" He gestured to the crappy little buggy to the other side. "Been meanin' to mount some guns on that little biddy over there, but I ain't had the time for it. You manage to get it done, and I might tell Damas how much of a help you been."

Keira folded her arms. "No problem," she said coolly. "Where are your tools?"

Torn had known Samos for years. He'd met the sage in what was now Dead Town, after Praxis blocked off the area and left everyone behind to die. Of course, that was a different Samos; a younger man, willing to sacrifice anything and everything to bring down the tyrannical leader who'd left them there. This Samos was different, more cautious and less aggressive.

More protective.

"For the last time," Torn snapped, palms flat on the table before him, "I don't know where Keira is. I'm not a babysitter, you know."

The Naughty Ottsel wasn't the best place to work from, but it was nice to have an HQ on the frontlines. Torn could easily see what was happening, keep on top of the troops. Plus, it had the distinct advantage of being a quiet place to work. Away from prattling moncaws, anxious governors, and neurotic sages.

Usually.

"Are you sure?" Samos pressed. "She didn't stop by for a drink or anything?"

"No." Torn tried to focus on the console in front of him, brow furrowed. "Did you try calling her on her comms?"

Samos fumbled with his own communicator. "She isn't responding," he said anxiously. "Of course, that's normal for Keira, she always gets so caught up in her work…"

The door opened and Tess bounced in, grinning as usual. She waved cheerfully to them as she headed for her spot at the bar. The place might not be open right now, but she still spent her time making sure everything was clean and ready to go for her "big hero."

"Ah, Tess!" Samos floated off to go harass her, for which Torn was grateful. He exhaled and started to open up the files with the reports he needed. He flicked through the files, scanning over them.

Metal heads were pushing through the slums, which wasn't great. And even worse, Ashelin was running out of space to house the people they evacuated. At this rate, he'd have most of the city crammed into New Haven.

Another report detailed the push for clearing out the Industrial District, a task that was going...poorly. Jak had stopped the War Factory from cranking out more Death Bots, but now it seemed like the metal heads had shown up to provide reinforcements.

The last report was both the shortest and the most alarming. After hearing about the rumors among the Freedom League, Torn had sent out his own feelers. Old friends from his days in the Guard, informants who'd helped out the Underground, and even a few less-than-scrupulous pals who liked to eavesdrop.

What he'd gotten back was a dozen or so rumors that made it clear: Veger was angling to take control of the city.

Torn had been a kid when the Baron took over; he didn't remember much from those times. But Praxis himself liked to brag about how he came to power. How the king had ignored the plight of his people, and how the city had rallied behind their favorite war hero, placing him on the throne instead.

Torn knew as well as anyone: revolution started with whispers in the shadows. It started with friends talking to friends, talking to family, talking to strangers, about the mythical someone who was going to save them. The war hero general, the young heir of Mar, the hotshot racing champion.

The whispers grew, until they were conversations, and then chants, and then shouts and screams. Until there were enough people to create a tidal wave of anger and change. There was strength in numbers, Torn knew.

Right now, the whispers were all about a nobleman who had the blessings of the Precursors on his side.

And Torn was beginning to think they were outnumbered.

Several hours later, when Jak and Daxter found Keira in the garage, the Tough Puppy not only had new guns mounted on it, but its hydraulics had been flushed and the shocks had been replaced. She was underneath the buggy, welding the struts, when they got there.

"Keira! We were wondering where you went." Jak tilted his head and leaned down beneath the buggy. "Daxter thought you'd run back to Haven City."

"Oh, please." Keira rolled her eyes. "Like a little sand scares me."

"Shoulda known you would be here," Daxter said cheerfully, hopping onto the ground beside her. "Whatchya doin'?"

"Your girly's more useful than you are," Kleiver growled from behind them. Jak folded his arms and glared at the man. "But I guess that's not surprising. I've met rocks more useful than the you o' two."

Jak ignored Kleiver and stooped beside Keira. "I'm helping," she explained, her voice muffled by the buggy. "That king said I could stay as long as I helped out around here, right? Well…"

She slid out from beneath the buggy. "Consider yourselves helped." She twirled the wrench in her hand and stood up, nodding at Kleiver. "Everything's good to go. I'd be careful with going too fast, though, that frame needs welded."

Kleiver made a noise in his throat. "I'll admit, you got some talent. But don't go thinkin' you're the best mechanic in this place. Plenty o' folks would be happy to show you up."

She brushed her knees off and put her hands on her hips. "Whatever. Please tell me you two are buying breakfast. I'm starving."

Jak looked at Daxter. "Sure, I guess. Come on, we'll show you the market."

Keira nodded and set the tools aside carefully. She handed the toolbox to Kleiver. "Keep these warm for me, big guy."

Kleiver snarled at her, but she paid him no attention as she headed for the doors to Spargus. Jak and Daxter glanced at him, shrugged to each other, and then followed her.

"You know," Daxter said, "you oughta be careful around Bog Breath back there."

"He's fine," she said breezily. "All bark and no bite. A lot of mechanics are like that. You just have to show them that you mean business."

Jak snorted a laugh through his nose, but didn't say anything. Instead, he just led her through Spargus, Daxter hanging from his shoulder lazily.

The market in Spargus was very different from that of Haven City, Keira thought. It wasn't a cramped, carefully sectioned bazaar; every seller had their own stall or tent, but it had a sort of...open feel to it.

And unlike the bazaar in Haven, it was kind of quiet, too. Keira had become so used to the packed shoppers and loud merchants that it took her a minute to realize: no one was shouting or yelling or calling. The Wastelanders were standing at their stalls, going about their business, not particularly caring about who or what passed by their area.

Jak stopped in front of a small produce stand, manned by a large woman with a sour face. She glared as Daxter hopped onto the stand and started chattering at her. "Hey, Marta. How's it goin'? My sidekick and his babe are gettin' a bit hungry here, and I know you sell killer fruit."

While Jak and Daxter haggled for breakfast, Keira glanced around at the other stalls. A string of dried spices hung beneath the desert sun; baskets heaped high with rice and wheat; fresh raw fish wrapped in clean cloth.

It did remind her of Sandover, a little bit.

"C'mon, Marta," Daxter said smoothly, dragging her attention back. "Remember that time we, ya know, saved your life?"

"Ya helped me with some metal heads," she snapped back. "Don't get a big head, boy-o."

"How about 5 orbs?" Jak offered. Marta squinted suspiciously at him. "Oh, come on, it's a good deal."

"It's not a bad deal." She folded her arms. "Ain't a great one, neither."

"Saved your life," Daxter reminded in a sing-song voice. "Saaaved your liiiife!"

Marta rolled her eyes. "Deal. Now get ya selves outta here."

Jak picked up a woven basket of fruit and nodded, while Daxter handed her some Precursor orbs. "Thanks. See you around."

"Ugh, I hope not," Marta said, but she was smiling as she did so. "And tell ya rat to shut up," she added as they walked away.

Keira smiled as Jak led her to the rocky ledge near the sea. "You know, I'm not surprised you two have made friends around here."

Jak dropped the basket on some rocks and sat down with his legs dangling off the edge. Daxter began to peel an orange and lounged against a rock. "Pff. Friends. You think they'd be nicer considering we saved their lives!" he shouted back towards Marta. She either didn't hear him or, more likely, ignored him.

Keira picked a pear out from the basket and bit into it. It was a bit more sour than she was used to, but it tasted pretty good all the same. "So what are you two planning to do today?"

"We usually train with Ionna in the mornings," Jak told her. He was pulling apart a spiky pink fruit. "Then we do any missions Damas has for us, and we go to the Monk Temple with Seem at night."

"That's your dark eco training, right?" Jak nodded and Keira gave him a smile. "Wow, Jak, you're learning all these cool powers! Daddy would be so proud of you."

Jak rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. Daxter rolled his eyes. "Listen to that, Jak, Ol' Dirt Nap would be proud of you. Not enough to say he was proud of you, but…"

"Knock it off, Dax," Jak said. To Keira, he asked, "How is Samos doing, anyway?"

Keira hesitated, remembering how tired her father had been recently. "He's okay. Stressed, but who isn't right now?"

Daxter put a paw up to his forehead and pretended to faint. "Do you hear that, Jak?" he cried mockingly. "Samos is stressed! How could it get any worse?!"

Jak gave him a look. "Dax. C'mon."

"No, no," Daxter continued dramatically. "We've only been savin' the world, again! We've only been stuck out here, gettin' sunburnt and kicked around by metalheads and yelled at by spiky people!"

"Daxter!" Jak batted the back of his friend's head. "Will you calm down?"

"Fine." Daxter folded his arms and gave an almost pouting look, while Jak rolled his eyes. "Just sayin', you'd think Father Stumpy would be nicer to us, considering everything we've done for him..."

"We have more important things to worry about right now. Can't you focus on those?"

"Yeah, I can!" Daxter leapt up and pointed wildly across the city. "Ya see that building over there? I'm gonna put Taste of Wasteland there!"

Jak groaned in exasperation, while Keira stifled her laughter. "Will you ever stop talking about this?"

"Nope!" Daxter said cheerfully. "It's in a primo position. Lookit, see, people goin' into the arena to see the fights can buy a nice souvenir! And then folks who survive the arena can, you know, get a memento."

Keira shook her head at Jak, who gave her a smile and chuckled. While Daxter prattled on, she took another bite of pear and gazed out into the sea. It reminded her of home, of Sandover. Of the fisherman and his boat, of the days spent diving into the sea.

"Hey." She turned to look at Jak, who was giving her an odd look as he spoke. "Are you okay?"

She opened and closed her mouth, not sure how to answer. On one hand, this was Jak, her best friend. She'd always felt safe telling him anything.

On the other hand, this was Jak, and he'd grown since the boy from her little village. He had been born in Haven City, this was his time. Did he even miss Sandover in the same way she did? She could still hear his voice, echoing through the metal head nest: "But we are home."

Before she could answer, Jak's communicator beeped and came to life.

"Listen up, lovebirds." Kleiver's growl floated through the speaker. "Quit ya cuddlin' and get to the palace. Damas has a job for you."

Morning brought with it a bright burst of sunlight. Damas shielded his eyes as he entered the throne room, blinking away the reflection of golden light in the water. He tucked his communicator away and started for the throne, groaning as he stretched his arms over his head.

Perhaps it wasn't wise for him to fall asleep in a child's bed. He could feel his bones creak, his vertebrae snapping into place. His head was pounding with tension, the pain running down along the back of his neck and pulling on his shoulder. An uncomfortable sleeping position.

But at least he had slept.

He was still holding Mar's crocadog in his hand. He'd woken up and felt the need to carry it with him, a reminder of his son. Damas ran his thumb over the rough patches on it, looking out absent-mindedly over the desert.

Behind him, the elevator ground to a halt. Jak stepped out, with his mechanic friend, Keira, behind him. Daxter was chattering away on his shoulder, as usual. Damas felt his heart twist a bit — it's because he looks like Mar, isn't it? — but shoved the feelings aside.

"Kleiver said you had a job for us?" Jak folded his arms lazily across his chest, while Keira looked around curiously.

"Hmph. Kleiver misunderstood." Damas jerked his head towards Keira. "I have a job for your friend, not for you."

"Keira?!" Daxter looked outraged. "Wait a minute! Jak and I bust our humps helpin' you out, trackin' all over the desert, savin' the world again—!"

'"Boy, you're on a kick today, aren't you?" Keira rolled her eyes at him and stepped towards the throne, attitude in every step. "So, what do you need me to fix?"

Damas raised an eyebrow. "Who said I needed anything fixed?"

"Well, I don't know about you," she said, "but most people only call a mechanic when they need something fixed or something made. So which is it?"

Damas couldn't help but smirk. "...Come with me."

Damas led them to a corridor off to the side of the throne room. Jak glanced at Daxter as they walked; neither of them had been back here before. In fact, they'd almost always simply hung around the throne room itself. Somehow, going deeper into the palace felt almost...forbidden. As if Damas would turn around and chastise them any minute.

But as they walked through the dimly lit corridors, the only thing the king said was, "Over here," as he ushered them through a doorway, into another room.

Like every other room in the palace, this place was plain and simple, made of stone. But off to the side, on a table, was some kind of mechanical device. It looked like something from the Power Station, Jak thought: fraying wires and oddly faded buttons. Keira's eyes went to it immediately, and Daxter leapt off Jak's shoulder onto the table.

"Ooh, fancy!" Daxter tilted his head. "What is it?"

"It's a communication transmitter," Keira answered automatically. "Kinda out of date, though."

Damas eyed her appraisingly. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, for one thing, it's got an older style of dials." Keira launched into her explanation with ease, walking quickly around the machine. "Most newer systems use digital frequency dials instead of manual ones. And, based on the way the case has been welded a couple times," she added, "it's a second-hand system. It's definitely had a few owners."

Jak and Daxter shrugged at each other, clueless about whatever Keira was talking about. Damas, however, was standing still, paying rapt attention.

"Hmm…" Keira tilted her head and frowned, tugging on a loose wire. "Look at that corrosion! This thing has to be ten years old."

Damas walked up beside her. "This system is one that was bartered for from Haven," he explained. "It is, indeed, a fairly old piece of machinery. Tell me, would its age cause it to lose range?"

Keira made a thoughtful face. "Maybe," she said finally. "But there are so many things that can go wrong with these older machines, it would take an expert to figure it out."

"An expert." Damas hummed thoughtfully and continued, "You built Jak's Jetboard, am I correct?"

Keira looked surprised. "Well...yeah, that was me."

"Kleiver was quite impressed with your mechanical skills," the king added. "Sig has mentioned it, as well." He narrowed his eyes shrewdly at her. "It would appear you are one of the closest things we have to an expert on this."

"Well, I'm not the best mechanic," she admitted. "But I'm no novice, either."

Damas huffed out a laugh. "Out here, we make due with what we have." He gestured towards the communicator. "I put this task in your hands, then. Borrow Kleiver's tools, and see if you can't fix it."

Keira nodded, looking pleased with herself. "Alright, but no promises. Like I said, this thing has a lot of moving parts to it."

"If anyone can do it, Keira can," Jak said insistently. Keira beamed at the praise. "She's a genius with this kind of stuff."

Damas gave them both a wry smile. "There you have it. Get going." He shot Jak a look. "And you should get going to Ionna," he said. "I believe you have a lesson to attend."

"Huh? Oh, right!" Jak held out his arm for Daxter. "I guess we are running late."

"Good luck, Jak!" Keira called as he ducked out towards the throne room. He grinned and shot her a thumbs up, heading for the elevator. "And be careful!"

On the ride down, Daxter leaned against Jak's head. "She fits in out here better than we thought, huh?"

Jak gave a chuckle. "Yeah, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. She held her own in Haven for two years." He shrugged. "I doubt she'll want to stick around out here for too long, though. Everyone else is back in the city."

"Yeah. But sounds like the Sandman will let her come visit us," Daxter reminded him. "At least she wants to come visit."

"Right," Jak agreed. "At least there's someone who cares enough. That counts for something, right?"

"Right, partner," Daxter drawled. "It counts."